SEPTEMBER 7TH, 1991
Friday was an important day for Harry. He was finally able to find his way to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once. He met up with Ron just outside—the Hufflepuff dorm was just beside the kitchens so it was closer to the Great Hall.
“You should’ve seen those elves at work,” said Ron with amazement in his eyes. “They were cooking and baking like there was nothing else they could be doing!”
“I heard about them before, I think it was Percy talking about them,” said Harry. “Something about them coming with the castle?”
“Fred and George say they’re like machines,” said Ron. “Just doing what they’ve been doing for centuries back and forth.”
“Don’t they get tired?”
Ron shrugged, “From what I saw they take breaks and swap out, but as far as I’ve heard nobody here has control over them—they’ve been here longer than we have.”
“Odd...what do they look like?” Harry asked.
“Small, stubby...almost like a...hairless cat.”
Harry imagined the odd little creatures, but figured he’d get the chance to see one when he would visit Ron at his dorm.
They entered in the Hall and scooped up some breakfast.
"What have you got today?" Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.
"Transfiguration to start,” said Ron. “That’s with the Slytherins...so I’m not really looking forward to that. Then it’s Astronomy, and then Potions with the Ravenclaws," said Ron, sighing. “Which means that annoying girl’s gonna be in it. Harry knew he meant Hermione, but he didn’t think her to be especially annoying. He could understand her desire to learn as much as she could. But he did have to admit she did have a certain...earnestness in answering first.
"Snape's Head of Slytherin House.” Ron continued. “Said he favors them, but thankfully he should treat us all awfully then."
“Oh, I have double potions. Seems like I’m with you for the first period. Which means it’s probably gonna be with the Slytherins for the back half.”
“I don’t envy you,” said Ron.
"Wish McGonagall favored the Gryffindors," said Harry. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but she seemed to levy the same level of strict across the board.
“Professor Sprout’s pretty okay so long as you pretend like you’re listening,” said Ron. “I’ve almost gotten her down to a pattern when I can lean back.”
Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the second morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.
Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:
Dear Harry,
I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send me an answer back with Hedwig, she’ll know where to go.
Hagrid
Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled “Yes, please, see you later” on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.
It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to him so far.
At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry—he hated him.
Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls. The place looked like some haunted laboratory where failed students’ remains would lie for future potion making.
Harry would have had Potions on both Tuesday and Wednesday, but he received notice from Percy that both classes had been canceled as Professor Snape had urgent matters to discuss with Professor Dumbledore. Harry hadn’t known what kind of matters would be involved that would require the class to be canceled on both days, but he felt a level of trepidation as he sat down. Today seemed different, though, as when Harry entered the potion’s classroom, Professor Snape was not present.
"Hey Harry," Dean Thomas quipped with a hopeful tone, "do you reckon we'll get lucky and it'll be canceled again?" His words hung in the air, filled with a hint of anticipation.
Seamus, positioned on the opposite side of Harry, couldn't contain his amusement. With a hearty snort, he chuckled, "Looks like we've got ourselves an unexpected day off!" His laughter echoed in the room, mingling with the shared sentiment of relief and excitement.
As Harry and his classmates sat engrossed in their conversation, a sudden, thunderous crash shattered the tranquility of the room. The resounding echo of the large wooden door slamming open reverberated through the chamber, causing Harry to startle so violently that he nearly propelled himself out of his seat.
Turning his gaze toward the source of the disturbance, Harry's heart skipped a beat as the shadowy figure of Professor Snape emerged from the darkness beyond the doorway. His presence was as ominous as ever, casting a foreboding aura that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. A knot of anxiety twisted in the pit of his stomach,
“There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class.” He turned to face them with a measured energy. “As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. However, for those select few,” he turned his head and stared with what Harry could almost consider a smile, or at least what Snape could muster of the expression, toward Malfoy. “—who possess the predisposition...I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death...Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to coast on the mere thought of talent.”
Snape turned directly to Harry and the glare that came from the man was almost too much to handle. Harry felt that not-alone feeling in his own mind.
"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Mr. Potter. Our new—celebrity," As Harry's eyes locked onto Professor Snape's countenance, he found himself unable to decipher the myriad of emotions swirling within those dark, inscrutable eyes. The lines etched across Snape's face portrayed a complexity that defied easy interpretation. It was as if a tempest raged beneath the surface, each emotion vying for dominance yet remaining elusive to Harry's probing gaze.
