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SIYE Time:9:43 on 29th March 2024
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Grey Maiden I: Philosopher's Stone
By Chris Widger

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:All
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst
Warnings: Dark Fiction, Violence
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 129
Summary: Taken from the lifeless arms of his mother on Halloween, 1981, Harry's life is forever altered. Lily Potter's best friend, a legendary ex-Auror with a tragic and dark past, has pledged her life to raise and protect Lily's only son. But how will an entirely different upbringing change the Boy-Who-Lived? Because whatever Harry has become, it's much different than what everyone expected...
Hitcount: Story Total: 80123; Chapter Total: 6962







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Disclaimer: See Prologue

Chapter 7: Trouble with Trolls

Harry had originally intended to follow his Transfiguration professor’s order to stay away from the Mirror of Erised. But soon found that impossible. He was unusually unfocused in his classes, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw the image of his loving family. The emotions he had felt that night had returned tenfold. He had to go back.

And so he did. Every night for over a week, he snuck out of the Slytherin dormitory, unseen and unheard, and climbed up the hidden staircase to the fourth floor corridor. Twice since McGonagall first caught him, the door had been locked, though he was undeterred. A simple Alohamora Unlocking Charm solved the problem.

And he would slip into the door, closing it quietly behind him, and then drag one of the unused chairs from where it had been shoved against the wall, and sit there, gazing at his parents and the Dresslers. The comfort the images provided was amazing. Seeing himself loved and protected evoked only happy emotions. He would sit there and watch them interact until his eyelids began to droop, when he would replace the chair, silently open the door, and sneak back down to the Slytherin dormitories. Then he would sneak into his bed, where his only dreams would be those filled with love and affection. No nightmares disturbed his rest. When he would awake, he would feel better than he ever had during his time at Hogwarts.

It was four days before Halloween, a night that had more negative significance to Harry than any other person in Hogwarts, that he was finally discovered again. Harry had just sat down, and was watching his father pat him on the shoulder and say something that made his reflection beam with pride, when a voice called out from behind him.

“Back again, Harry?”

Harry spun around, nearly falling off the chair, staring back to see who had found him. He saw Albus Dumbledore standing off near the chairs, staring at Harry with his eyes twinkling madly. When he saw the desperation in Harry’s eyes, the twinkle faded a bit.

“Sir…I” Harry began weakly. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen Dumbledore standing in the corner.

“It’s alright, Harry,” he said kindly, approaching slowly. “I won’t take House points, given your situation. But I must ask: Why did you come back?”

Dumbledore was disturbed by the look in the youth’s eyes. It was one of desperate longing, a look of someone who had fully fallen into the Mirror’s influence. Albus knew he had to break him out.

“I…I had to see them again…I had to…” he said. Dumbledore’s heart sank. If the mirror has already begun to eat at his sanity…

“Harry, I know that it is difficult for you. But you must break free of the mirror’s hold. Do you know what this mirror is?” Harry shook his head.

“It is called the Mirror of Erised. Do you know what it shows?”

I show not your face, but your heart’s desire,” Harry read smoothly. Dumbledore smiled. “Very good. What do you see, Harry?”

“I see…Lily, James, Daphne, Edmond, their…son, and…me,” he said, in wonder. “Dad’s ruffling my hair…he does that a lot. And he’s proud of me…he doesn’t care that I’m Slytherin. Daphne’s son is Slytherin too…now Lily and Daphne are giving us a hug. ”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Dumbledore smiled. “Harry, you do know…what you see can never happen? There is no spell that can reawaken the dead.” Harry’s smiled didn’t fade. “I know. But watching them makes me feel better than I have since I left her.”

“But Harry, the Mirror is a very powerful magical object. Men have gone mad, wasting away as they wondered whether what they saw was real, or even possible. You must break the hold it has over you. Only one of those you see is still alive. Remember your mother, your father, Edmond, and the Dressler boy, but focus on what you have.”

