He wakes up like any other morning, bleary-eyed and still sleepy. But Ron is already cheering and shaking his shoulders and when he finally pops his eyes open, he looks down to the foot of his bed and sees a small pile of brightly colored packages drenched in long streamers of every color.
Presents. He actually has presents. Actual presents that look like more than just an old sock.
A flute he cradles happily and plays a few soft notes on, the piping sound similar to Hedwig. Hagrid is a gift to this universe.
Chocolate Frogs from Hermione - Ron steals a handful - and then fudge and a jumper from Mrs. Weasley. He didn't even think of getting her a present, but Ron waves away his concerns so he slips his own on. Its wonderfully warm and brilliant he doubts he'll be taking it off for a while.
A fifty pence note from his relatives. He is kind of confused - wouldn't it cost more than that to ship it to here?
But it's the thought that counts, as he hands it off to Ron. Maybe he can give it to his muggle-obsessed father.
The last present, however, pulls his interest. It's a square, neatly folded, but it doesn't hold its shape. It's rather lumpy, covered with bright golden wrapping paper that glimmers warmly in the light. He almost swears that he can see little shapes twitching inside of it from magic. There's a grin on his face as he flips it over and over, trying to find a note or a name. Ron is just as confused as he is.
There's no name, but there is a note.
Your father had this before you. May you use it well.
No signature. It could be anyone's present, but he hasn't really made any friends outside of the ones that gave him presents already. And none of the people he knows would give him a cryptic note and a mysterious package.
He idly wonders whether Malfoy sent it.
But still, he unwrapped the present and lets the shimmering cloth pool between his legs. It's silver and brilliant and for some reason a spark burns behind his eyes as he looks over the cloak.
And then he puts it on and goes invisible.
It's absolutely brilliant and he can't wait to see what he can do with it, Ron crowing happily in the background. Whoever gave it to him must have either not known what it is or really, really likes him.
Ron says its an Invisibility Cloak. They're really rare and hard to find, but dead useful for everything. He imagines his father tucked under the shining silver surface and running through the halls and smiles.
He places it under his pillow as the day goes on, planning to wait a day or two before using it. It would be terrible if he was caught on the first day of having it, because the teachers are always on high alert the day after Christmas. The smiles the twins share in the common room are proof enough.
But that night, when he's had his fill of roasted turkey and brilliant pudding and enough treacle tart to last him a decade, he stumbles back to his bed with an overstuffed belly and falls asleep on his bed.
That night, he screams.
There is something attacking his head, sharp as a knife. It stabs between his eyes and cuts upward, carving around his scar.
And something is fighting back, but its not him. Shrieks echo through his mind and magic crackles at his fingertips and the cloak sits beneath his pillow. His eyes roll backward and even while he sleeps the battle rages on.
When he wakes in the morning, something is different.
He feels lighter - he no longer has a weight on his shoulders even though he didn't know it was there. Magic springs to his hand as he even thinks of a spell and his forehead doesn't twinge when Quirrel turns his back on him. And even his scar has changed - its not the bright red but a paler version, fading as the day goes on. No one mentions it but it won't be long until its there at all.
He's never felt better in his entire life.
But that night he sits on his bed, staring at the cloak in his hand. It glimmers innocently up at him, seemingly just a magical item.
And as it stares at it, something hums in his mind. His magic reacts as he picks it up, swirling happily inside of him. The cloak wraps around him easily and he disappears from view, gaze sharpening.
Far away in the distance, some form of dog howls.
xXx
He sneaks out that very night, just him. Though it makes no sense it hurts to think about Ron or Hermione touching his cloak, so he doesn't mention it and he bets that over the course of a week it might fade slightly from Ron's mind. Super powerful or not, Ron's attention leaves a lot to be desired.
The cloak seems to do more than just turn him invisible. Miss Norris doesn't even blink at him even though she should smell him. He creeps behind Snape forever without the man even blinking, and he even sneaks into Professor McGonagall's classroom and rearranges the desks.
But then he enters a classroom and finds it the opposite of empty. A mirror stands tall and strong, shining brightly even though no lights are in the room. Words are carved along the top.
And when he stands in its path, the Harry he sees is very different.
He's taller, though not by much. His clothes are his exact size and there are no rips, no scuffs, no tears from where Dudley had outgrown them or attacked him. They fit him and him alone.
