Okay, so I see fics that are updated sporadically over months, or even years, and I start feeling better about myself. And then I see fics that are updated consistently every few days, and I start feeling bad again. Though I've pretty much given up on the idea of updating every week... I suppose my participation at Hogwarts, in writing so many short stories, might not be helping... (And you should definitely check that out! Link's on my profile.)

Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed! Regarding Peasegood, what's important is that, outside of the camera footage that no one's likely to review anyway, only Suriyawong and Dee know about magic (even if the logistics of that don't quite work out... oops). As for Daphne emulating Hermione, well, she doesn't exactly want Harry to absorb all that information, she's just proving a point.

But without further ado...

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (or CHERUB). If I did, Harry's first Potions lesson would probably not be Chapter 8, literally halfway through the book (it's only 17 chapters! Isn't that such a weird thought, when OP's 38, and DH's 37?). Most likely.

Chapter 6: Student Safety and Well-Being

3 September 1991
Headmaster's Office
0800 Hours

Harry Potter. Albus gave a long sigh as he reread the overtly hostile letter from Arabella Figg, for the dozenth time. How could he have been so careless? How could he not have realized that Lily and James's son had disappeared, nearly ten years ago, if Minerva's report was correct? How could he have let the child be put in an orphanage (like another orphan… so many mistakes)? How could he have trusted Arabella's reports, when he knew how uninterested in human - both magical and Muggle - affairs she was? And how could he have put Harry on the Dursleys' doorstep and believed that his last remaining relatives would take him in?

He didn't blame Petunia for what she, evidently, had done: drop her nephew off at the nearest orphanage, then flee the country with her family. Not after he, and the magical world, had failed her. He still remembered the traumatized young woman at the Evans' funeral; Lily's grief and horror at what her parents and her sister had been through; Petunia's vow that she would never have anything to do with magic ever again. To this day, he still had no idea how the Death Eaters had found the Evans, had broken into the house that Petunia had been visiting, and had tortured the Evans and Petunia Dursley. It had only been a stroke of luck, Order member Emmaline Vance passing by the Muggle home, that had saved Petunia's life.

He shouldn't have assumed that any sense of familial obligation to the son of her deceased sister would override Petunia's experiences and fear for her family's safety and vow.

So the Dursleys had disappeared, and a new family had moved to Number Four, Privet Drive, coincidentally one with two boys around the same age as Harry and Dudley Dursley. And Arabella, who had seemed to be the perfect one to watch young Harry, with her unwillingness to do any more than she absolutely had to, since Harry wasn't to know of his fame, and Squib nature, to live in the Muggles world, had arrived to Privet Drive on November 2nd, and had assumed that the family was the Dursleys.

Still, Albus supposed that some things could be salvaged, that there were some things to be grateful for. First, that Harry had grown up in the Muggle world, unaware of his fame. From Minerva's accounts, too, Albus could tell that Harry didn't feel entitled to the fame, to his title - he'd assumed, correctly, that his survival hadn't had much to do with him. And second, that Harry did seem willing to save the world.

Because, somehow, Harry Potter had become a Muggle child spy.

That… Even without his Arithmancy NEWT, Albus could have told you that the odds of a top-secret Muggle child intelligence agency choosing Harry Potter was infinitesimal.

And yet, it had happened.

In some ways, Albus supposed it was a good thing. Not only would Harry be better prepared to face Voldemort, since, according to a Muggle book on espionage that he'd picked up to better understand the child, intelligence agents had keen observation skills, good intuition, and adaptability, all of which could be important for Harry to defeat Voldemort. But… Albus also knew, very well in the case of his own spy, that such agents' instincts made them more alert to guidance, which would be worse for his plans. More importantly, though, he'd also read that spies operated on the greyer side of moral, breaking some laws to protect more major ones. And that was bad.

Because Harry Potter, the only chance they had at defeating Voldemort once and for all, could not turn to the dark side. If he did, then all was lost.

-oOo-

5 September 1991
Third-Floor Corridor
0730 Hours

For the life of him, Harry couldn't remember the Unlocking Charm.

It was first year curriculum! One of the simplest spells in the Charms textbook! One he'd even done, with accidental magic, in CHERUB- oh. Of course.

He didn't actually have to know the spell, did he?

