Chapter 39: Epilogue

“Professor, I think I should return these two items to you.” In the headmaster’s office, Harry pulled out the Jumping Cauldron and the Philosopher’s Stone; though Dumbledore had never asked, he did not wish to keep them long.

“Oh, Harry.” Dumbledore remained calm upon seeing the Philosopher’s Stone, but his expression stirred slightly when he noticed the Jumping Cauldron.

“This must be a small gift from the Doctor,” he adjusted his spectacles, studying the tiny foot carefully, “I think you should keep him.”

“Did you assume I appeared at the Ministry yesterday because members of the Doctor’s plan rescued me?” Harry said. “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood.”

Dumbledore’s expression grew complex.

“To escape danger, Zhang Qiu cast a spell that transported us to the afterlife,” Harry said. He had pondered it all night and finally decided to tell Dumbledore the full truth.

“It was a vast, white, misty world where all magic failed,” Harry said. “We only escaped because the Jumping Cauldron guided us—it led us through a stone archway and brought us directly beneath the Department of Mysteries.”

Dumbledore’s sharp gaze fixed on Harry. Slowly, he uttered one word: “The Deathly Hallows. You know about them, don’t you?”

“Yes, my Invisibility Cloak was the one you passed on to me, wasn’t it?” Harry said. “I’m truly grateful—it kept me warm through many hungry nights.”

Dumbledore smiled. “I suppose you’ve understood the lesson, haven’t you?”

“You’re right—the Deathly Hallows mean little to us,” Harry said. He believed Dumbledore had once possessed all three, for he had found the most elusive Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak had passed through his hands.

“Where did you find the Jumping Cauldron?” Dumbledore examined the small pot.

“Antioch Peverell’s old home,” Harry said without hesitation. “I also found his notebook.”

Harry pulled out the notebook he had found and handed it to Dumbledore as well.

To their surprise, the moment Dumbledore opened its cover, the fragile pages crumbled into dust, sliding off the leather binding like ash.

“We shouldn’t have been so curious about forbidden knowledge,” Dumbledore said with a relieved smile. “As for the Jumping Cauldron, I suspect it’s a product of alchemy and potion-making combined, representing an extremely high level of mastery.”

“But it appears Antioch modified it,” he tapped the tiny foot with his wand, and the foot retracted instantly. “Now, the Jumping Cauldron has lost all other functions—it can only locate Muggles.”

“You may keep it,” Dumbledore said again. “Even if it doesn’t jump, it’s still an excellent cauldron.”

“I understand. Thank you,” Harry nodded. If it weren’t an unpredictable magical object, he would be glad to own such a family heirloom cauldron.

“As for the Philosopher’s Stone,” Dumbledore said, “give it to Zhang Qiu—as compensation for dragging her into this mess.”

Harry frowned. Both he and Neville had been dragged into danger, yet Dumbledore said nothing about Neville’s injuries—now he demanded compensation for Zhang Qiu.

What could Zhang Qiu even do with the Philosopher’s Stone? It was merely a political gesture to the Xuan Jun. Harry understood the move—and he didn’t like it.

But Harry also knew Dumbledore had no choice—even if it was unfair to Neville.

“Alright, I understand,” Harry nodded obediently.

“And this is your compensation,” Dumbledore produced an album. “I wrote to all my old friends, asking for photographs.”

Harry opened the album. Every page was filled with wizarding portraits—each one showed his parents smiling, moving, alive.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said, voice thick as he tucked the album away. “This is exactly what I wanted most.”

A few days later, exam results were released. Harry’s Defense Against the Dark Arts grade was E—perhaps Quirrell’s personal revenge, since all his other subjects were O.

Ron and Neville’s grades were far better than expected, but compared to Harry’s, they barely passed.

Notably, Quirrell gave both Harry and Hermione from Gryffindor an E, while giving Draco Malfoy from Slytherin an O—making him the top student among the three, and finally defeating Harry Potter as he had wished.

On the day Neville was discharged, the term’s final day, they would hold a feast in the Great Hall and announce the House Cup winner.

Harry and Ron didn’t want to sit too early; they stayed with Hermione and Hannah in the hospital wing, accompanying Neville through Madam Pomfrey’s final checkup.