Harry spun around, fury in his eyes. “What I have? What I have is on the other side of the bloody Atlantic!”

“You have no friends that you can speak with?” Dumbledore was sure that Minerva was mistaken.

“No, sir,” the boy ground out.

“I see. Harry, has Daphne mentioned Hagrid in the course of your correspondence?” Harry nodded.

“The man doesn’t seem to like me much. Probably thinks I’m a slimy Slytherin and an insult to my parents’ memories. It’s what they all think, ‘cept me and Daphne. She told me that all the houses are good. HA!”

Harry gave a cold, barking laugh. Dumbledore’s eyes widened in alarm. In his own way, the boy was as bitter as Riddle had been. And both had carefully constructed facades to hide their emotions.

I must write Daphne. This is alarming indeed. If the boy turns to the Dark Arts…

“Harry, you must not return to this Mirror. It will be moved tomorrow, and I want you to swear to me that you will not go looking for it again.” Dumbledore hadn’t actually planned to move the mirror for quite a while, but he had to remove the temptation.

“Fine,” he hissed through his teeth. Then he angrily turned to go, his eyes locked on the mirror.

Harry!” Albus said, slightly louder. The boy stopped, and his anger vanished, replaced by shame and a touch of fear.

“Please, swear it.”

“I swear I won’t,” he said in an honest, but dead sounding voice. The he walked out the door slowly, leaving his Headmaster staring after him, shaking his head. Albus conjured a large white sheet, and flung it over the mirror, then he locked the door and warded it.


Unfortunately, with an end to the visits to the Mirror of Erised came the return of the nightmares. It was now an everyday occurrence for Harry to be wake up at 4 o’clock in the morning, drenched in cold sweat, feeling like he’d run a marathon. Harry’s work in class was suffering from his lack of sleep, and the exhaustion left him with a haggard appearance, dark lines under his eyes.

To make matter worse, the day after Dumbledore had discovered him with the mirror, he had forgotten to reinforce the Silencing Charms around his bed. He’d woken up screaming, awoken his entire dorm, and been slugged twice in the stomach by Goyle (on Malfoy’s orders, of course). His ribs were still sore.

And so exhausted, wanting nothing more than to go back to his life before Hogwarts, before all of the isolation and the loneliness, Harry finally decided to go down to Hagrid’s hut, to see if the man might behave more favorably in a person-to-person conversation.

He was wandering through the corridors, hoping to find someone both out of class and also having a knowledge of the grounds. Unfortunately, he spotted only a pair of redheads. A pair of redheads who had been springing pranks on Harry most of the year, though the worst thing they involved was dumping a bucket of lake water on his head as he entered the Great Hall. Hermione Granger had actually showed him a spell to siphon off water later that day, before she had lost her nerve and left him alone in the library. The two redheads were furtively hiding in an alcove, speaking in hushed tones. Harry guessed they were plotting their next prank.

“Oi! Fred, George!” Harry called over. The twins looked up, and their eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Potter?” Fred asked.

“Do you know how to get down to Hagrid’s?”

“Why would a slimy Slytherin like you want to know? Want to torment the man?” George asked. Harry noticed his hand was in his robe pocket. Despite their antics, they were more than capable wizards, in fact, they were probably two of the brightest in the school. They just used their talents in…other ways. Harry privately thought they might give Zonko’s a run for their money when they graduated.

“No interest in that. I want to talk to him,” Harry said, trying not to let his impatience show. Still, how the Gryffindors could assume he was a lackey of Malfoy just baffled him.

“About what?” Fred asked, coming closer.

“None of your business,” Harry snapped, finally losing his temper. “Where is it? You can hex me if I do anything! Just tell me!”

“Whoa, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Potter! Know that bridge directly on a line from the main entrance?”

“Yeah. Is it down there?”

“Yeah, just keep going down, there’s a path. No trouble, remember?”

