Summary of the last chapter

Severus questions the headmaster about the funny announcement concerning the third floor corridor and is told of an elaborate plan Albus has put into motion to force Professor Quirrell, who he is sure is possessed by Voldemort, into the open. He fully expects (even wants) Harry and Quirrellmort to have a confrontation at some point. Albus hopes that the time of Voldemort's defeat as prophesied has come. He knows Harry is protected by Lily's sacrifice and is sure that he will come out unharmed. Basically, his idea with the set-up was to give Harry a relatively safe environment for his fated encounter with the Dark Lord. Severus wonders if Albus is losing his marbles.

A/N: After pointing out the impossibility of Hogwarts' timetable, allow me to take creative license for the purpose of this chapter and let the Slytherins have another Potion lesson after the one Harry missed yesterday. We can assume he's now done with Potions for the rest of the week. :)

To Fast Frank: You're right, the cauldron melted. I corrected it accordingly. Thanks!

BoldGalahad99: Harry doesn't have an experienced wizard in his head – just Tom, who doesn't know more about magic and dueling than Harry does.:)

Amber: Not that I want to defend Dumbledore (it might even make it seem worse): I don't think he ever intended Harry to face Voldemort by fighting him. He either always knew Harry had to die in the end or he was convinced that due to Lily's protection, Harry would come out of the encounter unharmed as long as he was a child. Probably a combination of both: He might have intended for Harry to face him while protected as a child so that he would hopefully not have to die once the protection would wear off when he turned seventeen. I think Dumbledore believed in fate and just wanted to help it along.

Harry's First Day of Classes

Harry's second day in Hogwarts started with a double lesson of Potions right after breakfast, together with the Gryffindors.

Ron Weasley, the redhead Harry had originally introduced himself to as James Bond, invited him to his table, but Harry politely declined and chose to sit with Neville instead, who was sitting all by himself. After yesterday's potion disaster, nobody seemed willing to partner with him. Neville flashed him a grateful smile, but felt obliged to tell Harry that he seemed to be a menace in potions.

"You can't possibly know that after just one lesson, Neville," Harry waved off his concern. "I'm sure we'll be fine."

Harry smiled at Professor Snape when he entered the dungeon classroom with billowing robes, grateful that his Head of House had been so helpful in making sure that Harry had all the things he needed. The professor seemed confused and mildly irritated by this. He did not seem to like being smiled at, or he mistook it as an attempt to suck up to the teacher. Probably meaning to test if Harry had caught up with the things he missed yesterday, he started quizzing Harry with seemingly random questions about potion ingredients. Thanks to Hermione's notes, though, Harry was able to answer them and earned Slytherin five points, even if those seemed to be given only begrudgingly.

Neville was very much intimidated by Professor Snape due to his rather strict teaching style and was extremely nervous during the practical part of their lesson. Harry twice prevented him from adding an ingredient too early, and in the end, their potion turned out acceptable. Neville breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you for partnering with me, Harry. After yesterday, nobody wanted to."

"I guess the Slytherins were afraid I was going to lose them points by working with you. I noticed that they kept shooting me strange looks."

"That's because as I've been told, Slytherins don't partner with Gryffindors. Which is particularly weird since we're having a lot of classes together. Seems to be some kind of unwritten rule. I suppose because working together and competing for points is mutually exclusive."

"I don't really get why they care so much for those house points. So the house having the most gets a cup at the end of the school year. That's not a really good incentive for working hard in my opinion."

"True," agreed Tom, "the incentive should, of course, be the knowledge gained."

"Spoken like a true swot," teased Harry. "I bet Hermione would agree."

Together, Neville and Harry headed to their next class, which was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Given his personal history, this seemed like a useful subject to Harry. But the moment he set foot into the room, he was hit with a pounding headache. It didn't make any sense – headaches never came on quite so suddenly, unless they were triggered by something. It might be the strong smell of something sharp and foul that permeated the Defence classroom, which, as Harry noted with some confusion, seemed to come from their teacher.

