The Road Ahead

He looked down at his hands. "Voldemort was possessing Quirrell's body, and when I touched them… they burned. And when I hit him with the mirror, he fell onto me. And I… I burned him, Susan. I burned him until he was dead."

He looked up at her, and although he knew Hannah and Neville were watching and listening, he didn't care. The only person in his eyes was Susan.

"Susan… I don't feel bad about doing that. I wanted him to die. Does that… am I a bad person?"

"Harry…" the brunette mumbled. She then leaned in and hugged him. Neither said anything for a long time, until she finally released him.

"Harry, you are not a bad person," she assured him. "You may have hurt somebody, but he… I hate to say it, but he deserved it. And nobody can blame you for not knowing your very touch would scorch the professor or You-Know-Who."

"My parents were killed by the Dark Lord," Susan told Harry. "Maybe not personally, but it was his minions who did the deed at his orders. If I had the same chance to hurt the person who'd harmed my family… I would have done the same."

"Really?"

"Harry, doing something bad doesn't make you a bad person. Do you regret it?"

"No," Harry said with a shake of his head. "He was… Voldemort is evil."

"Right. Now, are you going to go around and hurt somebody else when you get out of the infirmary? Are you going to start slapping people and setting them on fire?"

"What? No!" Harry protested.

"Then don't worry about being a bad person. Because you're not," Susan told him firmly. "And maybe… maybe the guilt will hit you hard later. You're… I don't claim to be a medi-witch, but you could still be in shock. Perhaps it just doesn't seem real to you. But whatever happens, know that I'm on your side."

"We're all on your side, Harry," Neville interjected, and Harry looked over at him. The other boy was blinking the sleep out of his eyes, but there was a steely determination in them.

"I agree with Susan. Vold- You-Know-Who was a monster. A bad man. And honestly, he wasn't really alive at all, so you couldn't have killed him in the first place. I mean, living people don't just literally attach themselves to others in order to survive. As for Professor Quirrell… well, was he even who he was supposed to be after having the Dark Lord latch onto him? And since You-Know-Who was after the Philosopher's Stone, he must have been the one who was hunting unicorns in the Forbidden Forest, trying to prolong his miserable existence. So you could consider those flames you made a result of the unicorns' cursed blood finally taking its toll."

Harry nodded slowly. That made sense to him. Why had his touch triggered such a bad reaction in the first place? As Neville said, it was entirely plausible this was just a result of the unicorns' curse.

But Harry had the feeling there had to be more to strange phenomena. Some sort of deeper explanation for why Harry's touch alone had done so much harm to the possessed Defense professor. He'd seen other students accidentally brush up against the man's hands in class when he handed back homework, and they didn't illicit such a volatile reaction.

Curiously, a hand wandered up to his scar. It no longer burned or ached. But thinking back on it, the scar had throbbed the closer he was to Voldemort during the fight in the corridor. And it'd done so even more painfully after the turban was removed.

'There's a connection between my scar and Voldemort,' Harry realized. Edward had said something like that, hadn't he? The only mark on him after being hit by the unavoidable, unblockable, unstoppable, Killing Curse being this lightning bolt shaped scar.

Seeing Harry's fingers brush against his scar caused Susan to feel a pang of regret and sympathy for him, but also empathy. He was just like her, after all. An orphan. But unlike him, she loved her aunt. Harry? He never mentioned his family if he could help it.

At first she'd thought Edward was related to the Boy-Who-Lived given how much Harry spoke of him, but no, apparently he'd been a Squib who'd grown up near the Weasleys according to Ron, and he'd moved off to London to live as a Muggle. That he and Harry had bumped into each other was a completely coincidence. Regardless, Susan was glad he had somebody to care for him when he left school for the summer.

"Well, at least you won't miss the end of year feast," Hannah said, interrupting both Susan and Harry's thoughts. "Can't wait to see the expression the Slytherins make when they loose the House Cup to us Puffs! They already lost the Quidditch Cup to Gryffindor, and despite Snape's best efforts, we've been getting points left and right!"

"I dunno, Flitwick gave us forty points last night," Neville said smugly, causing Hannah to gasp.

"No! That takes you out of third place and firmly in first!" the blonde Hufflepuff groaned, clutching her head. Then, she got a determined look on her face. "No choice, we have to go do something good in front of a teacher to get some last-minute points! Come on, Susan!"

Hannah grabbed her friend by the arm and dragged her out, Susan offering a quick apology and a "See you later!" before being hustled out.

Neville laughed in amusement at their departure, before a loud rumble rang out through the infirmary. He looked around, confused and startled by the loud noise, before turning towards Harry, who blushed and looked down at his bedsheets as his stomach roared in hunger.

Madam Pomfrey had heard Harry as well, and quickly bustled over. "Ah, you're awake. Good. No complications for either of you."

"Can we go get some breakfast?" Neville asked hopefully, and the matron nodded.

"Yes. Please don't go fight any more Dark wizards, though."

"No promises," Harry said. A faint snort escaped the nurse before she could help herself.

"Just like your father," she muttered, before glancing at Neville. "Do try to be more like yours, Mr. Longbottom."

"What do you mean?" Neville asked, and Harry listened eagerly as well.

"Mr. Potter, your father was something of a rascal, not unlike the Weasley Twins, though with a larger group of friends," Madam Pomfrey explained, taking pity on the boys upon seeing their expressions. "And as for Mr. Longbottom, your father was well-known for constantly trying to curb the Marauders' antics during his time as a Prefect."

"He was a Prefect?" Neville inquired.

"The Marauders?" Harry asked at the same time.

"Yes to your question, Mr. Longbottom. And the Marauders were what your father called his group of troublemakers, Mr. Potter," Madam informed them. "Now, you're both healed, and breakfast should still be being served in the Great Hall. Run along!"

She ushered the boys out of the infirmary, and let them leave, though both boys shared a disappointed look. They so rarely got to hear about their parents that it was always a treat to learn even a little bit about them.

"You know, I bet Professor McGonagall knows a bunch of stories about our parents when they were our age," Harry said slowly, and Neville perked up at that.

"Yeah… yeah, you're right! I'm sure if we asked, she'd tell us a few stories!" Neville said excitedly.

This time however, it was Neville's stomach which growled loudly in demand of sustenance, and Harry chuckled at the embarrassment that crossed his face.

"I think Madam Pomfrey had a good idea about food. And maybe we'll run into our House mates while we're there. Come on, Nev," Harry said, and the two hurried off down the halls.

As he went down the hallway, he thought back on the events of yesterday and earlier in the morning. Harry felt he'd gotten closer to his friends, but he also had a sneaking suspicion that had not been the last time Voldemort would show himself, or that Harry would get involved with the Dark Lord.

'I'll be ready next time,' he vowed. 'I won't flail around helplessly! I'll be able to fight! And I will protect everyone!'

Voldemort wouldn't know what'd hit him!

'Although, where did this red rock in my pocket come from?' Harry couldn't help but wonder in bewilderment, as he pulled it out of his robe's left pocket, before shaking his head and putting it back into the pocket and out of his mind, completely forgetting for the moment that he'd already seen the stone before in the mirror Voldemort had been carrying.

And so, the Philosopher's Stone was ignored and forgotten in the hubbub surrounding Voldemort's return, and only Dumbledore would wonder where it had gone when he went to inspect the mirror and Quirrell's remains.

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