Unlock! he thought commandingly, harnessing his magic like he'd done in Transfiguration, and some of the other classes he'd had over the past few days, and throwing it at the lock. He pictured the lock turning, slowly at first, then faster, until it snapped back. Unlo-

Footsteps behind him halted his train of thought.

"Well, well," said a derisive voice behind him. "What have we here?"

Harry turned to face him, an innocent expression already in place. "Mr. Filch! There you are!"

The caretaker only sneered at him, stroking his cat, Mrs. Norris, who mimicked the expression, in his arms. "Don't try to fool me, boy. You're trying to break into the third-floor corridor!"

"The… third-floor corridor?" Harry asked, worry seeping into his expression. "Is… is that where we are presently, Mr. Filch?"

Filch scoffed. "As if you don't know! I saw what you were doing, boy! You were trying to open the door!"

"That's where Peeves said you were!" Harry protested. "I was looking for you, because I heard that someone was to pull a prank in the Great Hall during breakfast. And I saw Mr. Peeves and he, kindly, told me where you were!"

"A likely story," Filch said, his sneer still showing his disbelief, though Harry thought there was some uncertainty in it, too. "Alright, then, what was this prank?"

It was lucky that Suriyawong had actually pulled off a prank that could fit the situation, because Harry was terrible at brainstorming prank ideas. "They were to spike all the pumpkin juice served at breakfast," he told Filch worriedly.

The man scoffed again. "With?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, then hesitated. Suriyawong had spiked their food with a laxative - which Harry had, thankfully, avoided, because he'd noticed the prankster's strange behavior - but, in further contemplation, he doubted Filch would care if the student body suddenly was afflicted with diarrhea. His eyes fell upon Mrs. Norris, who was glaring at him from her perch in Filch's arms. "Some sort of potion that transforms people into dogs," he exclaimed. "Could you imagine? The Great Hall, filled with dogs of all shapes and sizes?"

"D-dogs?" Filch repeated, his demeanor suddenly reminiscent of the Defense teacher, Quirrell, 's. "We- we have to stop that! Where are they planning this? Tell me, boy!"

"The kitchens, I think," Harry said nervously. "I don't know… they might already have completed the task. Breakfast has begun, has it not?"

He allowed himself a smirk as Filch hurried away, along with Mrs. Norris, doing a weird sort of skipping in his run, then turned his attention back to the door. Unlock, he thought fiercely again. He tried the handle.

It opened.

Harry slipped inside.

He heard the growling first, before his eyes adjusted to the dim light and he saw the dog. The three-headed dog.

His first thought was that this wasn't one of the eighty-one creatures in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

His second was that this was somewhat ironic, given what he'd just told Filch.

His third was that he should probably defend himself, because the dog was eyeing him, with all six eyes, as though he were prey - which, in its eyes, he probably was - and crouching, ready to pounce.

He drew his gun, just as the dog lunged. Harry dodged to the side, aimed… and hesitated, just for a moment.

Shooting the dog wasn't the best course of action, was it?

So, as the dog lunged towards him a second time, he opened the door a crack and slipped out of the room, instead.

Luckily, the corridor outside was empty. Or, perhaps, it was predictably, since he was just outside the forbidden corridor. Either way, there was no one to see the gun in his hands, which he hid quickly in his robes again… or the slight smile on his lips. Because it had been so long since he'd been in danger like that, and such situations were always exhilarating.

That was a common trait, with CHERUB agents, he knew.

He made his way down the stairs, then to the grounds, for his morning run - he couldn't fathom why Hogwarts had no physical activity classes - and began to dissect what had happened.

First: how to get past the three-headed dog. Killing it, or otherwise injuring it, wasn't the best course of action, and he was glad he'd thought of that before he'd shot the dog. Not only was it doubtful that Hogwarts would condone the murder of the dog, but it would also grant an advantage to all the competitors, including Harry's opponents - whoever else was trying to reach the blood-red stone. Moreover, there was likely some sort of loophole they were supposed to find, to get past the dog, because this was a competition of ability and intelligence, not the capacity to kill.

Which meant, second: finding that loophole to get past the dog.

Wasn't it convenient, then, that there were two students in his year whose specialties were magical creatures? Including ones not found in the first year textbooks, like the 'swooping evil' they'd been discussing at the feast?

