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Chapter 7: Secrets Uncovered

6 September 1991
Hagrid's Hut
1700 Hours

Hagrid blinked at the crowd assembled outside his hut, and Harry wondered if there would be space for them all inside. They numbered sixteen strong: Morag and Lisa, from breakfast; Hermione, who'd just seemed relieved that he hadn't abandoned her; Neville, who he'd extended the invitation to; Ron, Seamus, and Dean, who'd been there when he'd invited Hermione and Neville and who'd wanted to come along; Ernie, who'd followed him after Potions; Hannah and Justin, who'd come along with Ernie; Zacharias Smith and Roger Malone, who'd invited themselves, also after Potions; Susan Bones, who he'd invited because there was a 'Madam Bones' as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, apparently; and Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis, who'd appeared as they'd walked across the grounds to Hagrid's hut. He wasn't entirely sure how the last two had learned about their meeting, since he hadn't shared any classes with them throughout the day. Perhaps they'd overheard from one of the Gryffindors?

"Hello, Hagrid, it's nice to see you again," Harry said. "I hope we're not too many?"

Hagrid blinked at them for a few moments more, before shaking his head as though to clear his thoughts. "O' course not! Come in, come in, make yerselves at home!"

They filed in - and did fit, though it was a tight squeeze, one that Zacharias complained loudly about. As Harry passed Hagrid, he murmured, "I am terribly sorry, but they all insisted on coming..."

Hagrid shook his head quickly. "No, no, yer all welcome, o' course! 'specially yeh, Harry, but I won't say no ter a couple o' yer friends." Well, they were a bit more than a 'couple', but as long as Hagrid was fine with it… The groundskeeper glanced around the hut, then added in a louder voice, "How 'bout a cup o' tea fer all o' you? That'd be one, two, three-"

Zacharias and Daphne declined the tea, but the others all accepted, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and before long, Morag and Lisa had drawn Hagrid into a discussion on the unicorns of the Forbidden Forest, while Ron, Seamus, Dean, Ernie, Hannah, and Justin talked about teachers and classes, Zacharias and Roger had their own discussion, and the others watched quietly.

"How were your classes today, Neville, Hermione?" Harry asked the two Gryffindors. Neville seemed somehow more scared than he'd been earlier in the week, while Hermione simply looked upset. "You had…?"

"Double Potions and History," Hermione answered in a huff. "Professor Snape asked Ronald and Neville questions, and didn't let me answer when I raised my hand! And then he took more points when-" she shot Neville a sympathetic glance "-Neville's cauldron melted down, and he had to go to the Hospital Wing."

"Are you alright?" Harry hadn't noticed any lingering injuries, but he hadn't been paying too close attention either...

"'m fine," Neville mumbled, his eyes on the ground.

"Good," Harry said, smiling at Neville as the other boy looked up at the force in his tone. "I'm glad, Neville. And, Hermione, I know you could've answered all three ques-"

"Two," she corrected.

Harry frowned. "Two?"

Hermione nodded, her bushy hair bouncing with the rapid motion. "He asked Ronald what a bezoar was, and Neville about the difference between wolfsbane and monkshood."

Interesting, both that Snape had asked two different students - both Gryffindors - the questions, and that he hadn't asked about the Draught of Living Death, and coupled with his strange hatred of Harry…

"What was your third question?" Of course, Hermione would be curious.

"'What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood,'" Harry quoted.

"The Draught of Living Death," Hermione answered immediately. "But why would he… I'm going to the library." She stood abruptly, then paused, glancing self-consciously at the rest of the room. "Er…"

A piercing scream made them all flinch, their taxes turning to the back of the room, Harry's hand going automatically to his concealed gun, because if anyone was in danger he'd- but there was no apparent threat, only Lisa and Morag huddled over something in the back corner, Hagrid glancing at them, concerned, but smiling.

What-?

It had been Lisa who'd screamed, and as Harry listened closer, he realized that perhaps 'squealed' would have been a better word to describe the sound.

