(minor typing errors corrected, June, 2014)

Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Steve Jackson. I do not own Illuminati: New World Order or anything else Illuminati related in Mr. Jackson's games line. I am not H P Lovecraft. I do not own the Cthulhu mythos. I am not John Wyndham either, and I do not own anything triffid related.

Further Disclaimer: I am not a member of a secret illuminati organisation bent on world domination. But if I were, I concede I probably wouldn't admit it here.

Note: The following is loosely set in a universe where the worlds of Harry Potter and of secret global conspiracies have collided. Note that I said 'loosely'. Canon is a secondary consideration, in the series of glimpses into this particular setting where a different Harry goes to a somewhat different Hogwarts.

November, 1981

Vernon Dursley couldn't believe his luck.

Vernon Dursley was not a wizard. He knew of wizards, however, (although he had never found the need to mention that to Petunia) and got regular briefing papers on what was going on in magical Britain. Late last night an 'urgent fax' had come through from head-office in Zurich, in the form of a coded message for him. This morning, there on the doorstep, was his nephew, alongside the milk-bottles and a letter from Albus Dumbledore.

The daft old coot had no idea what he'd just done.

"Of course we'll take him, in, Petunia." Vernon beamed. "We can't let it be said that you ever neglected your duty to family. Now if you'll excuse me, but I have to contact head-office about the fax they sent me last night about widget supplies."

1981-1991

Harry Potter spent the next few years of his life seldom being able to believe his luck. Apparently he'd put a mid to long-term competitor of his uncle Vernon's firm temporarily out of business when he was little more than a baby, which made him exceedingly valuable to his Uncle Vernon. Sometimes Uncle Vernon took Harry and Harry's cousin, Dudley, to Zurich, to the secret headquarters of Uncle Vernon's employers, hidden underneath a seemingly innocent factory which manufactured cuckoo clocks for tourists.

Harry and Dudley weren't allowed to talk about these visits to Aunt Petunia, though. Aunt Petunia was 'unenlightened', and not supposed to think that Uncle Vernon was anything more than a mid-level employee in a drill-making firm. She wasn't allowed to know that Grunnings was in fact one of a number of 'front' companies for the Gnomes of Zurich.

Severus Snape returned to Hogwarts from a potion maker's conference in late 1989, scarcely able to believe his luck. He'd seen Potter of all people – Harry 'Boy-Who-Lived' Potter – attending the meeting with some other boy about his age who was deceptively muscled, and a large gentleman with a walrus moustache who was with the Gnomes of Zurich delegation.

Albus Dumbledore had thought himself so clever in placing Harry Potter with the Dursleys, and believed that the boy would grow up to be putty in his hands. Severus Snape seriously doubted that anyone who associated with the Gnomes of Zurich was going to jump through hoops any time soon simply because Albus Dumbledore said to do so.

All of a sudden, Severus Snape had decided he was quite looking forward to Harry Potter's years at Hogwarts.

"Remember, boy, if anyone asks, we kept you in a cupboard under the stairs, until the letters started arriving, and then we moved you into what had formerly been Dudley's second bedroom. And also keep in mind what Fizantali told you about teachers looking you in the eyes – especially the headmaster. Maintain your mind shields at all such times."

"Yes Uncle." Harry said dutifully. He paused and thought for a moment. "Is this headmaster 'Dumbledore' really such a threat that I have to pretend I had such a magic-free upbringing?"

"He's not a threat as such, boy, but he might cause a lot of extra work, if you don't handle him right – work and time which could be better spent fighting the plots of other organizations such as the Bavarians and Servants of Cthulhu. The Gnomes aren't by any means the only group which get their younger associates into Hogwarts."

Autumn term, 1991

As the Hogwarts Express sped north, Harry Potter watched the confrontation between Draco Malfoy and Ronald Weasley with interest. The two boys, whether their families had initiated them into the mysteries or not, were from rival branches of the Mustelid Conspiracy, a pretty minor organization in the Illuminati pecking order. Both Draco and Ron would almost certainly have been brought up to hate each other's families from birth though.

Sure enough, moments later, the insults were flying, and then the two boys were trading blows with one another.

"I think we'd better go find another compartment." Neville Longbottom said.

"Thank Merlin we got finally rid of the Granger girl." Neville said a couple of hours later. "I honestly thought she was never going to leave. When I said I'd lost my toad, I never actually expected her to help me look for it."