Tom felt it even worse than Harry. "It feels like being sucked into a Portkey again, except that my head keeps hitting invisible walls," he moaned, and Harry somehow got the impression that Tom was cradling his head.

"Well, I feel as if something keeps hitting my skull from the inside. That's probably you. I wonder if he keeps cloves of garlic underneath that gigantic turban of his … The stench is insufferable!"

The other pupils seemed to notice the smell, too, but none of them seemed as ill-affected by it. Harry held his breath as much as possible and tried to concentrate on their teacher, which proved difficult, not only because of his pounding head and the smell, but also because their nervous professor stuttered very badly.

But as bad as Tom and Harry felt, it all got much worse when the professor asked a question and, this time, called on Harry. When Harry looked up and met his teacher's gaze, Tom suddenly screamed out in agony, sounding as if he was being stabbed, and that's exactly what it felt like to Harry. He couldn't prevent crying out loud as well, and instinctively clutched his hands over his ears. It didn't do anything to muffle Tom's screaming, which went on and on inside of Harry's head. Instinct took over, and Harry saw only one means of escape: He blindly ran out of the room.

Harry ran, still clutching his ears, wishing for the noise to stop, until it suddenly did. From one second to the next, there was dead silence in his head, and Harry couldn't feel Tom anymore.

He stopped dead in his tracks. "Tom?" he called out in panic, and when he didn't answer, louder again, "Tom!" But there was no answer. Only now that he couldn't feel him in his mind anymore did Harry realise how comforting and solid Tom's presence had become to him. He'd always been there, and now he wasn't, and Harry was terrified.

"Please! Please! You can't be gone! Tom!"

"Harry?"

Harry turned around. It was not the voice he longed to hear. It was Neville's. Harry figured that Quirrell had sent his very concerned looking friend after him. "Are you alright?"

No, no he was not. Nothing was alright. What if Tom was gone forever? What would Harry do without him? He'd be all alone in the world. It was inconceivable.

Just at that moment, he heard someone groan nearby and was flooded with relief. "You're back!" he exclaimed, a huge weight falling off his chest. "Thank God!"

"I think I fainted. What the heck was that?"

"I didn't know that you fainting was even possible."

"Me neither."

"Harry!" repeated Neville, when his classmate didn't react, but stared into nothingness, his expression going from panic to relief to concern.

"Sorry, Neville. I had a really strong migraine attack. It's never happened to me before like that."

"Something's wrong with that professor," said Tom with utter conviction. "I don't know what he did, but he did something. Whatever you do, Harry, please don't ever look into his eyes again."

Harry shook his head. "I won't," he vowed, silently this time. "Are you okay, Tom?

"Yes, whatever it was, it's over. I don't hurt anymore."

"My head's still throbbing a bit. I think I'll go to the hospital wing and ask Madam Pomfrey for a headache relief potion. She said she had a stock of those for whoever needed them." He certainly wouldn't go back into the classroom after the scare he'd just gotten.

"You do that," Neville agreed, frowning as his friend still seemed a bit off. "I'll excuse you to the professor."

The headache potion worked like one would expect a magical potion to work: like magic. Harry and Tom were perfectly restored when they headed to their next class, which was to take place outside on the front lawn.

Having gotten out of DADA way before the lesson ended proved to be a lucky coincidence, as Harry had considerable trouble getting to the entrance hall. First of all, something was definitely wrong with the staircase he wanted to go down: As if trying to go down an escalator on the wrong side, Harry kept ending up right where he started. He was really puzzled, and his bafflement only increased when a prefect who saw him struggling coming up, told him: "It's Tuesday! You have to go down backwards."