So, third: going through the trapdoor the dog had been guarding, to whatever obstacles were next.

His smile grew wider at the thought, because classes and alliance-scouting had really been starting to get boring.

Game on.

-oOo-

5 September 1991
Charms Classroom
0920 Hours

Harry found the perfect opportunity to speak with Morag and Lisa during Charms. The tiny Professor Flitwick had finished a few minutes early and given the class time to work on their homework - or talk, as many of the students had chosen to do instead, including the two Ravenclaws.

"I saw a griffin once, when we were in Greece," Lisa was saying. "Mum and Dad brought me and my sister along, as a sort of vacation, since they needed to be there anyway, to study different cultures of the merpeople around the world, so of course, they had to go to Greece."

"Oh, right, I've heard of that," said Morag. "Isn't Greece the origin of the merpeople? Or so the myths say?"

Lisa nodded. "The origin of many magical creatures, according to myths."

"Really?" Harry asked, entering the conversation. "What other creatures?"

"Well, there's the merpeople, and the griffins," answered Lisa.

"And the centaurs," Morag added. "And the hippocampi, and the winged horses - the pegasus -, and the chimeras, and the hydras, and the manticores, and the basilisks…"

"I think they mention the phoenixes as well?" Lisa said. "Though I don't think phoenixes originated in Greece."

"What about Cerberus? The three-headed dog that guards the entrance to the Underworld? Does that exist?" Harry asked.

"Right! That!" said Lisa, the enthusiasm apparent in her expression. "I've never seen a three-headed dog before, but I've heard that they're great guard dogs - sort of like in the mythology."

"They're very vicious," Morag agreed, "and they'll protect whatever they've been tasked to protect, and attack anyone who tries to get past them."

"Their skin is a lot like a troll's, or a giant's," Lisa added. "Most spells get reflected back."

"Any weaknesses?" The moment after he spoke, Harry realized how obvious the statement was - but neither Lisa nor Morag seemed to notice.

"I don't know," Lisa admitted. "Not that I've heard of - no obvious ones, that is."

"Maybe the fact that there are three heads?" Morag suggested. "Sort of like runespoors?"

"The heads tend to attack each other, don't they?" said Harry, remembering the passage in the textbook.

"Yeah…" Lisa said thoughtfully. "But I don't think the heads are distinctive, like a runespoor's, where the left head's the planner, the middle's the dreamer, and the right's the critic…"

"But that might just be because there are Parselmouths who can speak to snakes, including runespoors, and not anyone - that we know of - who can speak to dogs," Morag countered.

After a moment, Lisa shrugged. "I guess. I think it's just assumed that dogs, including three-headed dogs, aren't that intelligent."

"Hasn't it been proven that dogs have their own language, though?" Harry said. "And if they can be trained, even to guard…"

"Yeah," Morag agreed. "I think that's rubbish, that dogs are 'less intelligent' than snakes."

"I completely agree," Lisa assured. "I mean, the Ministry's rubbish about classifying a lot of things, especially magical creatures. 'Beasts' and 'beings' - I mean, it's just insulting! And the fact that centaurs and merpeople are classified as 'beasts'…"

"That's by their own insistence, though," said Morag. "It's because they want to manage their own affairs, without any wizarding interference, and because they objected to some of the other 'beings'. And it's even more insulting if wizards force them to accept specific categories."

Lisa shrugged, though it was clear from her expression that she wasn't satisfied by the answer. "Still, 'beast' is an insulting way to describe them - and, it gives the wrong sort of impression to most wizards, like they're some sort of violent, untamable thing!"

"Some 'beasts' can be violent," said Morag. "Lots of creatures that could be called 'beings', intelligence-wise, are 'beasts' because they can't overcome their violent natures. And there are untamable creatures - that's the entire XXXXX range."

"But that's only a small portion of the creatures that exist!" Lisa exclaimed. "So if we ever want wizards to start treating these creatures with the respect they deserve, they can't just be 'beasts' to us!"

Harry tuned out the rest of their conversation, which he could already tell would only be an argument over 'beast' and 'being' classifications, to consider what they'd told him. Which was practically nothing. And he didn't trust them enough to ask them to look further into the matter for him… which meant that he'd either have to ask an expert, or do the research himself.

