Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The characters do not belong to me but to J. K. Rowling and her various publishers. No claims of originality or expectations of gain are made.
Harry Potter and the New Day Dawning
Chapter 7
A cold clear Christmas morning found Harry awaking in his dorm room. For the first time in his life, he was looking forward to happy Christmas day. The Dursleys would be in southern England and he would be at Hogwarts in the Scottish highlands. It was about as far away from them as he could from them and still remain in Great Britain. Instead of Dudley for companionship, He would spend the day with his best friend. The fact that he expected no gifts didn't diminish Harry's delight in the least.
The only dark cloud was that Ron had to fight to keep depression at bay. Like Harry, it would be Ron's first Christmas separated from his family. Unlike Harry, Ron would miss his relatives although he did try to put a brave face on the matter.
"It's just a part of growing up, I suppose," he said gamely when Harry tried to commiserate with him during a match of wizard's chess. "It's not as if I'm suddenly some penniless waif selling matchsticks on a frigid street corner on Christmas day. I mean, I have three brothers here after all, don't I? And a good friend, to boot."
Harry missed Hermione and Neville but the void that they left was somewhat filled by the older Weasley Brothers. Fred and George took Ron and Harry under their wing and together they explored the castle from towers to dungeons save for the out of bounds third floor corridor which Mr. Filch guarded zealously. Hogwarts had stood for nearly a thousand years so every room, every nook and cranny, every stone practically had some history attached to it. Ron and Harry were shown where the school legends said wizards had died in duels, where dispirited students had taken their own lives often in spectacular fashion, and where the entrances were to secret passages but surprisingly the two younger boys were cautioned not to use them.
"For the time being, anyway," George said. "It's best you avoid them."
"After you become master prowlers like us and know how to avoid Filch, feel free to explore them at your will," Fred added. "Although I hate to tell you, Ronnikins but you just don't have the knack to be a skulker."
"An honest man doesn't need to fear having his footfalls heard," Ron pronounced gravely although very much tongue in cheek.
"Adopted, he is," George said in a parody of sorrow
Fred nodded in mock agreement. "Definitely. He can't be a Weasley."
When Ron and Harry asked how they learned about the passages they just smiled. "Messrs. Moony, Prongs, Padfoot, and Wormtail," Fred answered mysteriously.
They also met dozens of ghosts. Harry found that most of them to have very interesting stories to tell even if their favorite topic of conversation seemed to be how they met their deaths. Unbeknownst to the boys they were learning a fair amount about life through listening to the experiences of the ghosts and their tales of love and loss, of courage and cowardice, of honor and deceit.
One memorable afternoon was spent in the company of a suit of armor which apparently knew every joke told in the last six centuries although some were bawdier then should have been told to thirteen and eleven year old boys, not that they minded in the least. They laughed until their sides ached and would have stayed longer if Professor Sinistra hadn't rounded the corner in the midst of an exceptionally racy story about three witches and a particularly flexible vampire.
Harry encountered house elves for the first time down in Hogwart's vast kitchens. He was surprised and somewhat embarrassed by the near adulation the elves expressed upon meeting him. They nigh on danced around him in their excitement and pressed more food on him then he could have eaten in a week but Harry was too polite to refuse what was clearly meant as an honor to him.
The four boys even managed to elude Hagrid's watchful eye and got into the Forbidden Forest. They could hear Fang barking on the far side of the grounds as they sped hooting into the trees but they were deep enough within the wood even with the bareness of the branches by the time the groundskeeper came around to be spotted. Fred and George spent that foggy morning pointing out the various unique creatures that inhabited the Forbidden Forest and the leavings of the nocturnal creatures which showed their passage during the night. Like their older brother Charlie, the Weasley twins had a deep interest in magical creatures although their interest lay more in the various venoms and secretions that the creatures produced then the creatures themselves. The boys' sylvan outing was cut short when they came across a troop of centaurs. The centaurs insisted that they leave the forest for their own safety but not before each of them solemnly shook Harry's hand.
Harry, who had always seen himself as nothing but a human punching bag, slowly began to have glimmers of what the Boy Who Lived meant to the magical community. With glacial speed, a sense of self worth was being born in Harry's psyche.
Harry was beginning to debate whether or not to get out of bed when the matter was decided for him. Three pillows hit him in rapid succession.
"Oy, up and at it, Harry!" Ron yelled. "Or I'll trade your presents for chocolate frogs!"