Harry thought he was kidding and waited until he was well out of sight before he tentatively gave it a try, fearing the other might be laughing his head off as Harry fell for it. But to his surprise, it was working. Slowly moving backwards down the stairs and feeling totally ridiculous for it, he arrived at the bottom of the staircase. A few corridors later, however, he stood at the foot of another, perfectly normal staircase, which he could have sworn had been going down this morning. Now, the floor he was heading for was definitely above his head, not below, which didn't make any sense. Confused, Harry wondered if he was in the wrong corridor. Then he tentatively tried to climb it backwards, just in case it was another staircase that acted weird on Tuesdays. It worked out alright – in the sense that he was getting where the staircase was going – up. Harry had all but decided to go back the way he had come and try to find another way, when Tom suggested he follow the staircase to its end to just see where it would take him. He could always turn around if he ended up somewhere other than expected.

Harry was about midway up the stair which should have been going down when he felt a weird sensation in his stomach – much like when an elevator came to a stop. Dimensions seemed to stretch and shift and after a brief, very disorienting moment in which Harry clung to the railing, the floor he was heading for was suddenly where it was supposed to be: below him. Still looking over his shoulder and carefully moving backwards (which probably wasn't necessary at all, given the funny looks some kids in the corridor gave him) Harry reached the ground floor.

"This is crazy," said Tom, and it felt to Harry as if he was shaking his head.

"True. But you have to admit it's kind of cool, too." As they found out later from older Slytherins when Harry told of his adventure in the common room, staircases tended to be particularly unhelpful while classes were in session – as if the castle suspected that any student travelling the hallways at that time was up to some mischief-making.

When Harry and Tom finally made it to the entrance hall, they ran into a group of students who had just come in from outside – dragging in a considerable amount of mud, much to the chagrin of the caretaker. He was an unpleasant fellow: Unkept, ugly and of a disposition that made Professor Snape look sunny in comparison. Right now, he was clearly incensed and gave them all a piece of his mind – which honestly wasn't something anyone would want to get a glimpse of. The man had a sadistic streak. Harry waited until the ruckus had quieted down somewhat before he carefully slipped past them and out through the doors.

Due to his troubles on the way, his classmates had already made it to the huge meadow in front of the castle's main gates before Harry, and were waiting for Madam Hooch, their flying instructor.

"I can't believe they're really going to make us fly on a broom!" muttered Tom, not at all enthused over the prospect. "It's just a stick between you and a very hard ground. What are they thinking?"

Harry shrugged. "Sounds better than a flying carpet. At least you have something to hold on to." He was admittedly a bit sceptical about flying on brooms as well. So far, one method of travel had been worse than the other, and the school brooms didn't look confidence-inspiring.

Malfoy made a few derisive remarks about their quality as well, bragging about his own racing broom, a Nimbus 2000, which earned him quite a few jealous looks from his wizarding classmates.

The Muggleborns; Hermione, two Hufflepuffs named Justin Finch-Fletchley and Sally-Ann Perkins, as well as Dean Thomas from Gryffindor; looked at the brooms dubiously, as did Neville.

"I'm rather clumsy," he admitted to Harry. "I don't think flying's for me …"

As it turned out, he was right. While Harry, to his surprise, managed to have the broom jump right into his hands on the first try, it took Neville and even Hermione several frustrated attempts to even get a twitch out of it. Harry found sitting on the rather slim piece of wood surprisingly comfortable – it didn't feel as he had expected it to feel at all. The broom seemed to listen to his every command, almost as if it were an extension of his body. Maybe this broom flying wouldn't be so bad.

Neville wasn't so lucky as to have his concerns proven wrong. The broom was definitely more than he could handle - when they were told to hover over the ground, his broom rose higher and higher, and Neville, scared to death, lost his grip and fell sideways off the broom.

He seemed to have injured his arm and was escorted to the hospital wing by Madam Hooch right away, while the class was left with firm instructions to stay on the ground until she was back.

"What are the teachers thinking?" ranted Tom. "Why didn't she have someone else go with him and stay to supervise – of course someone's getting into mischief the moment her back is turned!"

