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SIYE Time:14:41 on 29th March 2024
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Harry Potter: Alchemy
By Shamrock Holmes

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Category: Alternate Universe, Cursed Child and beyond
Characters:All
Genres: Action/Adventure, Crossover
Warnings: Disturbing Imagery, Mental Abuse, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Violence
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 19
Summary: After twelve years with his foster family, the time for Harry Potter to return to Britain and begin his journey towards his destiny!
Hitcount: Story Total: 7427; Chapter Total: 743





Author's Notes:
The Last Daughter Series diverges significantly from accepted canon for the Harry Potter series from the outset, as in addition to the crossover elements, there are several deviations from the books that will be covered where they fit into the narrative. The timeline of the DC Comics elements borrows heavily from Young Justice (2011) and may adapt elements and characters from the comics and several additional other media instalments including but not limited to Smallville (2001) and the upcoming Superman and Lois (2021) and relocates the series to the Eighties and early Nineties rather than the New Tens as screened and includes several 'legacy' and original characters as a result.



Thanks to mystic_magic88 and other members of the Caer Azkaban group for their help on revisions to this work.




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****
Gryffindor Common Room,
Scottish Highlands.
September 11th, 0953 BST.
Team Year Eleven.

When Harry saw the notice on the way out to his Monday morning Potions class, he groaned. Sharing Potions class with the Slytherins — thanks to Snape’s attitude something of a wash anyway — was bad enough, but to shareflying class which he’d been looking forward to…
“What’s wrong?” asked Ron, hearing his groan.
Harry pointed to the notice.
Ron scanned the notice and quickly figured out the problem. “Don’t worry about it,” he assured Harry. “I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."
After a moment’s thought, Harry agreed. However, on balance he thought that — given Ron’s own tall tale of nearly hitting a hang glider on a flight with his second oldest brother’s broom — the comment was a bit rich if not exactly unusual for British wizard-borns. The only wizard-born in his year that didn’t boast of flying adventures was Neville Longbottom, whose grandmother had — not unfairly in Harry’s opinion — ruled him too accident-prone on the ground to risk on a broom.


****
Hogwarts Great Hall,
Scottish Highlands.
September 14th, 0745 BST



Despite agreeing with his chubby classmate’s grandmother, Harry did spend some time over the next few days trying to reassure Neville as much as he could, but oddly found himself losing more and more sympathy for Hermione Granger, whose fruitless attempts to learn flying from books cumulated in her holding court and boring most of them stupid with tips from Quidditch Through the Ages. A book that he thought probably was a good read, but wholly unsuited for the task she was using it for… so like everybody else he was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.
With Hedwig still winging her way towards Karen in Smallville, Harry wasn’t expecting any mail himself, so his attention was caught by a small package being dropped in front of Neville by his grandmother’s eagle owl. Neville opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke. "It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things… this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red… oh..." His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "You've forgotten something..."
Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.
Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash. "What's going on?"
"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," replied Neville, resolutely.
Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table. "Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

****
Hogwarts Grounds,
Scottish Highlands.
1530 BST.


Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.
The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left, and a glance over the selection proved that their allegations were not unfair.
Madam Hooch arrived a moment or two later. Her yellow hawk-like eyes flashed, and she barked at them to stand by a broomstick.
Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up’!"'
"UP!” everyone shouted.
Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry. There was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground thank you very much.