Harry and Neville had finally got a compartment to themselves secured with several privacy charms a pair of normal first year students should in no way have any kind of knowledge of.

"So who are you with?" Harry asked Neville. They'd recognised from the moment they shook hands that they were each members of fairly senior players in the world of secret global conspiracies.

"The Herbologists." Neville said proudly. "We specialise in assassinations and 'accidental' disasters. John Wyndham found out about us and one of our plans, and wrote a book inspired by it, which everyone thought was fiction. Triffids have been vastly improved since he was writing, however." Neville chuckled. "I've been practising blowing up cauldrons for months now. I'm hoping to put at least three other students in the infirmary before the end of the school year. Naturally, I'll have to take some hits myself, but I'm tougher than I look. And you?"

"The Gnomes of Zurich. Their long-term background is finance, but ever since the industrial revolution, they've been branching out into engineering and industrial sabotage. I have instructions to check just how 'tamper-proof' the school bludgers actually are." He frowned. "I've also heard Nicolas Flamel may have moved a decoy Philosopher's Stone into the school, which I've been instructed to keep an eye out for and anyone else interested in it."

"You Gnomes and your money…" Neville sighed. "The world could do very well without gold, or so my gran says, if at least fifty percent of the adult population didn't find jewellery so important. She's an honorary member of an oriental ninja group, by the way. She wouldn't ordinarily qualify for it, as they have a thing about gaijin members, but she once killed three men with nothing but a piece of straw and a couple of tiddlywinks, which was enough to get her in."

Harry frowned.

"I'm thinking we got rid of Granger too easily." he said, as a nasty thought belatedly occurred to him. "You don't suppose she's an illuminati member too? Maybe of one of the chaotic groups, or something like a Servant of Cthulhu?"

Both the boys shuddered.

After a very long sorting, the Sorting Hat eventually put Hermione Granger into Hufflepuff.

Neville and Harry, amongst those still waiting to be sorted, exchanged significant glances. Granger was about as much a Hufflepuff as they were. Of course Neville and Harry were both angling for Hufflepuff because it was the perfect excuse to keep a low-profile at Hogwarts, and to be seriously underestimated by everyone else.

"She might not be a Servant." Neville hissed to Harry out of the corner of his mouth. "She could be something relatively harmless like an Alexandrian. Before you argue, I said relatively."

"Yeah, well, almost everything's relatively harmless compared to the Servants."

"Quiet there!" Professor McGonagall instructed the two first years.

The Sorting Hat was apparently looking to make mischief this year. In between two very long arguments which resulted in it (finally, after illuminati grade threats) placing Neville Longbottom in Hufflepuff and Harry Potter in Hufflepuff, it placed a number of other students and sorted Draco Malfoy into Gryffindor. Draco Malfoy had gone very pale, and Ron Weasley, still amongst those waiting to be sorted, had smirked menacingly.

Of course, when the hat, at last nearing the end of the list of students, sorted Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley went a sort of sickly green which was quite appropriate given that it had just sent him to Slytherin.

"….And finally, the fourth, fifth and sixth floors of the Astronomy Tower are out of use due to rebuilding work after last year's defence against the dark arts professor's muggle science project went wrong, the Black Lake should be avoided on the sixth Wednesday in any given month since dredging activities take place then, and students must avoid the third floor corridor in the kitchen wing because an evil three-headed soul-devouring guard-dog there is guarding an item which is NOT the Philosopher's Stone. I repeat, pupils must stay away from the third floor corridor, and teachers must, too. Those who do not may well find a sudden and exceptionally messy death." The headmaster paused and peered at the piece of parchment which had his after sorting-feast speech written on it. He removed his glasses, polished them, and put them back on to see if that made any difference. "Hmm. I appear to have written something here to the effect that nitwits who blubber about oddment detentions will have their noses tweaked and have to serve their detentions in the Forbidden Forest instead helping the gamekeeper look after unicorns. Well that must have made sense when I wrote it down, but it certainly doesn't now." He shook his head. "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! You are dismissed to your houses!" He waved his wand and vanished in a puff of purple smoke.

"Absolutely crazy." Harry overheard an older Hufflepuff student, Cedric Diggory muttering and shaking his head.

