A New Mission

George appeared to be in the Great Hall. He had no idea how he'd got there but didn't feel the need to question it. He was sat at the end of the Slytherin table and a mountain of neatly presented food surrounded his silver plate. This amount was only seen during important feasts such as the Sorting Hat Ceremony.

"Aren't you gonna eat that?"

George turned to his right and saw Grant in a pointy black hat tucking into a juicy steak. He could have sworn Grant wasn't there a second ago. The nearly bald boy was gesturing with his fork towards George's plate.

"Eat?" George questioned. "Am I meant to be eating?"

Grant almost spat out the chunk of beef in his mouth. He appeared to find George's question amusing. George didn't see why. Was he meant to be here? He didn't remember walking to the Great Hall. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember much at all.

Grant wiped the gravy dripping off his chin and laughed, "ha, good one George. I nearly choked."

"Come on George, eat something already? You don't have long before the desserts are served."

A new voice came from George's left. He turned to find Quinton sitting beside him, also eating a steak. Was he there before? George wasn't sure. He didn't feel sure about anything. He did have a meaty flavour lingering in his mouth, had he been eating? George looked down and saw his plate was filled with food. His hand was holding onto a chicken leg. Oh, so he must have been eating. Funny... he had no recollection.

"What's going on? Why am I here?" George murmured.

Quinton put his knife and fork down and pointed towards the professor's table, "it's the End of Term feast, remember. Dumbledore is about to give his speech."

George heard the sound of a bell ringing. It was quiet and yet clearly audible. Both the sound and Quinton's finger converged at the same location. McGonagall had just tapped her spoon against her glass, getting the entire room's attention. Speaking of which, George only just realised the hall was full of students, both young and old. They finish their conversations and watched as Dumbledore rose to his feet.

The headmaster held a warm smile and held his arms out, "another year, gone. And now, as I understand it, the house cup needs awarding, and the point stand as thus."

All the students leaned forward eagerly in anticipation. For a reason George couldn't fully understand, they all seemed to care a great deal about winning the house cup. Didn't they know it meant nothing and reset every year?

"In fourth place, Slytherin with three hundred and twelve points."

The Slytherin table fell silent in shame while the other tables provided a few consolation claps. George didn't feel like the score sounded right. Didn't Slytherin normally lead in points? Shouldn't it be in the high four-hundreds?

"In third place, Hufflepuff with three hundred and fifty-two points."

The claps were quite lethargic after that announcement. However, the Hufflepuff students were all smiles. They must have been satisfied with not coming last for once.

"In second place, Ravenclaw with four hundred and twenty-six points."

By a matter of deduction, the winner was known and the Gryffindor students made that clear with a couple of hoots and howls. The Slytherin students became even more devastated. It was one thing coming last, but to let Gryffindor win was an utter humiliation.

"And in first place, with four hundred and seventy-two points, Gryffindor house."

The Gryffindor table burst into cheers, their excitement was clear to hear. They had finally won after so many years of being second best. Even the other houses, bar Slytherin, looked happy at this result. Some of the Slytherin students covered their faces in shame and George was not an exception. Although, he was suffering from more than a damaged pride. He felt wrong, this place was wrong. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of why.

Dumbledore gave the Gryffindors time to celebrate before continuing to speak, "yes, yes, well done Gryffindor, well done Gryffindor. However, recent events must be taken into account. And I have a few last-minute points to deduct."

Everyone looked surprised by this announcement. Last-minute deductions weren't heard of before. A tiny bit of hope returned to the Slytherin's eyes as they lifted their heads.

"To miss Hermione Granger. For taking advice from those who wish to exploit her. I deduct fifty points."

An audible gasp spread through the room. Fifty points were rarely given or taken away. That meant Gryffindor had lost their lead and were sitting in second. The Ravenclaw students were quick to realise what this meant and could barely hold back their joy.

"Second, to Ronald Weasely. For not following your instincts and avoiding the imposter. I deduct fifty points."

Yet another fifty points were taken off Gryffindor. The Slytherin students could hardly believe their ears. At this rate, Gryffindor was going to lose another place.

"To Harry Potter. For pure ignorance and an outstanding inability to differentiate between an ally and a foe. I deduct Gryffindor house sixty points."

With that, Gryffindor had lost second place and was sharing the last place with Slytherin. Even though they weren't winning, the Slytherin students were ecstatic. Their archrival had fallen to their level. Beating Gryffindor was now within reach. All it would take was one more deduction and they'd be last.

"And finally. It takes a great deal of gullibility to befriend a back-stabbing spy, but a great deal more to befriend a heartless monster. I deduct ten points from Neville Longbottom."

"Assuming that my calculations are correct, I believe that a change of decorations will be in order", Dumbledore announced while looking up at the bewitched ceiling.

He clapped his hands and the Slytherin banners hanging from the rafters began to change. A gust of wind blew past them and they morphed into the Ravenclaw crest.

Dumbledore declared, "Ravenclaw wins the House Cup."