When they left the hospital and entered the Great Hall, Harry saw it had been decorated in Slytherin colors—green and silver everywhere, with the house serpent’s banner hanging high on all sides.

“Another year gone!” Headmaster Dumbledore quieted the buzzing hall, rising with an enthusiastic tone. “But before you feast on these delicious foods, let an old man bore you with a few words. What a delightful year it’s been! I hope you’ve found your minds richer than before… you still have a whole summer to make them beautiful and empty again!”

“Now, as I understand it, the House Cup must be awarded. The final scores are: Hufflepuff 352, Ravenclaw 426, Gryffindor 432, Slytherin 472.”

A roar of cheers and leaps erupted from the Slytherin table. Harry immediately saw Draco clapping wildly at his goblet—he rarely looked so unguardedly joyful.

“There, there, well done, Slytherin,” Dumbledore said. “But recent events must also be accounted for.”

“Neville Longbottom and his friends bravely uncovered a dark plot and protected the safety of the school,” he said. “I therefore award fifty points to Neville Longbottom—for his great courage and fearless spirit!”

Harry noticed Neville froze. He looked at Dumbledore with a complex expression; Dumbledore winked at him.

The Gryffindor table nearly exploded. All students stood, shouting and cheering—except Neville, who remained standing, staring blankly. He broke eye contact with Dumbledore and looked down at his hands.

“Now I hold my own fate in my hands,” he whispered.

“Hey, Neville, why aren’t you happy?” Ron, jumping and waving his arms, noticed something was off. “Why are you crying? That’s not like you.”

“Yeah, does tough guy Neville cry?” Harry grinned, but inside he knew—Neville was weeping with joy, because Dumbledore had finally recognized him.

“My grandmother once said, people grow weak because of love—but that’s not shameful,” Neville smiled. “Only those who understand weakness can become strong. Always just, always humble—that is Neville Longbottom.”

“Alright, enough of that!” Harry mimicked Zhang Qiu’s sarcastic tone and pulled Neville into the cheering crowd.

“Then,” Headmaster Dumbledore finally calmed the uproar—because even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating Slytherin’s defeat, making the scene especially grand.

“We must change the decorations here!”

He clapped his hands. Instantly, the green decorations turned red, and the silver turned gold.

The great Slytherin serpent vanished—replaced by the Gryffindor lion. Professor Snape reluctantly shook hands with Professor McGonagall. When his eyes met Harry’s, Harry knew Snape still felt that twisted mix of fondness and distance toward him. But Harry didn’t care—he only needed to learn Snape’s potion knowledge exactly as it was.

Back in the dormitory, Harry glanced at his cupboard. Who could have guessed this ordinary little pot was the legendary Jumping Cauldron?

He gave the Philosopher’s Stone to Zhang Qiu. She promised to hand it to her Master during the summer. More precisely, her Master’s senior—she said her Master’s senior was a genius alchemist; if he studied this pinnacle of Western alchemy, perhaps he could spark something new.

Together they boarded a boat to the countryside, then reboarded the Hogwarts Express back to King’s Cross Station. An ancient wizard stood at the ticket gate, letting them pass two or three at a time to avoid overwhelming the Muggles.

Harry saw Neville’s grandmother—a witch wearing a tall hat. Beside her stood a stern-faced Eastern man—likely the teacher Neville had mentioned, Li Ao.

Ron’s parents were as warm as ever; Ron’s little sister happily shouted Harry’s name. Harry turned to look for Sir Crawley, but saw only the impeccably dressed butler Bates.

At this moment, the three roommates gathered for their final farewell.

“But what about Nicolas Flamel?” Ron suddenly worried at last. “He may have lived on thanks to the Philosopher’s Stone—now that it’s gone, won’t his life end?”

“It’s fine,” Neville said, pointing to the Eastern man beside his grandmother. “Li Ao once told me what true life is: live your short life fully, and leave your achievements for the next generation to inherit. That’s how humanity grows—repeating, slowly.”

“Yes, that’s truly remarkable,” Harry nodded in agreement. “Precisely because life is finite, our lives are so extraordinary.”