“I remember,” Harry said, turning to go. “Thanks,” he called over his shoulder.


Harry trudged down a muddy path on a rainy Wednesday afternoon down toward the home of the Hogwarts Gamekeeper. The small, one room hut had smoke coming out of a damaged-looking chimney and was surrounding by several different pens for roosters and cows. Harry saw a few owls perched on logs near the pumpkin patch. He walked up the steps, and knocked twice on the door. There was an excited barking from inside, along with a grunted, “Back, Fang, back.”

Hagrid pulled the door open, and his eyes narrowed when he saw a Slytherin standing there. Even when he recognized Harry, he didn’t move. Then he slammed the door shut in Harry’s face. Harry took a deep breath, fighting back tears at the rejection, and knocked again. Hagrid yanked the door open and growled, “What d’ya want, Potter?”

“To talk with you,” Harry said, letting the desperation he was feeling seep into his voice. He stood there, waiting. Something seemed to click in the large man’s mind, and he stood aside. “C’mon in.”

Harry walked into the cabin and stood aside so that Hagrid could pass him. Hagrid wandered over to his very large bed and sat down. Harry took a seat on a stool near the fire. Fang wandered over to him and gave a contented growl as Harry absently scratched the boarhound behind the ears.

“Well if Fang likes ya, ya can’t be that bad,” Hagrid said. Harry didn’t respond. “So why are ya down ‘ere Potter?”

“No “Arry” this time?” Harry asked, still not meeting the large man’s eyes.

“What d’ya want?” he said gruffly.

“Like I said outside, to talk with you,” Harry said, meeting Hagrid’s eyes for the first time.

“Now why would ya wanna talk ter me?” Hagrid asked sarcastically.

Harry’s temper flared. “Would you rather I leave? Do you think I’m just a no-good, slimy, Slytherin insult to my parents’ memories too?”

Hagrid seemed taken aback. “I just heard things-“

“Lies. You’ve heard vicious lies and rumors spread by gits like Weasley who have been making my life a living hell because I wear a different bloody badge!” Harry yelled, his frustration boiling over.

Hagrid seemed ashamed. “I’m sorry, Harry,” he said quietly. “Seems like you’ve been having a rough go of it.”

“Quite,” Harry snapped, then softened his tone, “Sorry Hagrid, it’s just that no one had given me a fair chance. The Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs either hate me or are scared of me because of my badge, and the Slytherins hate me because of my past. It’s…difficult.”

“I can imagine. I’m really sorry, ‘Arry. So why did’ya come ‘ere anyway?”

“Like I’ve said three times, to talk to you. Because everybody has told me to.” Hagrid looked confused. “Why and who?”

“Daphne and Professor McGonagall. They both though you were someone I ought to reach out to. It’s not like I have a list of people to talk with anyway.”

“Don’t’ya have any friends?”

Harry gave a barking laugh. “You know, you are the third person to ask me that exact question in the past week. The answer was, and still is, no.” Harry suddenly had a hunch he wanted to explore. “Has Hermione been around here?”

Hagrid’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you want ter know?”

Harry sighed, “just asking. Nothing malicious, trust me. I don’t have any other potential friends to drive away.”

Hagrid nodded. “She’s been comin’ around, crying and such. Don’t think she’s got many friends either. You’re not gonna make fun of ‘er fer that, right?”

“I’ve done more than my share of crying over the last week,” Harry said softly. Hagrid looked crestfallen. “Maybe you two should try ter get together.”

Harry glanced up at him. “What does Hermione think I’m doing?”

“She reckons yer trying ter get homework help.” Harry snorted. “It’s not like I match or exceed her in every class but Charms or anything. Or potions, though Snape tries to sabotage me so it doesn’t count. I just…I try to be nice to her, to get to know her, but she doesn’t give me a chance. But she doesn’t hate me, because she’ll help me out on occasion, so…”

“I understand, ‘Arry. That’s frustratin’.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed.