Once all of them finally had their brooms in hand, Madam Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips.
Harry and Ron were delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle, three… two…"
But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips. "Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle… twelve feet… twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and…WHAM!
There was a thud and a nasty crack, and Neville lay face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.
Madam Hooch hurried over to Neville, then bend down to his side, her face as white as his. "Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy… it's all right, up you get."
She turned to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital Wing! Leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'.”
With this terrifying ultimatum, she turned back to Neville and put her arm around him. “Come on, dear."
Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch.
No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter. "Did you see his face, the great lump?"
The other Slytherins joined in.
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little cry-babies, Parvati."
"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."
The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.
Malfoy snickered, “Maybe if the fat lump had given this a squeeze… he'd have remembered to fall on his fat arse.”
The laughs of Malfoy and his goons drew everyone else’s attention and they stopped talking to watch.
"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly.
Malfoy smiled nastily, then hopped onto his borrowed broom. “No. I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find…” Then took off and soared around, then through the group. “How about on the roof?”
Malfoy pointed his broom upwards and climbed until he hovered level above the treeline. “What’s the matter, Potter… a bit beyond your reach?”
At this point, Harry had had enough and grabbed his broom.
Hermione Granger moved to his side in an instant, her face stern. "No! Madam Hooch told us not to move… you'll get us all into trouble."
Harry momentarily observed that it was a reasonable attempt at asserting authority… but he’d seen better, so he ignored her.
Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him — and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught — this was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron.
He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in mid-air. Malfoy looked stunned.
"Give it here…" Harry called, "… or I'll knock you off that broom!"
"Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.
Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady.
A few people below were clapping.
"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry called.
The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy in that moment, and with a shouted challenge, he hurled the Remembrall into the air, like a baseball, then turned and dived towards the ground.
Harry zoomed after the ball, speeding towards one of the school’s towers. Just as he was about to hit the window of Professor McGonagall’s office, he caught it and was able to bank around to safety.
The Gryffindors all cheered as Harry landed back on the ground at ease and ran towards him. The Slytherins on the other hand remained silent and sullen in the practise area.
“Good job, Harry!” said Dean Thomas.
"That was wicked!” said Ron, slapping him on the back.
But the celebrations were cut short moments later with a shout from the castle.
"HARRY POTTER!"
Harry’s heart sank faster than he'd just flown. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. "Never, in all my time at Hogwarts…!" She was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "… how dare you… might have broken your neck…!"
"It wasn't his fault, Professor…"
"Be quiet, Miss Patil.”
"But Malfoy…"
"That's enough, Mr. Weasley,” said Professor McGonagall. “Potter, follow me, now."
Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as he left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up.
Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes.Well, Smallville High wasn’t as exciting as Hogwarts, but it wasn’t all that bad… he thought. It would be nice to share classes with Chloe and PJ again…
Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking him to Dumbledore.
I wonder if Artemis would agree to take me onto the Team… or will I have to make do with occasional sessions with Aunt Mera and Karen…
Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside. "Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"
Wood?thought Harry, bewildered. Corporal punishment is banned in British schools… isn’t it?
To Harry’s relief, Wood turned out to be a person, a burly seventeen-year-old boy who came out of Flitwick’s class looking confused.
"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and as they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry. "In here."
Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard. "Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swept out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys. "Potter, this is Oliver Wood… Wood, I've found you a Seeker."
Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight. "Are you serious, Professor?"
"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"
Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but it didn't seem like he was being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to his legs.
"He caught that thing in his hand and turned away from my window with only inches to spare," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."
Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once."Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.
"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.
"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. "Light, speedy… We'll have to get him a decent broom though, Professor. A Firebolt’s a bit much for a beginner, even if he’s as good as you say… but a Nimbus Two Thousand and One or a Cleansweep Nine should be fine."
“I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule,” said Professor McGonagall. “Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks...." She turned towards Harry and peered sternly over her glasses at him. "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you." Then she suddenly smiled. "Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

****
Hogwarts Great Hall,
Scottish Highlands.
1730 BST.


"You're joking," replied Ron, so shocked that he actuallystopped eating for a moment. "Seeker? But first years never… you must be the youngest player in about…”
“A century,” finished Harry, between bites of pie. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Wood told me."
Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.
"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."
Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over. "Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too… Beaters."
"I tell you… we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," said Fred. "You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."
"Anyway, we've got to go,” said George. “Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."
"I bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week,” argued Fred. “See you."
Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up... Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. "Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"
"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. Little was of course relative, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.
"I'd take you on any time on my own," said Malfoy firmly. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only… no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"
"Of course, he has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's yours?"
Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up. "Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."
When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other. "What is a wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"
"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie.
“You’re joking, right?” asked Harry, concerned.
Ron glanced back at him, and catching the look on his face, he added quickly, "But people only die in proper duels… you know, with real wizards.”
Harry considered that for a moment and nodded.
“The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage.”
Harry wasn’t sure that was true, he might not have learned any combat spells in class yet, he did have a few tricks from Aunt Mera and Karen and given how confident the blond boy had seemed about the duel, he wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy had a surprise or two up his sleeve either.
“I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."
Harry nodded, that did make sense.
"Excuse me," said a voice from behind them.
They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger.
"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron, irritably.
Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry. "I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying…"
"Bet you could," Ron muttered.
"… and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you'rebound to be. It's really very selfish of you."
"And it's really none of your business," said Harry, firmly.
"Good-bye," said Ron.
Hermione Granger, clearly sensing she wasn’t going to get anywhere with this line of argument, sighed in frustration and then returned to her own meal.