In the meantime, several of the members of staff at the high table were trying to revive a turban-wearing teacher who had fainted away at the mention of the evil three-headed soul-devouring guard-dog.

"Who is that?" Neville asked, narrowing his eyes. "The teacher who 'fainted'?"

"Oh, that's Professor Quirrell, the defence against the dark arts teacher this year." Cedric said. "He used to be the muggle-studies teacher but he went away on holiday to vampire country for a year and, and came back to discover he'd been appointed to the position for this year in his absence. The job's supposed to be cursed, you know. Teachers never last more than twelve months in the job. I'm not surprised if he's a bit jumpy. Word is that the aurors who investigated the disappearance of the last defence professor couldn't find any more of him than filled a very small muggle matchbox."

"Professor Snape, the head of Slytherin and our potions master, as is his usual practice with first-year Hufflepuff students on Sorting Night, is here to shake you all by the hand, to welcome you to Hogwarts in the name of house unity." Pomona Sprout, the head of Hufflepuff announced. "The other houses, in their ignorance, decline his kind offer of a handshake for all their new students every year."

Neville and Harry exchanged glances. It had occurred to both of them that the reason Severus Snape did this was that he wanted to find out which members of Hufflepuff wished to declare themselves players in the secret war that raged for world domination.

"We need to see what Granger does with him." Neville mouthed at Harry.

"Longbottom." Severus Snape narrowed his eyes as he shook Neville by the hand. "Any special interests?"

"Herbology, sir." Neville replied.

Severus Snape rolled his eyes.

"Try not to make too much of a mess in my classes. And since you're partnered with Ravenclaw for potions, I suspect you may have your work cut out for you."

"I'm not afraid to take a hit for the cause sir." Neville replied. "And if what you say is true, it sounds like it should be fun."

"Ahh, Potter." Snape moved on, and shook Harry by the hand. "And what are your special interests, boy?"

"I grew up with muggles, sir, and I'm interested in corporate finance."

"A worthy cause." Severus Snape nodded. "And given one of the headmaster's private projects this year, there may be more to keep you occupied in the school than you thought, in terms of any people it might draw."

Neville and Harry both watched Professor Snape shake hands with Granger very carefully – as did a number of other Hufflepuffs, such as Hannah Abbott, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Susan Bones.

"…dentists, sir." they heard Granger saying.

"'Dentists'?" Justin murmured to the others. "Should we be worried?"

"It got away." Granger said, a manic glint in her eyes as the troll ran, full-pelt, away down the corridor, roaring in pain and clutching at its mouth. It had several syringes sticking out of it (apparently the dentists as a secret conspiracy were rather more technology than magic orientated, which had been reflected in Hermione Granger's upbringing and training), and when Harry, Neville, and Susan had come looking for Hermione, during a disruption in the Hogwarts Hallowe'en celebrations, they had found the troll half-comatose on the ground, as Granger scrambled over it, a metallic device clutched in her hands which was making a distinctive whirring noise.

The distraction provided by their arrival had allowed the troll to temporarily revive itself from whatever Hermione had done to it, shake her off, and to attempt to bolt.

"No it didn't." Neville sent a tripping jinx that only fifth years or higher should ordinarily know after the troll, sending it sprawling.

"But with all the racket it's just made, the teachers will be on their way." Hermione sighed. She switched off the metallic device and tucked it away in an inside pocket. "Come and help me retrieve the syringes, in case anyone shows up who isn't supposed to know about the secret war."

Professor McGonagall surveyed the fallen troll, whilst Professor Quirrell whimpered and then fainted. "Twenty points to Hufflepuff for exemplary hard work." she said.

"Uhh, couldn't you find some reason to deduct points, Professor?" Neville sighed. "It might be embarrassing if Hufflepuff won the house cup."

"I quite understand, Mr. Longbottom, rest assured." She looked around then erected a privacy ward. "I am, after all, a member of the Witches of Lerwick."

"Oh cool. Does the headmaster know?" Harry chipped in.

"The headmaster is either fiendishly cunning, or quite senile – or possibly both." the deputy headmistress said. "He certainly acts as if he has no idea that a world considerably more secret and ruthless than the magical one exists."

Harry and Neville had foregone the potential opportunity to spectate in the alleged midnight duel that half the great hall had heard was to take place between Draco and Ron to take advantage of any distraction it caused to sneak into where the quidditch equipment was stored.

