The next week passed in a blur of happiness. Gryffindor still hadn't come down from its excitement at beating Slytherin for the first time in three years, and Harry was the star. Even the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws called out congratulations as she passed through the corridors. Harry couldn't stop beaming - she wondered if this was what professional players felt like after they'd won a game.
The only person who seemed to take Gryffindor's win as a personal affront was Professor Snape. In their first Potions lesson after the match, the dour man had forced Harry to start over twice, first claiming that the base for the Befuddlement Draught was too thick, and then, the second go around, that it was too thin. They had been exactly the same both times. Harry just gritted her teeth and said, "Yes, Professor Snape," in her meekest voice, even as thick resentment built up inside her.
On the opposite side of the spectrum from Professor Snape was Professor McGonagall. The strict Scottish woman wouldn't show favoritism in class, but Harry received an invitation on Wednesday morning for tea with the Transfiguration Professor for the upcoming Friday. Hermione, who had taken up Harry's offer of friendship with a vengeance and rarely left her side, could hardly contain her jealousy.
When Friday rolled around, even Professor Snape's acidic remarks couldn't puncture her good mood. At three thirty, Harry, with the help of Fred and George, made her way through the sun-lit corridors to Professor McGonagall's office. Unlike most of the other Hogwarts staff, Professor McGonagall's office was located away from her classroom. As Deputy Head-mistress, the woman had a special room on the first floor, overlooking the Transfiguration courtyard and the area of lawn used for the first-year's flying lessons.
"Enter!" Professor McGonagall's slightly muffled voice called out when she knocked. After Harry stepped inside, she looked around, taking in the surroundings as she made her way to the cushioned chair waiting for her in front of Professor McGonagall's desk. The chamber was sparsely decorated, yet had a tasteful elegance. All of the furniture - including the multiple book-cases and three decidedly Muggle filing cabinets - were the same dark oak color. The front of Professor McGonagall's desk had ten or twelve small trinkets on it, all animals and all showing some sort of movement, excepting an obsidian statue of a dog.
"The best of my seventh-years work from my time in office," she explained when she saw where Harry's eyes were. "Your father made this one," she said, picking up a wooden stag that pranced on the spot and shook its majestic antlers when she put it on her desk. "I never did understand the significance of the stag, but it was a remarkable piece of Transfiguration." She stared down at it sadly. "It used to run, but the magic seemed to fade a little after your mother died." With a small sigh, she placed it back on the shelf, next to the obsidian dog which was curled up.
"Who made the dog?" Harry asked, curious as to why it wasn't moving.
"Sirius Black," Professor McGonagall said quietly. "He was your father's best friend in school, before he went missing."
"He was my godfather," said Harry, just as quietly.
Professor McGonagall looked up sharply, surprise written on her face. "I did not know." Her face softened. "Although I should have suspected. James would hardly have given the honor to anyone else. Tea?" She tapped her wand on the edge of her desk and immediately a house-elf popped into the room from thin air.
"How may Fritty serve Mistress Deputy McGonagall?" the small elf asked with a curtsy. Fritty was clothed in a well-starched uniform - navy blue pleated skirt, loose white shirt emblazoned with the Hogwarts' crest, and a clean white apron. Her eyes were a deep brown, and a small amount of stringy but well-tended brown hair crowned her green head.
"A spot of tea will be all, Fritty." The house elf curtsied and vanished with a quiet pop of Apparition.
"How can house elves, you know, Apparate inside Hogwarts?" Harry asked, confused. "Hogwarts, A History, says that it's impossible."
Professor McGonagall smiled. "That book is incomplete," she said kindly. "It does not mention house elves at all. As for their being able to Apparate? House elf magic is completely different than ours - it is less focused. Think of it as a kind of accidental magic used on purpose." Harry frowned at the juxtaposition of 'accidental' and 'on purpose'.
"I think I understand," she said at last. "They don't have a wand to refine their magic with, so they end up with a sort of wandless magic like young children use to get toys off high shelves, but thats only really good for cleaning and cooking. And Apparition," she added as an afterthought.
"Precisely," Professor McGonagall said with an approving nod. Fritty popped back into the office, a tray laden with the fixings of tea balanced between her head and hands. She stood on her tiptoes to place it on Professor McGonagall's desk.