As it so often happened with pessimists like Tom, he was proven right. Harry frowned disapprovingly when Ron and Draco got into a fight about some trinket that had fallen out of Neville's robe pocket – a glass ball of some kind. Draco grabbed it and took off with it on his broom, probably meaning to show off his flying skills. Weasley immediately chased after him, whatever he meant to achieve with that.

After a discussion they all saw taking place high in the air without hearing it, Draco suddenly flung the glass ball away from him in a high arch – and Harry simply reacted. He couldn't say later what had prompted him to do it (no matter how much Tom screamed at him, demanding to know if he was barking insane), but he jumped on his own broom and took off at the highest speed the broom was capable of, flying to where he expected to meet the rapidly falling ball before it hit the ground. His unconscious calculation was spot on: He caught the glass orb out of the air with one hand and managed to force his broom into a sharp turn, right before he would have crashed into the castle's walls.

Happy about his lucky catch and exhilarated from the broom ride, Harry flew back to the group of his classmates, who broke into spontaneous applause. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Tom started shouting profanities at him, telling him off in no uncertain terms for this reckless dare-devil and break-neck idiocy.

"Come on, it wasn't that bad," Harry tried to soothe. "I had it fully under control."

His attempt at relativization fell flat. "We could have died!" raged Tom, still incensed. "We almost crashed into the castle! You're freaking insane, Potter, if you call that 'not that bad'!"

"What, am I 'Potter' to you now?" Harry asked with some amusement. Was Tom afraid of heights? "Don't be like that – I know you like me!"

"I'm not afraid of heights! I am afraid of falling off a broom, which is a totally realistic fear, as proven earlier! And I really don't like you very much right now!"

Harry felt a tiny tinge of remorse. "I'm sorry for scaring you. It wasn't intentional. But I admit it felt fantastic. I think I love broom riding. I know now why they're all so fanatical about brooms and this game they all play. I think I'm going to play, too."

"I hate you!" mumbled Tom and sank into sullen silence for the rest of the lesson. Madam Hooch, who had come back in time to see Harry's dive for the ball, told him off in a slightly more civilized manner than Tom. Then she instructed Harry, Ron and Draco to report to their respective heads of house for detention. Still, when she was done with her lecture, she turned to Harry with gleaming eyes and said: "Spectacular flying, Mr. Potter. You should definitely try out for the Quidditch team next year."

After their flying lesson, they had one last class for the day: Herbology in the greenhouses. The professor was a kind older witch, the head of Hufflepuff. Again, Harry partnered with Neville, who was back from the hospital wing fully healed, although his wrist had been broken. It was still a little tender and he was supposed to keep it in a sling for the rest of the day, but it didn't hurt anymore. Harry was amazed at the miracles magic could work. It was probably good wizards had such effective tools at their disposal, as there was no denying that the wizarding world was considerably more dangerous than the Muggle one.

Harry gave a grateful Neville his glass orb back without telling him what had happened with it. Neville explained that it was a Remembrall his Grandmother had sent him. As soon as he held it in his hands, it turned smokey. Neville sighed heavily. "Damn," he muttered. "It'd be much more helpful if it told me WHAT I have forgotten!"

All in all, it had been a very eventful first day, and Harry was happy when classes were over and he could head to Hagrid's hut. Fortunately, Tom had calmed down by now and was talking to Harry again, even if he still seemed a bit miffed.

Hagrid offered him a giant cup of tea and an entirely inedible cake that must been made with cement instead of flour. Harry almost cracked a tooth when biting into it, then found that it softened considerably when soaked in tea long enough.

His snake seemed to have settled in nicely and immediately came to greet him. Hagrid had piled up stones in the terrarium in a way that allowed the little snake to easily get in and out of it at its leisure. Apparently, the half-giant had trusted Harry's word that the poisonous viper wouldn't bite anybody without being provoked into it. Or maybe giants and half-giants were immune to snake poisons?