The Ravenclaw table stood up to celebrate but was overshadowed by the explosion of cheers coming from the Slytherin table. Against all odds, they had beaten Gryffindor and restored their pride. Hundreds of hats were thrown into the air as the Slytherin students jumped to their feet. George remained sat down with a vacant expression. The absurd nature of this place was hurting his brain. None of this was meant to be happening, he just knew it. If this went on much longer then he might be sick.

"Come on, George, stand up with us and celebrate! We didn't lose to those Gryffindors", yelled Grant.

George was pulled to his feet by the cousins and could see past the Slytherin table. The Gryffindors were ripping off their hats and throwing them to the ground. Clearly, they'd felt cheated with the last-minute deduction of points. There was one frizzy-haired girl who didn't seem to mind. She was slumped over the table with wide unfocused eyes. She looked like... Hermione?

Finally, George remembered something. Didn't she die? Then why was she here? Why was George here? Wasn't he on the third floor in the chess puzzle room? The ground started to shake as George became more self-aware. The other students and professors didn't seem to notice the sudden earthquake but George struggled to stay on his feet. The shaking came in waves like bombs were exploding in the distance.

The frequency and intensity kept on increasing with every subsequent tremor. Whatever was creating the explosions was either getting bigger or closer. The plates of food fell off the table and the floating candles started to drift apart. All the while, no one other than George was reacting. It was like they were unaware and unaffected.

Just as the tremors felt like they were about to bring the roof down, the earthquake ended. The silence was followed by two dark shadows rising from outside the Great Hall's stained glass window. A bolt of lightning temporarily illuminated the massive scaly heads. One emerald green, the other ash black. They were both the size of a family car and had eyes that glowed in amber light. One of them looked directly at George and bore its razor-sharp teeth.

Then a huge muscle-laden wing blocked out the starry night and smashed into the Hogwarts castle. The defences fell like tissue paper as glass and stone fragments were blasted into the hall. George hid under the table, but his fellow students didn't move. It's like they couldn't see the danger they were in. He watched as Grant and Quinton kept cheering until several two-foot-long shards of glass sliced them into ribbons. A spray of blood splattered against George's face and the cousin's body parts collapsed to the floor.

Once the thunderous crashing sound died down, the room fell completely silent. The cheers had obviously stopped but there wasn't any screaming either. George looked around from under the table and could only see rubble and broken children's bodies lining the ground. It was a massacre. Fortunately, the tables were thick enough to save George from the same gory fate.

Another tremor shook the hall's paved floor. It sounded like an African elephant flopping onto the professor's table. George looked through the table's cracks and saw the massive creature's wings and t-rex-like feet barely fitting in through the destroyed window. It crawled over the professor's mashed remains and stared at the headmaster's pedestal.

Besides George, Dumbledore might be the only survivor. Although, that may not be for long. His lower body was trapped between a boulder and the golden pedestal. His arms were pinned and blood was pouring out of his mouth, staining his beard red. The creature stared at the headmaster briefly before taking a step forward. It planted its foot on top of the boulder and Dumbledore's body was quickly reduced to a red puddle.

The creature kept advancing and flipped the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables across the room. They slammed into the Great Hall's entrance and caused a minor collapse. The only way George could escape was now blocked. While he was thinking of alternative options, the creature stopped right beside the Slytherin table and hunched down. George was sure this was it, his life was over. But instead of looking under his table, it appeared more interested in the Gryffindor table.

George's curiosity got the best of him, so he stuck his head out to see what it was doing. He saw both the creature's head's staring down at Hermione's body. Miraculously, she hadn't been affected by the explosion and was still laying limply on the table. The creature carefully raised its wing and extended one of its claws. Then it began to brush Hermione's hair like it was trying to wake her up.

George suddenly felt a profound sense of sadness. His heart felt like a horrific emotional trauma had been unearthed and was tearing it apart. It took his breath away and caused tears to roll down his face. George crawled back and clenched his chest. This sorrow, it was too much for him to handle. It hurt in ways he'd never felt before. How could he make it stop?

"You... do... not… deserve… this… pain… You... have... not... earned... it."

A low growl of a voice forced its way into George's head. It was English but sounded like it had come from a wild animal. The accent, if it could be called that, was broad and gravelly.

"She… was... meant.. to... live... this... time... She... deserved… better."

The Slytherin table was hoisted into the air, revealing George underneath. The creature held the table aloft and stared down at George the same way it had done in the mirror. George felt anger and revulsion practically emitting out of its four amber eyes.

"You… must… make… this… right."

The voice commanded such authority that George couldn't help but grovel. Resisting was not an option. He knew from the bottom of his core that this thing was above him. No matter what it said, he must comply. However, he didn't even know what he was agreeing to. Make this right? What was wrong?

"You… will... do... better!"

Blood began to pour out of George's ears as he hurried to lower his head in submission. He didn't know what to do, but he will do it. If it's the last thing he did, he will do it.

"Good… Now… wake… up!"