There was a palpable tension in the air, a sense that something significant was about to unfold. Harry's instincts screamed at him to brace himself for what was to come, for he knew all too well that whenever Snape wore such a complex expression, trouble was sure to follow in its wake.
Snape kept on Harry, his eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.
"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? This wasn’t in any of the reading that Harry had done. Magical Drafts and Potions had started off by talking about Wiggenwald Potion like Professor Sprout had implied.
Harry glanced at Dean, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand had shot into the air.
"I don't know, sir," said Harry.
Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Well...fame clearly isn't everything."
He ignored Hermione's hand.
"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was.
"I don't know, sir."
“Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys', but did Snape seriously expect him to have the entire book read front to back before class?
Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.
"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"
Seamus, Dean, and Alice behind Harry laughed.
Snape, however, was not pleased.
"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione without turning to her. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite…” he stood, staring at the students who were looking up at him with blank stares on their faces. “Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?" He barked.
There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."
Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs.
Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.
"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"
Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.
"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry, who had been working next to Neville.
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"You—Potter—why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor. Congratulations, your reputation precedes you."
This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Dean kicked him behind their cauldron.
"Don’t push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."
An hour passed and the Hufflepuff students got up to leave, Dean wished Harry luck as he met with Johan Thalan. “I’ve got Defense Against the Dark Arts next. I’ll have to remember to take a shower after.”
As the Slytherins filed in, Harry caught an uncomfortable glance from Draco Malfoy and his two friends, Crabbe and Goyle. A boy named Theodore Nott and a girl named Tracy Davis walked in behind them and last came Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson.
Snape’s lesson hadn’t softened any for the next hour, he spent the majority of it criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs and how attentive his note taking had been. It really was an awful, dreadful hour that seemed to extend into eternity.
Thankfully, Harry was able to escape without losing Gryffindor anymore points, but his spirit was still low. Why did Snape hate him so much? It’s not like he did anything to earn his ire...at least, he didn’t think so.
Harry met up with Ron and Asher after class near the Great Hall. Ron had noticed his damp mood.
"Cheer up, least it’s over and you’ve got the weekend ahead of you!" said Ron, "Besides, Snape's always taking points off Fred and George.”
“It’s not so bad,” Asher agreed. “He took a point off of me for answering one of his questions right because I had an attitude, apparently.”
“That’s awful, I can’t believe he’s allowed to do that,” Harry said, disgusted.
“Yeah, used to that, too, unfortunately,” said Asher. “I heard you were going to see Hagrid soon, though?”
“Oh, yeah!” Ron said. “Can I come and meet him too?”
“Oh, uh, yeah,” Harry said. He wasn’t sure how right it was inviting others along that Hagrid didn’t know about, but he figured it wouldn’t be too bad. “Yeah, I just have to go bring these back to the dorm.”
“Oh, same. Maybe I can see the inside of yours? I already dropped mine off before I met up with you.”
And so, they traveled back to the portrait of the Pink Lady housed the entryway to the Gryffindor Common Room.
“Caput Draconis,” Harry repeated, and the Pink Lady nodded and opened up the portrait.
Stepping inside, Harry was immediately enveloped in a wave of warmth. The crackling fire in the hearth cast flickering shadows across the room, illuminating the scarlet and gold banners that adorned the walls. The rich colors of Gryffindor House seemed to pulsate with life, infusing the space with an unmistakable energy.
Plush armchairs and sofas were scattered throughout the room, beckoning weary students to sink into their soft cushions and unwind. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of firewood and freshly brewed tea, mingling with the faint scent of parchment and ink.
Harry's eyes wandered to the bookshelves that lined the walls, filled to the brim with volumes of magical literature and artifacts. The shelves were adorned with trinkets and mementos.
In one corner of the room, a group of students huddled around a game of Wizard's Chess, their laughter echoing off the stone walls.
“Oh, I love Wizard’s Chess!” exclaimed Ron. “We should play sometime, I can show you how!”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Harry, but he wondered just how different Wizard’s chess was to regular chess...not that he had any experience with that either.