"Will you's be needing anything else from Fritty?" the creature asked with another small curtsy.
"No, thank you." Fritty disappeared once again. Harry waited while McGonagall poured two cups of tea, then added a lump of sugar and a dash of milk at Harry's direction. McGonagall took hers with lemon.
As they sipped their tea, Professor McGonagall broached a new subject. "How are you liking Hogwarts so far?"
"I love it," Harry answered immediately. "I mean, I miss Alex, and Father too, but it's amazing here. I'm learning so much!"
Professor McGonagall smiled wistfully at her. "I remember the feeling," she said, eyes slightly unfocused. "The Sorting Hat almost placed me in Ravenclaw," she admitted. Harry had to remind herself to keep her mouth closed as she tried to wrap her mind around a Head-of-Ravenclaw Professor McGonagall. "Sometimes," Professor McGonagall continued, a little sharply, "I wonder how you made it into Gryffindor yourself. Not that I'm not pleased, of course," she added. "But you seem like you would fit in well with the Ravenclaws. Your work for all your classes is superb. Only Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom have better marks than you in Charms and Herbology, respectively."
Harry took a long sip before answering. "The Hat wanted to put me in Ravenclaw," she said at last. "But I wanted to be in Gryffindor like Dad and Mum."
"There's nothing wrong with being your own person. Your parents would be proud of you no matter which House you were Sorted into." Harry scoffed quietly - her father would likely have sent her to a different school if she'd been Sorted into Slytherin, even without his knowing that she was Harry and not Alex. She didn't make any comment, taking another drink of tea instead. "You are an invaluable asset to my house," Professor McGonagall continued, "As you would have been to whichever you were Sorted into."
"Thank you," Harry said, unable to think of what else to say to such a lavish compliment from a teacher who, like Snape, rarely praised anyone.
"What is your best class, Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked, pouring herself a second cup of tea. Harry turned down a refill.
"Um. After Transfiguration? Defense Against the Dark Arts, I guess. But only because Snape - "
"Professor Snape," McGonagall corrected automatically.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. Professor Snape. He doesn't like me very much, so he won't always give me the grade I expect. Do you know why he doesn't like me?" Harry figured that Professor McGonagall, who had obviously taught her father and godfather, must have been around when Snape was.
Professor McGonagall hesitated before answering. "Professor Snape has had a very difficult life," she said at last. "He was the same school year as your parents, and he and your father never liked each other much." The expression on her face led Harry to believe that the professor was understating the matter. "I believe," she ventured cautiously, "That you bring up memories of your father's time here with Severus - that is, Professor Snape. Your hair, your glasses, your talent in the air."
"I don't understand. He doesn't like me simply because he and my father didn't get along?" She'd never had an enemy before, and really didn't have any now (unless one counted the annoying but rather harmless Draco Malfoy) and she couldn't imagine pinning the faults of the father on the child.
"It's a great deal more complicated than that," Professor McGonagall sighed.
"How? Can you tell me, please?" Harry was almost begging. She valued any information about her parents, and yearned to know why Snape didn't like her. She hadn't done anything to him (that he knew about, anyways, and that was the twin's fault).
"Maybe in a few years. Oh, I almost forgot!" Professor McGonagall picked up her wand from where it lay next to a few fat rolls of parchment and Summoned a slender tome from the shelf. "Here," she said, passing the book over. Harry set her teacup down and took the book, eyes automatically lingering on the title, Transfiguration Lessons for the Newfound Prodigy.
"For me?" Harry asked, looking up in surprise. She knew she was good, but she wouldn't have ever called herself a prodigy. In any case, she hadn't even put much effort into her spell-work. Yes, she did the homework, and better than most other students, but she knew that she could have done better, too. Quidditch just got in the way.
"My Transfiguration professor gave it to me in my second year," Professor McGonagall said, a wistful smile on her face. "It's a fun little book." Harry flipped through it as her professor watched, pausing at the page where a diagram showed the wand-motions for changing a pillow into a kitten. It looked extraordinarily difficult.
"That's really neat," Harry said, closing the book and holding it out to Professor McGonagall.
"No, Mr. Potter. It's yours now. And I expect you to pass it on when you find a suitable candidate."
"But - "
"Must I threaten you with detention?"