“Listen, ‘Arry, I don’t mind talking to yeh, but yeh gotta get back up to the school. Don’t wanna be late for dinner!” Harry smiled weakly, and then got up to leave. “Yer welcome to come back anytime, ‘Arry. Sorry for treating yeh so badly.”

Despite Harry finally finding someone who would accept him for who he was, the nightmares returned with a vengeance. He began to imagine the night of Edmond’s murder, only with Daphne’s body added to those on the floor. Of course, being the night before Halloween, the 10th anniversary of his parents’ murders, he dreamed of Lily’s and James’s last moments.


Harry slept very little that night, spending most of the time lying on his back, staring into the darkness, trying to slow his racing heart. He tried to go back to sleep each time, but simply ended up rolling around, wide awake. He finally managed to sleep the fourth time, but almost instantly fell into a nightmare. Exhausted, but still awake, Harry grabbed a book and went to the freezing cold common room to read.

Classes that day were like all the others. He did the absolute minimum in terms of classwork required, as he simply could not focus. He could barely read the blackboards, and lost fifteen points from Slytherin for melting Nott’s cauldron (the boy commented that Harry would not have him as a partner again before he got a decent night’s sleep), the only time that Snape had actually been justified taking points. He constantly missed his beetle in Transfiguration when trying to transform it into a button, and ended up crushing the beetle with his wand tip. McGonagall pulled him aside after class and asked him if he wanted to go to the Hospital Wing, but Harry said he was fine, even though a blind troll would know he was far from it.

After lunch, the afternoon class was cancelled because Professor Spout had taken ill. Harry was wandering around the halls aimlessly, trying to think of something other than the nightmares. He was failing miserably. As he approached the Charms corridor, the bell rang, and the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw First Year Charms Class got out. Harry was about to turn away, not wanting to give Hermione the impression he was stalking her, when he heard her and Weasley’s voices.

It sounded like Weasley was yelling at her, or at least talking loudly about her. There was a loud sniffle, and Hermione tore through the crowd past them, and down the stairs where Harry was standing. Harry saw she had tears in her eyes, and was likely going to the bathroom to have a good cry. He glared at Weasley as he passed.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” Ron demanded.

“Wandering aimlessly, not a crime, is it?” Harry responded truthfully.

Ron scoffed. “Like a Slytherin ever does that, c’mon Seamus.” The sandy-haired boy glared at Harry at he passed, and Harry collapsed into the wall. He stood there for several minutes.

“Are you alright, my boy?” Flitwick asked. Harry glanced up. “Bad memories,” he responded.

Flitwick sighed. “Yes, I suppose today would do that to you. Well, the Halloween Feast should cheer you up, right?” he said hopefully. Harry shook his head. “I’m not going. No reason to.” Then he walked away, and headed for the library.

Harry arrived just as all the other students were leaving to go to the feast. Harry wandered over to the Combat Spells and Curses section, which contained very few books as most tomes on the subject contained Dark Arts and were banned. Harry picked out a few books. He had been doing some reading and found two spells he wanted to work on. The Reducto Blasting Curse and the Percutio Striking Curse. If he had time, he wanted to research more powerful Shielding Spells. He’d become proficient with the standard Protego, but he knew the spell could be modified to be more powerful, and that other such spells existed, though they might be to complicated for an eleven-year old to cast.

Harry glanced around to be sure that no one was watching him, and then carried his books over to one of the armchairs where Hermione frequently sat. He saw Madam Pince come around the corner, levitating books back to their places. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the feast?”

Harry shrugged. “Just wanted to do some reading. Not very hungry.” Madam Pince nodded. “Very well, keep quiet and no practicing those spells in here. It makes noise and you might damage the books.”

Harry opened the copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Combat Magic, and flipped the table of contents open. He found the section labeled ‘Blasting Hex/Curse,’ and flipped it open.