Were there even other experts he could turn to? The Care of Magical Creatures professor? He hadn't caught who that was, when the older Ravenclaw had introduced the professors, because of the strange pain in his scar - and he hadn't had Potions with the dark-haired and hook-nosed Professor Snape yet, nor been able to catch the man's gaze during mealtimes, to investigate that pain further. But he had no idea, thus, of the Care of Magical Creatures professor's personality - whether he'd be suspicious, if Harry inquired, or whether he'd tell Harry anything important.

Especially since it was likely that the Magical Creatures professor was the one who'd put the three-headed dog in that corridor. It was a creature, after all, which would be what that professor specialized in. But… did that mean, then, that the other obstacles would have something to do with the other classes taught at Hogwarts? Perhaps each professor, of all twelve subjects taught, would have some sort of obstacle… which put Harry at a disadvantage, compared to the older students, because he took only the seven mandatory classes.

So… he added books on Divination, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Muggle Studies to his reading list. Though - unlike Hermione - he doubted he'd need to take, or read into, Muggle Studies.

-oOo-

5 September 1991
Potions Classroom
1520 Hours

Harry wondered absentmindedly, as he watched the various students trickle into the room in the dungeons where Potions was held, why said class was literally the only one the Ravenclaws had with the Hufflepuffs. Was that simply a coincidence? Or… since classes where the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were together would also be the classes with Gryffindors and Slytherins, could it be the general antagonism between those two Houses that kept the two from being scheduled together, whenever possible? But no, surely they wouldn't do that, when this was a school, and the purpose was education, not exacerbating House divisions.

Well, whatever the reason, it was inconvenient, but he'd just have to make do.

There were only four Hufflepuffs he recognized: the eager, stout, blond-haired Ernie Macmillan; the 'descendant of Helga Hufflepuff' Zacharias Smith; the frightened-looking Oliver Rivers, who looked just as scared as he'd been at the sorting; and the blonde pigtailed Hannah Abbott. Of them, Ernie seemed the most amiable; the boy smiled at Harry as he entered the dungeons, and pulled his two companions, a boy with curly brown hair and Hannah, towards Harry.

"Potter! Can we sit here?" He gestured to the seat besides Harry, and the table behind.

"Of course," Harry said. Then, to the other two, "I'm Harry Potter. And you are?"

"Hannah Abbott," said said girl, smiling nervously.

"I'm Justin Finch-Fletchley," the curly-haired boy said. Harry took the offered hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Har- Potter."

"Call me Harry."

"Then you can call me Ernie," Ernie said eagerly.

"Justin." The Hufflepuff looked relieved at Harry's offer.

"Hannah."

"So… Potions. I must say, I've heard a lot about this class," Ernie said. "Professor Snape…" he lowered his voice, as though telling a secret. "They say he favors Slytherins."

"Good thing there are none in this class, then," said Justin cheerfully, obviously not understanding Ernie's concern.

"No, I've heard that too," Hannah told them worriedly. "They say that he's really strict, and that he's got really high standards. As in, maybe only two students per year get O's."

"O's?" Justin asked. So he was a Muggle-born, or at least, Muggle-raised.

"Outstandings," Harry answered. "The highest grade, at Hogwarts, followed by Exceeds Expectations, Acceptable, Poor, Dreadful, and Troll."

Justin began laughing, but stopped once he realized none of the others were joining him. "Troll?" he asked incredulously. "That's a grade?"

Ernie nodded, then sighed. "And my parents would kill me if I got a T - or any fail grade, for that matter… and they say Snape doesn't give out passes easily."

"Oh," Justin said. "That sounds… lovely." Hannah laughed, though the sound was more of anxiety than of happiness, while Harry contemplated the new information, and what it meant with the strange pain from his scar when he'd met Snape's eyes.

It felt too stereotypical to be true, that the sinister, dislikeable professor would have something to do with the Dark wizard who'd killed Harry's parents… but stereotypes did have some basis in facts, he supposed.

"I mean, at least we're not Gryffindors?" Ernie pointed out, attempting to soothe the others' nerves. "They say he's harder on Gryffindors than any other House…"

With a bang, the door to the dungeons opened, and the dark-haired Potions professor glided in, his black cloak billowing behind him. The room grew quiet - not the gradual silence that had come from Sprout or Flitwick's appearance, but an abrupt quiet that made it clear Snape wasn't a professor to be underestimated.