"You're not at all concerned about having a dangerous animal in your hut, are you?" Harry asked, just to make sure.

"The mos' dangerous creature there is are wizards, Harry. Greatly misunderstood is wha' mos' magical beasts are. Attack no one if not provoked into it."

Harry wasn't entirely convinced if this pacifist view held true for every creature on earth – he wouldn't like to try his luck with a slightly hungry lion, for instance, or anything else higher up in the food chain. But he was happy that Hagrid held no concerns. Neither did the little snake, who assured him that he quite liked it here, as it was cozy and warm in his new home, and there were a lot of interesting creatures to chase around.

"How's yer owl doin' in the owlery?" Hagrid asked.

"I haven't been able to visit her yet, but I'll go right after."

"Here…" Hagrid handed him a package of something wrapped in newspaper. "A tomcat that comes 'round here fer a good scratch an' bit o' fish brough' me some fresh mice today. Bet yer Hedwig'll like 'em. Yer little snake already's got some, so don't let 'im wheedle any more out o' yeh."

Harry glanced down at the package. He had imagined that he – if ever presented with something nicely wrapped in paper and tied with a bow - would be looking more forward to opening it. Instead of laughing clowns, colourful flowers or whatever gift wrappings usually displayed, a really grim looking goblin bared his teeth at him. Repeatedly, as his face was moving. In morbid fascination, Harry stared at the black and white picture. 'Break-in at Gringotts!' the corresponding headline proclaimed in bold letters. 'Security breached!'

"I thought it was impossible to break into Gringotts," said Harry, turning the package so that he could scan the article. "They didn't catch anybody and nothing was stolen as the vault had been emptied …"

"So how did they even know there was a break-in?" asked Tom.

"Customers who were at the bank at the time told the press that an alarm went off. There was quite a ruckus, and the doors were all locked," explained Harry, as his eyes flew over the article. Then then he suddenly drew a sharp breath.

"Have you seen this, Hagrid?" he asked excitedly, waving the package under his nose. "The break-in was into vault 713! That's the vault you visited just yesterday! It says the vault in question had been emptied just the same day."

"I know, Harry. Tha's why Dumbledore brough' me the paper this mornin'. Lucky, wasn'it? Retrieved it right in time!"

"Retrieved what, exactly?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Sorry, can't tell yeh, Harry, tha's business o' Dumbledore and Flamel."

"So whatever was in the vault is in Hogwarts now?" asked Harry, a frown appearing on his face. "Isn't that dangerous? What if the thief comes here?"

"T'ain't no safer place than Hogwarts!" Hagrid said with utter conviction. "B'sides, there's protections in place."

"The third floor corridor!" said Tom suddenly, "that's why nobody's supposed to go there 'who doesn't want to die a gruesome death'!"

"It might have been safer still not to announce to the entire school where it's hidden," Harry voiced his reservations. "Whoever is after it must be really clever. I wonder how he got out of Gringotts with all the doors locked."

"Dunno." Hagrid scratched his head. "Musta fooled 'em dragons somehow. Or gotten eaten by 'em. Fascinatin' beast, dragons. Misunderstood, but fascinatin'. I'd love to have a dragon fer meself!"

"As I said before, he's not the sharpest tool in the shed …" mumbled Tom. "He lives in a wooden hut, for heaven's sake!"

Harry smiled. Hagrid seemed completely oblivious to any kind of danger. Good for him, as he might not have agreed to house Harry's highly poisonous pet snake otherwise.

"Talking about pets … I need to give this one a name," Harry said, turning to the snake. "I can't keep calling you 'little one' all the time, as you will surely grow."

"Wisely spoken, speaker," nodded the snake. "I don't have a name, but if you think I need one …"

"Hagrid, do you have any idea what to name a snake?"

"It needs to be a fitting name though, for a very fierce, beautiful and highly dangerous creature as me!" the reptile demanded.