Harry shut her mouth. "Thanks," she muttered, both flustered and pleased.
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth to say something else, but just then her fireplace flamed green and a letter zoomed out. She grabbed it from the air with surprising ease and opened it one-handed. As she read it, her face paled and she put her teacup down. "Thank you for coming to tea," she snapped out. "I'll see you in class. Congratulations on your win." Harry could see that she had been excused, and hurried from the room.
Harry found out what had happened on Monday morning at breakfast, along with the rest of school. Dumbledore's grand seat was empty - as it had been all weekend - and both Professor Snape's and Madam Pomfrey were nowhere in sight. Professor McGonagall stood, drawing the attention of the study body.
"Attention, please!" she called out unnecessarily. What little chatter present died away. "Headmaster Dumbledore has come down with a nasty cold, and will not be present for a few more days. Any concerns that may have been addressed to him can be brought to me, or to your head of house." She sat down, and the hall erupted in whispers and murmurs. The students couldn't talk for long, however, as the bell for class rang. Accompanied by Neville and Hermione, Harry made her way from the hall. Just before she stepped from the door, a hand shoved a crumpled up piece of parchment into her hand. She had a glimpse of red hair before the crowd shunted her along.
In Charms, Harry opened the note. Fred's familiar, surprisingly neat handwriting met her eyes.
Harry - Get books on Basic Alchemy. Meet us in the Trophy Room at 11:00 tonight after practice. Don't get caught. - Gred
When she left Charms, the note fell from her bag onto the floor beneath her desk, unnoticed until two periods later when the first year Ravenclaws and Slytherins filed in.
Harry went through the rest of the day worrying about how she was going to get away from Hermione and Neville. The two of them had hardly left her side since Halloween - Hermione out of gratitude for someone to be her friend, and Neville because Harry was one of the few who didn't write him off as part of the furniture. In the end, Harry simply gave up and brought them with her. She had tried to shake them off after showering to get the mud from practice off, but neither would leave. Hermione spent the entire trip from the common room hissing in her ear about breaking the rules, and Neville jumped at every shadow.
"Will you calm down?" Harry finally whispered between clenched teeth. "And Hermione, I know I'm breaking rules. You didn't have to come, and you're welcome to go back now." Hermione closed her mouth and looked put-out that Harry had snapped at her, while Neville seemed to draw strength from her words.
They had only gone a few more yards when Hermione whispered quietly to her, "Why are we sneaking into the library?"
"I need to get books for someone. Really, if you keep talking someone's going to hear us." Hermione gave a short hmph but didn't speak for the rest of the journey to the library.
As it turned out, Harry was very glad Hermione and Neville had come with her. Hermione knew the library better than even Harry, and Neville, as the largest of the three of them, could carry more books. They left the library with arms full, fifteen books in total. Hermione was muttering to herself nonstop, whimpering at the knowledge that she had just broken her first school rules, and effectively stolen books in the process, even if they were going to be returned in a few weeks at most.
"Why aren't we going back to Gryffindor Tower?" Hermione complained in a low whisper as they descended to the third floor instead of going back up to the seventh.
"Because they told me to meet them in the trophy room. Now be quiet. I thought I heard something." Obediently, Hermione stopped talking, although Neville had to stifle a swear-word when he stubbed his toe on one of the stone plinths that the suits of armor spread throughout the castle stood on.
The corridors seemed to stretch on longer than usual, and sounds were magnified ten-fold in the silence. Even their breathing seemed louder than normal. After what seemed like miles of abandoned, dark halls, they neared the Trophy Room door. Harry went in first, Neville and then Hermione creeping in after her.
"Hello?" she whispered. It echoed off the many glass cases full of trophies and medals dating back to the founder's era.
Two dark shapes emerged from behind the largest trophy case, which displayed all of the Quidditch trophies and plaques handed out through the years. Hermione let out a quiet squeak, and Neville nearly dropped the heavy books in his arms.
"What took so long?" one of the twins asked in a bored voice, not bothering to whisper.
"Shhh," Hermione cautioned. They chuckled in amusement at her blatant worry.
"We don't remember inviting them," George pointed out as Harry and her friends came closer.
"Sorry," she said. "I couldn't leave them, and they wouldn't let me go alone."