He didn't speak, as he reached the front of the room, and, somewhat menacingly, picked up a scroll, to begin roll call.

Harry felt as though he was watching a comedic horror movie - one that was too obvious to be taken seriously.

There was a pause, after a pretty brunette squeaked a quiet, "Here," to the name Sally-Anne Perks, and Snape's cold black eyes fell on Harry, who met them, somewhat eagerly.

Nothing happened, outside of Snape's looking away a moment later.

"Ah, yes," the professor said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new - celebrity."

Harry wondered what he could have done to make Snape hate him so.

"Here, sir," Harry answered, his voice not loud, but not frightened, either, as the students' before him had so obviously been. Snape glanced at him a moment more, not meeting his gaze, before he moved to the remainder of the names.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," the professor began in the same quiet tone, once the roll call was finished. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

'To bottle fame'... was that Felix Felicis, liquid luck, in making the drinker lucky, and thus, famous? Or was Snape speaking more in metaphorical terms, in that potion inventors could become famous? The same applied to 'brew glory', but 'stopper death' seemed obvious - they would, eventually, learn to brew lethal poisons.

Though that didn't seem too student-friendly.

Harry realized that the class and Snape were starting at him, as though waiting for an answer, the look on Snape's face slightly triumphant. He reviewed the Potions professor's last statement in his mind: adding the powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood.

Well, that was easy.

"The Draught of Living Death, sir, though a sloth brain and Sopophorus bean juice would also be necessary, as well as Valerian root, possibly, to counteract any poisonous effecta of an excess of wormwood."

Snape blinked slowly at Harry, while the rest of the class gaped - though, really, the basic combination of asphodel and wormwood was a part of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, and he'd simply been curious about a potion named 'The Draught of Living Death', which accounted for the additional information. And wasn't half the class Ravenclaw?

"And where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"An Apothecary," Harry answered promptly, "the drawer in the ingredients cabinet labeled 'Bezoars', or the stomach of any cud-chewing animal. Though, for antidotal usage, I would specify to the stomach of a goat."

Snape turned his glare from said drawer back to Harry, his expression turning into an ugly snarl. "Thinking of thievery, Potter?" he said softly. Without waiting for a response, he continued. "Well, then, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"They're the same plant," Harry said, "also known as aconite, leopard's bane, mousebane, women's bane, devil's helmet, queen of poisons, and... one other." Which, for the life of him, he couldn't remember.

"Blue rocket," Snape finished quietly, his gaze still on Harry, yet still refusing to meet Harry's. He muttered something inaudible, before his attention snapped to the rest of the class. "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden shuffle for quills and parchment, though Harry didn't move. Snape's behavior was... peculiar, to say the least. He obviously hated teaching the class - though not the subject itself? - which brought up the question of why he was here. And weren't teachers supposed to be approachable, to their students? But that wasn't so, if Ernie and Hannah's earlier comments were to be believed.

They quickly began on the practical portion of the lesson, brewing a cure for boils, after a short lecture from the Potions professor on the topic. Ernie was a decent partner, who obviously knew what he was doing, when Snape wasn't breathing down their backs. He struck up a murmured conversation with Harry, as they brewed, though he cut off quickly whenever Snape was in earshot.

"Merlin, P- Harry. How'd you know all those facts?"

"They were in the textbooks," Harry answered with a modest shrug.

Ernie shook his head. "No- I mean, yes, technically, but all those other facts. The Valerian root, the other names for wolfsbane, that lot. That wasn't in the textbooks - not the first year ones, at least."

"I suppose I did a little extra reading," Harry allowed. "Just various topics, from the books I got, plus some reading in the library, these past few days." And they'd covered aconite, along with many other plants, during a specialized survival course at CHERUB.

Ernie looked skeptical, but let the matter drop. "Er... How've the rest of your classes been?"

"Same yours, no doubt," Harry said drily, prompting a laugh - and sudden focus on their potion, with Snape's attention drawn - from Ernie.

Once he deemed it safe, Ernie continued: "I suppose that's true - are there any classes you've found especially interesting, though?"