On the opposite side, a cluster of girls sat talking about their transfiguration work. Harry had recognized Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil amongst the group.
As Harry made his way further into the room, he caught sight of the portrait of Godric Gryffindor himself, his stern yet noble visage watching over the proceedings with a sense of quiet authority.
With a contented sigh, Harry set his books down beside his bed, neatly arranging them on the wooden nightstand. As he straightened up, a sense of peace washed over him, amplified by the familiar sights and sounds of the Gryffindor Common Room. The crackling fire cast dancing shadows across the room, the warmth embracing him like an old friend.
Despite the allure of the cozy armchair by the fire, Harry knew he had a prior engagement. With a determined nod, he rose from his seat, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he prepared to meet with Hagrid. It wasn't often he got the chance to catch up with the gentle giant, and he didn't want to keep him waiting. He gathered on his winter cloak—the morning outside seemed rather cold, and he met back with Ron and Asher.
“Quite busy a place—” Asher was looking all around the boys’ dorm room.
“Oh, right, were you able to find a room okay?” Harry asked.
Ron gave off a questioning look at the question, then looked from Harry to Asher.
“Oh, yes. Dumbledore saw fit to it to establish a third set of dorms—called it one of the first additions the castle had seen in over fifty years.”
“Oh wow, so does that mean there’s not been anybody like you for fifty years?”
“Dunno if they felt the courage to speak up about it,” said Asher. “He said I was a true Gryffindor because of that...I’m not exactly sure about that, but I appreciated the accommodations.”
“Where’s the entrance at?” asked Ron.
“Oh, it’s over here,” Asher lead them to the split between the boys and the girls dormitories just aside the common room below, and Harry had noticed there was a third staircase that now lead up to a hallway he had completely missed before.
“Dumbledore said it is hidden to those who aren’t shown it so nobody tries to enter who isn’t invited. I think he knew something about this to think of something like that, but he’s super old so I guess there really isn’t anything he doesn’t know.”
“Wow, that is pretty wild. Fred and George are gonna go mental when I tell them about a secret passageway they don’t know about,” Ron turned to Harry. “They’re always prattling on about knowing every in and out of this place.”
At five to ten Harry found himself embarking on his very first journey to Hagrid's humble abode, accompanied by Ron and Asher. The sun cast a golden hue over the Hogwarts grounds as they exited the castle, filling the air with the promise of a beautiful day ahead.
Navigating their way through the labyrinthine paths of the Hogwarts grounds, Harry marveled at the scenic beauty surrounding them. Tall trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets as they passed. The chirping of owls overhead provided a cheerful soundtrack to their journey, punctuated by the occasional flutter of wings overhead.
As they ventured deeper into the heart of the grounds, the landscape began to change, giving way to the wilder, untamed terrain that bordered the Forbidden Forest. The path beneath their feet grew rugged and uneven, yet Harry pressed on with a sense of excitement building within him.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of anticipation, Hagrid's cottage came into view, nestled amidst the trees like a hidden gem waiting to be discovered. The sight of the familiar crossbow and pair of galoshes outside the front door only served to heighten Harry's anticipation.
With eager strides, Harry led the way up the worn path to Hagrid's front door, his heart pounding with excitement.
When Harry knocked on the door, the sound reverberated through the wooden frame, causing a flurry of activity from within. Frantic scrabbling and booming barks echoed through the air.
Amidst the chaos, Hagrid's booming voice cut through the din, commanding the massive boarhound to retreat. "Back, Fang—back," he called out, his tone firm, yet affectionate.
As the door creaked open, revealing a crack of light, Hagrid's big, hairy face came into view, framed by the doorway. He greeted them with a warm smile, though his attention remained divided as he struggled to maintain control over the exuberant Fang.
"Hang on," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement as Fang continued to wriggle and strain against his grasp. "Back, Fang," Hagrid repeated, his grip tightening on the collar of the enormous black boarhound.
With a final exertion of effort, Hagrid managed to usher them inside, though not without a struggle. Fang, determined to express his boundless enthusiasm, continued to lunge forward, eager to shower his visitors with slobbery affection. Despite the chaos, Hagrid's hearty laughter filled the room.
The single room within Hagrid's cottage exuded a rustic charm that was uniquely his own. As Harry, Ron, and Asher stepped over the threshold, they found themselves enveloped in a cozy haven that seemed to exist outside of time itself.