"So much for 'tamper proof'." Harry said, poking an exposed bludger with his wand. "Is there anyone we don't like?"

"Quirrell. He's a useless teacher, and he's a member of the mediums." Neville said. "The way he's been acting so far this year I reckon he tried to channel something and got possessed by it instead."

Harry sniggered.

"That should make things interesting – we'll see if it affects the adjustments I'm about to make."

Several minutes later they were done, and they emerged from the stores to come upon Hermione Granger struggling futilely in the leafy clutches of the enlarged Lesser Spotted Lurker Vine which Neville had left outside to guard against snoopers.

"Cgggh… ffffpphhh… acccck!" Granger managed to choke out feebly trying to wave her wand.

"Oh look, Nev, your pot-plant seems to have caught something." Harry said.

"Fpphhht! Aaaaarrk. Crrrrrk."

"What's it worth, Hermione, to cut you loose?" Neville asked thoughtfully. "We were all warned not to be out after curfew because of just how dangerous the school could be at night – admittedly mostly because that's when those of us who count are out, busy doing stuff."

"Phh'ttt. Ftaghn! Thulhu. Xandria. D'you."

Hermione managed to get out, almost going purple in the face in the effort of trying to sound coherent.

"Illuminati word on it?" Neville asked.

"Mmmph." Granger sagged and acquiesced.

"Alright, you can join our gang then." Neville said. He patted the plant and made appropriate soothing noises, and it dropped Hermione almost instantly. She sprawled on the floor for a moment, until Harry helped her up.

"Don't worry, we've got a throat soothing potion we can summon once we're back in the dormitory." Harry assured her.

"Serves me right not doing 'nough homework." Hermione said, throwing a venomous look at the plant, as Neville restored it to its more usual size.

The Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match was disrupted when one of the bludgers veered off course and made for the stands, homing in on a certain inept defence against the dark arts professor.

For a man usually prone to stammering, Quirrell managed to suddenly produce a number of extraordinarily stammer-free pieces of magic to keep the bludger off him, until the headmaster showed up and blew the bludger into smoking ruin.

"Are you alright, Quirinus?" Harry, Neville, and Hermione (who had positioned themselves in prime-position along with a number of other Hufflepuffs to see the action) overheard the headmaster ask.

"I was just a…atta…tacked by a rogue bludger, h…head…ma…master. Does it look like I'm alright?" Quirrell retorted, before promptly fainting.

"He'll have the thespians or arts-critics after him before Christmas, if he keeps up embarrassing performances like that." Neville said sagely to his fellow Hufflepuffs.

"Blast. The batteries on my drill are flat again." Hermione uncharacteristically swore, inspecting them. "I'm starting to think I should have asked mum and dad for a clockwork drill for Christmas instead of a deluxe copy of Hogwarts, a History."

Christmas, 1991

Hogwarts castle was populated almost exclusively by Hufflepuffs over the Christmas holidays. It wasn't that most of them had nowhere to go, so much as that they had no intentions of abandoning the castle to be possibly taken advantage of by members of rival conspiracies for a fortnight.

"Ah, Hufflepuff, the house of the badgers. Such wondrous devotion and loyalty to the school." the headmaster said, glancing around the table at lunch on Christmas Day, and giving a very good impression that he had no idea at all what was really going on.

Harry, Neville, and Hermione spent most of their time glancing in the direction of a seventh year Hufflepuff by the name of Nymphadora Tonks.

"She's got to be a Servant." Hermione said. "Or a member of one of the other Old One cults. I checked her family tree and she's a Black in all but name, and her mother's called 'Andromeda'. The whole Black family is very big on star names."

"My godfather's a Black." Harry said in between mouthfuls of turkey. "They sent him to Azkaban for not having a dog-license. Either that or for being an illegal animagus. They couldn't make up their minds which it was and he refused to cooperate with their questions, so they sent him to go keep the dementors company without a trial. They were going to send him there for betraying my parents to Voldemort, blowing up muggles, and killing Peter Pettigrew, until someone noticed that all the evidence was purely circumstantial, so they got him on something else instead." He furrowed his brow. "I think they're waiting to see if he escapes, in the hope that that will settle the issue of which crime he was committing, but he seems happy to stay there, tormenting the dementors, for now. Apparently he's a master of casting a wandless tickling charm."