Blasting Hex/Curse

Incantation: Re-duc-to

The effects of this curse vary based upon the target and the power of the spell. The curse only affects solid objects. The most common effect is causing physical damage to the target. This spell can be lethal when used improperly.

Harry spent a great deal of time reading over the details and history of the spell before trying his hand at the wand movements. He was confident he’d be able to get it with a bit of practice. He moved onto the striking curse.

Harry spent over an hour reading that book, reading up on both spells before re-reading the sections. He began to think about going down to the Slytherin dorms when Madam Pince’s voice cut in, “I’m going down to get myself a bite to eat, so the library is closing. If you want to check out those books, do it now.” Harry handed her the book he was reading and she checked it out while he put the others back.

Feeling exhausted all of a sudden, Harry waited until Madam Pince was out of sight before tapping his wand on an innocent-looking brick, opening the staircase to the dungeons. He quickly climbed inside and descended. Harry exited the entrance and began to walk back toward the common room. Suddenly, he was assaulted by a horrid smell.

Then, Harry heard a petrifying scream.

Harry raced around the corner, wand out, and stopped when he saw himself looking at the back of a massive mountain troll. It was tall, with arms as thick as Hagrid’s legs, its small head contrasting violently with the massive frame. It wore only a filthy loincloth, and was holding a massive wooden club the size of a small car. Through the smelly creature’s legs, he saw Hermione, her red-rimmed eyes (she had obviously been crying) widened in terror, backed in a wall, frozen. The troll raised its club, and she raised her hands as if to fight off the blow.

Harry reacted without thinking. Raising his wand and focusing on what he had just learned, he barked, “Percutio!” A purple beam of light struck the troll in the back, and while the hide was far too thick for the weak effort to cause it any pain, the troll stopped drawing back its club, and slowly, dumbly, turned around to see what had just hit it.

Harry was frozen there, pondering his own stupidity, incriminating wand extended.

The troll roared and brought its club up. Harry dove to the side, landing hard just in time to avoid being crushed by the impact. Harry ran away from the next blow and yelled as loud as he could, “HERMIONE! GO AND GET HELP!”

But the Muggleborn girl just stood there, looking on in terror. Harry realized he had to delay the thing before help could arrive. He couldn’t beat the troll on his own; even with the magic he knew he wasn’t strong enough to break through the troll’s hide. Harry rolled away from another blow, Seeker reflexes taking over.

He stopped for a moment to incant the Blasting Curse, his wand aimed at the troll’s feet. That was his first, and last, mistake.

The club came out of the corner of Harry’s eye and slammed into his right side. Harry heard bones crunch and felt terrible pain before he crashed into the wall. More cracking and crunching noises were heard and Harry’s body was flooded with piercing agony. He let out a shriek of pain and collapsed, desperately fighting to retain consciousness. Hermione let out a shriek, and then another as the troll raised its club for a killing blow.

STUPEFY!” half-dozen voices shouted. The red beams combined into one solid mass, and slammed into the back of the troll. Six spells did what one could not, and the troll collapsed forward, the head landing at Harry’s feet, where he lay gasping in pain in a growing pool of his own blood. His vision was beginning to get blurry, but he could make out the horrified faces of Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Sinistra, and Vector. Hermione was leaning against a wall for support, her face white.

Harry!” she gasped. That seemed to unfreeze everyone else. The Professor’s raced towards him, stepping all over the unconscious troll.

Just then, Snape hobbled into the corridor, limping badly. “What is going on here! POTTER!” he bellowed.

McGonagall rounded on him. “Not now, Severus, the boy is badly hurt.” She conjured a stretcher, and Flitwick levitated him onto it.” The brief flicker of pain that Harry felt was still enough to cause him to whimper. His broken bones felt like they were on fire, and his body ached.

“What in Merlin’s name were you doing, Potter?” Snape asked, though surprisingly, a hint of concern came through.