They shrugged in tandem. "You've got the books?" Harry shifted her stack of six in her arms. The books were heavy, and her arms were starting to go numb. Fred reached out and took them from her, while George relieved Hermione and Neville of theirs. George procured a bag from nowhere and opened it. Fred started shoving books in, and, to Harry's astonishment, the bag just kept swallowing them, all fifteen.
"Ooh, is that an Undetectable Extension Charm?" Hermione whispered eagerly, leaning forward to get a better look. "I've read all about those. Did you cast it yourself? What's the maximum load it can take? Is it Weightless as well?"
Her questioning was broken off when Harry slapped a hand over her mouth. "Did you hear that?" she asked in a whisper so quiet that the twins had to lean in even closer than they already were to hear.
"What?" Neville whispered back, glancing around nervously. He hadn't really wanted to come in the first place.
A quiet shuffling noise came from around the corner, and then they heard, quite clearly, Filch's croaky voice say, "Sniff around, my sweet. They're around here somewhere." The five Gryffindors stood petrified for a moment until Fred tugged on Harry's sleeve and dragged her towards the back of the room where it put out into a small passageway between the Charms corridor and the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Harry pulled Hermione along with her, while George slung the bag over his shoulder and grabbed Neville roughly by the collar of his pajama top. They crept as quietly as they could, while Filch spoke in crooning tones to his cat in the Trophy Room. They managed to make it halfway down the narrow corridor until Neville stumbled into a suit of armor and sent it crashing to the floor. Fred and George exchanged a single look, and said seriously, "Time to go!" They sprinted down the corridor, Fred still dragging Harry behind him. She had let go of Hermione, who grabbed hold of Neville's hand. George led the way, Fred and Harry close on his heels. Hermione and Neville brought up the rear, casting panicked glances behind them every few feet. They pelted through the halls for what felt like miles, skidding around corners and narrowly dodging statues, yanking open doors and trying to close them softly behind them. Finally, they reached a door that would not open.
"Oh no!" Neville moaned, staring wide-eyed behind them. The scuffing noise of a familiar pair of shoes brought all of their eyes to the door at the end of the unlit corridor. Filch must have taken a short-cut they didn't know about, because he was just around the corner. Harry pushed Fred out of the way and pulled furiously on the door handle. They were at a dead-end, with nowhere else to go.
"Move," Hermione snapped, shoving herself to the front of the group. She pulled her wand out and tapped the doorknob. "Alohomora." With a click, the mechanism unlocked. "Here," she said, pulling the door open. They filed inside, Hermione closing the door behind her. She and Neville slumped against it, their breaths rushing out in a relieved sigh. Harry pressed her ear to the door, listening through the thick wood. She could just barely hear Filch's lantern clanking before it faded away, and his voice croaked out, "Not down here, my sweet," to Mrs. Norris.
Harry sighed in relief as she heard him leaving the corridor. "He's left," she informed the others. They didn't respond. "Guys?" She turned around. All of them, even Fred and George, were staring in horror at something behind them, and Hermione's mouth was opening and closing soundlessly in her terror. A low growling sound reached her ears, and she too stared back into the darkness. Three sets of glowing eyes stared back at them, and a large three-headed dog stepped into the light seeping under the crack between the bottom of the door and the stone floor. It's paws were half as large as the broom shed on the Quidditch pitch where the shoddy school brooms were stored, and its heads were each as large as her bathroom at home. Long strands of drool hung from each of its large mouths, which were filled with teeth the size of her forearm.
"Dog!" she whimpered, eyes wide. She fumbled behind her and managed to get the door open, falling out in her haste to escape the clearly hungry dog. The other four spilled out after her, Fred and George locking the door magically behind them. They didn't speak all the way back to the common room, where a very disapproving Fat Lady let them in, glaring especially at Hermione, to her eyes the only girl of the bunch.
They clambered up, Fred giving Harry an unnecessary boost in his haste to get out of the hall. She didn't even bother glaring at him, her mind was so busy spinning a thousand different directions. As a group, they collapsed onto the couches and armchairs nearest the dying fire. Neville was as white as milk, and Fred and George where holding each other's hand where they sat side by side. Harry had flopped down on the largest armchair, which really was more like a small couch. It was George who finally voiced what Harry was thinking.