"Harry. What are we going to do about Nymphadora, though?" Neville reminded him of the subject in hand.

"Well she's a metamorphmagus. Is she registered?" Harry suggested.

"I don't think you can get in quite so much trouble for being an unregistered metamorphmagus as you can for being an unregistered animagus." Hermione said, looking doubtful. "I'll check, though."

"Well who would have thought it?" Hermione emerged from the depths of the library clutching an old statute book. "It turns out the penalties for being an unregistered metamorphmagus are even more draconian than for being an unregistered animagus. You're a genius, Harry." She frowned. "Why do you think that is?"

"An animagus has only one alternate form which they can use to disguise themselves." Neville pre-empted Harry. "A metamorphmagus has countless forms, and they pretty much all have the advantage of opposable digits able to grasp a wand and a voice box and tongue able to handle the words of spells."

"What he said." Harry added.

"The next question is, has she registered or not?" Neville asked.

Spring term, 1992

"Harry. I hope you're doing well?"

The spring term was underway and the headmaster had summoned Harry to his office. Harry had no idea what the old coot wanted. Maybe it was about the invisibility cloak? Oh, that was probably it.

"I'm sorry I didn't write you a thank-you note for returning the cloak, sir." Harry said. "I thought if you'd wanted a note, you would have given your name."

"What, oh?" Dumbledore looked momentarily confused. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the third floor corridor."

"The one you wanted us to stay away from at the start of the year, on account of danger of sudden and exceptionally messy death?" Harry beamed. "I'm staying away from it, as instructed sir. I'm sure that whatever you're keeping there is exceptionally safe, although you might like to do something about Hagrid. He keeps on saying things, and I think he'd do anything if someone were to offer him a dragon egg."

"Oh, right. Jolly good, Harry." Dumbledore seemed to sag slightly.

Harry had of course already bribed Hagrid with a couple of dragon eggs, just to make sure nobody else could get in and exploit that weakness.

He had also used his contacts with Grunnings to have an underground bunker installed underneath Hagrid's hut where he could discreetly raise two dragons without any danger of burning his hut down.

Hagrid thought Harry was the best thing since, well… Harry's mother… whom apparently Hagrid had been quite fond of in a purely platonic way.

"There's good news and then there's bad news." Hermione said.

Neville's arm was in a sling. He had just come from the infirmary after a potions class that morning where he had been partnered with the Ravenclaw, Terry Boot. Terry Boot was still in the infirmary. Terry Boot hadn't a clue how to cope with a Herbologist. In fact, despite being supposedly one of the most intelligent students in the year, Terry Boot probably had no idea what a Herbologist was, or at least not in the illuminati sense.

Hermione had popped out of school to raid one of the Ministry of Magic's records departments over lunch, whilst Harry had covered for her, in case anyone had come looking for her.

"Well give it to us, then, we can take it whatever it is, I'm sure." Neville joked.

"The good news is Nymphadora doesn't have any documentation at the Ministry to indicate that she's a registered metamorphmagus." Hermione said. "Not under her own name, nor any alternate names or nicknames I could think of. In theory she can be blackmailed, embarrassed, or otherwise got into trouble."

"I sense a particularly nasty 'but', coming…" Neville said.

"The bad news is, her father works for an organisation known to revere the Crawling Chaos." Hermione's face was grave.

Neville and Harry exchanged glances.

"Oh crap." Harry said. "She's an initiate of Nyarlathotep."

"Well that does explain the whole amazing-metamorphmagus-for-one-so-young thing." Neville added.

"She's probably a trainee priest. Or priestess. I get confused over the formal religious hierarchy of that lot." Hermione complained.

"They work for the Crawling Chaos, Hermione. They specialise in confusing the heck out of everyone else. Amongst other things." Harry said.

"The question is: are there any specific plots she's going to have on the go which we need to worry about?" Neville asked.

The other two looked at him.

"Okay, bad choice of words." Neville said. "Let me rephrase that. The question is: are there any specific plots she's going to have on the go which will target either us or our concerns directly?"

"Is she a member of a secret conspiracy?" Hermione asked.

Easter was coming up, and another first-year Hufflepuff student, Megan Jones, was in floods of tears.

