The morning after breakfast, we visited Harry again to check when he’d be discharged. Turns out it was tentatively set for the evening, provided Madam Pomfrey was satisfied with his test results. She was kind enough to let us stay for about forty minutes, but we didn’t get much of a proper chat in. We barely managed to ask how he was feeling and learned that Dumbledore had visited him the night before. Harry was just about to share more when Hagrid burst into the hospital wing, sweating buckets.
Without taking his eyes off Harry, he mumbled a brief hello to us, plonked himself on the nearest chair, and promptly started bawling his eyes out.
"It’s all my fault," he wailed, rocking back and forth while blowing his nose with deafening gusto. "I went and blabbed to that monster ‘bout Fluffy when I’d had a few drinks… And they nearly killed yeh! All ‘cause o’ that bloody egg. Hermione almost died too, and I… I…"
"Hagrid," Harry stammered, looking flustered, "don’t beat yourself up. It’s not your fault. Voldemort would’ve found out one way or another."
"Er… Don’t say his name, Harry," Hagrid shuddered, his wide eyes full of alarm. "You’ll bring bad luck."
"VOLDEMORT!" Harry yelled at the top of his lungs, glaring defiantly. We all froze, gobsmacked, and Madam Pomfrey poked her head around the curtain, frowning in disapproval. Even Hagrid stopped crying, letting out a couple of loud hiccups instead.
But Harry wasn’t done—he was clearly in a mood today. With the sort of dramatic flair Dumbledore would’ve been proud of, he declared, "I faced him. I saw his face, and I stopped him from stealing the Stone. So I’ll call him by his name. I—"
"Harry, does that crown of yours fit all right? Not too tight, is it?" I cut in, deadpan, taking advantage of his pause. I squinted meaningfully in Hermione’s direction, subtly hinting at his earlier blunder.
He choked on his words, falling silent and staring at me, wide-eyed. For a moment, an awkward, heavy silence filled the room, making everyone uncomfortable.
"Oh, Harry!" Hagrid suddenly exclaimed, smacking his forehead, lightening the mood. "I nearly forgot—I got summat for yeh." He handed Harry a book, which turned out to be a photo album. Harry looked visibly moved, and Hagrid blushed under the praise. Even Hermione, who’d buried her nose in the album, glanced up at me with doe eyes and whispered, "That’s so sweet."
The rest of the visit passed on a more cheerful note until Madam Pomfrey shooed us out.
Later that evening, just before dinner, Snape cornered me.
"Weasley. Follow me," he ordered curtly as he strode past, not slowing his pace as he headed for his office.
Once inside, he wasted no time. "I see you’ve decided not to follow my advice," he sneered as we sat down. He didn’t bother offering me tea—clearly, I’d fallen out of his good graces. "Your arrogance—or rather, your stupidity—will cost you dearly."
"It’s not stupidity, sir," I sighed, not keen on making an enemy of him. "I just don’t have much of a choice. And you’re wrong, sir," I added under his skeptical gaze. "I can step off the train anytime, but my whole family’s on it. And Hermione… she’s brilliant, stubborn, and a bit too Gryffindor for her own good. I can’t just leave her to die. I’d rather stick around and make a difference—or get help from an adult if things go south. They’d never do it themselves. They’d die for the cause first."
I looked him straight in the eye as I finished, only to notice something odd. Snape had gone completely still, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white. His face was unreadable—more so than usual—but for a fleeting moment, something strange flickered in his dark eyes.
And that’s when it hit me—his situation with Evans must’ve been similar. Brilliant. I’d really put my foot in it now.
After a long pause, he spoke, his voice icy. "Promise me, Weasley, no heroics. Keep me informed of your activities, heed my advice, and obey without question."
"Sorry, sir, but no," I said firmly. "I won’t be a snitch, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask. And no offense, but I don’t trust you enough to take orders, even if you did speak kindly of me to the Headmaster. Thanks for that, by the way."
"And why, pray tell, do you not trust me?" he asked with a faint smirk, settling back in his chair as if the conversation amused him. "What exactly did you take away from your meeting with the Headmaster to arrive at such conclusions?"
"That you were right, sir," I admitted. "The Headmaster knew someone would go after Potter as soon as he enrolled, and he made contingency plans in advance. The Stone was just a distraction for Quirrell, to keep him from outright trying to kill Harry. The whole obstacle course was put in place after that Quidditch match where you saved Harry. And this won’t be the last attempt on him—there’ll be something next year too. And when it happens, we’ll get a pat on the head and a few points for Gryffindor, despite the danger."
Snape stared at me with growing interest, then said softly, "Why, then, do you refuse to cooperate? Did I not tell you the truth and warn you of the risks?"