****
Gry ffindor Dorms,
Hogwarts,
Scottish Highlands.
2328 BST.


A bit of a mixed day, all in all, Harry thought, as he lay awake listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep — Neville wasn't back from the hospital wing — Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them."
Harry wasn’t overly worried about that, he had plenty of practice dodging and a trick of Karen’s that should do the job against any of Malfoy’s spells…
However, after thinking about it, he was in two minds about the whole thing… There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking two school rules in the same day… On the other hand, Malfoy’s sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness, this was his big chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face… He was still mulling it over when Ron spoke up, breaking his train of thought.
"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, "we'd better go."
They pulled on their dressing gowns, picked up their wands, and crept across the room and down the spiral staircase into the Gryffindor Common Room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, "I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."
A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink dressing gown and a frown.
"You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"
"I almost told your brother, Percy," Hermione snapped. "He's a Head Boy, he'd put a stop to this."
Harry growled under his breath. There was a time for debate and a time for either stopping something or getting out of the way… and Hermione couldn’t seem to grasp the distinction. "Come on," he said to Ron. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.
Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose. "Don't you care about Gryffindor… do you only care about yourselves? I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."
"Go away," hissed Ron.
"All right,” Hermione agreed with resignation. “But I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so…"
But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a night-time visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor Tower. "Now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly.
"That's your problem," said Ron. "We've got to go or we’re going to be late."
They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them. "I'm coming with you," she said firmly.
"You are not," insisted Ron in a far quieter tone.
"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me?” said Hermione, still a good deal louder than Harry would have preferred. “If he finds all three of us, I'll tell him the truth… that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up."
"You've got some nerve!" said Ron, raising his voice for the first time.
"Shut up, both of you!" said Harry sharply. I just heard something."
It was a sort of snuffling.
"Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.
It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer. "Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours… I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."
"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."
"How's your arm?" said Harry.
"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."
"Good,” said Harry. “Well… look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later…"
"Don't leave me!" wailed Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."
Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville. "If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and used it on you.”
Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.
They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.
Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by.

****
Trophy Room,
Hogwarts.
September 15th, 0005 BST


"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered.
Harry was about to nod in agreement when a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak… and it wasn't Malfoy.
"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."
It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room. "They're in here somewhere… probably hiding."
"This way!" Harry mouthed to the others, and petrified they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armour.
They could hear Filch getting nearer.
Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run. But he tripped before he got very far, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armour.
The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.
"RUN!" Harry yelled.
The four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following… they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going… they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.
"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.
“I… t-t-told… you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest. "I… told… you."
"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower," said Ron. "As quickly as possible."
"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realize that… don't you? He was never going to meet you… Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."
Harry thought she was probably right, but he wasn't going to tell her that. "Let's go."
It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled, and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.
It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight. "Shut up, Peeves… please… you'll get us thrown out."
Peeves cackled. "Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."
"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."
"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."
"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves. This was abig mistake.
"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!!!"
Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door -- and it was locked.
"This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "We're done for! This is the end!" They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves' shouts.
"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She pulled out her wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, “Alohomora!"
The lock clicked and the door swung open. They piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.
"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."
"Say 'please’."
"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"
"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice. "All right…” Even through the door and his panic, Harry could sense the reluctance in the caretaker’s voice. “Please."
"NOTHING!” exclaimed Peeves. “Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't saynothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!"
And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.
"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be okay… get off, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's dressing gown for the last minute. "What?"
Harry turned around… and saw, quite clearly, what.
For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare -- this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.
They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor… The Forbidden Corridor on the third floor… and now they knew why it was forbidden.
They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads… three pairs of rolling, mad eyes… three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction… three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs… It took a moment for the name to come to him from Cassie’s stories.
It was a Cerberus… an honest of gods, Cerberus…
It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise. But it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.
Harry groped for the doorknob… between Filch and death, he'd take Filch.
The four teens fell backward, and once he had his balance again, Harry lunged forward and slammed the door shut.
Fortunately, Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because he wasn’t in sight, but they hardly cared… all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster that some lunatic had brought into the school.
They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor. "Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their dressing gowns hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.
"Never mind that… pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the Common Room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.
It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.
"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in aschool?" said Ron finally, echoing thoughts that Harry had been having himself. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."
Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again. "You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?”
After a moment’s thought Harry was about to admit that he hadn’t when Ron beat him to it. I wasn't looking at its feet! I was a bit preoccupied with its heads. Or maybe you didn't notice, there were three!”
Harry nodded, as much as he was a little irritated at himself for not taking in the whole picture, Ron did raise a valid point.
"No, not the floor,” replied Hermione, scornfully. “It was standing on a trap door. Which means it wasn't there by accident. It's guarding something.” She stood up, glaring at them. I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed… or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."
Ron stared after her, his mouth open. "No, we don't mind," he said, shaking his head in annoyance. "She needs to sort out her priorities!”
Harry didn’t necessarily disagree with Ron, but at the same time, what Hermione said reminded him of something that he’d been told weeks earlier…
It wasn’t until he was nearly asleep that he remembered.
Hagrid had said it during his visit to Diagon Alley. “‘Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide… except perhaps Hogwarts.’”
Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.
But he was still no closer to figuring out what it was.

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