Just as the two thought everything was over, Voldemort's remnant soul rose from the ashes.
He howled and lunged at Harry, trying to possess his body.
Unfortunately, that body already contained a fragment of Voldemort's soul—
there was no room for another.
Voldemort passed straight through Harry's chest, leaving him with a chilling, bone-deep cold.
When that failed, Voldemort turned toward Hermione.
But as he approached, the bracelet on her wrist flared with white light, burning his soul.
When Arthur had crafted this bracelet, he had woven in hairs from near a unicorn's horn.
A unicorn's horn is its holiest part, and the hairs that grow around it carry purifying powers.
Voldemort's soul, steeped in corruption and negative energy, could not withstand such holiness.
Trying to approach Hermione was no different from courting death.
"Argh! Remember this—I will return!"
The wraith screamed and fled the chamber.
Hermione slumped to the ground, too exhausted to care about the dirt, gasping for breath.
Harry's face mirrored hers—relief at surviving against all odds.
"Ha—Hermione! We did it. We defeated Voldemort."
"Yes… unbelievable, really. Two first-years beating the Dark Lord himself."
"It was thanks to you. You fought him for so long."
"No, the key was your protective magic."
"Protective magic? Hermione, do you know what just happened?"
"Yes. I think it was your mother's protection. Remember what my cousin said on the train?
Your mother's magic shields you from harm, and even reflects it back on your enemies."
"Mother…"
Harry turned to the shattered Mirror of Erised.
In the broken shards, he glimpsed Lily's face, watching him with gentle love.
"Harry, Hermione—are you all right?"
Ron's voice rang from behind.
"I brought Dumbledore."
The two turned to see the headmaster standing beside Ron, his expression full of concern.
"Children, are you unharmed?"
"We're fine, Professor," Hermione replied.
"That's good. From the looks of this room, a great battle was fought. Tell me what happened."
Hermione gestured for Harry to speak; she just wanted a moment's peace.
So Harry recounted everything they had seen and done.
"So it wasn't Snape who tried to steal the Stone—it was Quirrell?" Ron blurted before Harry could finish.
"Steal what?"
The cold, deadpan voice behind him froze Ron solid.
Turning stiffly, he saw Snape. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
Snape had heard the explosion and rushed here.
Today was one of his patrol days—he had actually been hunting for Quirrell.
Ever since Halloween, when he'd spotted Quirrell sneaking around the third floor, he'd been suspicious.
But instead of catching him, he had arrived just in time to hear a blast.
He scanned the chamber, his gaze landing on Harry.
"Where is Quirrell?"
Harry silently pointed to the pile of ash at Snape's feet.
Only now did Snape notice the heap of gray dust, with Quirrell's robes lying intact atop it.
"All right, Severus. Let Harry finish," Dumbledore cut in, eyes twinkling. He clearly wanted the full story.
Harry continued until the point where Voldemort's soul had fled.
"Professor Dumbledore, Voldemort isn't dead. He's back." Harry's voice trembled.
"Yes. But that is a burden for us adults to worry about. You, Harry, must rest now."
Dumbledore smiled gently, trying to ease his fears.
"Ahem. May I ask… what on earth happened here?"
Another voice joined them.
The chamber's door opened again—
and in walked their long-absent main character: Arthur.
He had logged out after obtaining the Mimic Tear's ashes in Nokron.
At leisure now, he had planned to take Hermione out for a midnight snack.
But the locator charm he'd left on her showed her deep underground.
So he followed it here—only to find the place crowded.
"Cousin!"
At the sight of him, Hermione scrambled up and dashed forward, throwing herself into his arms.
Arthur hugged her, listening quietly as she chattered about everything that had happened.
Her tone brimmed with both pride and relief—
pride that she had fought Voldemort and won, and relief that she had survived to tell her cousin about it.
"Good. Our Hermione is amazing." Arthur stroked her hair, praising her.
He hadn't expected these three to clear the "first-year dungeon" behind his back.
Luckily, he had armed Hermione well—otherwise things might have ended very differently.
"It was all thanks to your gear and potions," Hermione admitted.
Without them, she would have been dead long ago.
"Yes, Harry already told me. Remarkable items… perhaps you might let me examine them sometime?"
Dumbledore's curiosity finally broke through.
The traces of magic in the chamber were unlike anything he recognized.
He suspected Arthur had inherited knowledge from some powerful sorcerer.
"Sorry. Family craft. Not for outsiders." Arthur dismissed him coldly.
The truth was, he just didn't care for Dumbledore.
He couldn't quite explain why—perhaps because he knew the old man was… fond of men?
He didn't discriminate, but preferred to keep his distance.
"Oh? Even if Miss Granger ends up responsible for the heavy costs of repairing Hogwarts' facilities?" Dumbledore teased.
"No problem. We're not short on money. Ron, bring Harry. We're going to rest."
Arthur lifted Hermione into his arms and walked out.
Watching the four leave, Dumbledore murmured,
"What an interesting young wizard."
Snape, hearing this, sneered.
"Shouldn't your attention be on your precious Savior? Why are you curious about another boy?"
"Severus, are you worried about him?" Dumbledore's tone was gentle but certain.
"None of your damn business."
Snape, uncharacteristically, swore.
"I think his judgment of you was right—an old bee obsessed with sweets."
With that parting jab, he stalked away.
Snape hated this side of Dumbledore most of all: cryptic words, half-explained riddles, sudden changes of topic.
"An old bee, hm? A fitting nickname. Ah, these young people—they never think to show kindness to the elderly. Leaving me to repair this place alone…"
Of course, his earlier remark about Hermione paying for the damage had been a joke.
This was Hogwarts—nothing a few Reparo charms couldn't fix.
And if one wasn't enough, then a few more would do.
Dumbledore bore no ill will toward Arthur.
He was simply curious.
At first, seeing Arthur's extraordinary talent, he had worried the boy might follow Voldemort's path.
But now, seeing Snape's unprompted concern for him, Dumbledore felt sure:
Arthur would never become another Dark Lord.
It was Voldemort's return that troubled him.
Still, that was fine—
for he had already begun nurturing Harry.
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