Beginning of Mysteries
Dinner was a boisterous affair, everyone excited by the flying class. Draco presided smugly, satisfied in his personal ability in the air. Theo Nott just couldn't seem to shut up about how long it had been since he'd flown, how tragic it was that first-years weren't allowed brooms, and how hilarious it was that they were stuck learning with Gryffindors.
"Just so long as we keep showing them up," Draco drawled. "You had much practice in the air, Potter?" He flicked a slice of potato into the air with his fork and caught it in his mouth.
Harry shook his head, grinning. "First time on a broom," he declared. "It felt so easy."
Draco leaned forward slightly. "First time? You can't be serious."
"First time," Harry repeated, feeling a warm happy glow in his chest. Finally, something that his partially-defective wand wasn't going to mess up for him. Something he could just do well.
"Keep flying like that and next year, between the two of us, we'll have the Quidditch Cup in the vault!"
Blaise snorted softly, but Harry ignored him. Blaise was never impressed by anything or anyone, and seemed perfectly disdainful of everyone he met. It was something that Harry was confused by, but also envied. Blaise was immune to any intrigue or plotting, any relationship failure or betrayal, simply by not caring.
Harry was actually a little envious of how untouchable Blaise seemed, but it wouldn't do to let him see it. Being a Slytherin was about watching and knowing, but not sharing. And Harry was actually quite good at that. He may not understand much of what he observed, but he could hold his silence.
He had a lot of practice at keeping secrets.
Harry had once, in his youth, made the innocent mistake of repeating some of Aunt Petunia's dinnertime gossip to another boy at school. Word had spread back to his family and Harry - instead of becoming respected for his knowledge - had been punished soundly by his uncle and commanded never to be so presumptuous again. What his aunt had said belonged to her, not to him. Aunt Petunia, meanwhile, had looked down at him as though he'd done her a grave personal insult, and her interactions with him were curt and cold for the next month.
Between Dudley's gang, his uncle's glowers, and his aunt's cold rejection, Harry had quickly learned not to tell anyone outside the family anything. And since he couldn't precisely tell anyone inside the family anything either, he merely confided in his snakes. They came and went, seemingly unstoppable in their ability to seek him out, and that meant there was usually someone new each week or two to whom Harry could confide.
It had been strangely comforting, knowing that the individual he'd spoken to - though he hadn't then known that they could have conversed properly - might never cross his path again.
Now, though, he had Pansy. And, perhaps, he had Draco? Since their flying lesson, the Malfoy heir had seemed much less formal around Harry, more inclined to treat him as one of the group.
Draco already had an established band of followers, of course. Vincent, Gregory, and Roy formed the most dedicated core, while Byron and Theodore were less devoted but still clearly in Draco's orbit.
Harry was surprised by how clear it all seemed, now that he'd had Pansy explain it all. Now that he knew, it was so obvious. Roy Pike, the sole half-blood in the group, was just trying to get in good with a bunch of purebloods, while Byron Miller and Theodore Nott were well off themselves and planning on long-term alliances with the Malfoys.
Vincent and Gregory were their own thing, though Harry wasn't entirely sure what that thing was. Neither was Pansy, despite growing up just down the street from the Crabbe family. Whatever their actual arrangement, though, they'd been completely devoted to Draco since the day they'd boarded the train together.
If it weren't such a ridiculous notion, Harry would have thought they acted like Draco's bodyguards. But surely no one would hire a pair of eleven-year-olds, no matter how bulky they may be. And especially since Gregory's intelligence seemed somewhere in the vicinity of a troll's. Vincent was a bit better, though he had a severely limited vocabulary and seemed incapable of reading basic instructions. The pair of them had caused nearly as many disasters in Potions as the Gryffindors put together.
The girls had long since left the Great Hall by the time Harry and the other first year boys finally finished laughing and eating and bantering about their flight. Harry was surprised at how natural it felt, being a part of a group like that. Normally, he'd have sat awkwardly to the side unsure of how to begin. But the flying seemed somehow to have cracked whatever barrier kept him apart from the others, and now it was together with Draco and the group that he walked into the common room, tired but happy.
The first thing Harry noticed was Pansy and her friends, huddled close around a fourth-year girl. They were staring at something, pointing and gesturing while they spoke in rapid hushed voices, and Harry saw several other groups of students around the common room also speaking eagerly or seeming agitated or excited.
"What's going on?" Harry asked, approaching Pansy.