"Oh my Merlin! Oh my Merlin! He's so cute! Who's a good doggy? Who's a good doggy? You're a good doggy! What's his name, Hagrid?"

"That's Fang," Hagrid said happily. "Bit o' a coward, really - he's jus' a big baby."

"C'mere, Fang! Fang-y, Fang-y-"

"Lisa, you're scaring him!" Morag scolded. She made a clicking sound with her tongue, turning to the dog, then clapped a few times. "Here, Fang, here, Fang. Come here." She clicked a few times more, and, slowly, something emerged out of the alcove. A large, black, boarhound, who whimpered and shrunk back slightly at the sight of all of them. "Shh, shh, it's fine Fang. Come here. Shh, shh... Lisa."

Lisa clapped a hand over her mouth, though the squeals were still audible as she bounced on the balls of her feet. Another glare by Morag had her taking several long, dramatic breaths, before she took her hand off and asked, slightly quieter, "Can I pet him? Can I, can I, please?"

Morag turned to Hagrid. "Hagrid?"

"Oh, o' course! Jus' try not ter scare him too much... Yeh've got a real way with animals - er, what'd yeh say yer name was?"

"Morag. And thanks. Both Lisa and I are fascinated, by all sorts of magical beasts."

"Especially dogs!" Lisa added, her high-pitched tone causing Fang to shrink back a bit again. "Aw, no, c'mere Fang-y! I won't hurt you!"

"Yeh like Fang, yeh should see Fluffy!" Hagrid said, laughing. "He's a three-headed dog, see..."

Harry barely kept from whipping around to look at Hagrid incredulously. That dog was his?

"That sounds so cool! Y'know, Morag and I were just talking about three-headed dogs, the other day, and there was something... what was it, Morag?"

Would this first puzzle really be so simple?

"Greek mythology?" Morag suggested.

"No... something neither of us could remember... Right! It was-"

"-weaknesses," Morag finished, snapping her fingers. "Right. Because they're such great guard dogs, with so many strengths, but-"

"Oh, it's easy ter get pas' Fluffy," Hagrid said, waving a hand dismissively. "All yeh need ter do is play him a bit o' mus- oh!" Suddenly, Hagrid seemed to remember where he was, glancing around at the gathered students, a look of horror in his eyes. "Oh, I shouldn'ta-" He clamped his mouth shut again, the look in his eyes growing more and more panicked. "I- er- How 'bout some rock cakes, fer everyone? Baked 'em all meself!"

Hagrid really was horrible at keeping secrets, wasn't he? And Harry could tell, glancing around the room, that many of the others hadn't missed his slip, and obvious attempts to conceal that mistake. Which only proved Harry's theory, because had there been something truly worth hiding, in that third-floor corridor, surely they would have decided to not keep that secret with Hagrid.

So... music. The three-headed dog - Fluffy - would be put to sleep by music, like any human toddler. It seemed strangely anti-climatic... but it made sense. Of course they wouldn't actually have the students battle a three-headed dog.

The only problem was, Harry wasn't particularly gifted at music. What sort of music needed to be played, anyway - what counter as music? If an utterly tone-deaf student sang a collection of notes, would Fluffy still fall asleep? Did the tune have to be a lullaby, a soothing song? Was a single melody enough, or did a full orchestra have to play?

The latter seemed unlikely.

But Harry couldn't sing, nor play a music instrument, and he didn't want to risk- oh. Right. Magic.

There would obviously be spells to play music for you, right? And if there weren't, he could always focus his magic to make music for him.

-oOo-

7 September 1991
Hogwarts Library
0945 Hours

"Harry! There you are - I've been searching all over for you!"

"Hermione," Harry greeted, smiling. "It's good to see you too." He paused expectantly, and, as expected, she jumped in excitedly.

"'I bitterly regret Lily's death!'" she said, then paused, obviously waiting for a reaction.

It took Harry a moment to place the name. Lily... McGonagall! 'He'd gone to Godric's Hallow, to kill your parents, Lily and James Potter' - that was his mother! But then-

"Snape's question, that's what it means, in Victorian flower language! He-"

"-bitterly regrets Lily's death - my mother's death," Harry finished, and Hermione beamed.

