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The first week at school came to a close more quickly than Harry would have thought possible. He loved Hogwarts and loved that he was now able to spend so much time with Neville and Ron. He saw Kiara all the time as well, of course, in the Gryffindor common room, but she had her own friends and they usually only greeted each other, sometimes asking about the day they had. With Horatio and Roger, Harry only had time for nods of recognition when they passed each other in the corridors, and he hadn't got to talking to Draco or other Slytherins much more either.

The other Gryffindor first years, on the other hand, were often around, especially the other boys, and also Sophie. She seemed to prefer spending time with them to Parvati and Lavender, who tended to stay a little apart. When Harry asked her about not hanging out with them, she shrugged. "I don't mind them or anything, I just can't seem to find anything to talk about with them, I guess? I have four brothers," she added. "I've always hung out with them. Maybe I'm just not used to girls."

"Your brothers aren't wizards?" Ron asked, surprised.

"Well, the older ones aren't, anyway," she replied, "but then again, they have a different father than me, so maybe that's not so strange? We'll see when Nick turns eleven, he's my dad's son too."

"So, you have one younger brother and three older ones?" Inquired Neville, trying to make a sense of it.

"Nah, two older ones and two younger ones. Nat and Sam are thirteen and sixteen, and then Nick is nine and Mike is five. I don't have much hope for him, though – doesn't seem like his dad could have any wizard blood in him."

Ron seemed scandalized when he realized the situation in Sophie's family, and Harry, thinking about what Aunt Petunia would say and that she would probably agree with Ron, quickly tried to turn the conversation. "You never know," he said, "I wouldn't think my aunt could have anything wizarding in her at all, and still, her sister was a witch!"

Neither Ron or Neville seemed to understand how someone could seem to be a wizard or not, and so Harry decided to change the topic yet again. "So what do you reckon Potions will be like?" He asked. "The last class we don't know about yet..."

"Well, you know what the Puffs said. And my brothers all say Snape's terrible and always gives Slytherin preferential treatment!" Ron said, grimacing.

Harry shrugged. "I've met him, like I told you, and he didn't seem so bad. Not so great-tempered, so I think it would be better not to provoke him, I guess...especially for me, since even though he was friends with my mum, I know he really disliked my dad."

Sophie frowned: "Do you think he would take it out on you?"

Neville and Harry exchanged a look. Given what they knew about Snape's past, that was the least of many possible issues with him, and Alduin had basically warned him it was possible. Harry also wanted to say that his aunt apparently hated his mother and always took it out on him, but conscious of the fact that he was not meant to talk about that, he merely said: "I'd rather not test it, that's what I'm saying."

At this moment, the post came. Hedwig brought Harry a letter from his cousin, and a school owl dropped him one with an unknown handwriting on the top. He opened it first, and inside found a letter from Hagrid, asking him to come over for tea in the afternoon.

"Can I come with you?" Ron asked immediately.

Harry stared for a moment. Every time he felt like Ron's manners improved, his friend came up with a proof that he had a long way to go yet. It was a little mysterious to Harry, given that he had been able to pick these basic in half a year. But then, it had been half a year of rather intensive coaching.

Neville was taken aback too, but he saved Harry the necessity to answer by saying: "Er, Ron, he didn't invite you, did he? I think it would be a little rude."

"I can ask him if I can bring you with me next time," Harry said quickly. "Assuming, of course, that he'll ask me again."

Neville gave him a look. "Harry, you would probably have to intentionally smash their furniture for people who once started asking you to suddenly stop. It's just not done except for serious offences."

Harry knew that, really, but it still seemed a little presumptuous to him to just count on it. He knew that Neville wouldn't understand, though, and so he turned his attention to Alduin's letter instead, after sending a quick reply to Hagrid.

The others were curious to hear if it said anything new about the third floor corridor issue. "Not really," Harry said. "He just says that there are spells we could use to see through the door, but that we wouldn't probably be able to cast them yet, and that he will write to me about them when it seems to him that we're far enough in our Charms work."

"Cool," Sophie commented. "I really wanna know what's inside."

The others nodded, though Harry was a little bothered by his cousin's obvious preoccupation and contemplated it all the way down to the dungeons.

Most of the Slytherins were already there, waiting in front of the classroom. Harry nodded to the ones he knew – he could see Draco with Vince and Greg, and Millicent was standing with Pansy, who seemed to be saying something rude about the Gryffindors to her friend just at the moment, by the look on her face. Harry did his best to ignore her and instead greeted Theo, who was just coming through the corridor behind them. When he turned back, Draco gave a meaningful look to Ron next to him, to which Harry just rolled his eyes. Before Draco had time to react to that, the classroom door opened and Snape sent them all in.

