Party Police.

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

"Harry!"

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him again, but Harry was glad she held herself in as his head was still very sore.

"Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to— Dumbledore was so worried—"

"The whole school's talking about it," Ron said. "What really happened?"

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumours. Harry told them everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. Ron, Hermione, and (Y/n) were a very good audience; they gasped in all the right places, and when Harry told them what was under Quirrell's turban, Hermione screamed out loud.

"So the Stone's gone?" said Ron finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"

"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that— what was it?— 'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.'"

"I always said he was off his rocker," said Ron, looking quite impressed at how crazy his hero was.

"So what happened to you three?" Harry asked.

Well, I got back all right," Hermione began. "(Y/n) had brought Ron round— (Y/n) also knocked out a troll somewhere during that— and we had just exited the trapdoor when we met him in the entrance— he already knew— he just said, 'Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?' and hurtled down into the door."

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" said Ron. "Sending you your father's Cloak and everything?"

"Well," Hermione exploded, "if he did— I mean to say— that's terrible— you could have been killed."

"No, it wasn't," Harry said thoughtfully. "He's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could..."

"Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker, all right," said Ron proudly. "Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course— you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you—" (Y/n) smiled "—but the food'll be good."

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.
"You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT," she said firmly.

Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone the following night. He had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving him one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colours of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the House Cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.
When Harry walked in, there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. He slipped into a seat between Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at him.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.
"Another year gone!" said Dumbledore cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man-s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully, your heads are all a little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts...
"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and thirty-two and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."
A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.
"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account." The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little. "Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes...
"First— to Mr. Ronald Weasley—" Ron went purple in the face "—for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House fifty points"