"Gringotts and Endless Branching were broken into last night," Pansy said, motioning him forward. He squeezed in beside her to read the article.
"Ha ha! Joke's on them," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this morning. "Only reason they got into that vault was because it was a closed account, completely empty. I suppose it's impressive they got down there at all, but if it had been an active vault they'd be dead now."
The report coincides with news of a similar break-in at Endless Branching, taking place at nearly the same time the previous night.
"Our records are stored in secondary locations as well as the Diagon office," said a spokesdwarf. "As only a single year's records were disturbed, we will simply check every record and verify their integrity. If anything is missing, it will be replaced. This will not disrupt our services in any way."
Endless Branching refused to divulge which year's records had been invaded, but it was strongly implied to have been recent. "We generally only keep about twenty years worth of files on-site," said an inside source.
These two break-ins will surely bring Ministry scrutiny to the lax security in Diagon Alley.
"What's Endless Branching?" Harry asked.
"It's the official bloodline and lineage office," Pansy explained. "The dwarfs have been keeping genealogies for centuries. If someone tried to tamper with their records, that's huge. Used to be people would edit their family trees according to their whim, but in the past century the dwarfs have really started increasing security. Like the article says, they keep extra copies of all the records, store things in undisclosed locations and only bring them out to their main offices on certain occasions, etcetera."
"Someone's trying to fake being pureblood?" Harry asked. He couldn't think of any other reason to break into a genealogy office.
"Apparently," Pansy said, but she frowned. "It seems a bit much, don't you think?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted.
The fourth-year girl whose name Harry didn't know spoke up. "If it weren't for the fact that the goblins and dwarfs can't stand each other, I'd say one of the break-ins was meant as a diversion. But the locations are far enough apart, there's no reason for them to be broken into at the same time. Security precautions are different, there's no benefit."
Harry wished he knew more about how life in the wizard world played out, he wanted to figure out the solution to this mystery, but without sufficient background knowledge he wouldn't have the framework to puzzle it out properly.
"Perhaps they were both done by the same people anyway?" he guessed. "It's possible that they just wanted to get both their robbery attempts done at once before any security increases that may result from their first."
Pansy nodded, tapping the paper thoughtfully. "That could be," she conceded.
"But breaking into an empty vault?" Mildred scoffed. "For what possible reason?"
Harry shrugged. "No clue. I don't think we have enough information just from this to solve anything."
"Ooh, Harry, are you planning to solve it?" Tracey cut in with her usual lack of tact. "Do you need an assistant?"
"He doesn't need you as an assistant," Pansy said.
The fourth-year stood and held out her hand. Pansy passed the newspaper to her. "Thanks, Phyl."
"Any time, Pans." Phyl folded the paper carelessly and walked toward the dormitories.
Pansy slid over into the vacated space so Harry would be less squashed, her mind clearly still on what they'd read. "But to break into Gringotts! That's never been done before. Never. The goblins may act all casual about it, but it's a huge huge deal. I wouldn't be surprised if they increase security by a lot after this."
"Intruders trigger all sorts of nasty charms and hexes." Mildred said. "Only a customer could get down to the vaults at all. Which makes you wonder if the goblins have their suspects already, and are just being cagey about it."
"That's right, they keep records of everyone going in and out," Pansy said.
"They would be able to find out everyone who'd entered around the time of the break-in," Tracey said excitedly.
"Are they even open at night?" Harry asked. He'd only been to the goblin-run bank once, when shopping with Professor Quirrell, and that had been during the day. But most shops closed at night, at least in the muggle world, and he doubted wizards were much different.
"Gringotts never closes," Pansy said. "It's part of their contract. They get a complete monopoly as a financial institution, but they're not permitted to be unavailable any time a witch or wizard may need access to their possessions."
"The number of goblin 'holidays' they tried to get off for is unbelievable," Millicent said. "They'd only be open a handful of days a year if they weren't bound by the restrictions of the treaty of something or other. I forget the details."
"But not many people are out shopping that time of night, would they?" Harry asked.
"Sure they would," Millicent said. "Lots of the Knockturn or Voke crowd come out at night. A few from Idee too I suppose."
"Idee Alley is boring," Tracey said at once. "I prefer Radick. Or Optim."
"Optim isn't a real street," Daphne said, glancing up from her own book for the first time. "It's just a destination. No one lives there."
Harry was quite lost by this discussion, but didn't want to interrupt to demand answers. From there, the topic quickly wandered to other destinations the girls enjoyed visiting, and the break-ins were soon forgotten.
