Candescent

Harry Potter was an idiot.

That was my opinion anyway. You know, once he realised his friends weren’t coming with him, he should’ve turned back. Facing off against Voldemort on his own? Bad idea. So even though my heart was thumping in my chest, it was with the thought of family that I turned around halfway down the corridor from which I came, and looked towards the distant door where I could hear the soft sounds of speaking. Quirrell’s voice was distinct; Harry’s was just the shaking voice of an eleven year old child who wanted to believe he was a brave Gryffindor. Maybe he was. But I'd heard from many of my acquaintances that Gryffindor bravery went hand in hand with stupidity.

“Flee” was the only word echoing in my mind since every time I took a step closer to the door, I was losing less and less hearing to the blinding pain that kept shooting through my scar on my cheek. But I persevered, if only to see what monstrosity would befall the Dark Lord with his latest encounter with the Boy-Who-Lived.

Neither of them noticed when I slipped into the room. Voldemort and Harry were facing the mirror of Erised and Quirrell had his face masked in an image of downright pain, staring at the floor. So, huddled in the back corner of the cleared room, I was almost invisible. Almost.

I tried to hear past the pain to what they were saying. But I didn’t need to hear to notice the significant weight that was in Harry’s pocket. So when Voldemort voiced my thoughts, I wasn’t expecting it and I barely had time to jump back into the shadows as Harry ran back towards me. As a wall of fire rose up in separation between us, I smelt the ends of my dark hair burning off as Harry became trapped in the ring with the Dark Lord.

Endless scenarios were running through my head. My wand was in my hand, but I couldn’t break through the fire. Sure, spells were flying from my mouth, but they weren’t doing anything against the enchanted flames. For all that practise, all those exams, they were useless in real life against a real dark wizard. Harry and I were anomalies of the luckiest kind to have survived this long. And for that reason, I wouldn’t leave him. We had started this together. And if it was going to end, we would stand as family.

With that renewed strength I broke through the fire, singing the outer layer of my clothing and burning the skin of my arms but I ignored the pain that turned to shocked numbness. Harry was lying, almost unmoving, on the stairs, the philosopher’s stone only inches from Voldemort’s crumbling hand.

In words that I myself didn’t understand, I muttered an incantation that send fiery light at the chest of my Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and blew him into nothingness. But it was that which was left behind that frightened me most. Voldemort – or at least his essence, flew towards me, flew towards Harry. I couldn’t tell. But Harry was unconscious on the step and I ran to him calling out over and over, “Harry! Harry!”

My hands were shaking with unbridled fear. “Ennervate!” I tried, again and again, it didn’t work. But when I heard the door open and footsteps appear, I pulled my wand upon the person only to discover it was Professor Dumbledore. I dropped my wand in joyous relief only to see the image I had seen in the Mirror of Erised following in his wake. Surely this couldn’t be possible…

“Professor,” I began to mumble as another apparition formed into existence behind him flying through my chest and knocking me to the ground – into darkness.

xxxxx

“She was the one who saved you,” Dumbledore’s voice floated into my sleep. Was I alive then?

“How could she?” a child’s voice, Harry’s voice, responded. “She’s a Sly-”

He cut himself off. Undoubtedly Dumbledore’s expression had told him not to continue. “Her actions proved what great worth Slytherins have to our school.”

I felt like rolling my eyes. Of course Dumbledore would try to use this to make a house unity point. Unfortunately, I couldn’t roll my eyes, but I did manage to unintentionally roll myself onto my side. Still unable to move my limbs and fight away the haze of sleep though, the movement I hate instinctively made to brush my hair into my face never happened and I began to fret.

“I should thank her,” Harry mumbled.

Don’t look at me. Dear wizard God, please don’t look at me. My scar is showing.

A shadow crossed over me and I felt like crying. I didn’t want anyone to know who I was, especially Harry. But when I felt a delicate hand feeling my temperature I breathed out in relief. It was only Madame Pomfrey, and Dumbledore had informed her a while back.

I sank back into unconsciousness for a while after that. When I woke up, Madame Pomfrey informed me that I'd been drifting in and out for an entire day. And that was it. My ordeal was over.

My year was over.

Funny thing was, the entire thing was a blur. Madame Pomfrey said it could just be an after affect of what happened in the dungeons facing off against Quirrell and that my mind would settle itself down eventually. Funny thing was I didn’t think it would; and I didn’t mind.

It was kind of like brain damage I guess. Maybe that final confrontation had done something permanent to my mind, but I had to admit I was relieved. I hated being top of the class. It was too much attention. Maybe next year Hermione would be the one tutoring me.

The last spell I'd uttered to Quirrell’s decaying body still was unknown to me. That was along with a lot of added knowledge I'd uncovered this year. Who knew how much I'd catch up over the holidays, if at all. All I knew was that those voices in my head were gone, my scar’s pain had disappeared and my mind was cleared of unnecessary knowledge.

So the next day when I was standing beside Blaise at Hogsmeade station it was with a happy kind of relief that I said goodbye to Hogwarts. I had the hope that next year would be better, and that was all I could do for the moment. Dumbledore said he’d keep an eye over me during the holidays and I suppose that was enough for now.

Maybe next year, I'd be all right.