But... why? Had they been friends? Snape was fairly young, for a teacher - had they been classmates? Why was it only Lily's death? Because Snape hadn't found something to represent Harry's father, James? Because Snape didn't regret James's death? But then, why would he hate Harry? Especially if he regretted Lily's death?

Hermione was watching him expectantly, but after several moments, sighed. "I guess you don't know any more about that?" she asked.

"No," Harry agreed. "Unless... Do you know anything about Snape? His past, what he did before becoming a teacher, and whatnot?"

She shook her head, biting her lip. "But I can ask around? I bet some of the other Gryffindors… and Percy Weasley - Ronald's brother - said something about him and the Dark Arts during the feast…"

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, though, for searching this up, and for telling me. I had no idea…"

"Of course," Hermione smiled at him. "I'll see you later then!"

Less than five minutes later, though, another set of approaching footsteps had him looking up from his book again, to see Draco Malfoy, for once unaccompanied by Vincent and Gregory, or any other Slytherins.

"Potter," Draco said, his expression the same neutrality that he'd shown during all the other classes they'd had together.

"Malfoy." Harry had mourned a lost relationship, when Draco had made no moves to approach him since that first Herbology class, but perhaps… if there was a certain appearance Draco had to put up around others… "Can I help you?"

Draco examined him for a moment longer, before he sat down in the chair across from Harry, and spoke. "What you said, before. About M-Muggle-borns. You don't really believe that, do you?"

"I do," Harry said quietly. This again? "I have plans, you see, and I won't pass over three-quarters of the population - Muggle-borns, half-bloods, and others who support Muggle and Muggle-born rights," he added, seeing Draco about to interrupt, "due to differences in ideology. To me, that's simply irrational."

Slowly, Draco nodded. "You said you have plans. What would those be?"

Harry smiled. "I'm going to change this world, Malfoy. And not just by surviving the Killing Curse and causing the disappearance of a Dark Lord as a baby."

Draco looked unimpressed by his declaration. "And what, specifically, are you planning on doing?"

How much to tell him? "My former guardians were involved in intelligence for their government, but there seems to be an absence of such an institution, here. Especially given our recent political history, I believe that it would be prudent to address that lack."

"...Intelligence?" Honestly, did no one in the wizarding world know what that was?

"Espionage. Spy work."

Draco's gaze snapped to his own, grey eyes wide. Harry smiled, then raised an eyebrow, his unspoken question obvious. What would Draco do with this information?

He really needed to look into secrecy contracts and vows.

"…Call me Draco," the other boy said, after another long pause. It wasn't a declaration of support or alliance, by any means, but it was a start.

"Then you can call me Harry."

-oOo-

7 September 1991
CHERUB Headquarters
1930 Hours

Suriyawong puzzled at the letter in his hands, written in dark green ink on strangely-textured parchment. It was from Harry, a seemingly simple request, but for the life of him, Suriyawong couldn't imagine why his friend would want a music box, when he went to a school of magic.

Couldn't Harry just wave his wand and make music?

And placing the package by CHERUB's outgoing mailbox, with only a note on top bearing Harry's name… How was that supposed to get to Harry? Sure, there was magic, but Suriyawong couldn't do any, and unless the package was in contact with something magical, which wouldn't happen because that wasn't part of the instructions...

Or maybe he was overthinking everything, something that, to his shock and horror, was happening more and more. Because he didn't want to suddenly become an angsty teenager. He didn't want to suddenly have to worry about girls and teenage things.

After all, his brother had changed, become like that, moody and rebellious, just before he'd disappeared.

Either way, he didn't need to overhink Harry's request. He had no idea how magic worked, after all, and he would never be part of that world.

-oOo-

10 September 1991
Third-Floor Corridor
0730 Hours

A quick Alohomora - because Harry had learned from last time and found the spell in his Charms textbook ahead of time, and because he'd found using magic with his wand and with the correct incantation to take a lot less energy than focusing his magic to complete tasks - opened the door to the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side, and a release of the wind-up key of Suriyawong's music box began the quiet music, filling the room. Harry kept his gaze on the three-headed dog, just in case, but his caution was unnecessary; all six of Fluffy's eyelids drifted closed quickly, the three heads falling to the floor with a thud.