“I didn’t know,” Harry mumbled, “just…in library.”

Dumbledore looked him over with concerned eyes. “We must get him to Madam Pomfrey. Minerva? Fillius?” The two nodded and hurried for the Hospital Wing, pulling Harry’s floating stretcher. Hermione began to run after them.

“Miss Granger, are you injured?” Dumbledore asked, knowing the answer.

Hermione shook her head, her eyes fixated on the now unconscious boy. “No, but I have to go with him! He saved my life!”

“Miss Granger-“ McGonagall began, but Hermione would have none of it. “Please, let me go with him! I won’t be a bother!”

Minerva sighed and relented, “Alright, come along then, we have to hurry.”

When they were gone, Albus sent Pomona and Richard off to check on the students, and called over to his Potions master. “Severus?”

“Yes, Headmaster,” he replied icily.

“What have you to report? And why are you limping?” Dumbledore asked, though he had an idea.

“Someone tried to test the Stone’s defenses. He was wearing a cloak so I couldn’t identify him. Hagrid’s bloody mongrel nearly killed me,” Snape spat, as if the worst possible death he could imagine was being consumed by an extremely rare Cerberus.

“Interesting. I had not expected Voldemort to find a way so quickly. Am I to assume that Quirrinius was unaccounted for?” he asked.

Snape shook his head. “I don’t know, but my Mark burns when I am around him. How can you let this go on, Albus? He is obviously in league with the Dark Lord!”

“I fear it is too late for poor Quirrinius, Severus,” Dumbledore said sadly. “But he has not yet revealed himself, nor brought harm upon another student.”

Snape snorted. “You know as well as I his affinity with trolls. Does nearly killing the Boy-Who-Lived not count as ‘harm’?”

Dumbledore was silent. “I must say, his motives are questionable. But I must know more before I act. Lord Voldemort can strike in many ways.”

Snape snorted again, “Don’t expect me to clean this up when it explodes in your face.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “I would not expect you to. Goodnight Severus, though I suggest someone look at that wound. Not Poppy, as she might recognize the source. Argus has some medical expertise.”

“Very well, I’ll see the Squib tomorrow. Good hunting, Headmaster.”


How is he?” Hermione asked excitedly as Madam Pomfrey emerged from the ward. Madam Pomfrey shook her head, washing the boy’s blood off her hands and clothing with a spell.

“Not good. Broken bones galore, severe and deep bruising, and he went into shock. He’ll probably survive the night, after which the recovery can begin. A bloody troll, honestly!” the matron swore. Hermione felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead.

“What do you mean, probably? He could die!” Hermione demanded.

The mediwitch sighed. “He’s in bad shape, though my guess is he’ll recover.” She straightened. “What are you doing here anyway?”

McGonagall answered. “She is leaving to go back to the dormitories.”

“No! I want to stay with Harry! He saved my life, I want to thank him when he wakes up!” Hermione said. She couldn’t leave her…friend here. I’ll never forgive myself if he doesn’t make it.

“That won’t be for a while. He’ll be out for a few days at the very least.” Madam Pomfrey said, pouring a potion out of a bottle and into a goblet.

“…or never,” Hermione said sadly. McGonagall paled. “What?”

“Best not to dwell on that, dears,” Madam Pomfrey said as she tipped Harry’s head back, opened his mouth, and poured a potion down his throat. “Blood-Restorative,” she said, answering their unspoken questions.

“Poppy, perhaps Miss Granger should…” Minerva began, mindful of the state of her favorite student.

“Absolutely not, Minny,” Poppy said, absently brushing back the hair on her patient’s sweaty forehead, revealing the bright red scar. Just as quickly, she covered it back up, before walking over to the potions cabinet again, “she’ll accomplish nothing here but get in the way. Sorry dear, but that’s the reality of it,” she said, getting another potion out and checking her watch. “Strengthening Drought.”