The cloak is curled around his shoulders, much like it is now. It shines bright here, magnified. Something whispers in his mind as he traces his eyes over it, lips curling into a smile. The cloak - despite being a cloak - is happy. This Harry has something that it wants, and he searches for whatever the item is in his not-reflection.
He's holding a wand. But it's not his.
The one is smooth and slightly curved, more like a regular branch then a carved piece of wood. Dark and thin and it also hums in his mind, the same contented sigh that the cloak is giving off.
It's not his wand but he feels that if he were to hold that wand, swish it like he did at Ollivander's shop, the sparks that would explode from it would make the sun seem dim in their glory. He wants it.
But then his not-reflection smirks and raises a single hand, facing back first. A ring glitters on his hand, a pure black stone with a simple golden setting. There is a crack down the middle but it seems more perfect than anything he had ever seen in his entire life. It hisses to him and he wants it.
He wants them all.
The cloak, the wand, the ring - they whisper to him and they aren't evil. They thrum with the same magic that now lives behind his forehead, the same magic that took out whatever had been living there before.
But they aren't evil. He stills remembers the shrieked threats of the magic in his scar as the cloak dragged it away into nothingness.
The cloak, the wand, the ring.
He nods to his reflection. It nods back.
And then he throws the cloak back over his head and starts toward the library, a happy whisper surfacing in his mind. Voldemort has all but faded from his mind, and he doesn't think of how evil Snape is or how Quirrel is definitely shifty. All that surfaces in his mind is the thought of the other two.
xXx
Hours later, as light touches the edge of the library, he slips one more book under his cloak and prepares to stand. He is drop dead tired but energy thrums through his body, the cloak bright in his eyes.
The Deathly Hallows, and he needs to find them.
He doesn't know why. Doesn't understand why the cloak sings to him. Doesn't understand what was in his forehead. Doesn't understand why he is filled with this desire.
But he knows he will find the three and find out what happens after that. Hermione would be proud of him.
Except for the fact he's stealing from a library and pulling an all-nighter, he admits as he sneaks out the library and heads back up to his common room. The Fat Lady merely raises an eyebrow but lets him in, tutting disapprovingly. He smiles self deprecating and thanks her as warmly as he muster.
But he has a purpose now. Dumbledore says it is to stop Voldemort, the world says it is to save Magical Britain, his friends say it is to save everything.
He almost laughs. He has found something much, much, much better.
The Deathly Hallows are a myth thought never to exist except for the fact he has already found one. The other two must be somewhere else in this world, and he will find them. The wand will make him unstoppable. The stone will let him see his parents. The cloak has made him unfindable.
The cloak hums softly in his ear as he tucks it into his bag. He's not going anywhere without it.
xXx
He knows that someone is going after the Philosopher's Stone tonight. It's not his stone but something about must be important for Dumbledore to protect it. Hermione is dead set on contacting Dumbledore and Ron is with her, so tonight he sneaks out under the cover of his cloak and heads toward the corridor they had wrangled out of the twins so long ago.
The cerberus - Fluffy - sits in the corner of the room, head collapsed on the ground. Deep breaths echo around the room as one of the heads twitch in a dream, and he smiles. Something hums happily as he sees the creature, and he idly remembers that cerberus guard the gates to the underworld. Fluffy has connections to death and so does he, and he strokes the closest paw and he walks past.
The dog instantly wakes up, the soothing tones of the harp holding no sway over him any longer. He freezes, cloak falling silent in his mind.
Fluffy rises to his feet, all three heads focused forward. He inches forward, letting out one warm breath that flows over him like an oncoming wave. The middle head stares at him with narrowed yellow eyes.
And then he lays back on the ground, happily wagging his tail and panting softly, transformed from the guarder of death's gates to a puppy.
He pets him, smile flickering over his face. The heads croon up at him but the trapdoor sings a song he can't ignore. No matter what he wants now, eh can't let Voldemort become immortal.
The world would fall.
So he steps away and heads toward the door, popping it open. The cloak is tied tighter around his neck and then he is jumping through into the darkness beyond.
The ground is soft and squishy and moving. It writhes around him as his feet and then ankles and then knees disappear into it, wrapping him tighter and tighter. He struggles ina panic before the cloak murmurs quietly to him and he calms, drawing his wand. Its not the right wand but he needs to see, casting Lumos as fast as he can.
The light lets him see brilliant green vines, slithering over each other before they retreat as fast as they came, sliding back into crevices in the walls and huddling away from the shining ball of light. He falls to the ground, eyes wide. The plant is vaguely familiar from some lesson from Professor Sprout but then he's marching onward, heading toward the large door he can see.