"Slinky?" suggested Hagrid. "Wiggley? Or maybe Rudy?"

Harry blinked and felt Tom being stunned into momentary silence as well.

"Ehm, Hagrid, don't you think that these names are a bit too … fluffy for a highly dangerous beast?"

"Fluffy? Hah!" exclaimed the half-giant with a booming laugh. "I've a three-headed dog named Fluffy! Looks mighty scary, but is a big ol' softy when he hears music!" His face suddenly fell and he put a hand over his mouth. "Shouldn'ta said that," he mumbled, "just forget you ever heard 'bout 'im."

Harry had no idea why the knowledge of the existence of a three-headed dog named Fluffy had any kind of significance, but he assured Hagrid that he had no idea what he was talking about, anything to set his agitated friend at ease.

"So, about the name ... I don't know, Hagrid. I think my snake had something a little more dignified and unique in mind."

Hagrid frowned. "Like Siegfried?"

"Like Marvolo," suggested Tom.

"Marvolo?"asked Harry, not noticing Hagrid's puzzled expression when Harry questioningly repeated a name he hadn't proposed. "Where does that come from?"

"A German epos," said Hagrid.

"I have no idea," answered Tom. "Just popped into my mind and when you said something that sounded unique.

Harry found it sometimes difficult to keep track of two simultaneous tracks of conversation at once. "I like Marvolo," he said and repeated it to the snake. Funnily enough, it sounded very different hissed in Parseltongue. But the snake seemed satisfied and so the name stayed.

"Aren't you a little bit curious what this thing is that the headmaster is hiding in Hogwarts?" Harry asked Tom when they were on their way back to the castle and to his Head of House's office.

"Yes, but we're not going to be sneaking around the forbidden third floor corridor, Harry!" said Tom in alarm.

"No, that would probably not be a good idea. But I still wonder – what could be so important that somebody would risk breaking into the supposedly safest bank, especially when it's guarded by dragons?"

"If you really want to find out, there are safer ways. Hagrid said that it was between Dumbledore and a guy named Flamel. We could look him up. If we know who he is and what he and the headmaster have in common, we might get a clue."

"That's brilliant, Tom!"

"That's just rational thinking. From what the sorting hat said, 'act first, think later' is more a Gryffindor kind of thing."

"Right. Let's see if we can find something in the library then."

Unfortunately, he probably had a detention to do before he'd get a chance to go anywhere else. Hopefully, it wouldn't include thumb screws or being hung from the ceiling as Filch had threatened the students with, earlier in the entrance hall.

"I wouldn't bet on it," said Tom darkly. "They hold classes in a dungeon and have corridors that are life threatening if entered. Not to mention the stairs and the brooms."

Slightly more concerned after Tom's words of gloom, Harry stood once again in front of his Head of House's office and waited to be called in.

"You again, Potter!" sighed Professor Snape frustratedly. "What is it this time?"

"I'm supposed to report to you for detention, Sir. Madam Hooch sent me."

"It's only your first day of classes! What have you done?"

"Jumped on my broom in order to catch a glass ball before it could smash into the ground," Harry admitted sheepishly. "We were not supposed to fly while Madam Hooch was away."

"And why was there a glass ball in the air?"

"Uhm ... Someone else will probably report to you for detention and explain that part."

"Are you going to be a lot of trouble, Mr. Potter?"

"I'll try not to be, Sir. I'm really sorry."

"I suppose you will be once you've scrubbed the third year's cauldrons after their brewing of a sticking solution on Friday. Be in the potions lab after dinner."

"Yes, Sir." A bit subdued and put off by the prospect of scrubbing dirty cauldrons in his free time, Harry trotted down to the Great Hall. His mood was soon on the rise again when he slipped into the bench at the once more richly laid dinner table.

The question of who Flamel might be, was, for the moment, all forgotten.

A/N: I hope you like my ideas for the 'moving staircases'. They might help explain why rooms seem to change floors once in a while. :)