In the Cupboard

By HarryDude85

I don't own the characters.


Harry hadn't noticed it on the way down to breakfast because he was surrounded by friends, but now that he was just with Hermione and Parvati, Harry noticed that people were watching him and whispering things about him.

"There, look."

"Where?"

"With the Indian girl and the girl with a lot of hair."

"Wearing the glasses?

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

This went on all day. And while nobody was able to disturb his day, it got old rather fast. But he was too fascinated with the castle and his classes to care much.

The castle had so many twists and turns, so many secret passageways and trick doorways, Harry thought he would be a fifth year before he figured it all out.

Harry quickly discovered the classes he loved, the classes he hated, and the classes that lay somewhere in the middle

He really liked Charms. It was taught by a tiny, cheerful teacher, Professor Flitwick. Harry really like this class, because here he got to do what he always thought magic was supposed to be about: making things fly, making normal objects like tea pots and pineapples do things they would never do otherwise, like tap dance.

The only thing Harry didn't really care about in that class was when Professor Flitwick was doing a roll call, when he got to Harry's name, he gave an excited squeak and fell off the pile of books he was standing on so that everyone could see him.

He also enjoyed Transfiguation. That was almost as exciting as Charms. It opened up with Professor McGonagall transforming her desk into a pig and back.

Harry was right about her being someone not to cross. She then launched into a speech about how if anybody messed around in her class, they would be gone and not coming back.

At least Harry was one of the few people, along with Hermione, who was able to do anything with the match he was supposed to turn into a needle. He had made it much harder and there was a hole on the end of it, like needles have. She gave the two of them 10 points to Gryffindor each and smiles, which Harry soon discovered were quite rare.

He liked Herbology and Astronomy, but they weren't really his cup of tea. He enjoyed learning about he different plants and planets, he just wasn't enthusiastic as others were. He still made sure to do well in them, though.

History of Magic, on the other hand, was the one class that everyone in the school agreed on: it was the dullest, most boring class on the list. Professor Binns, the only ghost teacher, was such a bore, it was a battle with Harry's eyes to keep them open every class, and not let himself fall asleep, as was the result with Harry's fellow Gryffindor's, with the exception of Hermione.

Harry quickly noticed that although he was one of the bests of the class, Hermione was better. While Harry had a passion and appreciation of reading and studying, Hermione almost had a kind of superpower. Everything she read seemed to permanently stay with her, assuring her that she got 100's on every homework, quiz, and test.

The two classes that Harry hated most, however, took place on the same day.

On Friday, along with having Charms and Herbology, Harry had his last new classes: Potions followed directly by Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Harry was looking forward to both, as he had read extensively all the books he had purchased for the classes.

Everything went fine in Potions at first. He was enjoying himself, talking to his the other Gryffindor's and even nodding and smiling hello toward Malfoy, as Gryffindor's shared Potions with the Slytherin's. He thought it would be a fun class.

But then the door opened.

In came the hooked-nosed teacher that had been watching Harry at the sorting feast and at Harry's first breakfast. Immediately he told everyone to "sit down and shut up."

Fist thing he did was wave his wand and his name appeared on the chalkboard in front of the class.

"Professor S. Snape"

Snape than began, like every other teacher, reading off names in a roll call. And, like Flitwick did before him, he stopped at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity."

He finished the roll call and looked around at the class. His eyes were as cold and dark as they were when Harry first saw them at the sorting feast.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potions making," he began. "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 shimmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the minds, ensnaring the senses…. I can teach you how bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this speech. Harry and Parvati exchanged looks with raised eyebrows, while Hermione looked eager to prove she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry stared blankly for a second, barely registering Hermione's hand shooting in the air, wondering why Snape had called him out for the second time in less then five minutes, before he remembered what he had read from his summer reading.

"I believe you would get the Draught of Living Death, sir. It's a sleeping so powerful it puts you into a death like sleep," said Harry.

Snape's eyebrows were raised, as if he was actually surprised that Harry had gotten the right answer.

"I suppose you would know more than anyone about getting lucky breaks, Potter," sneered Snape, before he continued. "Let's see if lightning strikes twice. Where would you look, Potter, if I told you to find me a bezoar and what does it do?"

"A bezoar, sir, is found in the stomach of a goat and will cure anybody of most poisons," said Harry.

Snape looked furious. He than said, failing to keep anger from his voice, "What, Potter, is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane!?'

Ignoring Hermione's hand once again, Harry said, remembering the text from One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, "Aren't they the same, Professor?"

Snape looked severely upset, as if he just missed a chance to make Harry look bad and instead, he made him look even better.

Sure enough, a few people looked kind of impressed that Harry was able to answer their obviously furious teacher. They were all Gryffindor's, Snape noticed with satisfaction. None of his Slytherin's would allow themselves to be impressed with Harry Potter.

Snape flicked his wand again and the chalkboard was filled this time with instructions.

"Turn to page 16 in your textbook," snapped Snape. "You will all sit quietly and make the potion described there. Follow the instructions on the board. When you are finished, hand it in to me."