"Because I don’t agree with the Headmaster, sir," I replied candidly. "And you do. Quirrell could’ve been dealt with much more easily—just a few drops of Veritaserum, and he’d have spilled everything and been carted off to Azkaban. I don’t see why we had to let things drag out all year, risking students’ lives and giving Potter a migraine."
"Potter was never in any real danger," Snape countered, almost mockingly. "We were watching Quirrell closely."
"Right. And the troll?" I said, letting out a bitter laugh. "Harry and I had to tick off our Head of House just to get her to check the bathroom, or Hermione might’ve been dead already. And let’s not forget that nighttime jaunt in the Forbidden Forest."
"You showed remarkable Slytherin cunning back then, Weasley," he said with the faintest of smiles. "You’d have done well in my House, I think."
“A blood traitor in Slytherin?” I smirked. “You’re having a laugh, sir. Though, I suppose you got lucky—there’s only one brave idiot in the entire house. I promise I’ll come to you for help, sir,” I added when Snape merely grimaced at my joke, likely thinking of his blond-haired headache. “And now, if there’s nothing else you need from me, I’ll go pack my trunk, sir.”
“Off you go, Weasley,” he replied, waving me away. “And remember this—if you get underfoot, you’ll experience my wrath firsthand. But I will never refuse you assistance. Also, ten points from Gryffindor for your cheeky remarks.”
“Understood, sir,” I said with a nod, heading out. Honestly, the day had been drowning in drama, and it wasn’t even over yet.
That evening, just before the Farewell Feast, they finally let Potter out of the hospital wing. He showed up a bit late, shuffling in with his head down while the rest of us were already seated. The room went abuzz with whispers and curious stares, but he quickly scurried over, plopping down between Hermione and me.
We were all set to grill him for details, but Dumbledore saved him by rising from his throne and launching into a speech.
To be fair, it wasn’t much different from the book version. The only difference was that Gryffindor had climbed to second place instead of dead last, thanks to our points being restored.
“And so, another year draws to a close,” the Headmaster beamed, practically glowing like a Christmas tree. “Now, let’s tally the final scores and crown our champion.”
“Hufflepuff—360 points. Well done!”
“Ravenclaw—402 points. Excellent!”
“Gryffindor—420 points. Splendid!”
“And in first place, with 450 points—Slytherin! Hooray for Slytherin!” he announced, sparking a wave of cheers from the Snakes. “However, in light of recent events, it’s necessary to revise the standings.”
The room fell silent. The Slytherins, clearly sensing something dodgy coming their way, weren’t wrong.
“And so, we begin with Ronald Weasley,” the Headmaster continued, his voice positively dripping with pride. “For the finest chess match Hogwarts has ever seen and his unwavering loyalty to his friends—ten points.”
Our lot erupted in cheers. Fred and George leapt up and draped themselves over me like I was a human coat rack, while Percy stood on his chair, yelling at the top of his lungs, likely to make sure Penelope at the next table heard him:
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“That’s my younger brother, Ron! He won McGonagall’s enchanted chess game!”
I didn’t bother correcting him, didn’t tell him we could’ve just blasted the pieces to bits like Quirrell did. We hadn’t learned those kinds of spells yet. Instead, I threw a smug grin at Malfoy, who was glaring daggers at me.
“For Gryffindor bravery and nobility—ten points to Hermione Granger,” Dumbledore continued, met with thunderous applause. Hermione turned redder than a tomato and looked on the verge of tears, but the hall was still buzzing with excitement. Clearly, the other houses were loving Slytherin’s fall from grace.
“And finally, Harry Potter,” Dumbledore called out, making everyone hold their breath. “For his steely nerve and incredible courage—ten points.”
He raised a hand, silencing the hall instantly.
“It takes courage to stand up to your enemies,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “but just as much to stand up to your friends when defending the truth. Ten points to Neville Longbottom.”
Our table exploded with cheers as everyone pounced on Neville, smothering him in celebratory hugs. The poor lad looked both thrilled and terrified. The chaos might’ve gone on forever if Dumbledore hadn’t called us back to attention.
“And so, this year’s winner is... Gryffindor.” He clapped his hands, and the banners changed to red and gold. Snape gave McGonagall a limp handshake, his expression suggesting he’d rather drink poison, but he threw me a meaningful glance, curling his lips into a faint smirk. Honestly, sometimes it felt like he and I were the only sane people in this madhouse.
A war was brewing, dangers lurking around every corner, and all McGonagall cared about was the Quidditch Cup and the House Championship. Malfoy looked like he was fantasizing about Voldemort returning and gutting the entire Gryffindor table. Meanwhile, Dumbledore stood there, practically glowing with delight, as if he lived in some whimsical land of rainbows and unicorns.
----------------------------------------
The next morning after breakfast, Hagrid ferried us to the station in the boats. We gave him a proper goodbye and climbed into the train. As it pulled away, the thought of going home lifted my spirits. I’d see my family soon, and Luna too. Not even the upcoming conversation dampened my mood.
