"Harry," Hermione whispered, kneeling beside him.
Victor crouched and carefully lifted Harry's shoulders. He was breathing, just unconscious.
"Well," Victor said evenly, "we should take him to Madam Pomfrey."
There was no more danger. Voldemort had fled. The body he had used — Professor Quirrell — lay on the stone floor, burnt and lifeless, already turning to ash.The Philosopher's Stone—if it was even still here—was safe.
For a brief moment, Victor's gaze flicked toward the Mirror of Erised.
He could check. He could see what made the Stone so extraordinary.
But no.
Too many unknowns. Too much interference. And if Dumbledore had set this entire gauntlet, he was almost certainly watching.
As they turned, they saw Dumbledore standing quietly at the doorway.
The light from the torches caught in his half-moon spectacles, his expression calm, unreadable.
Victor sighed inwardly.
I expected this, he thought. There was no chance Dumbledore would leave something like the Philosopher's Stone unguarded without keeping watch himself. The entire obstacle course had been deliberate.
He had wanted Harry to face Voldemort. To see him — not as a legend, not as a whispered name — but as he truly was.
To survive him.
To understand that this was not the end, only the beginning.
And to be ready for whatever came next.
And now the old wizard stood there, as if he had arrived just in time — when in truth, he had likely been watching all along.
"I have many questions," Dumbledore said mildly.
"But first, I believe you three should take Mr. Potter to Madam Pomfrey."
His eyes lingered for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
On Victor.
And they were not as unreadable as they appeared.
***
A day later, Harry woke to white curtains and the sharp scent of disinfectant.
He was in the hospital wing.
Professor Dumbledore stood beside his bed, hands folded, looking as though he had been there for quite some time. On the small table near Harry's pillow sat a rather impressive pile of sweets.
"Ah," Dumbledore said warmly as Harry stirred. "You are awake."
He picked up a small box and peered into it with interest. "Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. I have always had a fondness for them, though I do seem particularly prone to the less agreeable flavours."
Harry blinked, trying to sit up.
"Professor… what happened?" he asked hoarsely. "I remember the Mirror… and Quirrell… then something passed through me…"
"Indeed," Dumbledore said gently. "You and your friends prevented a most dangerous wizard from obtaining the Philosopher's Stone. That is no small accomplishment."
"The protections you faced," Dumbledore continued, "were devised by the staff. They were not intended to be easy. You navigated them remarkably well."
Harry hesitated.
"Professor… did you know? About Professor Quirrell?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled faintly, though something more serious lay beneath.
"I suspected that something was amiss," he admitted. "After returning from his travels last year, his manner changed. There was fear about him—but not only fear."
He folded his hands again.
"I did not expect Lord Voldemort himself to be involved."
Harry swallowed. "So… he's not gone?"
"No," Dumbledore said quietly. "He is not. But you and your friends faced him—and that is something to be proud of."
Harry shook his head at once. "It wasn't really me. Victor reacted first. I was just… standing there. I was shocked."
"Shock," Dumbledore said gently, "is a very human response. Yet you did not run. You stood before him. Do you know how rare that is? Many fully grown witches and wizards cannot even bring themselves to speak his name."
Harry looked down at the blankets.
"But Professor… didn't he die?" he asked hesitantly. "Everyone says he's dead. The whole wizarding world believes it. But he's clearly still alive—trying to come back."
Dumbledore regarded him carefully.
"He is not alive in the way you or I are," Dumbledore said at last. "But neither is he truly gone. He left behind something of himself. A fragment. As long as that fragment endures, he may linger… and seek a way to return."
Dumbledore's expression grew more solemn.
"This truth," he continued quietly, "cannot be widely known. Lord Voldemort's name alone carries wounds that have not yet healed. He left deep scars upon the wizarding world—fear, loss, and memories many would rather forget."
"If it were announced that he yet survives, even in such a weakened state, panic would spread swiftly. Peace, fragile as it is, would fracture."
Harry swallowed.
"So… we just say nothing?"
"For now," Dumbledore replied gently. "There is wisdom in choosing what the world is ready to bear."
He gave Harry a reassuring look.
"Do not dwell on him overly much. At present, he is weak. He cannot act openly. You have given him a setback he will not easily recover from."
Dumbledore rose from his chair, his robes brushing softly against the floor.
"And you may be interested to know," he added, a faint twinkle returning to his eyes, "that your actions have earned you and your friends a good many points. It would seem you are something of a hero in your House."
Harry blinked. "Points?"
Dumbledore smiled gently. "Courage, loyalty, and a willingness to act when others might hesitate are qualities Hogwarts values highly."
He moved toward the door.
"And I believe," he said, glancing back, "that your friends are quite eager to see you."
At that moment,
Victor entered first. Hermione hurried in behind him, relief flooding her face, and Ron followed close after, looking far less composed but just as glad.
"Harry!" Hermione breathed.
Ron grinned. "About time you woke up."
"I can't believe I missed the whole adventure," he added, sounding genuinely put out.
After hearing everything from Hermione, Ron felt properly miserable. The chamber, Voldemort — he had missed all of it.
He was genuinely gutted that he hadn't been there.
Victor arched a brow. "Exciting is one word for it. You'd have mostly contributed screaming."
Ron's ears went pink. "Screaming? I'm in Gryffindor, thank you very much. House of bravery."
"Is that so?" Victor said mildly. Then he glanced past Ron's shoulder. "You might want to prove it."
Ron straightened. "What d'you mean?"
Victor's expression remained perfectly serious.
"Snake. Behind you."
Ron froze.
He let out a strangled noise and spun around so fast he nearly tripped over the hospital wing chair.
There was nothing there.
Behind him stood only a curtained bed and a tray of Chocolate Frogs.
Slowly, Ron turned back.
Victor's mouth had curved—just slightly.
"You—" Ron spluttered. "That's not funny!"
Hermione pressed a hand over her mouth, trying—and failing—not to laugh.
Harry grinned weakly from the bed.
"See, Ron, you really weren't suited for this. If we'd brought you with us, we'd have wasted half the time listening to you scream," said Victor coolly.
Ron's entire face turned red — a deep, furious scarlet that reached the tips of his ears. Anger and embarrassment warred behind his eyes.
But he couldn't say anything.
Because he had been scared.
Terrified, actually — because of that enormous snake.
*****
A/N : 🔥 On Patreon, the story has already been updated up to Chapter 64🔥
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