Disclaimer – Everything you recognise belongs to JKR. All the rest is simply me playing in her sandbox.

-oOoOo-

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

Chapter 6

If there was one thing that Harry had learnt since starting at Hogwarts, it was that no matter how hard anyone tried, secrets just couldn't be kept secret.

Oliver Wood, and to some extent, Professor McGonagall, had insisted that Harry's inclusion on the Gryffindor quidditch team should be kept secret. But before the next evening's dinner had even started, nearly the entire school knew.

First had come Fred and George Weasley. Ron's twin brothers ambushed Harry in the corridors between lessons to drape arms across his shoulders and steer him in to the closest empty classroom.

"Harry, our newest, dearest friend," the first one said seriously.

"It's come to our attention," the second one continued

"That you fancy yourself as a quidditch prodigy …"

"And the way that our esteemed leader …"

"Our fanatical leader, I believe you mean, my dear brother," the first twin corrected.

"Quite, correct, brother mine, our fanatical leader, has been extolling your flying skills …"

"Then you must be exactly that," their speech concluded with a mad grin.

Harry swivelled his head backwards and forwards between the two identical redheads. There was no way that he could tell which one was which.

"What … what are you two talking about?" he tried, attempting to hide his new Seeker status.

The twins shared an amused look between them before simultaneously patting him on his shoulders.

"Harry, there's no need to deny it to us," he was told.

"We're on the team, too."

"We're the Gryffindor beaters."

"Oh," Harry exclaimed. "It's just that Wood told me not to say anything."

"Don't you worry about Oliver. He can get a bit one track minded, if you know what I mean," the twin on the right explained.

"Anyway, gotta go, Harry, History of Magic, you know," the other twin explained.

"Yes, it's time for our nap."

And with that, they were gone.

But they weren't the last to approach him. The next were the three Gryffindor chasers – Alicia Spinnett, Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell – all pulling him aside to congratulate him on making the team. And once the quidditch team knew, the whole of Gryffindor House wasn't far behind.

The rumour quickly spread to the other three houses. A first year making the team was something that just couldn't be kept secret. Of course, Harry found himself even more the centre of attention than he had been. Everyone stopped to point at him, or stare at him or to whisper behind their hands as he passed.

If there were any that still didn't know about his accomplishment, then the six post owl carrying a long thin package unexpectedly arriving over dinner told the tale to all. It may have been wrapped and the note may have insisted that it not be opened until safe in the dormitories away from prying eyes, but a broomstick will always be recognised by its distinctive shape.

The only fact that Harry (along with Neville, Ron, Dean and Seamus) was able to keep secret for that night was the make of the broom. A Nimbus Two Thousand – one of the best brooms that there were for quidditch.

-oOoOo-

"Harry, wait!"

Hermione watched as the black haired boy vanished through the dungeon door as fast as he could.

Throwing the last of her potion ingredients and cauldron into her bag along with her books and quill, Hermione hurried from the potions room.

It'd been another dismal lesson. Professor Snape had, once again, simply instructed the class as to the page number of the potion that they were to be brewing and left them to their work. There were no explanations of the correct way to prepare the ingredients or hints and tips to the brewing process. Instead, the potions master had simply walked around the room, praising the Slytherin's efforts and degrading every Gryffindor's attempt.

Harry, as usual, seemed to cop the brunt of Professor Snape's jibes and snide remarks. Hermione could see the way that Harry's hands shook every time that Professor Snape even began to approach their table – it was no wonder that his potion had turned an off-green colour instead of the milky white that it was supposed to be.

Never in a million years would Hermione have ever imagined a teacher to be so knowledgeable about their subject area and yet so abysmal at the actual teaching of it. Let alone being capable of scaring their students with such glee in the process.

And yet, Professor Snape managed it. And this had actually been one of the better ones for Harry. Professor Snape had only deducted forty points from him.

Weaving through her classmates as quickly as she could, Hermione chased after Harry. He had a good lead, but there was only one way to go: up.

At the top of the stairs she thought that she caught a glimpse of him heading left. If her guess was right, then he was heading back towards Gryffindor Tower, just like he did after every lesson. But he was always too quick for her and made it up to the boy's dormitory faster than she could make it to the common room.

Not this time, she determined. She wanted to catch him, to make him stop and to reassure him that what happened in potions wasn't his fault.

A group of yellow trimmed black robes belonging to some Hufflepuffs slowed Harry down and Hermione tried to put on a burst of speed to catch up – not any easy thing to do with the weight of her bag hanging off of her shoulder.

Suddenly, he was off again and this time, just before she could catch him, a mass of Gryffindors thundered down the steps from the tower, cutting her off from her prey. When they'd finally cleared the way, it was only to see empty stairs before her. How Harry'd managed to climb to the top so fast was beyond her, but Hermione knew that she'd lost her chance once again.