“Alright, Harry,” Hermione said impatiently, wasting no time once we were settled in. “Spill it. How did you manage to save the stone?”
“Well,” Harry began, “when Ron stayed with you, I went on. There was a troll, but it was either out cold or dead—I didn’t check,” he added quickly when Hermione gasped in alarm. “I just slipped past it.”
“And then?” she whispered nervously, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Then I found a room with a table and a riddle. Oh, Hermione, I saved it for you!” he said, rummaging in his trunk before handing her a scroll. “I think it was meant for you, but you didn’t make it…”
He trailed off, looking guilty as Hermione snatched it up and immediately started muttering excitedly under her breath.
“Looks tricky,” I commented. “How’d you figure it out?”
“I didn’t,” Harry admitted, grinning unexpectedly. “When I got there, the bottles were already smashed—except for three on the floor. I sniffed them and only recognized the wine. Then I reckoned the Headmaster wouldn’t set a trap to kill someone—it’s not his style. Thought it was probably a sleeping draught or something. So I just drank it.”
“Wait, seriously?” I gawked at him. “You just chugged some random potion?”
"Why just random, though?" Harry sounded a bit offended. "I did think it through. Those bottles, yeah, they were all knocked over, but still full—except for one that was nearly empty and had blood on it. That’s the one I took a sip from," he finished, looking rather pleased with himself.
"There is no way to figure out the answer now," Hermione cut in, clearly frustrated. "You’d have to know how the bottles were arranged. But I’ve worked out the principle behind it. Shame I never got to that part of the challenge. Harry, could I keep this scroll as a keepsake?"
"Course you can, Hermione," Harry said, smiling.
"So, what happened after that?" I butted in, impatient to hear the rest.
"Well, behind the door was this big hall, and there was the mirror—you know, the one I told you about? And in front of it... Quirrell. Ron, I owe you an apology," Harry admitted, looking me straight in the eye. "You were right—it wasn’t Snape; it was Quirrell. He said he’d been waiting for me and that Snape actually saved my life at the match."
"What? How’s that possible, Harry?" Hermione whispered, looking utterly flummoxed. "I saw him muttering!"
"He was casting a counter-curse," Harry explained. "You knocked Quirrell over when you ran down the stands."
"How fascinating, eh, Hermione?" I said with a smirk. "Imagine if it hadn’t been for your clumsy rush, there’d be nothing left of Harry but a scorch mark."
"Why d’you have to be like that, Ron?" Harry scolded, while Hermione’s eyes filled with tears again. "Don’t be nasty, even if you’re right."
"No, he’s telling the truth," Hermione sniffed, glancing up at us with watery eyes. "I’ve realised all I’m good for is hiding in the library. I’m utterly useless when it counts."
"Hey, it all worked out in the end," Harry said, giving her a warm smile. "Besides, you wanted to help."
"Right, let’s move on, then," I cut in. All this sentiment was starting to get on my nerves. "What happened next?"
"The stone was hidden in the mirror, and Quirrell couldn’t get to it. Then suddenly it was in my pocket, though I’ve no clue how. But the worst part," Harry added in a hushed tone, leaning closer to us, "was that Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort. He had a second face under his turban."
"That’s horrible," Hermione gasped.
"And then Voldemort realised I had the stone and told Quirrell to take it—and to kill me if he had to. When Quirrell touched me, though, he started getting these awful burns, screaming his head off. And there was blood everywhere. At first, I thought he’d killed whoever was guarding the stone before I got there, but it turned out he was already injured. Then he pinned me down and started choking me... and that’s all I remember."
"Snape wounded Quirrell," I said. "After I warned him, he ran to the third-floor corridor and set up an ambush. But thanks to you, Harry, Quirrell was expecting it and managed to dodge. Still, Snape got him. I found him later, half-dead in a pool of his own blood. So yeah, Harry, Snape saved your life again. Maybe now you’ll stop thinking he’s the villain here."
Judging by the stubborn look on Harry’s face, I wasn’t holding my breath for that. At least Hermione looked properly ashamed, staring down at her hands like she’d just been told off.
"Hmm... What about you two? What happened after I left?" Harry asked, breaking the silence.
"Not much," I said with a shrug. "After you went on, Dumbledore showed up. He conjured a stretcher for Hermione and opened the way to the Hospital Wing, then went after you."
"And he wasn’t surprised to see you there?" Hermione asked.
"Course not," I replied. "Dumbledore set the whole thing up for us—keys for Harry, chess for me, the logic puzzle for you. Even sent Harry the Invisibility Cloak. He wanted us involved."
"That’s ridiculous! I can’t believe it," Hermione huffed, her voice full of outrage.