"I had liked the idea of Defense, before Quirrell," Harry said. Though it was curious that they had someone as timid as Quirrell teaching a class to defend against Dark magic. "Outside of that, not particularly. Though I find learning in general to be useful. You?"

"Oh, I've found Charms to be quite fascinating. And Transfiguration - though I've heard that it will be a while before we'll be doing anything actually interesting-"

Snape had, again, drawn near their workstation. The professor sneered at their simmering cauldron but, after a moment, obviously seeing nothing to critique, moved away again to watch some of the other students' work.

"How are your housemates?" Harry asked, once Snape began berating two Hufflepuff girls for the slight smoke coming from their cauldron. "Do you know them all?"

Ernie's chest puffed up, proud. "Yes," he said. "You know Justin and Hannah, and that's Zacharias Smith, and Roger Malone besides him. Oliver Rivers and Wayne Hopkins are in the corner there, that's Sally-Anne Perks and Megan Jones-" he winced "-by Snape, and Susan Bones next to that Ravenclaw-"

"Padma Patil," Harry filled in. The Indian twin, amusingly, had her hair done in a version of Morag's hairdo, from the first day, but was still more interested in examining Morag's newest hairstyle, than paying attention to her potion.

Anyway, Ernie's knowledge wasn't too useful, considering that Harry had been paying attention to Snape's roll call. And it didn't seem like Ernie would be too good a source of information of these students' personalities…

"You know all the Ravenclaws?"

Harry nodded, then named them, just as they finished the final five clockwise stirs for their potion. Ernie eyed their potion, which looked exactly the shade of blue as the textbook described, and emitted the correct pink smoke, relievedly, as his gaze flickered to the other, slightly less successful, potions around the room.

When they brought a vial of their potion to the front of the room, at the end of class, Snape sneered at Harry again, his eyes narrowed, but didn't say anything. Their eyes met again, for the briefest of moments, but again, Harry felt no pain in his scar.

So… what had that strange pain been, at the feast?

-oOo-

6 September 1991
Great Hall
0800 Hours

Harry watched as the beautiful snowy owl Hagrid had gifted him for his birthday - and who he'd named Hedwig, after the patron saint of orphans, following Eliza's suggestion - soared into the Great Hall along with the about a hundred other owls, carrying with her a package, for the first time. He fed her a few owl treats as he slit open the envelope, noting the unfamiliar, messy handwriting.

Dear Harry,

Would you like to come have a cup of tea with me, after your afternoon lessons? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us a letter back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Briefly wondering who 'we' was, Harry took out a small piece of parchment and a quill, and answered:

Dear Hagrid,

I would love to. My last class ends at 1645, so I'll see you at 1700?

He hesitated, before adding:

Additionally, would you mind if a couple of my classmates came, as well?

Sincerely, Harry

Just in case Hermione, or one of the others, wanted to come.

"Was that Hagrid, the gamekeeper?" a voice besides him asked eagerly, as he sent the letter off with Hedwig. Lisa Turpin.

"Lisa!" Morag - always nearby - scolded. "It's not polite to read others' mail! It might even be illegal!"

"Only to open correspondence not addressed to yourself," Harry corrected mildly, "though I would agree to the impolite portion. It's fine, though; I'd just ask for you to refrain from doing the same in the future." Though if it was truly secret correspondence, Harry wouldn't have let her read over his shoulder, in the first place. "And, yes, it was Hagrid."

Lisa stuck her tongue out at Morag, then tried to speak to Harry, her tongue still out, prompting an eye roll from the other girl. "Can we come?"

"Lisa!"

"Oh, c'mon, Morag! Mum says that Hagrid's really into magical creatures, too! Said he goes into the Forbidden Forest a lot, and keeps a bunch of creatures in his hut! Wouldn't you want to see?"

Hagrid was interested in magical creatures, was he?

"I would, but it's Potter's invitation…"

"You can call me Harry," Harry said, "and I'd be delighted if you accompanied me. Both of you."

Lisa beamed at him, while Morag sighed, though the excitement evident on her face mitigated the action.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Lisa exclaimed. "And call me Lisa!"

"You can call me Morag," said Morag. "And… thanks."

"But of course."

Moreover, having Lisa and Morag there would, no doubt, steer the conversation towards magical creatures, and potentially, to the three-headed dog.