"Presents?" Harry asked flinging the pillows back at Ron and fumbling for his glasses. "I've got presents?"
"Well, yeah," Ron answered as he picked up the pillows and lobbed them back to Dean, Neville and Seamus' empty beds. "What were you expecting? Turnips?"
At the foot of Harry's bed was indeed a pile of gifts. Harry was flabbergasted. While the pile was nowhere near as large as Ron's, it was more gifts the he had ever received before at anytime. Harry stood and stared not knowing what present to start with. Ron solved the dilemma by forcing a box wrapped in plain paper into his hands.
"From me," he said. "I don't have any money so I made these for you last night. I hope that the charm worked on them."
Harry quickly ripped off the wrapping paper and opened the box. Two-dozen oatmeal cookies, as warm as if they had just been pulled from the oven, lined a shoebox. Harry inhaled deeply as the cookies' wonderful aroma seductively filled the dorm room.
"Oh, man," Harry moaned as he bit into one. "They taste as good as they smell. Give me a box of these a month and I'll do your homework for the next seven years. You actually made these?"
Ron nodded, a broad smile plastered across his face. "Yeah, I did. It's my Great-Grandmother's recipe. I had quite a time convincing the house elves to let me use the kitchen last night but they finally relented. The hard part was the warming charm. I had to go to Professor Flitwick to make sure that I had it correct."
"You got it dead on," Harry said extending the box to Ron. "Nothing else in the stack will come close to these, I sure."
"I sure that something will," Ron said plucking a cookie out of the box. "But thank you for saying so."
"I gave Hermione money to buy a certain thing for you," Harry said. "Did it arrive?"
Ron turned and began to paw through his gifts.
"Aha," he exclaimed yanking a crimson and green wrapped present from the heap.
"To Ron from Harry," he read and immediately began tearing paper sending bits of it flying in every direction.
"It's a book," Harry said unnecessarily as Ron finished ripping off the paper.
"The How of Everything," Ron intoned.
"It explains how most mechanical and electrical things work in the muggle world," Harry said. "I wasn't too sure about some of the answers that I gave you on the train but I remembered seeing this book in m my old school library so I asked Hermione to buy you a copy for me."
"This is beyond cool," Ron said as he thumbed through the book. "Wait until Dad sees this. He'll probably be up for a week reading and rereading this. Thanks, Harry."
"Well, the book will keep," Harry said. "Let's get to the rest of the loot."
A blizzard of wrapping paper shreds rained down upon the two laughing boys as they attacked their gifts. Harry, who truly expected nothing, was beside himself at the number of people who had given him presents. In addition to Ron's cookies, Mrs. Wealsey had sent him some fudge and a knitted sweater.
"You got a Weasley sweater, too eh," Ron joked punching Harry lightly on the arm as Harry slid the sweater over his head. Harry was dumbfounded that a near stranger went through the effort to knit him a sweater and bake for him. Harry suddenly felt closer to a woman that he had met only briefly in a railway station then he had ever felt toward his Aunt Petunia who had raised him.
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon sent him fifty pence. "Of course, it's more then I got them," Harry thought knowing that he did not dare let the Dursleys know that he had any money what so ever let alone a fortune in gold and silver.
Hagrid had given Harry a hand carved wooden flute. "We'll be jamming together in no time," Ron said as Harry played a few notes on the instrument which had a vaguely owl like sound.
Hermione had sent him a thick songbook titled Folk Songs of Britain.
"I guess I better concentrate on the Scottish section," Harry said to Ron as he leafed through the songs.
"Learn Scotland the Brave and Mist Covered Mountains and those fifty points of yours will be forgiven even before you sing The Twa Sisters," Ron joshed.
Neville, also, gave Harry a book for Christmas. It was a large tome covered in smooth dark blue leather with gold leaf lettering: The House of Potter by Veronica Whiteacre. Neville's card explained that the book had been written in 1887 by his thrice great grandmother and covered the generations of Potters from 1603 until 1872.
"Someone actually wrote a book about my family," Harry said in disbelief.
"I told you that your family was famous, Harry," Ron said at the look of marvel in his friend's eyes. "Don't be surprised if some of what is in that book makes an appearance in our History of Magic class sometime."
Harry was about to disappear into his bed with his family history when Ron piped up.
"Hey, you forgot one, Harry."
With great reluctance, Harry sat his book aside on his bed. The last gift proved to be soft and lightweight if rather bulky. A shimmering multicolored robe was revealed as the last of the paper was ripped away.