"Apparently she's a member of a pony club." Neville said. "I'm not sure if that counts or not." He added the latter in a tone of voice which indicated that he was at least strongly sceptical about the secret conspiracy status of pony clubs.

"Some of them are quite powerful around the home counties." Harry observed. "Especially the ones with wings of militant polo players."

"However: to be considered a 'secret conspiracy', they need an agenda which is either not widely known, or which is known, but generally ridiculed or discounted." Neville countered.

"What's upset her, anyway?" Hermione asked, desperately trying not to get the discussion bogged down into what did or did not count as a secret conspiracy? Neville and Harry, she had by now had the misfortune to learn, were ridiculously easily drawn into hours long disputes over whether organizations such as the 'barristers benevolent brotherhood', or the 'third-way communist party' could be considered marginal illuminati organizations or not? And that was almost as bad as when Harry and Neville argued who'd win a fight between Emperor Palpatine (who despite being muggle fiction even Neville had apparently heard of) and a balrog of Morgoth.

"Oh, apparently something's been killing the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest." Neville said dismissively. "Lots of things kill them anyway – spiders, giants, griffons, trolls, to name but a few – but apparently some new predator's shown up."

"Hey, it's not just killing them, it's siphoning the blood off, and not in a blood-sucking vampire, fashion." Harry said, a little too loudly, setting Megan off into fresh floods of tears, and earning him several unkind looks from others in the vicinity.

"I reckon it's Quirrell to appease whatever's possessing him at the moment or maybe Nymphadora who needs to collect unicorn blood for part of a sacrifice to her master." Neville said more quietly to Hermione, whilst Harry was busy trying to soothe Megan. "At any rate, we need to investigate it – but carefully." Neville furrowed his brow. "Hang on, the headmaster said something back in September about being able to get special detentions to the Forbidden Forest…"

"How could this go wrong?" Hermione muttered to herself, apparently having a bad feeling about this…

Summer Term, 1992

The Easter holidays had come and gone and the plan to get detentions, in the interest of being sent to the Forbidden Forest to help Hagrid try and find whatever was attacking the unicorns, whilst in theory simple, had run into an unexpected difficulty in that the teachers seemed to be in an indulgent mood right now, and even if one did seem to be considering a detention, the headmaster stopped by, eyes twinkling, and said 'it's just high-spirits' instantly removing any possible threat of detention.

Harry's final attempt to earn himself, Neville, and Hermione a detention by capturing Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy, stripping them nearly nude, and dropping them into a vat of flobberworm guts from the potions preparation waste disposal area, whilst taking photographs like crazy, had earned them an 'it's just a good-natured prank' and even more twinkly-eyes from the headmaster, when he caught them doing it.

Just to rub salt into the metaphorical wound though, Draco and Ron had both rather unfairly managed to get detentions out of the incident – albeit detentions helping the Hogwarts house-elves wash socks for a week – on account of the murderous glares they'd been giving Harry.

"I give up." said Harry, right out of ideas for deliberate things which might get them detentions without annoying someone they knew to be a significant illuminati player. "There's never a detention in the Forbidden Forest when you need one. What's plan 'B'?"

"Umm, request to do a nature study of nocturnal flora and fauna?" Hermione said.

"That might work." said Neville, brightening at once.

"I can't believe that they wouldn't give us a detention, but that they are prepared to let three first year students who ask go wandering around the forest at night, without a member of staff to accompany them." Hermione complained.

The moon had risen, Mars was particularly bright tonight, and Neville, Hermione, and Harry had met in a clearing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Hermione equipped with a clipboard, pencil, and paper, and Harry carrying a camera with flash attachment.

"It's not as if it's as dangerous as the castle." Harry pointed out. "Where all the other students, and the teachers are supposed to be. And that soul-devouring guard-dog."

"Evil three-headed soul-devouring guard-dog." Neville corrected Harry. "The details are always important."

Harry just shrugged in response, and changed the subject.

"Neville: you said something about laying on security, in case they couldn't spare Hagrid to assist us." Harry said. "And apparently Hagrid's 'busy, doing something for one of the other members of staff'."

Neville put his hands to his mouth and made a strange whistle, then peculiar clicking, rattling, call. After a couple of moments, the ground trembled under the weight of some seriously heavy plant moving.

