Chapter 40: The Apple in the Hospital Wing, A Conversation About Life and Death (Patreon)

The black smoke inside the underground stone chamber had not yet fully cleared when a crack like thunder split the air at the entrance.

Albus Dumbledore strode into the ruins in silver-white robes with trimmed edges, the Elder Wand gripped in his hand.

The greatest white wizard of the age took in the floor strewn with bone ash, the unconscious Harry, and the two Slytherin first-years standing side by side before the shattered mirror. Behind his half-moon lenses, a flicker of rare shock and lingering dread passed through those bright blue eyes.

Raven met the old headmaster's gaze without so much as a ripple in his expression. He stepped forward and steadily held out the heavy crystal in his palm, its whole body glowing with a deep blood-red light. "I… this belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore looked at the warm, flawless red stone resting in the boy's hand and stayed silent for a full five seconds.

The old headmaster slowly took the Philosopher's Stone and laid a hand gently on Raven's shoulder. His voice was low and solemn. "You have saved far more than you can imagine, Raven. Hogwarts owes you a debt beyond measure."

…

The next afternoon, the sun was bright and warm. It streamed through the tall arched windows of the hospital wing and scattered golden patches of light across the floor.

The air was heavy with the smell of disinfectant and the sweet scent of pumpkin pasties.

Harry, a thin bandage wrapped around his head, sat propped up in bed, chewing away on the Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans Ron kept passing him.

On the next bed, Hermione was buried in a thick copy of Medieval Wizarding Case Law, still grumbling nonstop about how reckless the two of them had been.

On the single bed nearest the window, Raven lounged against his pillow in a clean white silk shirt, looking refreshed as he leafed through a stack of freshly delivered parchment letters.

In truth, between [Mana Abyss] and the cushion of the Wind Spirit Amulet, he hadn't taken so much as a scratch last night. It was only that Madam Pomfrey flatly refused to let any student who had gone into danger in the chamber below leave her sight, and she had pinned him to the bed and made him drink a large cup of invigorating tonic.

Snick, snick. A faint sound of peeling came from beside the bedside cabinet.

Draconia had dragged over a high-backed armchair and sat primly beside Raven's bed.

The young lady had changed into a fresh pale-green embroidered short cloak, and the teardrop silver pendant at her throat glittered in the sunlight. At the moment, she was clutching a small, carved silver folding knife and awkwardly trying to peel a green apple.

Her knifework was clearly far worse than her ingredient-cutting in Potions class. The peel she had cut away was shockingly thick, and she had pared off more than half the flesh along with it.

"If you'd cut another two millimeters deeper, Miss Malfoy," Raven said, folding the letter shut and turning to look at her, a teasing note in his voice, "this apple would be nothing but a core."

"Shut up, Capet!" Draconia's little face flushed pink, and, embarrassed and furious, she shoved the pitted, half-sized hunk of apple at him. "Be glad you got anything at all! If I weren't grateful that you shielded me from that strange wind down there… this young lady would never peel fruit for anyone as long as she lived!"

Raven laughed, took the oddly shaped piece of apple and bit into it. It was crisp and juicy.

Watching him swallow, Draconia's faintly furrowed brow quietly eased, and the corner of her mouth curled up where no one could see. Still, she kept her tone businesslike and haughty. "The term-end results just went up in the Entrance Hall. In Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration exam, I got the only Outstanding in the whole House… except for you, of course, you perfect-score freak."

The young lady lifted her chin slightly, a small spark of pride in her eyes. "Next term, I'll beat you in Charms."

"Then I'll be looking forward to it," Raven said with a smile.

Just then, the infirmary doors swung open. Dumbledore walked in with a spring in his step, a bit of lemon drop sugar still clinging to his robes.

"How are you feeling, children?" The old headmaster pulled up a chair and sat down, looking kindly at Harry and Raven in their beds.