The rest of the class was rather subdued. Everyone made there potions and handed them in, and when class ended, Harry rushed out with the rest of the Gryffindor's.

"Is it just me," said Harry to Hermione and Parvati, "or does Snape hate me?"

"It's not just you," said Parvati. "That man gives me the creeps."

"We'll talk about this later," said Hermione. "We don't want to be late to Defense Against the Dark Arts."

It turns out, however, that being late would have been better than showing up at all.

Everyone had been looking forward to the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, but it turned out to be a big joke.

Professor Quirrell seemed to be afraid of just about everything. He had a terrible twitch in his right eye and he kept stuttering and stammering. His classroom smelled like garlic and he looked absolutely ridiculous in his big purple turban, which he said was from an African village he saved from a zombie and that they gave him the turban in thanks. But when asked how he defeated the zombie, he turned pale and changed the subject.

"Y-your goal t-th-this year is to l-l-learn the fundamental b-basics in how t-t-to protect yourselves from t-t-those who wish to h-harm you," Quirrell looked he was going to faint at the mere thought of danger. "This includes w-w-what items repel d-d-dangerous creatures and how to r-r-recognize d-d-dangerous wizards."

Quirrell turned and waved his wand at the chalkboard. While Harry absentmindedly copied what was appearing on the board, his eyes lingered to Quirrell.

He was wringing his hands in nervousness. What he had to be afraid of in a class full of eleven year olds, Harry didn't know. When Quirrell saw Harry looking at him, the professor gave a half-smile before turning to walk to his desk.

When he turned, Harry caught a full view of Quirrell's turban – and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped his hand to his head.

"What's wrong, Harry," asked Dean, who was at his right. Professor Quirrell had set them in two rows of four in alphabetical order, so Harry was surrounded by Parvati and Dean.

"N-nothing." The whole class was looking at him, because it had been silent before his outburst.

Professor Quirrell was giving him a much different look now. He was now staring at Harry with utmost curiosity, trying to figure out what had happened. He than smiled and said, "Are you alright, P-P-Potter? D-D-Do you need to g-go to the Hospital W-W-Wing?"

"No, professor. I'm fine." And he was. The pain had gone as quickly as it had come.

When class had been dismissed, Hermione and Parvati walked with Harry back to the common room.

"What was that Harry?" asked a worried Hermione.

"I don't know," said Harry. "I was fine but then I got a good, clear view of Quirrell's turban and my scar burned."

"Has it happened before?" asked Parvati.

"No. This was the first time my scar has done anything more than just sit there," said Harry.

"Maybe you should go to the Hospital Wing," suggested Hermione. "Whatever it was, it wasn't normal."

"I don't want to spend my first night in the Hospital Wing," said Harry. "Besides, it's fine now."

"Well, if you're sure," said an uncertain Parvati. When the trio reached the seventh floor, Parvati said, "Look, I'm going to go visit Padma. Do you guys want to come with?"

"I'd love too, but I want to get started on our homework," said Hermione.

"Yeah, I figure I should do the Potions homework as soon as possible," said Harry. "Don't want to give Snape another reason to snap at me."

Saying goodnight to Parvati, Harry and Hermione walked the rest of the way to Gryffindor tower by themselves.

"So, what are your favorite subjects, Harry?" said Hermione.

"Oh, well, I guess I like Charms and Trasfiguration the best," said Harry. "You?"

"The same, but I also really like Astronomy. I know that it's horribly cliché, but being able to look out at all that is out there really makes everything here look insignificant, you know hat I mean?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "I guess."

"Do you not looking up at the stars?" asked Hermione.

"I do, but I just discovered my life here, and I want to figure it out before I start thinking it doesn't matter," said Harry.

"Oh, I didn't mean it to come out like that," said a horrified Hermione. "Of course our lives matter to us and to those around us, but, I just meant, what ever happens here, it doesn't effect what happens out there. You do understand that, right?"

"Yeah, I get it. Sorry I sounded overdramatic there," said Harry. They had finally reached the Fat Lady.

"Caput Draconis," said Hermione. The portrait swung open and they climbed in.

"Hey Harry, Hermione," someone called as they entered the common room. It was Ron. He was calling them over. He was playing what looked like chess with Dean in front of the fireplace. "Want to play me? This match should be over pretty soon."

"Sorry, but we need to do our home work," said Hermione.

"Yeah, sorry Ron," said Harry.

Two hours later, Harry and Hermione were locked in a very intense match with each other, books forgotten, with Ron giving tips to Harry and Dean to Hermione.

"Move your rook here." Ron indicated the spot he was referring to. "That way her queen will have to move, making her king wide open."

Sure enough, when Harry moved his rook, Hermione moved her queen. She only realized her mistake when Harry moved forward and said, "Checkmate."

"No! how did that happen!?" she glared at Dean. "You! Gave me bad suggestions!"

"Hey, it's not my fault that Ron's a better player than me," Dean protested. "Choose him nest time."

