Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed! To answer one review, no, Neville is not going to be Lupin's illegitimate son or something... he just has brown hair because I'm tired of describing people as blond. Also, in regards to Harry's locks, he certainly values security/privacy, but his Muggle lock was one he was familiar with, so one CHERUB teaches/uses, so one CHERUB agents know how to pick (every lock can be picked, after all, or so the Internet says). His magical lock was also one that a mere Alohomora wouldn't unlock, but accidental magic can be quite powerful - Harry was able to regrow his hair, which was either latent Metamorphmagic (which seems unlikely given how Metamorphmagic works in canon) or human transfiguration, NEWT-level magic.
The idea of mistaking the trials around the Philosopher's Stone, meanwhile, comes from artemisgirl's amazing story, New Blood. Which brings me to my next point:
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or CHERUB. *Sigh.* I also can't think of anything interesting to put in the disclaimer.
Chapter 4: Sorted
1 September 1991
Hogwarts Great Hall
2115 Hours
"Yes, a very interesting life," the hat's voice continued. "I can't say I've met many eleven-year-old murderers." Harry's heart sank, and his breath stilled. The hat knew. He prepared himself-
"Calm down!" the Sorting Hat exclaimed quickly. "No need to do... what you're planning. I'm not going to expose you!"
It wasn't?
"I don't tell anyone what I see in your minds," the hat explained. "I'm only here to sort you. And you're certainly not the first child I've sorted with a dark past, Mr. Potter."
He wasn't? A moment later, Harry felt incredibly self-absorbed. Of course he wasn't. Hogwarts had been around for centuries, and the hat must have sorted thousands of students, over the years. Of course there would've been others like him, with pasts like his.
"Well, to be fair, being a child spy has only happened once or twice," the hat told him, piquing Harry's interest. So there had been other CHERUB agents? Who? "But that's not important," it added hastily. "We don't have forever to sort you, after all. Now, let's see. Where best to put you?"
Harry waited.
"No requests?" the hat asked, sounding slightly amused. Well, technically, he did, but he'd wait for the Sorting Hat to state its opinions first.
"A pragmatic approach. Hmm… well, there's plenty of brains in there, an eagerness for knowledge - but only to fulfill your ambitions. My, my. You've got quite a thirst to prove yourself, Mr. Potter. To prove yourself, and to change the world. To 'better' the world, as you would put it."
That was fair, Harry supposed, but the world did need to be improved.
"If you say so," the Sorting Hat answered. "And… plenty of courage, too. You enjoy dangerous situations, don't you, Mr. Potter?"
Well…
"Somewhat surprising, given your past," the hat continued. "Given what happened the last time you were in a dangerous situation… Micah Hood."
Harry flinched automatically, then steeled himself.
"No regrets, hmm?"
He did regret it! It had been weeks before his constant nightmares of Micah Hood's dying brown eyes had begun to fade; months before he'd finally forgiven himself for the fact that, given the chance, he would have done it all again.
Oh. That was probably what the Sorting Hat meant.
But it was true. In the same situation, he would have done the exact same thing. He would have shot Micah Hood, to save Reynold. He would have aimed at the chest, the largest target, because his aim had been poorer, back then. He would have killed the Reaper, and anyone else who dared threaten those he cared about.
That Micah Hood had killed five people directly, and dozens more indirectly, hadn't hurt his perception of those events, either.
So, yes. In a way, Harry had no regrets for what had happened.
"Your thoughts on what happened are... more accepting than I would have expected," the hat mused.
That, Harry supposed, was because of CHERUB, of the counselor who'd talked him through those first few days, weeks, months. Because though his killing of Michah Hood had been horrific, it had also been justified. He couldn't have done anything else. And Micah Hood had been a criminal, a lowlife, and a villain.
"Very fierce ideas of good and evil," the Sorting Hat commented. "But where to put you? Slytherin would seem best, given your plans…"
Harry would accept Slytherin if he had to… but he knew, given the House's reputation and its general antagonistic relationship with Gryffindor, it would cut off a lot of opportunities later on. How about Ravenclaw? he offered instead. You said I'm eager for more knowledge.