Slowly, she climbed the stairs and, after giving the Fat Lady the password, climbed in through the portrait hole. From there, it was a simple trudge across to her favourite red squishy armchair. She dragged it around slightly so that she could more easily see the stairs that led to the dormitories before plopping down.

With a sigh, she pulled out her transfiguration homework, quill and ink bottle and settled in for the wait for Harry to re-appear.

It was over an hour later before she saw the first first year Gryffindor emerge from the staircase.

"Hey, Neville, is Harry coming down for dinner soon?" she asked.

"Harry?" Neville asked, surprise clear in his voice. "Harry's not up there, Hermione. He hasn't been there since before breakfast this morning."

"He hasn't?" she asked, her mouth flopping open in her disbelief.

Neville simply shook his head.

Then where in the world is he? Hermione wondered.

-oOoOo-

At the same time that Hermione was in the Gryffindor common room working on her transfiguration homework, another Gryffindor was working on the same homework far below her.

In the tiny space that Harry had commandeered and made his own, his quill scratched away across the parchment. Every so often, he would look up and around at the dark, shadowed stone walls before refocussing once more on his essay.

At long last he leant back away from the stool that he used as a desk. Unrolling his scroll, he measured what he had so far. Two and a half feet of small, scratchy writing on the different aspects of transfiguring a needle into a matchstick and how it differed from turning a matchstick into a needle. Pushing his black locks out of his eyes, he nodded. Half a foot more than he needed.

After rereading his essay again, he knew exactly what he needed to put into the real essay that he would be handing in. Pulling out a second piece of parchment from his bag where he'd dropped it beside the coil of rope that he was sitting on, he got back to work.

This part was always trickier. And especially with a teacher that he was still trying to get to know. Professor McGonagall was one of the stricter teachers at Hogwarts and her standards were higher than Professor Sprout's for Herbology and nearly as tough as Professor Snape's Potions expectations.

But this type of work wasn't new to Harry. He'd been doing his homework twice for years (three times if you counted being made to do Dudley's homework as well). Very early on in his schooling, Harry'd learnt that it wasn't a good idea to get higher grades than Dudley. In fact, it wasn't good to do anything better than Dudley. He'd suffered plenty of punishments over the years for those infractions – being locked in his cupboard, no food for days at a time, the back of Vernon's hand and extra chores were just some of the more common.

So, Harry had found the best system: do the work twice. The first time, he always did it perfectly, or at least as best as he could. The second time that Harry did the work, it was with just the right amount of mistakes to pass the work without failing. There were extra punishments if he failed and caused the school to ask either Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to come in for an interview.

Be hidden. Don't stand out. Don't ask questions. Don't draw attention.

That was his motto, his mantra at school. Of course, it rarely worked out that way. Especially with Dudley and his gang around to chase him and play 'Harry Hunting'. But he did the best that he could.

Here at Hogwarts, with all of the other 'freaks' like him, there was no Dudley to hassle him, which was good. But there was a Draco Malfoy to taunt him and he'd seen the way that Ron taunted Hermione whenever she excelled in class. There was no way that he wanted to have to put up with that along with all of the other things that everyone seemed to want to stare at him about – that 'Boy Who Lived' nonsense and becoming the Gryffindor Seeker.

His heart still thumped madly in his chest just at the thought of the near catastrophe that he'd barely avoided in Charms class. He still didn't know just what he was thinking. Obviously, he hadn't been. To perform the locomotor charm perfectly first time, way before anyone else was pure stupidity. Thankfully, he'd been able to cover it up and stop everyone from realising and having one more thing to stare at him about.

At his old school, a report card was always sent home and he simply assumed that the same would be done here. And he had no intention of giving Uncle Vernon an extra reason to punish him once the school year finished and he returned to Privet Drive.

The memory of his last report card still brought a combination of anger, indignation and terror to him. The day after his birthday when Hagrid had taken him shopping for his school things on Diagon Alley, his and Dudley's report cards had come.

Unfortunately, Harry had managed to get a better grade than his cousin in physical education. Vernon's punishment had been to confiscate his brand new school trunk as being 'perfect for Dudley to go to Smeltings with'. In its place, he'd received the old, battered trunk that had been sitting in the attic since Vernon's father had been in school.

When at last he finished his now two foot essay of slightly larger writing, he breathed a sigh of relief. That was his homework all caught up and he could relax a bit. Curfew was still another couple of hours away, which gave him time to read some more of his newest favourite book – Hogwarts: A History. Hermione was always quoting from it and some of it had seemed quite interesting, so he'd taken the time to visit the library to borrow a copy. Not that he was going to tell anyone that he'd chosen to read it – that was another thing that Hermione was teased about.

Wiggling down a bit more comfortably on the coil of rope, Harry adjusted his lit wand tip and began to read.