Harry stepped forward, the music box still playing, but something about the scene… His eyes flickered across the room, trying to spot what his instincts were shouting at him: that there was someone else in the room, someone watching him.

Someone invisible?

"Back again, Harry?"

His eyes flashed towards the sound, and there, though he would've sworn that he hadn't been there a moment ago, was the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, dressed in such vibrant shades of violet and cyan Harry wondered for a moment if he was trying to be seen. But if he could spell himself to be invisible, Harry supposed it wouldn't matter too much…

"Professor Dumbledore," he said. Why was the man here? He'd called him Harry - was it common for him to know a student's name? But then again, Harry was famous, so perhaps for him... And he'd said 'back again' - so he knew that Harry had come before? Were there detection spells, recording spells, set to the room?

Actually, that would make sense, given that this was a competition.

Dumbledore's gaze, his blue eyes shining brightly, almost twinkling, behind his half-circle spectacles, held his steadily, and for a moment, Harry thought the wizard was reading his mind. But he dismissed the thought. Eyes were windows to the soul, or so they said, but nothing more.

Unless... Magic?

His heart dropped suddenly. Was it possible to read minds, with magic?

Just to be safe, Harry pulled his gaze away, dropping it to Fluffy, who was snoring loudly, now. He watched, out of the corner of his eye, as Dumbledore seemed to study him, waiting for the headmaster to speak.

The music box's melody ended. Harry quickly turned the key again, and the song began again.

"Was there something you wanted, sir?"

Dumbledore seemed to snap out of whatever daze he'd been in, and he smiled benignly at Harry, before speaking. "Oh, not really, my boy. I simply wanted to warn you that, should you proceed beyond this obstacle, it would likely take you more time than you currently have, to return. And I'm sure you wouldn't want to be late to your first class."

Something about Dumbledore's words struck Harry as... off, but what he had said made sense. If the obstacles took more than the hour he had before classes... Perhaps coming back later, during the evening, would be better?

"I hadn't thought of that, sir," Harry admitted, "but I'll take that under advisement. Thank you."

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to brighten, as Harry moved to leave, almost as though this was exactly what he wanted, to delay Harry, and have him return at a later time. But why would that be? Unless Dumbledore didn't think that Harry could make his way past the obstacles, unless he thought Harry might be in danger passing through, surely he would prefer if the obstacles were solved as quickly as possible. At the very least, that would show greater proficiency, wouldn't it?

"Oh, and Harry, my boy?"

And what was it with that familiarity, that phrase, 'my boy'? He certainly wasn't Dumbledore's son - they barely knew each other!

"Yes, sir?"

"Could you come to my office, this evening at seven, perhaps? There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

Harry nodded. "If you wish, sir."

Dumbledore smiled happily. "Wonderful! You do know where my office is? It's just downstairs, on the second floor, guarded by a delightful griffin gargoyle. The password is 'Jelly Slugs'."

Harry nodded again.

After another long moment, he exited, walking swiftly out of the corridor and back towards the grounds, all the while puzzling over the interaction. The headmaster wanted to see him? Why?

He didn't know anything, did he?

-oOo-

10 September 1991
Training Grounds
1520 Hours

Harry wasn't sure quite what to think about flying.

Perhaps he'd have a different opinion once he'd actually flown, but it felt like such a cumbersome and time-consuming method of transportation, when there was also Apparation, the Floo, Portkeys, and various other instantaneous methods of transportation.

For that matter, why did students travel to Hogwarts by train? It wasted practically the entire day on transport, and he couldn't imagine why…

Anyway. He'd read that wizards used brooms for long-distance travel, but sitting on a broom for such travel didn't seem too comfortable, even with Cushioning Charms in place, not to mention that long-distance Portkeys did exist. And flying on broomsticks was, unless Disillusionment Charms were used, a lot more visible than other forms of transportation, thus more likely to break the International Statute of Secrecy.