"What the bloody hell are they doing keeping a great dog like that in a school full of children?" Fred nodded his agreement, his freckles standing out on his pale face even in the light of the fire.
"I dunno," Harry said, staring at the yellow and orange flames as they flickered weakly.
"Dumbledore's always been unusual. Even my Gran says so," Neville offered timidly. "Maybe it's just - "
"Didn't any of you look at it's feet?" Hermione asked exasperatedly, cutting across Neville.
"Yeah," Harry said. "They were huge."
"I was a bit more concerned with it heads," George said crossly. Fred had finally let go of his hand.
"It was standing on a trap door!" Hermione said, like it meant something special. When she received blank looks from everyone, including Harry, who had no idea what she was going on about, she rolled her eyes. "It's guarding something, isn't it obvious?"
"Oh, yes," Fred said sarcastically. "A trap door - there must be something hidden underneath."
Hermione glared at him, but Harry spoke up first. "She's right, you know. The chances of it just being - I don't know, a storage room - just aren't that good. Why else wouldn't Dumbledore want us down there?"
"But what could it be? What could be so important that Dumbledore's hiding it at Hogwarts?"
"Well, it's just as safe as Gringotts, so that's a plus," George said.
"Didn't Hagrid say that to that kid in Gringotts when we were there?"
"Yeah." George frowned. "He had a letter for the goblin, too. Remember - it was as we were sneaking away from Mum. Of course," he added with a smirk, "Hagrid's whisper is about as quiet as his laugh. You-know-what in vault you-know-which. He must have picked whatever it was up that day."
Harry frowned. "So Hagrid got something for Dumbledore, who hid it under the school and set a vicious three-headed dog to guarding it?" She wished Alex was here - he always knew what to do when there was a mystery to be solved, most likely from all of the cheap mystery novels he'd read over the years.
"Yeah, that about sums it up." George looked both excited and bored at the same time.
"Wonder what could be that important, though," Fred said as he slouched back into the soft sofa.
"Honestly," Harry said, "I couldn't care less at the moment. I've had enough excitement for one night. And we've got classes tomorrow."
"But - !" Fred looked like she'd just told him Christmas was canceled. "Don't you want to know what's been hidden down there?"
"Of course I do," Harry said, standing up with a yawn. "Just not right now."
Hermione stood up as well. "Harry's right," she said, throwing Fred and George dirty looks. Apparently, she had decided to blame them for the entire incident. "We should all get to bed before someone else dreams up another scheme to get us killed, or worse, expelled." Fred and George snorted in laughter as Hermione stalked over to the stairs and vanished from view.
"…or worse, expelled," Fred mimicked in a fake-soprano. Against her better judgment, she snickered. Even Neville let out a half-hearted grin. Luckily, Hermione couldn't hear.
"C'mon, let's get to bed," Harry said. The other three got up and followed her up the stairs. She and Neville left at the fifth room up, while the twins climbed all the way up to the seventh. The only room above theirs, in fact, was the one that, at the moment, was empty because the Head Boy was a Ravenclaw.
"Night!" Harry called up after the twins as they retreated up the stairs, still snickering over Hermione's rather backwards sentiments.
The next morning, Hermione refused to talk to Harry, conversing solely with Neville, who she didn't blame for their near-death (and near-expulsion) experience the night before. Fred and George were treating the entire thing as a joke, which only exasperated Hermione even more. It took until Herbology, where she, Neville, and Hermione were trimming a Flaming Rosebush together, for Hermione to finally speak to her, albeit stiffly and only about passing the clippings bucket.
That evening after Quidditch practice, Harry, Hermione and Neville sat down together at one of the few empty tables left in the common room and whispered about what the dog had been doing inside Hogwarts over their half-completed Herbology homework.
"The dog is guarding something," Hermione hissed, labeling the stamen with an angry flourish.
"Yes, we've agreed on that. But what?" Harry asked. She lay down her quill so as not to mess up her sketch. She'd never been talented at art, and it would take much too long to re-draw it so it was better not to risk a blot. Neville shrugged and continued on his drawing - if possible, he was even worse than Harry, but he at least had passion on his side, and a nearly perfect memory for how the plants fit together.