"A negotiation, now, is this?" The hat sounded amused. "Your reason for not wanting Slytherin, though, only suits you more for the House, you know."
Not necessarily. Losing connections and opportunities could restrict the flow of knowledge, after all. And espionage was all about gaining intelligence and information on others.
"Gryffindor could also suit you," said the Sorting Hat.
Harry raised an eyebrow beneath the brim, then wondered if the hat could see that. It had probably seen him raising his eyebrow in his own thoughts, at least. Either way, from the hat's tone, he knew that Gryffindor was the least likely of the three options it had presented, because he wasn't recklessly brave. Mostly. Not to mention, a Gryffindor sorting would risk alienating the Slytherins.
The Sorting Hat made a strange coughing sound, that sounded suspiciously like, 'Slytherin'. Harry glared.
"Or Hufflepuff." Really? "You've got quite a devotion to those you care about," the hat said. "You're willing to kill for them."
But he wasn't kind, and he didn't care, particularly, for hard work, when it wouldn't benefit him. So it had to be Ravenclaw, or Slytherin.
Not Slytherin.
"Are you quite sure?"
In Ravenclaw, he would have a chance to ally with others without centuries-old factors preventing him, so yes, he was sure. Ravenclaw. Please, he added, cringing slightly at the word, at the weakness in it.
"Well, if you insist," the Sorting Hat said slowly, "then it had better be RAVENCLAW!"
The hall exploded into applause, as the hat was lifted from Harry's head, though he noted several shocked expressions and several disappointed looks, especially from the Gryffindor table - perhaps because he hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor, the House his parents had been in. Still, he realized that, somewhat unfairly, he was receiving the loudest applause yet.
Harry took a seat by the other Ravenclaw first years - specifically, the group of three boys he'd noticed earlier. His plotting earlier had kept him from paying attention to the names called, but he listened carefully to each student sorted after him: Oliver Rivers, a frightened-looking boy, became a Hufflepuff; Sophie Roper, a girl who sauntered up to the stool, was a Gryffindor; Abigail Runcorn, a girl with an analytical gaze, joined the Slytherins; Zacharias Smith, the descendent of Helga Hufflepuff, became a Hufflepuff; Dean Thomas, a nice-looking boy, was sorted into Gryffindor; Lisa Turpin, a girl who kept fidgeting as her eyes darted across the room, joined Harry and the other Ravenclaws; Ron Weasley, the red-haired boy, somewhat predictably became a Gryffindor; and Blaise Zabini, a boy with a haughty expression and an elegant air, became a Slytherin.
The headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, stood, after Blaise had found a seat besides Draco Malfoy, and Harry found himself waiting eagerly to hear what the man would have to say - almost all the books he'd read had mentioned Dumbledore's name in one field or another, not to mention McGonagall had, it seemed, complained about Dumbledore when they'd spoken of his upbringing.
"Welcome!" Dumbledore proclaimed. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak! Thank you!"
Harry blinked at the elderly wizard, as he clapped along with the rest of the hall, not quite sure what to think. He would have dismissed the strange words as the headmaster losing it with age, only he knew that Dumbledore was a brilliant wizard, and a twinkle in the man's eyes told him that he was still as intelligent and powerful as he had ever been.
In the blink of an eye, food had appeared on the previously-empty golden plates, prompting Harry to wonder where it had come from, and if the food supply could be… altered. Not that he was planning anything… but just in case.
"I'm afraid I didn't catch all of your names," one of the first years, a girl whose curly dark hair was tied in an elaborate half-braided hairdo. "I'm Morag MacDougal."
"Michael Corner," said one of the trio of boys, with dark brown hair that nearly reached his shoulders, a wide smile. He seemed confident and somewhat charismatic.
"Terry Boot," introduced another boy, with lighter brown hair, who gave off an air of a studiousness.
"Anthony Goldstein," the last of the trio, a blond boy and an open expression.
"I'm Su Li," said the Asian girl. "That's spelled S-u, and not S-u-e," she added, though the words seemed more playful than defensive or annoyed.
"Amanda Brocklehurst, but you can call me Mandy," said a girl with sandy brown hair. "No spelling requests here," she joked. She seemed to be friends, already, with Su, which implied that both were from wizarding families.