The keys are hexed down from the ceiling one by one until he can find the one he needs for the door. The brooms are ignored. He isn't good enough at flying to try and catch that with enough time to be able to find the stone.
The chessboard is the easiest. He throws on his cloak and just walks right across, and no one of the pieces even so much as move. It's a bit of a shame but he needs to get through as fast as he can. The cloak hums happily.
The troll is already knocked out. He doesn't worry and gets out of the room fast, the smell enough to make him gag.
The potions in the room make him stop. But the magic in his head thrums as he touches certain glasses, and he rightly guesses those as the poison. Through guess and error, he drinks one terrible vial of wine before finding the proper one, downing it quickly before walking through the final flame that leads to the room.
The mirror is there, still enormous and sparkling. But he ignores that as he stares at the man standing next to it, arms crossed and twitching with his turban wrapped tightly around his head.
Quirrel. Huh. He didn't see that coming.
But the cloak hisses in a fury and he feel something whisper to him from the man, something dark that shrieks threats even though the room is silent. Its the same magic that once lived in his forehead, the one that the cloak saved him from. The same magic that is living inside his professor.
Quirrel looks up, a sneer forming on his face but he is already moving, dodging the sickly blue curse flung at him. Instead he reaches forward and touches the man's face with his hand, eyes narrowed.
There is a furious shriek and the turban rots in an instant, revealing a horidious face melting in on itself. Quirrel collapses to his knees, fingers digging into his head as he screams.
And then they both disappear, dissolving into a mass of ashes that flutter in a missing wind. A wraith explodes from them and sails toward the door, filled with the same magic that had once been in Quirrel.
It doesn't make it very far.
Something black explodes from Quirrell's corpse, lunging through the air. It sinks white fangs into the wraith and pulls it to the ground. In under a second, the shape swallows the magic whole.
He stares.
It's a dog, but one he had never seen before. The fur is black and the size is enormous but the edges blur together, fading in and out of his vision. The edges of the fur trickle off into the air like smoke and the eyes are too bright, too intelligent, to be any sort of regular dog.
He recognizes it from a picture. A grim - dogs that appear before death comes, and he idly worries for himself.
But the grim inclines its head and tucks itself closer to Harry, a rumble like growl escaping from his mouth. The sound is comforting and he's got a hand on his back, petting through the fur that seems as cold as death.
Voldemort is dead. Or at least a part of him.
But if two pieces of his magic were in him and Quirrel, there are more. He doesn't know how many but the cloak hums in agreement, and so he knows for sure there are more, dotted around the world. He will find them just as he finds the wand and the ring, and then Voldemort will be dead and he will be free.
The grim leads him back through the path, swallowing the flames into his shadow and growling once at the chess pieces. The now-awake troll scurries to a corner and doesn't move as they walk through, and the plant doesn't so much as twitch as Harry slowly rises to the trapdoor on one of the brooms. The grim dives into the nearest shadow and is waiting in Fluffy's room as he arrives.
The cloak whispers to him and he touches the very tip of his move prized possession to the fur of the grim, and with a soft hum the dog disappears. But he can still feel him - the same comforting magic filling the cloak is there, and in the next second the grim appears. It disappears again before coming back, seemingly becoming adjusted to its new ability. But he is happy - for the grim to avoid detection is to the let him follow him. And the grim appears to be thinking the exact same thing as he feel the sting of frostbite touch his leg. The grim's fur would freeze another human but for him it just hums with magic.
They walk back to his common room, saying goodbye to the cerberus on the way out. He is closer now to finding them.
The cloak, the wand, the ring.
Hey guys!
How do you like the story? Pretty basic and I think I'll make it continue through the seven years, though most definitely things will change. But hey, how did you guys like it?
I always thought it was weird that the Invisibility Cloak - a Deathly Hallow - was only used when Harry wanted to sneak around places? Shouldn't it have had a bigger effect on the future?
But it didn't, and thus this story was born.
IDK on where I'm going to go with this. I'll probably only really write scenes that are changed by Harry having one of the Deathly Hallows and how things change throughout the years.
Also, in case you didn't understand, the magic of the Deathly Hallow destroyed the horcrux in Harry's head. Voldemort's wraith was killed but his consciousness still flew away, though he lost another soul piece. So now he's down to five. He'll still have his memories, though what happens next is what I can't tell you. It'd be a spoiler, and those are bad xD
Anyway! Please read and review!
Frost OUT!