But then again, by that logic, there would be no point in Muggles traveling by bicycle, because cars were so much faster. Was congestion a problem wizards faced, perhaps not while Apparating, but in the Floo Network or using Portkeys?

And there was Quidditch. So perhaps the main usage of brooms was for recreational purposes, and not for actual transport.

Regardless, having an actual class on broomstick flying seemed almost like a waste of time, like having a Muggle class dedicated to teaching students to ride a bike. Perhaps in a fitness class, though there wasn't much physical fitness involved in sitting on a broom, but still, more of something a student learned on their own time, or with the help of their parents, than something to spend time on at school.

Although then, he supposed the Muggle-raised students might never have the opportunity to learn to fly, and given that Quidditch was the only organized sport at Hogwarts, that wasn't exactly equitable…

Not that any of that really mattered, because Flying was a class - another one they shared with the Hufflepuffs, interestingly enough - which meant that they would be spending their time learning it, and there was nothing Harry could do about that. Yet.

A group of Hufflepuffs arrived, and Harry noted in interest as Susan Bones spotted him and, somewhat self-consciously, approached.

"Hello, Bones," Harry greeted.

"You can call me Susan," the girl said quickly, "if I can call you Harry?"

"But of course."

She smiled. "Great. And thanks for inviting me, on Friday, I don't think I ever thanked you-"

"Think nothing of it," Harry replied dismissively. "I do apologize, though, that so many others came, as well…"

Susan shrugged. "I didn't mind. So what do you think about flying? Have you flown before?"

Funny, that.

Harry shook his head. "Have you?"

"A few times, though I'm no Quidditch star. My Aunt Amelia taught me - says it's a good way to get out of a tight situation, if you can't Apparate."

An interesting point. Harry supposed that was true, though it would require actually having a broom with you… "She thought you might be in such a situation?"

Susan laughed softly. "Oh, not really, but she's in the DMLE, so 'better safe than sorry'."

"What does she do?"

"Officially? She presides over the Wizengamot and oversees DMLE activities, like monitoring activities, leading and training staff, and making sure daily operations run smoothly. Unofficially?" She laughed again. "Auntie says it's a bunch of paperwork and people-pleasing. She says things were a lot more interesting, back when she was an Auror, but that, as Head, she can make more of a difference."

"Oh?"

Susan nodded excitedly. "She became Head after Crouch, who, of course, lead the push for the Death Eater Laws, the ones that authorized use of the Unforgiveables and sentenced to Azkaban without a trial, so she had to undo all of that, and she says that loads of laws in the DMLE are super outdated, some of them even from when the Ministry was founded! Plus, there's a lot of bias and politics and bureaucracy in the Department, and she says that that shouldn't exist, because the law enforcement should be neutral and unbiased, uninfluenced by public opinion."

In theory, Harry agreed with that, but in practice, he doubted that that would ever happen, because the law enforcement, magical or Muggle, was made of people, and people could never be truly unbiased. And all public actions taken by a government would be subject to public opinion, which was why governments couldn't be completely transparent.

So Amelia Bones sounded idealistic, but also honest and committed to ensuring that the DMLE actually did its job, more than looking good or advancing in the Ministry. Harry could work with that.

"Would you want to be a part of that, too, when you grew up?"

Susan opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again quickly; their teacher, Madam Hooch, a witch with short grey hair and strangely yellow, hawk-like eyes, had arrived.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked as the class watched her. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

They learned to summon their brooms, first - and Harry wondered whether you had to be magical for the word 'up' to cause a broomstick to fly into your hand - before they moved on to proper grip, then to liftoff and landing. For whatever reason, the lessons seemed to come ridiculously easily to Harry - only a single try was needed for him to master what took many of the others, outside of those who'd obviously been on a broom before, the entire class. When Hooch set a group of them to practice 'slow laps, as in, no faster than walking speed, and certainly not speed-walking or running or as-fast-as-these-brooms-can-go speed', Harry found himself as part of that group.