"Kevin Entwhistle," a slightly nervous-looking boy with curly blond hair said. He opened his mouth, as though about to make a joke about spelling, but closed it without speaking.
"Lisa Turpin," said the fidgeting brunette girl from the sorting, who seemed a bit more relaxed now that the attention wasn't solely on her.
"Oh- Padma Patil." It was one of the Indian twins who'd spoken, though she seemed more interested in studying Morag's hairstyle than in the conversation.
"Stephen Cornfoot," a blond boy who looked supremely uninterested in their conversation grunted.
"Harry Potter," Harry told them, though, from their expressions, the group had already known that. He had introduced himself to the ghosts in front of them, after all.
"Do you remember anything about, you know, that night?" the studious boy, Terry, asked curiously, leaning forward. Harry shook his head, and he sat back, disappointed. "I've always wondered… There've been countless theories about why, but maybe, if you remembered anything, then that could help explain what happened."
"People have been trying to find out for years, though," the first blond, Anthony told him. "If they haven't been able to work it out, if Albus Dumbledore himself hasn't been able to find out what happened, then I doubt we can figure it out."
"Well, there is a theory that he, that Dumbledore, does know what happened," the sandy-haired girl, Mandy, said in a conspiratorial whisper. "That he knew what happened, that night, why You-Know-Who disappeared, as well as why he went after them in the first place! They say he planned it all out, to finally defeat You-Know-Who!"
"Mandy…" the Chinese girl, Su began reproachingly, then sighed. "You and your conspiracy theories. Professor Dumbledore would never do something like that, I'm sure."
"Well, it's possible…" Mandy argued.
"Sure. Just like it's possible that the Earth is flat, or that we're all not real, just figments of someone's imagination." Harry nearly raised an eyebrow. He didn't know where the second had come from, but wasn't the first one a Muggle conspiracy theories? But Su was obviously wizarding-raised…
"You know, there are actually Muggles who believe those things," said the nervous-looking boy, Kevin, who'd obviously been thinking along the same lines as Harry. A Muggle-born, it seemed.
"Really?" Mandy asked, her gaze bright. "Tell us more!" So Kevin begin, somewhat slowly at first, explaining the Flat Earth theory.
Meanwhile, though, the Indian girl, Padma had finally succumbed to her curiosity. "Merlin, MacDougal!" she exclaimed. Morag, the dark-haired girl, stared, confused, at her. "How did you get your hair to look like that?"
It took Morag a moment to respond; still staring bemusedly at Padma, she shrugged. "My mother taught me."
"Teach me! Please!"
"… I suppose I could make the time. Would next morning be fine?"
"Yes!" Padma exclaimed, though Morag had already moved on, to her conversation with the fidgeting Lisa, about whether the 'swooping evil', some sort of magical creature, deserved its XXXXX danger classification. Apparently, Lisa's family were magizoologists.
Terry, Anthony, and the long-haired Michael, at the other side of the table, were, somewhat insensitively, discussing whether Pensieves could retrieve memories from early childhood. The aloof blond, Stephen, had disappeared.
Now, who to further consider alliances with?
Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, and Michael Corner were intelligent, as Harry had first thought, but they didn't seem very… tactful. He would continue to watch them, but they seemed more book-smart than street-smart. Though, all of them were from magical families.
Su Li and Mandy Brocklehurst, too, evidently had wizarding parentage, but both were a lot like Hermione - too naïve, too trusting, too genuine. Not that those were bad traits, but he doubted either could keep a secret or maintain a false identity for long. Kevin Entwhistle, who seemed to be becoming fast friends with the two girls, was similar: he was too… obvious.
It occurred to Harry that, given the traits of each House, he might find better potential agents in Slytherin. But that could come later. He'd cover his own House, first.
He'd continue to watch Padma Patil and her sister, but only because they were twins, and because he didn't know what her sister - who, through a scan of the hall, had been sorted into Gryffindor - was like. He wasn't incredibly optimistic, though, especially given what Padma had been interested in, in the brief conversation.
Stephen Cornfoot was also unlikely to be of further use, if only because he seemed utterly uninterested in all the other first years, and had made no attempt to conceal that.