“Alright then. Miss Granger?” Hermione tore her eyes from the unconscious form of the boy who had saved her life. “Alright,” she said miserably.

The two exited the Hospital Wing. As they ascended on one of the moving staircases, Minerva voiced the question that had been bothering her. “I wasn’t aware you thought much of Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger. The boy had mentioned her, after all, and not in a positive sense.

“I…he saved my life. And…I think he’s been trying to befriend me, and I told him to sod off. Excuse the language, Professor.” Hermione’s voice was downcast and her tone that of misery.

“I see. And he persisted in his efforts?”

“Yes, I…I think he was as lonely as I was, and I was one of the only people to ever be nice to him.”

“I know that was the case. He told me as much.”

“He told you?” Hermione said incredulously. “But-but you’re the Head of Gryffindor House. Why would he talk about things like that with you?” Hermione demanded. It was strange, Minerva admitted.

“The particulars of our conversation aren’t up for discussion. However, the fact remains that the boy has been friendless from the day he arrived here.” Hermione looked horrified.

He said that! He told me that!...and I ignored him! God I’m so awful!” Hermione whispered. McGonagall put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, Miss Granger. If-“

“No! It’s all my fault, if I had just listened to him and not to all those lies. Neither one of us would have been down there! He’d be okay!” Hermione said, stopping as she buried her face in her hands. Minerva stopped and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sure that it will be alright, Miss Granger. If you two become friends, I’m sure he’ll forgive you. I think he’s desperate for companionship.”

“Alright,” she said, sniffling. “I’ll find my way back, Professor.” They had reached the seventh floor landing.

“Very well, Miss Granger. If you so desire, you may visit Mr. Potter.”

If he’s still alive, Hermione thought miserably.


Hermioneentered the Dormitory to find that the enthusiasm from the feast hadn’t faded much. Student were sitting in small groups, eating and talking loudly. Some of the prefects, including Percy Weasley, were trying to control the situation, but were failing miserably. Part of it was because Percy’s twin brothers, Fred and George, appeared to have distributed a large number of joke products that were causing all kinds of havoc.

Hermione, her heart heavy and her mind racing, wandered over toward the dormitories. Ron Weasley, who was talking loudly about the troll with Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnegan was sitting on the bottom stair of the staircase leading to the girls’ dorms. The discussion centered on what the troll would have done to some of the slimy Slytherins. When Harry’s name was mentioned, she nearly lost it. How can they talk about him like that?

“Oi, Granger!” Weasley called over. “Didn’t see you at the feast, was kinda worried about you. Where were you?”

“None of your business, Ronald,” she snapped. Then Dean spoke up.

“Oi, Hermione, is that…blood?” Hermione looked down. Her right robe sleeve was drenched in Harry’s blood, though she wasn’t sure how that had happened. She had run over to him as he was being levitated out.

“Yes…” she replied weakly.

“Whose?...wait, you didn’t, you know…” Seamus asked, looking concerned. Hermione was confused, then knew where he was going.

“Of course not,” she snapped. “It’s not mine,” she admitted weakly. “Can you move? You are blocking the stairs?”

“Not yours? Then whose is it?” Ron asked quietly, not moving.

“Harry’s…Now MOVE!” she yelled, desperate to get out of here.

“Why in Merlin’s name is Harry Potter’s blood on your robe sleeve?” Dean asked.

“Because he saved my life and got badly hurt by the troll! Happy now! It’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” She shoved Ron roughly to the side and ran into the dormitories. She felt the tears begin to form in her eyes.


What!” Daphne yelled, her shrill voice echoing in the ears of Albus Dumbledore. “A mountain TROLL! That Harry FOUGHT! And he’s in the Hospital Wing now!”

Albus winced at the scarred woman’s fury, which seemed to radiate even through the transcontinental-floo fire. He should have realized she would react this way to being informed about the near demise of the boy she considered her son.