"May I present the 'Mark IX' – that's nine in Roman numerals by the way – 'stealth' triffid, ideal for 'accidents' to solitary travellers late at night on lonely paths through woods and as a bodyguard in woodland environments for Herbologists. Ah, two of them as it turns out. Apparently I'm more important than I realised."

Neville did his best to shrug and look nonchalant whilst beaming like a very proud schoolboy maniac.

"Is it safe for us to be around them?" Hermione asked, tightening her grip on her clipboard as if it were some sort of shield and eyeing the pair of triffids warily. "If we're not Herbologists, I mean?"

"So long as you stay close to me, and you swallowed that pumpkin juice I shared with you before we set out 'for luck'." Neville said. "And I didn't tell you what it was for, because it might not have worked properly if you were afraid when you drank it. Mixing it with the chemicals a body makes when one is afraid during the ingestion phase has unpredictable and unfortunate results."

The cloaked and hooded figure bent over the fallen unicorn saw and dodged the sting of the first triffid. It did so by lumbering straight into the path of the sting of the second triffid, which saved Harry, Hermione, and Neville any bother of a possible fight.

The figure contorted, with a groan of surprise and pain, then hit the ground with a wet thud.

"The 'stealth' thing gets 'em every time." Neville said happily, then frowned. "Whatever it is, it sounds like it's still alive."

He gave a click and whistle call and the triffids stung the downed figure several more times.

"Umm, isn't that about the shape and size of the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid?" Harry asked, pausing in his photographing of the scene of fallen figure and unicorn.

Hagrid, once he'd been selectively obliviated of triffid knowledge by Neville, dosed with a partial antidote, and gotten to the Hogwarts infirmary, had said that he remembered being placed under an Imperius curse by Professor Quirrell 'ter go out an' do bad things ter unicorns then report back to him fer obliviation' earlier in the evening.

Professor Quirrell, of course, had an alibi.

As did Nymphadora Tonks.

And any other remotely likely suspects.

And whilst someone who looked and acted vaguely like someone being seen somewhere else doing something was a pretty flimsy alibi in a world where polyjuice potion, metamorphmagi, the confundus charm, time-turners, and many other things existed, the law nevertheless assumed innocence unless caught red-handed with virtually a smoking wand in hand, at which point one could always try and plead the Imperius curse and mention obliviations.

As Hagrid had just done.

Hagrid's word regarding Professor Quirrell was however absolutely useless from the point of view of magical law enforcement as he didn't have any gold to back up his allegations. He was in fact a prime suspect for the unicorn killings, having been caught in the act of killing one by three first year pupils, who had photographic evidence of it that in the heat of the moment they'd neglected to destroy, and only the headmaster's intervention was able to keep him out of Azkaban. (Which latter was probably quite fortunate, given that the dragons Hagrid wasn't supposed to have in the secret bunker under his hut might have caused trouble otherwise.)

"Well, that was almost useless." Harry fumed.

"At least the unicorn killings have stopped for now, and you're Megan's favourite pupil." Neville pointed out.

Harry shuddered. Megan had squealed with delight and given Harry a great big 'thank-you' hug accompanied by an attempt to kiss him on the cheek when she had heard the news.

"I'm starting to think that we're approaching this problem from the wrong angle." Harry said.

News that the Philosopher's Stone was about to be stolen by 'persons unknown' had spread like wildfire through the castle, apparently causing Professor Quirrell to faint and prompting a rush by various parties in a panic and absolutely determined to abscond with it first.

So far Harry, Hermione, Neville, and the team of aurors stationed in the chamber with the Mirror of Erised had caught Professor Babbling, Professor Trelawney, and Professor Vector all 'trying to make sure that the stone was safe', half a dozen sixth and seventh year Ravenclaw pupils, a dozen Gryffindors, and Argus Filch's cat all where they had no real reason to be if they had any good intentions. At least a score more Gryffindors were in the infirmary, inebriated, poisoned and/or burned, logic not being their strong point and they tending to mess up on the potions bottles challenge. Professor Snape was running short on poison to refill bottles with and was having to brew some more.

The weirdest moment of the evening had come when a two-man team of Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley were caught coming after the stone – apparently they'd bonded during the shared humiliation of a mass sock-washing detention, and had managed to put their family differences aside at least temporarily.

Other than Ron, Slytherins in general were apparently too cautious thus far to come rushing in in response to what could be a trap.