His welcoming speech was damn impressive, Harry had to admit that, and he was still a little dazed when Snape turned to him and asked: "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry frowned. He was sure they have covered this with Miss Brigit, but he couldn't for the life of him think of the answer. Irritated with himself, he said: "I'm sorry, Professor, I don't know. I mean, I think it's some kind of a sleeping potion, but I'm not sure, and in any case I don't know which."

"Hmm. Let's try again, then. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

That Harry did know, and relieved, replied: "In a goat's stomach, sir."

"Very well, then. For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. Try to remember it in the future. Now, let us start with actual potions work..."

Actual potions work, as it turned out, was Snape setting them ingredients to prepare and then circling the room and checking their work. "Longbottom," he said, stopping over their table and sneering down at Neville. "Is this what you call evenly cut roots?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Neville muttered. Harry glanced at his roots. They were a bit of a mess, he had to admit.

"One point from Gryffindor," Snape stated. "Throw them away and start anew."

Harry frowned, and next to him, Ron hissed. "How is that fair?"

"Well, it was you who said Snape was terrible," Harry pointed out in a whisper. He didn't like it either – he was pretty sure that Vince's roots didn't look any better, yet Snape showed no desire to penalize his house. It seemed there was some truth in what Ron's brothers have said.

"I'm just so damn clumsy," Neville muttered. "Always have been. If Potions require precise handwork, I'm lost." He sighed. "I was really interested in them, too! I mean, they're almost like Herbology..."

"Maybe I could cut your roots for you?" Harry offered.

"I doubt Snape would let you, mate," Ron muttered.

"Still, this is irritating. Neville knows so much about plants, I bet he could be a great potion-maker if it wasn't for his two left hands..." Harry trailed off, thinking about writing home to ask Miss Brigit for tips. There must be some way to deal with the problem.

Harry was distracted from thinking about it by Draco, who motioned him to his side as soon as the class ended. Harry nodded to Neville and Ron to indicate he'd see them at lunch, and bid goodbye to Theo and Daphne in passing, too. He'd have liked to talk to them more, but Draco was all but dragging him away. "Why do you have to talk to Weasley so much?" Was his first question.

Harry sighed. "Draco, you know I've been seeing him regularly at the Manor since spring."

"Yeah, but like, once a week or something, right? Now every time I see you, you have him around. How can you stand it? He's so stupid!"

Harry looked at him. "Er," he said, "if you think that's a problem, care to explain why you talk to Vince and Greg? They're not exactly the brightest stars out there." Harry felt guilty as he was saying so, but it was true. He had nothing against the two boys, but it was very hard to talk to them.

Draco frowned. "All right," he said, "that's a good point. Though they at east keep mostly silent."

"Well, contrary to Ron, they're actually stupid, you have to admit that much," Harry replied, his guilt deepening. This whole conversation was extremely uncomfortable.

"I'm not admitting anything of the sort!" Draco said hotly.

Harry used the opportunity to correct himself. "Look, I don't mean to badmouth Greg or Vince, really. They're fine. All I'm trying to say is, Ron might not be as smart as Theo or Horatio, but he's just as clever as I am – for example, did you know he is excellent at chess? It's just that he isn't well-mannered and he doesn't care about school and books much, or anything of the sort."

"Isn't that kind of worse than if he was just stupid?" Draco asked, his eyebrows raised.

Harry considered this, sort of regretting he had ever complained to Draco, however little, about his Gryffindor friends' lack of interest in history or reading. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe. It's really not his fault, you know...I blame his parents."

"I'm completely with you on this one, even though the Weasley prefect still manages to act sort of decent."

Harry thought about it. "Well, he was only the third son, and it was before the twins were born, and he is actually over three years younger than Charlie, if I remember what Ron told me right. I think his parents had more time for him than they had for Ron. From what I've been able to understand, the older children are much more..hmm...'fit for society' is I think the term my cousin used."

Draco seemed to be trying to find a way to blame Ron's shortcomings on him all the same, but in the end, he just said: "Why are we talking about the Weasleys, anyway?"

"Well, you started it!"

"And now I want to end it!" Draco paused. "How do you like Hogwarts?" He asked then, and they spent the rest of the way to the Great Hall sharing their impressions.

After lunch, Harry went to answer Hagrid's invitation. The groundskeeper, it turned out, owned a large dog and made rock-hard cakes which he offered his guest as he asked about his first week of school.

"It was fun," Harry said. "I like being here with so many of my friends. Professor Binns is a terrible bore though!"

Hagrid chuckled. "That he is," he agreed. "But knows his stuff, I suppose."

"Hmm. I guess. I also didn't like how Professor Snape treated Neville."

"Why, what did he do?"