And that was when he found, well. That flying was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

It was the cart ride through Gringotts again, the first encounter with Fluffy again, the thrill of Harry's CHERUB missions and basic training and exercises again. His earlier deliberations on the benefits of flying, he realized now, were so naïve and impossible, he realized now. Flying wasn't for practicality, it was for entertainment, the equivalent of a Muggle amusement park, a roller coaster, a skydiving center.

He realized, too late, that he was flying much faster than 'walking speed'.

Hooch's lips were pursed, and her expression uncannily similar to that of much of the CHERUB staff whenever Suriyawong pulled one of his infamous pranks - a mixture of amusement, exasperation, and annoyance - when Harry landed. "Ten points from Ravenclaw, Mr. Potter - you could've seriously injured yourself if you crashed." And, beneath her breath, Harry thought he heard the teacher say, "Just like his father. A natural."

Interesting. So flying skills were hereditary?

-oOo-

10 September 1991
Potions Classroom
1530 Hours

Severus glared at the backs of the students' heads as he glided slowly around the classroom, internally smirking as Neville Longbottom gave a quiet whimper and dropped something on the table - though thankfully, or was it disappointingly? not in his cauldron - as he passed by. Though he never would have thought he'd feel that way... he half wished it was the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first years who had Potions today, if only because that was the class Harry Potter was in.

Harry Potter. He'd expected the boy to be just like his father - arrogant, hot-tempered, and obnoxious, an obvious Gryffindor, someone spoiled and self-important, especially given his fame. He'd prepared himself to see all traces of Lily's gentle, almost naïvely optimistic, loyal, intuitive, fiercely brave nature erased and overridden, to see her son a swaggering bully like his father.

But then, Potter had been sorted into Ravenclaw, of all Houses. But then, Severus had had Potter in class. But then, Potter had answered each of his questions correctly, even providing further information Severus hadn't asked for (like Lily would've), and demonstrating his understanding of the ingredients of the NEWT-level potion Severus had asked about. But then, Potter had proceeded to brew a perfect cure for boils (just like Lily had, their first Potions lesson). But then, Potter had met his gaze, and, for a moment, Severus had seen Lily again.

Not to mention what Albus had urgently summoned him for, just before his first class, in the morning. Severus wanted simultaneously to laugh and shout in the man's face - Albus was the one who'd insisted they delay on creating the obstacles to the Philosopher's Stone, to test Potter (and he wasn't even going to think about the tangent that fact led to) and now, Albus wanted them created as quickly as possible? Well, though the headmaster hadn't said so alright, Severus knew that there was only one reason why he'd sped up the timeline so.

Potter had been investigating that third-floor corridor, and had already gotten past Hagrid's three-headed dog.

Severus refused to think about the fact that he still had no idea of how to get past the mutt.

And, as much as Severus wanted to believe his first reaction to that fact, that obviously, that meant that Potter was just like his father, foolishly bold, jumping into things without thinking everything through… he couldn't help but the slight tinges of doubt. Was it a Gryffindor's recklessness that compelled him? Or a Ravenclaw's curiosity, to know what lay in that corridor? Or a Hufflepuff's, albeit misguided, protectiveness, to seek out the danger in the school? Or even a Slytherin's self-preservation, to know everything that went on around Hogwarts, especially possible threats?

And, perhaps more telling, if he was in Potter's place, would he have sought out that corridor?

It unnerved Severus that he wasn't sure whether his answer was 'no'. He had learned long ago that the safety came in predictability, and that surprises were never a good thing. And though he doubted that Potter had had a childhood anything like his, it only went to show that actions could be taken for a variety of different purposes.

Yet another reason why Albus's warning to stay away from that corridor had been futile at best, and completely counterproductive at worst. Sure, Albus's goal had been to attract Potter's attention to that corridor, but Potter was hardly the only student at the school, and it would be impossible to understand what went through all those students' heads.

If there was anything in their heads, that was. Some days…

As though cued by his thoughts, Longbottom's cauldron exploded.