So far no other Hufflepuffs had made it out of the Hufflepuff quarters to come after the stone. Pomona Sprout, tipped off well in advance by Harry of what they were about to do, had as a favour to her fellow Herbologist, Neville, locked the Hufflepuff quarters down. It would take a metamorphmagus agent of the Crawling Chaos to get out to come after the stone.

Finally, the distinctive shape of Quirinus Quirrell emerged from the wall of fire, glanced cautiously around the chamber but failed to spot the invisible observers, and made purposefully for the mirror, only to be hit by the glowing red beams of at least three stunners from behind.

As the 'Professor' toppled face-first towards the ground, it convulsed, and the shape shifted beneath the robes, and Amelia Bones turned it over to reveal the face and figure of seventh year Hufflepuff pupil, Nymphadora Tonks.

"Excellent." Amelia Bones' smile was unnerving. She glanced at an assistant. "It's Andromeda's daughter, isn't it?"

Auror Dawlish nodded.

"We've been after an unregistered metamorphmagus we can blackmail into joining our ranks for some time." the head of Magical Law Enforcement continued, causing Harry, Hermione, and Neville's jaws to collectively drop.

The genuine Professor Quirrell, meanwhile, possessed or not, had simply disappeared overnight. There were signs of a struggle in his quarters, and the discarded pieces of a broken stage-sword. The evidence seemed to indicate to a casual observer immersed in the world of the illuminati (if such a thing existed) that someone with a poor opinion of his continuing amateur dramatic attempts (especially in the hysterical fainting department) had made away with him. That seemed too neat a solution to Harry though.

The headmaster simply attributed the defence against the dark arts teacher's disappearance to 'the curse', and didn't bother to ask anyone to investigate.

"And now for a few last minute points changes, in this year's House Cup." The deputy-headmistress stood up and announced. The headmaster was away, frantically trying to find an even halfway competent defence against the dark arts teacher for the next school year, leaving Professor McGonagall in charge. "Whilst it seems that Hufflepuff have the cup tied up," a slight derogatory cheer went up from the Hufflepuff table, "for unseemly brawling, in the Hufflepuff common-room, I deduct two thousand points from Hufflepuff. Consequently, the House Cup goes to Ravenclaw this year and…"

The rest of this announcement was drowned out by a wholehearted, rousing cheer from most Hufflepuffs, who if they couldn't have the Philosopher's Stone, at least weren't going to be landed with seeing their house do anything as stupidly attention-grabbing as win the House Cup.

The few Hufflepuffs who weren't members of secret conspiracies could probably be determined by the rather puzzled expressions on their faces at the reaction of their housemates to this news.

Then again, maybe they were just really good actors and actresses.

The Hogwarts Express was heading back to London, and Hermione, Neville, and Harry were sharing a compartment.

"Did we actually achieve anything significant?" Hermione asked.

"Well we managed to inadvertently get an agent of Nyarlathotep into the aurors, almost got Hagrid thrown into Azkaban, and probably had nothing to do with Quirrell's disappearance, but we did also manage to help make sure Hufflepuff didn't win the House Cup by starting a rumour a valuable magical item was about to be stolen and that those most interested in stealing it couldn't get anywhere near it, thereby causing a near riot." Neville said contemplatively. "Snakes and ladders, I suppose."

"After Hermione had practically single-handed won Hufflepuff the House Cup too." Harry added.

Hermione had the decency to flush in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry." she apologised. "It's just that I hear a teacher ask a question and I put my hand up instinctively, and then when they ask I can't actually bear to give a wrong answer. And then, of course, they give Hufflepuff points…"

"Well we'll have to think about it and help you work something out over the summer." Harry said.

"What if," Neville adopted a thoughtful expression, "instead of giving just any old correct answer…"

The rest of Neville's thought was to go unspoken at this time as screams from immediately outside the compartment announced that someone – or two someones, in the shape of messieurs Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley as it turned out, out looking for revenge – had failed to notice Neville's strategically placed enlarged Lesser Spotted Lurker Vine.

Author Notes:

This one is a one-shot. For now. But subject to revision if I get any ideas for additional scenes.

I partly blame a fanfiction 'The Worst Muggles Imaginable' by another writer on this site for inspiring this one, but only partly.

These notes are subject to revision in response to any really thoughtful or funny observations made in reviews.