"Whoa, I know what that is," Ron said in awe. "Put it on!"
Harry draped the robe around him and promptly disappeared from view.
"An invisibility cloak, I knew it," Ron squeaked excitedly. "Do you know how rare those are? Who sent it to you?"
Harry took the robe off and picked up a note that he had seen fall to the floor.
Your Father left this in my care before He died.
It's time that it was returned to you.
There was no signature.
"I don't know," Harry replied showing the note to Ron. Harry felt an overwhelming tide of emotions well up within him. For the first time in his life he had a tangible connection with his father. The cloak that he held had been held by his father. It was too much for the orphaned lad. He sat down on his bed and buried his face within the folds of the robe. He fancied that he caught a faint scent of aftershave as he cried his heart out.
Ron thought it best to let his friend's tears to run their course. Mutely, he began to pick up all of the scattered paper and ribbon all the while keeping an ear tuned to Harry. The last of the paper and Harry's composure were collected at about the same time.
"You all right now, mate?" Ron asked gently as he stuffed a giant ball of wrapping paper into the dustbin.
"Yeah, sorry," Harry replied. "I was just a bit overcome there for a moment."
Ron shrugged. "A kid with no family ties suddenly has family gear thrust upon him. A kid that by his own admission never has had a decent Christmas finally has one. I can see where it could get to you."
"Yeah," Harry sighed as he wiped his eyes on his pajama sleeves. "It's weird. I feel sort of sad but at the same time I'm also too happy really to be sad if you know what I'm trying to say. "
"I guess so," Ron said. "It's like a well written sad song. It's sad, of course, but it makes you feel good to heard it."
Harry smiled broadly although his eyelashes were still wet. "That about nails it."
"Remind me to write the thank you notes after breakfast, Harry," Ron said as he stacked his gifts on his bed. "Mum will have a fit if she finds out that I didn't do so promptly and it is simply good manners."
"Will do," Harry said as he too gathered his gifts. "I can remember some of my old schoolmates use to complain about having to write thank you notes after Christmas. I can only say 'Fantastic. I get to write thank you notes.'"
"Not to change the subject but I would like you to do me another favor, Harry," Ron said seriously. "Please don't mention your cloak to Fred or George."
Harry frowned. "Sure but why?" he asked.
"Mercy, they get into enough trouble as it is," Ron replied. "Something like that in their hands; they'd be expelled before spring."
Harry laughed heartily. "You're probably right about that. I'll hide it in my chest and won't mention it to anyone."
"Hermione and Neville could be trusted with the secret," Ron said. "They aren't gossips."
Harry carefully folded the cloak. He almost ceremoniously opened the chest. He tossed what he plan to wear that day on his bed and after a quick rearranging of the rest of the contents, placed his father's cloak at the very bottom. It was quickly buried beneath his clothing.
"What do you think that they would do?" Harry asked as he shut the lid. "Your brothers, I mean."
"Dung bombs in the Slytherin common room. Eels in the prefects' baths. Who knows? I don't have their inventive imagination," Ron replied with a shudder. "It would definitely be something legends are made of to be sure."
"Now you have gone and tempted me," Harry joked.
"If you get expelled, you go back to your Aunt and Uncle. Knowing that you know that, I know that I can trust your self control," Ron chuckled. "Let's get dressed and get some breakfast."
"I'll even wear my new maroon sweater," he added rolling his eyes.
"There's a plan," Harry said but his mind remained with the mysterious shimmering cloak at the bottom of his chest.
A/N: (1) As always I would like to use this space to thank those who reviewed my story. Cariluv and Venus4280 (aka the next JKR) left rather nice reviews on my last chapter. Thank you both!!
(2) in re, Venus4280's comments on the amount of reviews. It's nice of you to say that I deserve more reviews but I really don't worry about it. I actually write fan fiction for the practice of writing (and to alter the stories a bit too). As any editor will say an author must keep the target audience in mind while writing and the main audience for these stories on are teenagers and they prefer tales of romance and angst and, of course, this story is neither so it should be expected that few would read it. I think that the site is up to 173,000 stories so there is a lot of competition for readers. If I wrote a tale about a lust triangle between a suicidal Harry, a confused Hermione, and an ambiguous Draco and tossed in a gay Ron and a vampire Ginny, I could rack up the reviews but my muse simply won't supply me with any such stories.