Harry thought about how to describe that particularly offensive behaviour. "He just kinda picked on him, even though some Slytherins were doing equally bad work."

"Well, he does take the side of his House," Hagrid admitted grudgingly.

"I wouldn't mind so much if he just took that one point," Harry continued. "But he was being a little mean, you know?"

Hagrid sighed and patted his dog, Fang. "Maybe it was a bad day for him?" He said, not sounding convincing in the slightest.

Harry looked away, not wanting to argue, and noticed a newspaper cutting on the table, its corned sticking out from under a tea cozy. It was about the break-in at Gringotts. "Why are you keeping this, Hagrid?" He asked idly, playing with it. It wasn't like there was any worthwhile information in it, just a very basic article of few sentences.

Hagrid avoided his eyes and didn't answer for a long time, creating suspicions that would have never occurred to Harry otherwise. "Just thought it was inetrestin', that's all," he said at length, but it was even more unconvincing than his statement that Snape was just having a bad day.

Harry wondered about it all his way up to the castle, thinking about what it could mean and whom to tell. Once seated down at the evening meal, he motioned for Neville and Ron to lean in and told them the story. "You don't think Hagrid could have anything to do with it, do you?" He asked.

Ron shook his head. "Harry, I'm sure Hagrid is great – I've heard a lot about him from my family – but I doubt he would be good enough to manage to break into Gringotts. It's insanely difficult."

"But why keep the cutting, then?"

"Perhaps he is in it from the other side," Neville suggested. "You know, maybe he's been robbed?"

Harry thought about it. "I'm not sure Hagrid would have anything valuable enough to merit a Gringotts break-in...I mean, he lives in a wooden cabin and all that..."

The others agreed that it was unlikely and they continued speculating. Harry was glad to have something interesting to write home about.

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Alduin Travers was worried, there was no question about it. Harry's scar hurt when he looked at Quirell, there was some growling deathly danger at Hogwarts (why not keep it in the forest?), and now Hagrid was eminently interested in a boring newspaper cutting related to the most alarming news since Alduin woke up from that coma.

He asked Harry for details of that article and looked it up. There was really no reason to keep it – comparing it with the earlier ones, he found that the only new piece of information this one had was that the vault had been emptied earlier the same day before the robbery took place. So, suppose Harry's theory was correct and Hagrid was the one who was almost robbed? Or rather, not Hagrid, but the person Hagrid was loyal to? What did Dumbledore have that he would hide at Gringotts, and then have Hagrid take it and relocate it...where? Hogwarts was one of the options, and it certainly didn't calm him that something this apparently very dangerous robber wanted would be hidden at the school Harry attended.

He wondered whether the sudden new presence of a possibly deadly animal inside the school had anything to do with it. It could be a guard, of course, but then, Dumbledore would hardly as good as announce its presence to the whole school. No, if he wanted to hide whatever he relocated from Gringotts, he'd have sealed it with a guardian creature somewhere and not said a word.

What about Quirell, how did he fit in? Did he fit in at all? The only part he could possibly cast him in was that of the bank robber, but that sounded like too much of a stretch, so he decided to treat it as a separate business too. All of these things, however, were extremely deserving of attention – attention he truly did not have the capacity to give them.

He was now supposed to be relaxing on a private island in the Maldives, and instead, he was nervously checking if his two-way mirror was at hand and if the letter box he used to communicate with Britain didn't contain some new piece of crucial information that would necessitate an early return.

Alexandra, of course, though he was being paranoid. But then, it was different for her. The war was years ago for her, and she had barely been a teenager when it ended. The memories were far from that raw to her.

Alduin still sometimes woke up in cold sweat in the middle of the night, after a nightmare of the three attackers descending on him in the middle of Muggle London, of the mad attempt to get away by Apparition, of fighting when splinched...and these were only the mild ones. From time to time, the memory of learning about his parents' and grandparents' death visited him as well, and ensured that he didn't get any sleep for the rest of the night, spending it in drinking and remembering instead.

And, of course, there were the nightmares about his uncle, too.

He had never seen the man do anything particularly brutal, but he did have imagination, and not too many illusions left. In his nightmares, his uncle was always torturing Muggle children and asking him, if I ever get out of Azkaban, will you accept me into your house? Sometimes, this, more than anything else, was the reason Alduin wished Riddle wouldn't return. He wanted to be spared such dilemmas.

Compared to this, of course, dealing with Harry's mysteries at Hogwarts should be almost cheering, but Alduin could not let go of this tendency to analogize every single thing to look for traces of another war to come. He remembered what his father used to say, in times that were years ago but seemed like months to him: we missed the small signs. We missed the small signs, and when the big ones came, it was too late already.