"Do you think the teachers know?" Hermione asked, tapping her quill on the table until Harry slammed her hand down on it when the constant noise became too irritating. Hermione huffily pulled her quill away and straightened the vanes as Harry began to speak.
"Of course they know. They're teachers." Harry knew her voice was steady and full of conviction, but she herself wasn't so sure that she was right. She still remembered Snape's torn-up leg on Halloween night. And a mountain troll, known for their stupidity and brutishness, would never have been able to get into Hogwarts on its own. Quite obviously, at least two of the teachers knew about the dog, and Professor McGonagall most definitely would have been informed. "But what is it guarding?" She sighed and turned back to her drawing. The discussion was dropped when Ron, Seamus, and Dean came over and took the last three seats at the table, panicking over the History of Magic essay due the next day.
Over the next week and a half, until the start of December, the matter of the three-headed dog was largely forgotten. Wood hadn't slacked off his scheduled practices even though Gryffindor didn't play again until mid-February, and all of the professors had picked up the pace of instruction. Harry had decided not to tell Alex what had happened, and instead had been diligently working with Transfiguration Lessons for the Newfound Prodigy in her sparse free-time, occasionally lingering after Transfiguration to get tips or have Professor McGonagall clarify difficult or unclear passages. Whenever she was alone with her Transfiguration professor, it was easy to see that the Scotts-woman was stressed and very worried about something, even though Professor Dumbledore had begun to show up at meals the Thursday after McGonagall's announcement.
For the most part, Fred and George left Harry alone. The books on basic alchemy she'd gotten them seemed to be keeping them occupied, so she hadn't had to make another trip to library for them. They only bothered her at Quidditch practice, asking odd questions about potions ingredients and generalized ephemeral transfiguration. Most days, Wood chased them off and yelled at them for distracting his Seeker. Fred and George would crack some joke or another and fly off after the Bludgers, but kept throwing increasingly confused glances at her. The looks made her nervous, but she had to trust that they wouldn't spill her secret to anyone.
On December ninth, Professor McGonagall came around with a parchment, asking everyone who wanted to stay at Hogwarts over break to sign. Harry put down her name right away, but both Hermione and Neville were traveling back home for the holidays. Hermione looked uncertain of her decision to go home, and when Harry asked, replied that she didn't want to leave the library, but Harry could tell she simply didn't like to leave her alone for the holiday season.
After the Hogwarts Express left on the evening of the twentieth, the entire school seemed empty. There were only five Gryffindors staying, including Harry, as well as nine Ravenclaws, eight Hufflepuffs, and eleven Slytherins. Draco Malfoy had made loud remarks about feeling sorry for all those who had to stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas season because their parents didn't like them, but Harry ignored him as she had been doing for the past three months. Frankly, he wasn't worth her time.
Harry woke up on December twenty-first to an oddly silent tower. The only other Gryffindors were the four Weasley's, whose parents and sister had gone to Romania to visit their brother Charlie. Fred and George hadn't been too put out about it, since they were still plotting something to do with alchemy, potions, and ephemeral transfiguration. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know what.
The first thing Harry did with an all-but-empty common room was claim the most comfortable chair next to the fire and start in on her homework. Her professors hadn't felt the need to be kind to their students just because it was the holidays.
It was peaceful; the Weasley's were sleeping in, and around ten o'clock a platter of holiday biscuits appeared on the table next to her, as well as a pitcher of milk and five glasses. Harry praised the perceptiveness of house-elves as she bit the head off a ginger-bread man.
Fred and George were the first down the staircase, yawning widely, dressed identically as they were wont to do on weekends when they didn't have to wear uniforms.
"How are you this fine morning?" George asked, beaming, as he sat down in the chair to her left and reached over to grab two biscuits.
Fred didn't give her a chance to answer, closing the two books she had open on her lap - One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and Magical Drafts and Potions - and stealing her ink-pot. "Aren't you bored with homework yet?" he asked, settling himself on the right arm of her chair.
"Don't you want to do something fun?" George inserted. Harry thought they sounded like they were trying to sell something.
"What do you want?" she asked tiredly, rolling up her nearly complete Potions essay (properties and uses of hellebore).
The twins adopted a wounded look. "How could he?"
"It's like he doesn't even care about us!"
They sighed. "Ah, well, I suppose we'll have to break rules by ourselves."