Above them, hams and pheasants dangled from sturdy hooks suspended from the ceiling, their rich aromas mingling with the scent of wood smoke from the crackling fire. The copper kettle, perched precariously above the flames, emitted a steady stream of steam as it bubbled and hissed, promising a piping hot brew to warm their chilled bones.
In one corner of the room stood a massive bed, its frame constructed from rough-hewn timber and adorned with a patchwork quilt that bore the marks of countless stitches and repairs. The quilt spoke of a lifetime of memories woven together in threads of love and perseverance.
"Make yerselves at home," Hagrid declared, releasing Fang from his grasp with a hearty chuckle. With a bound of boundless energy, the massive boarhound bounded toward Ron, his tongue lolling out in a playful display of affection. Despite his intimidating size, Fang's gentle nature was immediately apparent, his enthusiasm infectious as he showered Ron with sloppy kisses.
Like his master, Fang was a creature of warmth and loyalty, his seemingly ferocious exterior masking a heart of gold. As Harry, Ron, and Asher settled into their surroundings, they couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the friendship and hospitality that awaited them within the walls of Hagrid's humble abode.
"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate. “And over here is Asher, I hope you don’t mind I’ve invited them along.”
“Not at all! Not at all,” Hagrid laughed. “And another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. “I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest, and not ter mention the amounts of talks I had with yeh brother Charlie about Dragons! He still out there in Romania?"
Ron’s face glowed at the mention of his eldest brother. “Yeah,” he nodded. “He’s been doing excellent last I wrote to him.”
"Good, good," Hagrid nodded, his bushy eyebrows lifting in curiosity as he turned his attention to Asher. "Rhodes... like Tristan Rhodes, the Auror?"
Asher's smile widened at the recognition. "The very same. I wasn't expecting to have anybody know him," they said, a hint of pride in their voice.
"Auror?" Harry interjected, his interest piqued by the unfamiliar term.
Asher turned to Harry, a thoughtful expression crossing their face as they sought to explain. "Sort of like a detective," they began, their tone thoughtful. "My father works to sort out magical criminals and solve crimes for the Ministry."
Harry's eyes widened in comprehension as he absorbed the explanation.
“Well Harry, you’ve got a good group of wizards here to help yeh I think. Thas’ good! Good...oh, the cakes!” Hagrid stood up with a rush and ran over to the side of the hut.
The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Harry and Ron, and Asher pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first-lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes. Harry rubbed the top of his head slowly and Fang enjoyed it a lot.
Harry and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that old git."
"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her—Filch puts her up to it, I swear."
Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.
"But he seemed to really hate me."
"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he? Yeh’ve not done anything worth hatin’ over!"
Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes when he said that.
"So about Charlie,” Hagrid began. “I heard he caught and tamed a Hungarian Thorntail last, did he? Great with animals, that one...”
Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:
GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST
Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts staff today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the 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.
Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.
"Hagrid!" exclaimed Harry, a surge of realization flooding through him. "That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"
The gravity of Harry's words hung heavy in the air, his voice tinged with a mixture of concern and apprehension. He turned to Hagrid, searching for answers in the depths of the half-giant's eyes, but Hagrid avoided his gaze, a telltale sign that something was amiss. Instead, he grunted and offered Harry another rock cake, his attempt to deflect the conversation palpable.
Undeterred, Harry delved deeper into the mystery, re-reading the article with a newfound sense of urgency. The words blurred before his eyes as he pieced together the timeline of events. The vault that was targeted had indeed been emptied earlier that same day, a fact that sent a shiver down Harry's spine.
As he pondered the implications of Hagrid's visit to Gringotts, a nagging suspicion began to take hold. Could it be that the grubby little package Hagrid had retrieved from vault seven hundred and thirty-one was the very object the thieves had been searching for? The pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling into place, but the truth remained tantalizingly out of reach.
As Harry, Ron, and Asher walked back to the castle after their lunch period their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harry thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid.
Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?
All these questions and more started to swirl in Harry’s mind and just wouldn’t let go.
He soon split from the others as he headed off toward his Astronomy class—he met Neville along the way and made a point to remind him to grab his telescope he’d forgotten from the dorm before continuing on.