Morag MacDougal, and by proxy, Lisa Turpin, seemed the most promising of the group. Not only was there Morag's somewhat unusual composure - Harry thought it likely that she'd been raised in a higher-class and well-connected, perhaps aristocratic family - but both seemed fairly aware of their surroundings. And it had been Morag who'd begun the introductions. Not to mention, she'd appeased Padma without detracting from her own interests.
But Morag and Lisa's conversation, of magical creatures, was not something Harry was familiar with, and he doubted they would want to spend time explaining the topic to him. So… the next best conversation. Terry, Anthony, and Michael's.
"Have you heard of the Muggle psychological experiments, regarding false memories?"
-oOo-
1 September 1991
Hogwarts Great Hall
2200 Hours
"Who are all the teachers?" Padma asked a nearby older student, drawing the attention of all the first years towards her. She looked pleased at the attention.
The older student, a boy with tawny brown hair in a buzz cut and large-framed glasses, swallowed quickly before responding eagerly. "First years?" Collective nods. "From right to left, we've got Hagrid, who's pretty friendly, though he's the groundskeeper and not an actual professor-"
The half-giant was drinking deeply from his goblet. Perhaps, though, the amount of wine he was drinking was less irresponsible than it looked, because of his larger size.
"-Trelawney, for Divination, though everyone knows she's a fraud-"
A thin woman dressed in a gauzy, spangled shawl, with large glasses that made her eyes appear several times their natural size, poked intensely at her food.
"-Babbling, who's the Ancient Runes professor - she's alright, just talks a lot-"
Indeed, the professor, a middle-aged woman, looked to be the force behind her conversation.
"-Vector, Arithmancy, gives a lot of homework-"
The professor seemed more interested in her food than what Babbling had to say.
"-Median, for Muggle Studies, who has the strangest obsessions-"
The professor, an elderly man with strangely tufted white hair, seemed to have brought his work, some sort of small device.
"-Sinistra, for Astronomy, is a pretty good teacher, but her classes are at midnight-"
A dark-skinned professor aloofly examined the room.
"-Professor Dumbledore, of course, is headmaster-"
The headmaster was cheerfully talking to McGonagall, who sat besides him.
"-McGonagall, who's Transfiguration professor and Head of Gryffindor, is fair but strict-"
She looked amusedly indulgent to whatever Dumbledore was saying.
"-Flitwick, for Charms, our Head of House, is brilliant - you can approach him about anything-"
The professor in question was the polar opposite of Hagrid, standing only about a meter in height. He looked cheerful in his discussion with the witch besides him.
"-Sprout, who teaches Herbology, Hufflepuff's Head, is really understanding, and great about extending deadlines-"
The squat witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair certainly looked understanding.
"-Quirrell taught Muggle Studies before, and he was a pretty good teacher, but this is his first year doing DADA-"
The stammering professor Harry had met at the Leaky Cauldron seemed as nervous as ever, though absorbed in his conversation with the dark-haired wizard besides him.
"-Snape, Head of Slytherin, teaches Potions, and he… favors Slytherins-"
A thin man with sallow skin, a large hooked nose, and shoulder-length black hair scanned the hall, looking displeased.
The older Ravenclaw continued, but, as Harry's gaze met the dark-haired professor's, he felt a strange, sharp pain in his forehead, exactly where his famous, lightning-shaped scar was. Harry barely kept his hand from flying to his head, to touch the spot. Why had it stung? He'd been looking at Snape when it had hurt; what could that mean? His scar had never hurt before - outside of in dreams, but those didn't count - but it was commonly accepted that it was a curse scar, from when Voldemort had tried, and failed, to kill him, as a baby.
So could this professor, this Snape, have something to do with Voldemort?
Surely, though, that was unlikely. This was a school, after all - and certainly not an intelligence organization like CHERUB. Surely, the first priority would be the safety of the students. Surely, if there was a professor who had something to do with the darkest wizard of the past century, they would not be allowed to teach?
Unless… reform? Dumbledore was famous for granting second chances, after all, even sparing Gellert Grindelwald, the dark lord before Voldemort. Perhaps Snape was a reform case; perhaps Dumbledore trusted him. Harry knew that the headmaster of Hogwarts wasn't unintelligent.