Against her better judgment, Harry leaned forward. "Which rules are you breaking this time?"
"Only the one involving the words forbidden, out of bounds, and students."
Harry scowled. "I don't care what you have to say, I'm not going anywhere near that dog."
"Oh, isn't he cute," Fred said with a smirk, ruffling a hand through Harry's hair and making it even messier. It had grown out a fair bit since September, and Harry knew she would need a haircut soon, or else risk looking too feminine. Maybe Hermione could help; she didn't trust Neville with sharp objects near her head, even if he was her friend.
"Quit it," she snapped, shoving his hand away.
"Now now, no need to be rude about it," George tsked.
"With you two I always need to be rude," Harry retorted. They chuckled.
"Maybe," Fred admitted. "But seriously, will you come with us?"
"If we're not going to get our heads bit off by that dog, where are we going?" Fred just tapped the cover of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Harry raised her eyebrows. "The Forest?"
"We need a few ingredients that have to be used when they're fresh," George whispered, casting a wary glance at the staircase as if expecting Percy the Prefect to come strutting down the stairs to put an end to their wrong-doing.
"And this involves me, how?"
"Well, you're the best at Potions," Fred said in what was obviously meant to be a flattering tone of voice.
"Yes, much better than us two bumblers," George added, nodding in agreement.
"And since you're such an expert brewer, we were wondering - hoping, really - if you would consent to - ah - "
"What I believe my dear brother is trying to say," George cut him off, "Is that such dabblers in the art of potions, like ourselves, have no business trying to brew such a complex potion." They looked down at her, identical brown eyes set identically in identical freckled faces.
"Please?"
Harry had to force herself not to look too amazed. She'd never heard either of the twins ask for something so politely, in their own round-about way. "Oh, I'm regretting it already," she said, closing her eyes and leaning back into the chair. Fred whooped. "Shh! Some people are still sleeping!"
"Oh, Ron? He sleeps too much. Sometimes I wonder if he's a sloth." Fred shrugged, but spoke in a quieter voice. "And Perce won't come down till noon, the poncy git."
"So, you'll help?" George asked with a shadow of a grin.
"Yes, yes. Let me go get my cloak. And a scarf. And gloves and a hat." Fred and George snickered.
"What?!" Harry asked indignantly as she gathered her homework supplies. "I get cold!"
Fred opened his mouth to say something, but George elbowed him in the side and shot a warning glare at him. "We'll get some jars, or something," Fred said, rubbing his side gingerly. Harry shook her head in exasperation as the twins jogged up the stairs, finished screwing the top on her inkwell and followed their path up to her dorm. Ron was still asleep - amazingly - and snoring softly. Moving quietly so as not to wake him, Harry placed her books on top of her bedside table. Her trunk was messier than it had been when she first packed, but she quickly found her winter gear since she often wore it down in Potions, where it was so cold you could see your breath even with the heat of the cauldron's fires, and out to the greenhouses for Herbology. After a moment of hesitation, she grabbed her monogrammed potions kit and stuffed it into her book bag.
Fred and George were waiting for her in the common room. "Come on," Fred said, grabbing her arm and dragging her towards the portrait hole. "Percy just got up and we improved his shower." Harry giggled at the thought of an irate, blue Percy. Fred and George had been eager to try their newest trick on someone, and it appeared that Percy had drawn the short straw. The blue would contrast rather well with his hair.
They didn't see anyone on the way down to the front doors, which wasn't surprising given that there were only thirty-three students plus staff in the entire castle. A small amount of chatter came from the Great Hall where some students were eating an early lunch.
Snow carpeted the lawns and piled up at the edges of the castle. The trio went single file, Harry sandwiched between the twins. She was glad of that, especially since she wouldn't have been able to break a path through the snow so quickly with her lesser height. She could see Hagrid's cabin at the edge of the forest, smoke spiraling up from the chimney.
"This way," Fred whispered back to her, leading away from the Hagrid's cabin towards the forest.
"Why are you whispering?" Harry whispered back. "No one can hear us out here."
"I happen to like whispering," Fred whispered indignantly.
"Shut it, you two," George hissed up at them. "We can whisper about whispering later. Right now we need to get in the forest to get those plants!"
