For the next few days, Hogwarts existed in a strange, uneasy hush.
Word spread fast—Harry Potter was in the hospital wing.
No one knew the details.
Rumors multiplied like Cornish pixies: cursed mirrors, secret duels, dark magic gone wrong. Professors shut them down swiftly, but curiosity only grew.
And yet…
No one noticed something far more mundane.
Ron Weasley, Missing
Two days after Harry was admitted, Neville Longbottom froze mid-step in the corridor.
"…Wait," he muttered, eyes widening.
"Ron hasn't been to class."
No dormitory.
No meals.
No bragging.
That alone was suspicious.
Neville reported it to Professor McGonagall, who stiffened immediately and marched to Dumbledore's office.
Minutes later—
Dumbledore stood before the third-floor corridor.
Silence.
Then realization struck him like a Bludger.
"…Oh dear."
Down on the giant chessboard, half-buried beneath a shattered knight statue, lay Ron Weasley—unconscious, dusty, but very much alive.
Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I truly am getting old."
With a flick of his wand, the rubble lifted, and Ron was gently extracted and transported straight to the hospital wing.
Ron Wakes Up
The next morning, Ron's eyes snapped open.
"…Did you see that move?" he croaked.
The hospital wing immediately filled with noise.
By lunch, half the school had heard the tale.
According to Ron Weasley:
He had singlehandedly defeated a magical chess army. The knight statue collapsed because it feared him. He had strategically allowed himself to be crushed to let Harry advance. And yes—he was "probably the youngest chess grandmaster Hogwarts had ever seen."
Each retelling grew longer.
More heroic.
More impossible.
Madam Pomfrey threatened to hex him silent.
Harry Wakes Up
Two days later, Harry stirred.
His head ached. His body felt heavy. But he was alive.
The first thing he heard—
"…and then I told the knight, 'checkmate, mate,' and it just exploded—"
Harry cracked one eye open.
Ron, animated and grinning, was surrounded by listeners.
Harry closed his eyes again immediately.
"…I'm going back to sleep," he muttered.
Ron didn't notice.
Dumbledore's Half-Truths
Later that evening, the curtains around Harry's bed parted.
Dumbledore sat beside him, calm as ever.
"How are you feeling, Harry?"
"Sore," Harry admitted. "And… confused."
Dumbledore smiled gently.
"You were very brave. Professor Quirrell attempted to steal the Philosopher's Stone. You stopped him."
Harry frowned.
"Quirrell? Not Snape?"
"Severus has many flaws," Dumbledore said carefully, "but betrayal is not one of them."
Harry hesitated.
"There was… something else. Something dark."
Dumbledore's eyes flickered—just for a moment.
"Yes," he said softly. "Voldemort was involved. Only briefly."
Not a lie.
Just not the whole truth.
"The Stone is safe," Dumbledore continued. "Destroyed."
Harry relaxed slightly.
"And Ron?"
Dumbledore sighed faintly.
"Ron was… overlooked. For which I owe him an apology."
Harry snorted despite himself.
Dumbledore stood.
"Rest, Harry. Hogwarts is safe—for now."
As he left, Dumbledore paused, glancing back.
Lucien's name went unspoken.
But in Dumbledore's mind, one truth rang louder than any prophecy:
There had been far more protection in that chamber than Harry ever knew.