Though, had it been Snape, who had caused that strange reaction in Harry's scar? It seemed likely; reviewing the scene in his mind, Harry knew that it had been Snape's gaze he'd met. No one - outside of Quirrell, whose head had been turned to Harry, showing only his purple turban - else had been in Harry's line of vision.
Harry resolved to pay further attention to the man.
Before long, the desserts had disappeared, and Dumbledore was standing again, quieting the hall.
"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered," Dumbledore addressed. "I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's gaze flickered to the Gryffindor table, and Harry made a mental note to find the rulebreakers of the House. They could potentially be useful.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridor." That made it sound like Dumbledore, himself, didn't care much about the use of magic in the corridors. Interesting.
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch." Anyone… including first years? Hadn't Draco said something to the contrary, though? No, he'd only said that first years weren't allowed brooms. Could they compete? Not that Harry was interested in competing, though. It would, doubtless, take up too much time.
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." Wait. What?
So much for Harry's conviction that they wouldn't put students in danger, at Hogwarts.
Why did Dumbledore think telling the student body about this corridor of death was a good idea? Hadn't he ever heard of reverse psychology? Or even common sense? Telling students of a dangerous location would only invite the most brazen fools to investigate, and, if what Dumbledore's threat was true, get themselves killed. Why not invent the most innocuous, mundane excuse to keep students away from the corridor?
Why even have a dangerous corridor, in the first place? Was it protecting something? But then, warning the entire school about it would only increase the chances of people entering the corridor, to take whatever was in there, or by accident, or in search of an adventure.
Unless… they did want someone to enter the corridor. Suddenly, it hit Harry. It was a test.
They'd had tests like that, challenges of CHERUB agents' abilities, and Harry was slightly ashamed that it had taken him so long to realize. They wouldn't actually put students in danger - Hogwarts was the future of the wizarding community of Britain, of course they wouldn't. It was a test, for the best and brightest of Hogwarts students, and the first part of the competition was realizing that fact.
The blood-red stone. Of course. It was hidden, in that corridor, the prize to the competition. That was why Hagrid, probably the most conspicuous of the Hogwarts staff, had been sent to retrieve it - because it wasn't really that valuable. Suddenly, Harry wished he'd kept the rock, rather than returning it to Hagrid. But no, he'd compete fairly. Because he would win.
What better way to build a reputation at Hogwarts?
-oOo-
1 September 1991
CHERUB Headquarters
2200 Hours
"Alohomora," Arnold Peasegood murmured, quietly entering the Muggle compound. It was nighttime, and the campus outside nearly deserted. He followed the instructions he'd been given, to the largest building, using the Unlocking Charm again to open those doors as well. The hallways were deserted - nearly.
"Hey! What are you-"
"Confundo," he said. The Muggle who'd been hit, a teenage girl who looked about sixteen, blinked confusedly at him. "Could you point me to the, uh, chairwoman's office." She obliged, still looking at him confused. "Thanks. Obliviate." She wouldn't remember seeing him, tomorrow morning.
Arnold crept down the hall to the office, whose lights were still on - the chairwoman was, evidently working late. "Alohomora," he murmured again. He prepared himself - he'd been told that this Muggle had sharp reflexes that had even taken Minerva McGonagall off guard. Of course, a quick Confundus or Stupefy could take care of that - McGonagall had been unable to perform either spell before the Muggle had drawn her gun. With a fast movement, he burst through the door. "Stupefy," he whispered, aiming at where he assumed the desk would be.
His aim was true. The Muggle woman was frozen in her tensed, standing position - no doubt, she'd heard him in the hall. "Obliviate."
Arnold left the campus humming quietly to himself, his job complete. The Muggle chairwoman wouldn't remember anything about magic, and would only have vague memories of Harry Potter leaving their organization to attend a private boarding school. He was, actually, mildly disappointed - from McGonagall's description, he'd expected more of a challenge in Obliviating these Muggle spies. Oh well; Arnold knew that the more 'boring' jobs were safer; less risk of breaking the Statute of Secrecy.
Of course, he had no idea of the two others on CHERUB campus, both of whom were currently asleep, and both of whom knew about magic.
Though only one would really be a problem.