"No, Hermione, Ron’s right," Harry said. "Dumbledore’s brilliant, but he’s always got a plan. I think he wanted to give me a chance to face Voldemort, to prepare me for what’s to come. And he probably knew we’d try to save the stone. Instead of stopping us, he let it happen, like some sort of test. Even the mirror—I reckon he made sure I found it, then taught me how it worked. It’s like he was testing me to see if I could handle going up against Voldemort alone. And I did."
"This is unbelievable," Hermione muttered, looking between us in shock. "If that’s true, you could’ve died, Harry!"
"We all could’ve," I said with a wry smile. Funny how Harry cottoned on to that faster than I did. Strange, too. For all his reckless bravado, the bloke had a good head on his shoulders when it counted. "And the funniest part? We didn’t even need to get involved. Dumbledore said Quirrell couldn’t have got the stone out of the mirror—it’d have trapped him there until someone caught him. If not for his injuries, he might’ve been able to take it from you, Harry. If not for that, though, you’d never have had the chance to fight the Dark Lord."
"Why don’t you just say his name, Ron?" Harry asked, frowning. "Dumbledore says we should always call things by their proper names. Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself. Even Dumbledore says ‘Voldemort.’"
"Because, Harry," I said patiently, "during the first war, his name was cursed. His followers used it to track down wizards and kill them. It’s better if you don’t say it outside of school—unless you fancy putting innocent people in danger. Dumbledore’s the most powerful wizard alive and spends most of his time in the safety of the school. The rest of us? Not so lucky."
"Is that true?" Hermione asked, sitting up straighter. "Then you’d better listen to Ron, Harry."
"Alright," Harry agreed reluctantly, but then his face broke into a cheeky grin. "But admit it—now that it’s all over, it was a brilliant adventure, wasn’t it?"
The rest of the journey was a laugh. The lads joined us, and before we knew it, time had flown by.
Later, after they’d left, I asked Harry for the Dursleys’ phone number. Hermione, watching me, decided to swap numbers with him too. I gave her the number for Dean’s workshop and told her I’d be there every day from ten to two. She promised to ring.
"Harry, I want you to come stay with us this summer," I said as we were getting ready to part ways. "Mum and Dad are alright with it. Dumbledore says you’ll need to spend some time with the Dursleys first, but we’ll keep in touch, and I can come visit you if you like."
"Thanks, Ron," Harry said, looking genuinely touched.
"And you should leave Hedwig and her cage with us," I suggested. "That way, she can fly to you if needed. From what you’ve told me, the Dursleys aren’t exactly owl lovers after that whole letter fiasco. Best not to wind them up too much, or they might not let you go anywhere."
Finally, the train screeched to a stop, and everyone piled out onto the platform.
"Look, Mum, it’s him! Harry Potter!" came Ginny’s excited squeal.
"Oh, forgot to mention," I said with a grin, "that’s my little sister. I’ve been writing to her about all our adventures, so now she thinks you’re a hero. Don’t mind her—she’s at that age where she needs someone to idolise. Last year it was me; this year it’s you."
Harry laughed awkwardly, his face going a bit red.
"Hello, boys," Mum said, smiling warmly. "Tough year, was it?"
"Yeah, you could say that," I chuckled, ruffling Ginny’s hair. "Hey, princess."
Ginny blushed furiously and cast a shy glance at Harry.
"Meet my friend, Harry. And this is my little sister, Ginny."
"Hi," Ginny whispered, barely audible, as she dropped her gaze. Girls could be funny like that—I never quite got them.
"And this is Hermione, our other friend," I added, as Hermione stepped forward.
"Thank you for the gifts and the invitation, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said politely. "But I’ve got to go now. My uncle’s probably waiting."
After saying his goodbyes, Harry headed towards the Muggle side with Hermione and me tagging along.
"Where’ve you been, boy?" came the booming, impatient voice of a massive, red-faced man in an expensive suit as we approached.
"Erm… Have a good summer, Harry," Hermione stammered nervously, clearly taken aback by the sight of Harry’s grumpy relative.
"Oh, don’t worry," Harry said, smirking mischievously. "The Dursleys don’t know we’re not allowed to do magic during the holidays. I reckon Dudley’s in for a fun time." He leaned closer to whisper, "They won’t know what hit them."
"Careful, Harry," I warned, frowning. "If you push it too far, they might stop you from calling us—or worse, keep you from visiting."
"Good point," Harry muttered, grimacing, though his mischievous grin returned almost immediately. "I’ll figure something out."
"Are you planning to test my patience all day?" growled his uncle, visibly losing his temper. Harry just winked at us before trudging off, dragging his oversized trunk behind him.
Hermione spotted her parents in the crowd, waved a quick goodbye, and dashed off to meet them. I made my way back to my family, and we Flooed home from the station.