Harry swallowed his mouthful of beans and couldn't wait another second. "Headmaster, what happened to the Stone? Voldemort, he—"

"The Stone has been destroyed, Harry." Dumbledore smiled serenely. "Nicolas and I had a long, heart-to-heart talk, and we both agreed it was the best choice. He and his wife have set aside a small stock, and once their affairs are in order, they will make their way to the end."

Harry gaped at him. "They… they'll die?"

"For a sound, mature wizard, death is no more than the next great adventure." Dumbledore took off his half-moon glasses and wiped them, then turned a deep gaze on Raven, who was leaning against the headboard.

"As for Quirrell last night, an accidental magical backlash took his life. And the shade that clung to him has escaped, Harry. He is still wandering somewhere in the unknown wilds. But so long as Hogwarts has young people who hold fast to principle and courage, his ambition has no hope of succeeding."

The old headmaster rose to his feet. His gaze swept over Draconia, sitting quietly nearby, and a look of genuine gladness surfaced in his eyes. "Well then, Madam Pomfrey says you may all be discharged. Go and change, little ones. Tonight's end-of-year feast would not be complete without its guests of honor."

…

By evening, the Great Hall had been transformed.

Huge silver-and-green banners for Slytherin hung from the ceiling, each bearing a coiling serpent.

Thanks to the staggering points Raven had earned in Potions and Transfiguration throughout the year, Slytherin still held the top spot on the points tally, at least for the moment.

When Raven and Draconia walked into the Hall side by side and took their seats at the head of the long table, the whole Slytherin table broke into low, fervent applause of its own accord.

After a full year of tempering, no one dared to see Raven as a "fallen noble" anymore. He was Slytherin's uncrowned leader, and he had earned it.

At the staff table, Dumbledore smiled and tapped his goblet.

"Another year gone!" The old headmaster's booming voice echoed through the Hall. "Before we announce the House Cup, I believe certain recent events must be counted in the final scores."

The Hall fell silent at once.

"First, to Mr. Ronald Weasley," Dumbledore said with a wink. "For the finest game of wizard's chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, in which he displayed astonishing tactical command… forty points to Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor table erupted in shrieks of delight, and Ron's whole face turned the color of raw liver.

"Second, to Miss Hermione Granger, for keeping the calmest and most objective logic in the face of raging flames… forty points to Gryffindor!"

"Third, to Mr. Harry Potter, for showing pure nerve and outstanding courage beyond the ordinary… fifty points to Gryffindor!"

The applause from the lion table nearly lifted the ceiling. Draconia, however, had quietly clenched her hands at her sides, biting her lip nervously.

"Fourth," Dumbledore said, turning his gaze to the Slytherin table, "to Miss Draconia Malfoy. In the face of mortal danger, she held fast to her trust in an ally, cast aside prejudice, and showed the extraordinary sense of responsibility a true pure-blood family ought to have… forty points to Slytherin!"

Draconia froze, and a startled, joyful light flooded her eyes. Beside her, Daphne smiled and patted her shoulder.

"And last," Dumbledore said, his voice slowing, his eyes settling deeply on Raven, "to Mr. Raven Capet. When darkness descended, with matchless magical mastery and the heart of a scholar who sees through to the truth, he stood alone and turned the tide when all seemed lost, and he safeguarded the future of this entire castle… sixty points to Slytherin!"

The roof of the Hall nearly burst under the applause and cheering!

Slytherin, by an overwhelming margin, had claimed the House Cup once more!

But this time, there was none of the old hostility and name-calling between the Houses.

At the Gryffindor table, Harry and Ron were raising their pumpkin juice to Raven from across the Hall in salute. At the Slytherin table, the older students, for the first time ever, lifted their glasses toward several Gryffindors opposite.

At the long table, Draconia held her goblet, her cheeks lit by the warm candlelight until they looked as translucent as white porcelain.

The young lady stole a glance at the composed boy beside her, and at last she could hide it no longer. A radiant, sweet smile bloomed on her lips.