Harry didn't forget. He paid less and less attention as the girls continued, becoming increasingly absorbed in his own thoughts. He had the strangest certainty that this couldn't be a coincidence. He wasn't sure what, how, or why, but somehow there was a connection - maybe one he hadn't even found yet. But something at the back of his thoughts, something he couldn't quite pin down, made him want very much to solve this.
It would be quite a while before he made any progress.
The first weeks of potions class were spent working on a simple cure for boils during the extra-long practical lessons - apparently boils were a side-effect to so many failed spells that it was considered an essential part of all wizards' repertoire to be able to whip up the cure.
The assigned homework covered the basic theory of potion making, forcing them to consider how and why the ingredients and accompanying magic were used in the way they had been.
Aside from Hermione, Harry, and Draco, no one did particularly well. Snape's teaching method was quite hands-off, requiring actual attention and effort from the students, and Potions was no one's favourite subject. While in most other classes a failed transfiguration or faulty charm could be annoying, in potions there was a much higher chance of things exploding.
In practical magic lessons, both the standard curriculum and his private sessions with Professor Quirrell, Harry discovered he had a good ear for spell flow. Within the first month he began intuiting the proper pronunciations to charms and spells without needing a guide. Pansy had a harder time. She seemed to have been practicing ahead on her own, but unlike Draco she'd learned to pronounce the spells incorrectly, and Harry often had to carefully coach her through it.
Wandwork remained Harry's absolute nemesis. Both lumos and lumonitio had very simple - and very forgiving - wand motions. Not so with the charms they were studying in Professor Flitwick's class. Despite his knack for incantations, Harry remained consistently in the bottom third of the class in practicals.
They officially learned lumos in both Defence and Charms, it being another basic essential that no wizard should be without. While Quirrell taught them the general 'finite' incantation, Flitwick demonstrated the counter-charm 'nox' to specifically deactivate magical lights.
When Harry asked about it in his next private training session with Quirrell, the professor smiled and said it was a very astute question.
"Counter-charms, counter-curses - they have a particular strength against what they are intended to combat. Finite puts your strength directly in opposition to the spell itself, whatever its origin, and doesn't even try to find an alternative route. If you were trying to extinguish a light placed by another wizard, 'nox' would be a better choice to save your own strength. With a spell you yourself cast, it doesn't matter."
"Why didn't you show us 'nox' then?" Harry asked. "If it would be better."
Quirrell watched him, his fingers habitually turning the heavy gold ring around his finger as usual. "Because, 'finite' is a very useful, very general sort of thing everyone should know. The amount of strength saved is negligible, since no one puts enough energy into a light that extinguishing it is any strain whatsoever. And, specifically, why would you ever need to extinguish someone else's light? Lumos and its variants are hardly Dark magic. In fact, light alone is enough to drive away several minor sorts of Dark creatures."
"I noticed you don't wear that ring during classes." Harry said, his attention caught by the large green stone. "And why do you insist on using that old wand that doesn't work as well?"
Quirrell's smile grew sly. "There are certain stigmas attached to certain objects, which it would be wise to distance myself from," he said carefully. "There are those who would recognize my wand, my ring, and their origins are not. . ." he hesitated. "I deal in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry. Some of my most treasured possessions were formerly in the possession of some very evil wizards. And I would rather not have people associate myself with them."
"But you don't mind me seeing them," Harry said.
"You grew up in the muggle world, you did not live through the terrors of Grindelwald or remember the struggle against Lord Voldemort. You have no prior associations whatsoever. And, you and I share a singular stigma of our own. I trust you to keep my secrets. As I hope you would trust me to keep yours."
Harry nodded. "About that, Professor. I've been meaning to ask you, you mentioned during the summer that some families would support me more knowing about. . . " he lowered his voice to a whisper, a hiss, "that. Is there anyone I should tell?"
Quirrell considered a moment, twisting the ring around and around. Harry could almost imagine that the snakes wrought upon it were simply chasing one another around, that they were alive.
"Traditionally, the Malfoy family would be a loyal one. Greengrass, perhaps. Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, not the brightest. They would respect you, but may not be able to keep their mouths shut in front of others. Avery, but none of their children are here at present. The Selwyn heir won't be around another year yet at least. Black, Lestrange, I don't know if there are any survivors of those houses. They were unfortunate supporters of Lord Voldemort."
Quirrell sighed. "Lord Voldemort was the other Heir, you know. Did no good for the reputation of our house."
