Samee-ur/hp_example_data_new · Datasets at Hugging Face

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quick --"
"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," said
Dumbledore. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."
"Then who does? Sir, I --"
"Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.
Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realized he must be in the
hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next
to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.
"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What
happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a
complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your
friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to
send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam
Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated
it."
"How long have I been in here?"
"Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved
you have come round, they have been extremely worried."
"But sit, the Stone
I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor
Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to
prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say.
"You got there? You got Hermione's owl?"
"We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it
became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just
left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you."
"It was you."
"I feared I might be too late."
"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer --"
"Not the Stone, boy, you -- the effort involved nearly killed you. For
one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has
been destroyed."
"Destroyed?" said Harry blankly. "But your friend -- Nicolas Flamel --"
"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted.
"You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had
a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."
"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"
"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then,
yes, they will die."
Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry's face.
"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas
and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long
day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great
adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As
much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings
would choose above all -- the trouble is, humans do have a knack of
choosing precisely those things that are worst for them." Harry lay
there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the
ceiling.
"Sir?" said Harry. "I've been thinking... sir -- even if the Stone's
gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know- Who --"
"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear
of a name increases fear of the thing itself."
"Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back,
isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"
"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking
for another body to share... not being truly alive, he cannot be killed.
He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers
as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his
return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to
fight what seems a losing battle next time -- and if he is delayed
again, and again, why, he may never return to power."
Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt. Then
he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can
tell me... things I want to know the truth about...."
"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing,
and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall
answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which
case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."
"Well... Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried
to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the
first place?"
Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.
"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not
now. You will know, one day... put it from your mind for now, Harry.
When you are older... I know you hate to hear this... when you are
ready, you will know."
And Harry knew it would be no good to argue.
"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"
"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot
understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your
mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to
have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone,
will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell,
full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort,
could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person
marked by something so good."
Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill,
which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found
his voice again, Harry said, "And the invisibility cloak - do you know
who sent it to me?"
"Ah - your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought
you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful things... your
father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food
when he was here."
"And there's something else..."
"Fire away."
"Quirrell said Snape --"
"Professor Snape, Harry." "Yes, him -- Quirrell said he hates me because
he hated my father. Is that true?"

quick --"

"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," said

Dumbledore. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

"Then who does? Sir, I --"

"Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.

Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realized he must be in the

hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next

to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What

happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a

complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your

friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to

send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam

Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated

it."

"How long have I been in here?"

"Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved

you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

"But sit, the Stone

I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor

Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to

prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say.

"You got there? You got Hermione's owl?"

"We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it

became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just

left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you."

"It was you."

"I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer --"

"Not the Stone, boy, you -- the effort involved nearly killed you. For

one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has

been destroyed."

"Destroyed?" said Harry blankly. "But your friend -- Nicolas Flamel --"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted.

"You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had

a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then,

yes, they will die."

Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry's face.

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas

and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long

day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great

adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As

much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings

would choose above all -- the trouble is, humans do have a knack of

choosing precisely those things that are worst for them." Harry lay

there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the

ceiling.

"Sir?" said Harry. "I've been thinking... sir -- even if the Stone's

gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know- Who --"

"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear

of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back,

isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"

"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking

for another body to share... not being truly alive, he cannot be killed.

He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers

as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his

return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to

fight what seems a losing battle next time -- and if he is delayed

again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt. Then

he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can

tell me... things I want to know the truth about...."

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing,

and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall

answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which

case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well... Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried

to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the

first place?"

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not

now. You will know, one day... put it from your mind for now, Harry.

When you are older... I know you hate to hear this... when you are

ready, you will know."

And Harry knew it would be no good to argue.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot

understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your

mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to

have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone,

will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell,

full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort,

could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person

marked by something so good."

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill,

which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found

his voice again, Harry said, "And the invisibility cloak - do you know

who sent it to me?"

"Ah - your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought

you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful things... your

father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food

when he was here."

"And there's something else..."

"Fire away."

"Quirrell said Snape --"

"Professor Snape, Harry." "Yes, him -- Quirrell said he hates me because

he hated my father. Is that true?"