Fred shot his brother a cocky grin. "Of course, brother mine." Harry, however, had lost track of their banter and was staring at the fringe of the forest with sinking heart.
"Um, guys?"
"What?!" they said together, turning on her with irritation at being interrupted. She nodded mutely at the forest and they immediately snapped to attention.
"Oh."
"Crud."
"That's an understatement."
A tall, broad man with wildly bushy hair, wearing a thick moleskin overcoat, stood in the shadows of the tall pines at the edge of the forest, watching them with an amused scowl.
"Er. Hi, Hagrid," Harry said when it became apparent Fred and George weren't going to be saying anything.
"Mornin' boys. Bit early fer yeh, isn' it?"
"Nah. Just enjoying the lovely weather." Fred gave Hagrid an innocent smile.
"O' course." Hagrid nodded sagely. Harry had the feeling that this scene had been played out several times already in the past two years. "Why don' yeh come and have a cuppa with me an' Fang."
"Fang?" Harry asked George from the corner of her mouth.
"His dog. Boarhound. Drools a lot. Smells bad, too."
"'E does not," Hagrid protested. George winked at Harry, and Hagrid realized what George had been doing. "Let's go get that tea now," Hagrid repeated. "Fang'll be righ' happy ter have company besides me. I'm not tha' grea' o' company in the winter - too much ter do with the trees an' all the snow an'…"
"Well, shit," George muttered as they followed along in the path a happily blathering Hagrid made through the snow - it was a lot easier than it had been when Fred had been in the lead, since Hagrid's path was at least three times as wide.
"Lady present," Fred reminded him.
"Shh!" Harry hissed. But Hagrid didn't appear to have heard. She reached back and whacked George's arm. He mouthed "sorry!" at her, and she nodded.
"..an' 'ere we are. After yeh." He held the door open to the wooden cabin. Harry followed Fred inside, looking around curiously. The large man lived in a single-room house, a bed the size of a boat shoved into one corner, a large hearth with a crackling fire taking up the greater part of one wall, and the rest of the house strewn with bits of plants, dishes, clothes, and even a few tattered books. "'ave a seat." Hagrid moved to the fireplace and hung a large teapot over the flames while Harry, Fred, and George sat themselves at the rough wooden table, which had bits of parchment and newspaper clippings on the top.
Fred slouched in his seat, while George fended off a slobbering Fang. Harry slung her bookbag over the top of the chair and proceeded to clear off a spot for the teapot. As she stacked the parchments according to size, a clipping from the Daily Prophet fell to the floor. She picked it up and started to put it on the pile, but the headline caught her eye.
GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST
Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on August 10, widely believed to be the
work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been
taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied that same day. "But we're not
telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for
you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.
The date on the clipping was August 17, only a week after Harry's visit to Diagon Alley. "Fred, George," she said, calling their attention. She pushed the clipping across the table at them. "Read this."
George stopped trying to get Fang to leave him alone and held the clipping so that Fred could read it at the same time.
"Don't you get it?" Harry hissed, sending a wary glance at Hagrid, who was humming loudly while getting mugs down from cabinets well out of Harry's reach. Fred dropped the clipping on top of the stack Harry had made. He shrugged. "You two said you saw Hagrid at Gringotts on the tenth, right? And this article," she tapped the paper in question, "Says that the vault was emptied earlier that same day. I'll bet anything that whatever Hagrid took out then, is now hidden underneath the trapdoor."
"Maybe. We don't actually know if Hagrid took anything out. And why would Dumbledore trust Hagrid with something that important?"
That question went unanswered when Hagrid came to the table, four mugs of tea in hand. He placed one in front of each of them, the largest in the empty chair left for him. He put a platter of Rock Cakes, grey scone-like objects, on the table, but none of them took any. Harry had been meaning to, but George managed to grab her arm and gave her a warning head-shake. The tea was a little too strong, but nothing a cube of sugar couldn't fix.
Much later, after Hagrid had personally escorted them back to the Gryffindor Common Room, she asked George why.
"I chipped my tooth on one last year when he caught us trying to sneak into the forest. Again. Just," he added with a small grin, "Don't eat anything he makes unless you're dying of starvation and there's nothing else around." The rest of their involuntary visit with Hagrid passed easily, and they ended up staying with the friendly groundskeeper until well-past lunchtime.