"So," said Harry, a cheeky grin on his face, "that makes how many losses for you? Three? Four? Oh no, that's right, seven?"

"Oh, shut it, Harry Potter," glared Hermione, the intenseness she tried to exude failing with her smile. "And you too, Ronald Weasley," she shot at the red-head who was laughing at her loss.

"Why should I," said Ron, still laughing.

"Because I said so, ickle Ronnikinns," said Hermione, using the name that Fred and George had amusingly dubbed their little brother.

"Don't call me that," said Ron, cheeks red.

"Calm down everyone," said Harry, playing referee for the two. "It's just a game."

Grabbing Hermione's arm, he said to her, "Don't you have homework to do?"

She gasped. "Oh my, your right! I got so caught up in the game, I forgot."

She picked up her bag and said, "I'm going to go work in bed. See you in the morning." And she was gone.

"Mental that one, I'm telling you," Ron said to Dean.

"I better get started on that Potions work," said Harry. He picked up his stuff, and, following Hermione's lead, decided to work in his bed.

Wishing his friends good night, Harry went up stairs, but not before he heard Ron say, "They're both mental."

Harry, however, didn't really feel like working. He lay in his bed, homework forgotten. While it was important to get the assignment, done, Harry had two days to do it before his next Potions class. Instead, he wanted to read his letter again.

Every time Harry had nothing to do, Harry passed the time by re-reading the letter Dumbledore had sent along with his Hogwarts letter. It was the first ever letter that was sent to him, and it was full of advice that without which Harry wouldn't be here right now, lying in a bed in a castle of witches and wizards.

More important to Harry, it was full of care for Harry, the kind of care that Harry was not used to from the Dursley's. Whatever mixed feelings about Dumbledore may have, he couldn't get rid of the feeling of happiness he felt every time he read the letter.

An amazing thing about Dumbeldore's letter, Harry thought as he pulled it out from his trunk, was that every time Harry read it, he noticed something he hadn't before. Something, that while he had read it before, only just grasped or realized the next time he sat down to read. Like the last time, Harry had spent a good few minutes trying to figure out what might happen if he double-crossed a goblin.

So, Harry read the letter. It was as warm and helpful as it always been. But somewhere along the middle of the page, something stuck out. Harry noticed something that he hadn't before, but this time, it left Harry full of nothing but dread and questions. It was a single sentence, but that sentence left Harry with a feeling of uneasiness in his stomach. The sentence read: "A few more things before I leave you to contemplate in your cupboard what this all means."

Leave you to contemplate in your cupboard.

Leave you in your cupboard.

In your cupboard.

Harry had known that Dumbledore was aware of his treatment at the Dursley's. The fact that his letter was addressed to "The Cupboard Under the Stairs" could attest to that.

But re-reading the letter, Harry couldn't help but think that Dumbledore was rubbing it in his face, that Harry had such a lousy childhood. That line made it seem like it was something that Harry should be able to laugh about, a child living in squalor while his pig of a cousin got every thing handed to him, no questions asked.

A fury that Harry could never remember experiencing before coursed through him. He looked at the bottom of the letter, where Dumbledore had practically opened his door to him, giving Harry his location and even his password, Sugar Quill.

Harry jumped from his bed, shoved the letter in the pocket of his robes and headed for the door, with every intention of giving Dumbledore a piece of his mind, when Harry looked out the window.

It was pitch black outside. Harry looked at the clock next to his bed and saw that it read nine thirty-seven. And while people may still be up in the common room, it was much too late to go wandering around the castle.

Defeated, Harry settled for going down to Dumbledore first thing in the morning.

He collapsed in his bed, his Potions book falling to the floor. Harry was still full of anger and wanted more than anything to go confront the headmaster.

If only there was some way to sneak out without anyone noticing, thought Harry. Then I could go to Dumbledore as long as I want.

He was just about to fall a sleep, his anger waning in from tiredness, when an idea shot through his head.

The invisibility cloak!

Harry leaped from his bed, opened his trunk and pulled out the long, flowing cloak that had once been his fathers.

With this on, he would be able to see Dumbledore without anybody knowing.

Quickly, Harry arranged some pillows to make it look like he was actually sleeping, than closed his curtains, hoping that his dormitory mates would think he was sleeping.

He made sure the letter was still in his pocket threw the cloak around himself. When he through it on, he heard something hit the wood floor.

Looking down, Harry saw that it was the Chocolate Frog card of Peter Pettigrew. It must have been on top of his invisibility cloak.

Deciding he could ask Dumbledore about him as well, Harry put the card in his other pocket, secured the cloak around himself and left the dormitory.


Here it comes. The promised Harry/Dumbledore talk. This should really shake things up. A lot, and I mean a lot, will be revealed that shouldn't be revealed this early. But that's the beauty of the AU. You can screw things up, and nobody can complain. Much.

I borrowed Snape's opening speech straight from the book because it was too important of a scene to just chop up.

Keep reading and reviewing please.

Later.