Chapter 37
Once everyone had lain down, Madam Pomfrey went first to check on Albert. After all, Ryan appeared to be in worse condition.
Albert had always suspected that his physical strength was somewhat lacking. What compensated for this flaw, however, was his remarkable talent in magic. Yet after the situation he had just been through—where he was forced to remove his body-strengthening charm to cast another spell—it became clear that he couldn't afford to neglect his physical conditioning any longer. From that moment on, he resolved to train his body, determined never to find himself in such a vulnerable state again.
After Madam Pomfrey cast a diagnostic spell on Albert, she let out a frustrated sigh.
"I honestly don't understand why the Headmaster allows so many dangerous things within this school," she said sharply. "And as a result, students get hurt. Just look at you, Albert. Two fractured ribs, cracks in your arm bones, and bruised lungs—none of which are minor injuries. Granted, someone had the sense to cast healing charms on you, and your body has already started recovering, but had you not received immediate attention, the consequences could have been far more severe."
Albert knew this well. If he hadn't at least partially healed himself while still trapped in that chasm, the outcome might have been disastrous.
"But I'm healing now, aren't I?" Albert asked, trying to sound hopeful.
"Yes, yes, your injuries are stabilizing," Madam Pomfrey admitted. "Still, you're only eleven years old, and your body needs full recovery. You'll be staying here overnight, under observation. That's final."
"Alright," Albert nodded obediently.
"Good. Now, drink your potion," she said, handing him a cup filled with a pungent herbal brew commonly used for healing fractured ribs.
Albert took the cup and downed it. Madam Pomfrey watched him closely.
"I could've used magic to mend your bones in seconds, but that method puts too much strain on your body. Considering how well you're already healing, it's better to take the slower, safer route with potions. You'll need a full night's rest here in the infirmary."
She then turned her attention to Ron, while Professor Dumbledore entered carrying Harry on a floating stretcher he had summoned with a wave of his wand.
"Professor, is Harry alright?" Ron asked, visibly anxious.
Dumbledore assured them there was no need to worry. Harry had suffered magical shock but only needed rest to recover.
Relieved, Albert said goodbye to Hermione, who was returning to the dormitory, then turned to Ron, who was being kept overnight as well. Madam Pomfrey suspected he might have a mild concussion and insisted on keeping him under observation.
"Goodnight," Albert said.
"Goodnight," Ron replied.
The boys turned over and fell asleep.
The next morning, Albert visited Harry, who was still unconscious. He stood quietly beside the bed, offered a silent prayer, and then left with Ron.
The following days were uneventful. One notable event was the final Quidditch match of the year. Gryffindor suffered a complete defeat against Ravenclaw—there was no reserve Seeker or Chaser available. Still, the school didn't seem too disappointed. After all, the team had done their best.
Every day at noon, Albert and the others would visit the hospital wing to check on Harry. On the third day following their adventure, the day before the end-of-year feast, Albert arrived at the infirmary once more.
This time, Harry had finally awakened.
Madam Pomfrey allowed them five minutes to talk. The three of them gathered eagerly around his bed, where Harry sat propped up on pillows.
"Harry, are you feeling better now?" Albert asked, gently stopping Hermione, who was about to fling her arms around Harry.
"Much better," Harry replied with a small smile. "Madam Pomfrey says I'll be discharged this afternoon."
"Oh, Harry," Ron exclaimed, "we all thought—Dumbledore was so worried—everyone at school is talking about what happened! What did happen down there?"
Sometimes the truth is stranger than the rumors. Harry told them everything: the Mirror, the Philosopher's Stone, and Voldemort.
Albert and the others listened closely, hanging on his every word. Each time Harry reached a dramatic point, Ron and Hermione gasped in alarm. When he spoke of the face beneath Quirrell's turban, Hermione let out a silent scream.
"It seems that man has returned," Albert concluded gravely. "And we can't afford to let our guard down again."
Everyone nodded solemnly.
"So, the Stone's gone now?" Ron asked. "And Voldemort—he's not dead?"
"I asked Dumbledore the same thing," Harry said. "He told me Voldemort didn't die—not really. I'm not sure what it means… Does it mean we'll have to keep living in fear of him coming back?"
Harry hesitated. "Dumbledore said the thing in Quirrell's head was Voldemort. And he died—because of me, somehow. But I don't really understand how that happened. Anyway, let's just… not talk about that anymore."
Albert spoke up thoughtfully.
"Harry, I believe Dumbledore knows exactly what he's doing. He's been guiding us, teaching us in his own quiet way. Maybe he believes we're destined to face Voldemort again one day. But we're no longer clueless children—not after everything that's happened."
"Dumbledore truly is the greatest wizard of our time," Albert added. "But what you need most right now is rest. Tomorrow's the end-of-year feast. I've heard from the older students that it's one of the most magical days at Hogwarts. You have to be there."
Just then, Madam Pomfrey entered briskly.
"You've been talking for nearly fifteen minutes. That's quite enough. Out you go—let the patient rest," she said firmly.
Albert and the others quickly said goodbye and left the hospital wing, leaving Harry to rest peacefully.
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