George looked up just in time to see the table being slammed down. The last excruciating sensation he experienced was of his skull being smashed open like an egg.

George jolted awake and lunged forward. He was laying in the Hogwarts hospital wing with a privacy curtain wrapped around his bed. The light from the morning sun gave the isolated space a calming and tranquil ora. However, George wasn't able to bask in the relaxing environment. His heart was still racing and cold sweat was dripping off his forehead. There was only one thing running through his head. That was not a dream.

The thing he saw in the mirror was there. It felt, looked, and even smelt real. And unlike most dreams, George could remember every detail as clear as day. He didn't consider himself a creatively minded person. There was no way his mind could come up with that thing again. That feeling of overwhelming dominance was indescribable. Just thinking about it was causing George's body to tremble.

And it spoke. George had every word it said burned into his memory. The bone-chilling voice had a way of messing with his head. It was like… George was saying those things. Like its demands were his demands. It had to be some sort of mind control George hadn't experienced before. After everything he'd been through with Dumbledore and his patron, George did not think that was still possible.

Speaking of the Devil, the curtain was pulled to one side and Dumbledore appeared. He pulled the curtain shut behind himself and looked at George.

"Bad dreams?"

Seeing Dumbledore again reminded George of his mission. He rested his hand against his abdomen and felt a sharp palm-sized object rubbing against his innards. This all came as quite a surprise. Unless the stone had been substituted, it must still be inside him.

Dumbledore smiled faintly, "as far as the world knows, the Philosopher's stone has been destroyed. You may do with it as you wish."

George locked eyes with Dumbledore, "you're letting me keep it."

Dumbledore sat on the end of George's bed and whispered, "my only concern is preventing Voldemort from taking the stone. I feel confident that will not happen in your, or should I say your patron's care."

That is something George could agree on, but that didn't mean he believed Dumbledore.

"What about your friend, Nicholas Flamel? Won't he and his wife die without the stone?"

Dumbledore nodded, "indeed they will. Fortunately, they have enough elixir to get their affairs in order. They have lived for a very long time and have chosen to move on."

"Chosen their time to die", George said distastefully. "Not many can have such a privilege. I wonder at what price that came?"

It wasn't the smartest thing to do, but George had something he had to get off his chest. After learning about the stone's creation method taking millions of lives, his hatred for Dumbledore had magnified. All the months he'd known the truth had made concentrating on the mission extremely hard.

Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly, "so you know how the stone is made."

George scowled, "and now I know you do as well. All those millions of lives, just to make one stone. It is a wonder how you can still call its creator a friend. Doesn't it conflict with your oh-so-precious morals?"

Dumbledore averted his eyes, "time changes us all, George. Flamel is no longer the man he'd once been. It's a shame you couldn't meet him before he dies. I think you would share many of his sentiments."

"I doubt that."

"I guess we'll have to agree to disagree."

The conversation fell into a lull and Dumbledore took that time to reach for George's bedside table. There was a tray with several sweets and cards adorning it, one of which was written by Neville. Dumbledore picked up a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and began treating himself.

"I was most unfortunate in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one. Since then, I'm afraid, I lost my liking for them…"

George tried to rain in his hatred, "is there something else you need, professor? Otherwise, I'd like to have more time to rest."

Dumbledore finished chewing on one of the beans and his expression turned for the worse.

"There is one other matter I need to discuss with you. It's regarding your friend, Miss Hermione Granger."

George tried to remain as neutral as possible. He didn't want to give anything more away than necessary. Especially after what had happened in that weird dream.

Dumbledore sighed and removed his glasses, "poor Miss Granger passed away last night protecting Harry Potter. Harry and his friend, Ronald Weasley, are well. Physically at least. The death has taken a heavy toll on them."

Then Dumbledore stood back up and put the sweet box back where he'd found it.

"Her mother and father will be visiting the castle later today. Provided you have made a full recovery, I recommend you leave the hospital wing before they arrive."

George agreed. Even he wouldn't like to be in the same room as Hermione's parents when they see their daughter's body. He'd had quite enough sorrow for one day. Dumbledore turned to leave, but before he left, there was one last thing George wanted to confirm. Something deep down inside him wanted to know for sure the deed was done.

"Voldemort and Quirrel… Did I kill them?"

Dumbledore turned back and shook his head, "no, you did not. Voldemort had been surviving off unicorn blood for some time. Mere physical injuries wouldn't have been enough to kill him."

"So he's not dead?" George asked, a little surprised.

Dumbledore shook his head, "no, he is indeed dead. When I found Harry, he was strangling Quirrel. The boy was overcome after Hermione's passing. Moments later, Quirrel along with Voldemort turned to dust."

That wasn't the Harry George knew. To murder Quirrel, even if it was in the heat of the moment, was a lot for a child. Such a life-changing experience would affect his attitude and personality as he grows up. Decisions he'd make were no longer predictable, neither was the future. Fate had changed, and so had Harry Potter. George felt this might have been what the two-headed dragon was referring to.