“I want to come up there right now!” she yelled.

Albus shook his head. “You cannot, Daphne, you know the rules.”

“What? Is Harry lying unconscious in the Hospital Wing not considered an ‘emergency circumstance!’” Daphne raged. “I want to see my son now!” Albus realized he was correct based upon Daphne’s choice of language. She is so protective of the boy. Perhaps it would be best if she knew of the Prophecy. Else she might murder me if I waited until events had been set in motion.

“Daphne, there is something I have neglected to tell you. Something about Harry that you must know before we go any further.”

Daphne paled. “What?” Dumbledore didn’t answer. “TELL ME!” she yelled, fear showing in her voice.

“Before Harry’s birth, a Prophecy was given by our very own Sybil Trelawney…”

Daphne scoffed, “That old fraud?”

“Yes, the very same. As much of a fraud as she may be, there in a reason that I have kept her in my employ. For though she may not know it, she is more valuable to Lord Voldemort than anything else. Because she holds the key to his immortality.”

Daphne was getting impatient. “What the bloody hell does this have to do with my son!

Albus took a deep breath, and recited the Prophecy from memory.

THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPORACHES…BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM…BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES…AND THE DARK LORD SHALL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT…AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER…FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES…THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES…

Daphne had gone entirely pale, and was taking deep, shaky breaths. “Please tell me that it isn’t Harry, that it isn’t true.”

Albus sighed. “I cannot, for I would be lying. The scar that is upon his forehead is the ‘mark’ referred to. Lord Voldemort chose him, rather than the other possibility, Neville Longbottom…”

Daphne perked up, “Alice and Frank’s son?”

“Indeed. But it is certain that he is not the Child of Prophecy. Lord Voldemort chose the one most like himself; he chose the half-blood over the pureblood…Are you alright Daphne?”

“Of course not, Albus. I’ve just been told that the most important person in my life is destined to confront the most evil and powerful wizards in magical history. HOW COULD I POSSIBLY BE OKAY!” she yelled, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

Why Harry…why did it have to be Harry…” she mumbled into her hands.

Albus looked on in sympathy. “He has time yet. Still, the time draws closer that he will face his destiny for the first time. But he cannot know of this. You understand that.”

“Of course I do!” Daphne said, insulted at being taken as an idiot, “He’s a child, he cannot have such a weight placed on his shoulders. He’d have no childhood. But what can we do, Albus? What can I do?”

“We can only treat him as normally as possible. However, I fear destiny may interfere with our plans. He cannot be kept safe for long.”

Daphne started. “Voldemort knows the Prophecy?” she asked. Albus shook his head. “He knows only what his spy told him, the first part. He knows that the child that could defeat him was born at the end of July, 1981. That is why he went to kill Harry that night.”

“Who was the spy?” Daphne demanded.

Albus winced, then cursed himself for his indiscretion. Of course she would want to know the identity of the one whose information led to the death of James and Lily. And left Harry an orphan. “I cannot say, Daphne.”

“You know,” she said matter-of-factly. “You know, he or she is still alive, and you are protecting them. Because you know that as soon as I find out, I will kill him, Azkaban be damned.”

Albus gave a weak smile. “You always were brilliant, Daphne. Alas, I cannot tell you for those reasons.”

“I was the best Auror of my generation for a reason, Albus. Attending only a few months of Auror School before being thrown onto the front lines isn’t typical.”

“Indeed, it is not. Would you like to visit Harry when he awakes?”

“Yes,” she said through the tears, sniffling slightly. “I would very much like to. Thank you for telling me Albus. I had to know…”

“Goodnight, Daphne. I will send word as soon as I know.”

“Goodnight, Albus,” Daphne said weakly. The Hogwarts Headmaster’s head vanished, and Daphne stood there silently, staring into the fire. Then she weakly walked over to her favorite chair and collapsed, burying her head in her hands.

Then she wept.


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