"But you're a Ravenclaw," Harry said, not remarking on the revelation. Lord Voldemort being a parselmouth didn't surprise him at all. It felt almost inevitable, and certainly could have been what caused a general distrust of those with the ability.
"Perhaps," the professor replied mildly. "But my loyalty has always been true, to my noble and pureblood ancestry, through my mother. My father was worthless. You'll not find. . . Quirrell on any ancient tapestries."
"It must have been hard in school," Harry said.
Quirrell smiled, a crooked smile. "No, I was quite successful in collecting everyone I wished for followers. My academic successes were secondary accomplishments."
He stood, the sudden motion startling Harry. "You, on the other hand, seem to be making no progress toward either academic achievement or gathering allies. From what I've seen, you have refused every attempt to curry favour from your lessers, put off every alliance offer from your equals, and seem inclined to ignore anyone and everyone but Miss Parkinson."
Harry shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what I'm doing, and if I tried to make friends with any of them they would see it. Pansy doesn't mind, because she's not very good at magic and we can help each other, but it's so intimidating. You told me our house isn't forgiving of weakness, and right now I have no idea how to be anything else."
He'd remained on the very fringes of Draco's group; normally after flying lessons he'd hang around with them for a few hours, but they'd gravitate into their own huddle and he'd naturally wander to wherever Pansy was. He could hardly claim that as great progress.
Harry didn't know how to integrate himself more fully, nor did he particularly wish to. Roy and his blatant toadying, Gregory and Vincent's silent obsession, none of it seemed particularly to Harry's liking. He much preferred to emulate Blaise's air of unconcern.
"Your attempts at remaining mysterious and avoiding the mundane are admirable in concept, but people will be watching and judging in every class, in every corridor. You cannot hide yourself from them, and they will come to their own ideas about you if you do not direct them first."
"Everyone already has ideas about me," Harry said, annoyed. "Gryffindors think I betrayed them or something, Ravenclaw seem to think I'm going to be evil, Hufflepuff want to redeem me, and my own house can probably see clearly that I'm useless."
"You are not useless," Quirrell said firmly. "You're already performing better in class than many born higher than yourself, despite growing up with muggles and knowing nothing of your true nature. Your reputation may be exaggerated, but your strength and skill are not. I have seen the determination with which you practice, do not think so little of yourself. With a little more time and direction, you could become truly great."
They spent the remainder of the lesson practicing a variety of small useful spells which Quirrell said no wizard should be without, yet were not taught in the Ministry-approved curriculum until higher years: stupefy, the stunning hex, and its counter-hex innervate; aguamenti and incendio, for creating water and fire respectively; accio, the summoning charm. And continued practicing aim with the much less magically tiring lumonitio.
Harry had yet to successfully cast any of the new spells, but they practiced them all every time. Professor Quirrell insisted that he need only continue practicing and the spells would come to him. They met once or twice a week, usually early in the morning, though the professor warned that their appointments would become less frequent as exams approached and more upper years needed extra help.
No one ever signed on to teach Defence more than a single year nowadays, and Quirrell considered it all but a sacred duty to see that as many as could be were trained properly in that time.
Harry couldn't quite find the courage to question it aloud, but he privately wondered why, if Quirrell was so determined to help all the students, he gave such useless textbook lessons. He could just as easily be teaching all the first years the same spells he showed Harry.
Was the Ministry of Magic so incompetent that it really required teaching such sub-standard texts? Or was Harry actually something special?
He found that hard to believe, despite Quirrell's continued insistence. If Hermione Granger could beat the boy-who-lived at every subject despite her lowly heritage, and he was truly something exceptional, then how badly off were all the rest of the students?
Harry added the puzzle to the back of his mind to contemplate without really expecting an answer. This was Hogwarts, after all, where magic was a mundane everyday occurrence. Some mysteries were not meant to be solved.
Particularly not right before Quidditch season began.
Author's Notes:
I'm back! For those of you following only this story, I have completed my first project - KotOR fic Fall With Me, which I put everything else on hold to finish. This series, Heir of Darkness, as my second major project has therefore been moved up into first priority. I plan to resume updating at least once a month, preferably biweekly but we'll have to see.
I've finished with a lot of the easy buildup now, characters are basically established and it's time for things to start moving in earnest. Since there are several story threads I need to start foreshadowing, some for Shadow of the Past itself, others for the series as a whole, I have to take a more considered approach as we move through the year at Hogwarts.
Thank you for your patience! Barring unforeseen complications, updates should be much more regular from here on out.