Chapter Thirty-One - Epilogue

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Chapter Thirty-One - Epilogue

     Harry woke up in the hospital feeling as if he had been hit by the Hogwarts Express. Every single joint hurt like they'd been pulled hard in opposite directions. His scar was pounding a faint beat that had him turning his nose up and groaning as he brought a hand up to massage it.

"Good afternoon, Harry."

     Harry jumped, startled, and opened his eyes to find Headmaster Dumbledore sat in front of him, a patient look in those twinkling eyes. He smiled softly at him, "I hope you're feeling well and rested."

Rested. . . Rested from. . . What, exactly? Harry couldn't remember. He had dreamt of a giant chessboard and strangling vines but— his eyes widened and it hit him all at once. "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell!" Harry was already trying his hardest to scramble out of the bed. "He's got the stone! Sir, quick—"
Dumbledore held up a calming hand, making no move to act on his words.

     "Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind on the times," he said. "Quirrell does not have The Stone."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, "Then who does? Sir, I—"

     "Harry," Dumbledore cut him off with a pointed look. "Please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out."

Harry swallowed and looked around him, noting that the bed was one of the Hospital Wing, a curtain separated him from the other beds. His eyes caught on to the bedside table — which was piled high with enough candies to make Dudley have an aneurism.

     Dumbledore smiled again. "Tokens from your friends and admirers," he said. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows." Harry's eyebrows raised up to his hairline. "I believe your friend Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

     Dumbledore looked very much amused, but Harry could not bring himself to feel the same way. "How long have I been in here?" He asked cautiously, almost afraid of the answer.

"Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

     "But, sir, the Stone—"

A quirk formed at Dumbledore's lips. "I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone." He sighed and adjusted his position on the chair. "Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived on time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say." He looked proud.

     "You got there? You got Hermione's owl?"

Dumbledore hummed, "We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the the one I just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you—"

     "It was you," Harry mumbled to himself. Dumbledore hummed again, "I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer—"

     All at once, Dumbledore looked quite sad. A small frown marring his face and the twinkle in his eyes dimming. "Not the Stone, boy, you — the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had." He looked off past Harry for just a split second, like he was remembering something especially sorrowful. "As for the stone," he started, snapping out of it, "it has been destroyed."

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