Invisibility Cloaks are Made of Boy's Dreams

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Huh?" Iris said eloquently as she held the cloak up before her. "So it's a fragment of Death that should have all sorts of crazy powers, but doesn't because no one has known how to actually use it for centuries?"

Shirou placed his face in his palm. He knew he was pretty bad at explaining things, and that had been a rather accurate, if excessively concise summary, but it just felt so wrong to condense the History of The Cloak of Death down into a sentence.

He did manage to nod through his internal turmoil though.

"But this was really my dad's?" Iris asked again with far more interest.

Shirou nodded again, glancing up at the girl and noting the way that her eyes sparked with interest at his acknowledgement.

She slowly pulled the cloak against her body and hugged it.

"What did he use it for?"

Shirou sighed as he pulled up the cloak's history from the copy he had in Unlimited Blade Works.

He quickly began to run through the timeline of her father's possession of the cloak.

Sneaking around the castle.

Prank.

Sneak. Prank. Prank. Prank. Prank. Sneak.

The first few years were rather repetitive in his uses.

Third year he snuck...

An intense blush spread across Shirou's face.

Third year he snuck into the girl's' changing room for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.

Shirou shuddered as information from James Potter's years of school filtered into his head and he watched as a young man followed through with just about every fantasy a boy who can become invisible could have.

In the later years, he never needed to find broom closet for...

Shirou covered his face with his hands. The information had already entered his mind, he was just processing it, and he couldn't stop it.

Long after graduation, Lily Evans Potter, joining him under the cloak. Hot and sweaty. Long red hair plastered against their bodies.

Shirou nearly choked as the final chunk of the requested timeline filtered through his mind.

"What?" Iris asked, prompting Shirou spread his fingers enough to glance at her.

She was snuggling it.

She was rubbing the cloak against her face affectionately.

"Ah..." Shirou didn't know what to say, but he held out a hand to stop her. "You... might want to get that washed first."

"What?" Iris held the cloak out at arm's length and looked back to Shirou. "What did my dad use this for?"

Any blood that had departed from Shirou's face immediately made its way back.

"Did..." Iris's eyes were widening in time with her slowly unfolding horror. "Did he have sex under it?" She practically hissed the words.

Shirou blushed even harder.

He was an adult. He had experience with sex. But he was also a Japanese man, and there were some things you just didn't talk about.

Like the fact that not only did her dad have sex under the cloak, but her mother had as well.

With the timing of one of the memories, it was possible that Iris had been conceived under that cloak.

"That's..." Iris's grip slackened, and the cloak slid down into a heap on the floor.

"That's so gross!" She yelled.

Apparently his silence had spoken for him.

"Ewww!" She shouted, rubbing her hands against the chair she had been sitting on.

"Ewww! Eww! Eww!" She grabbed the hem of her robe and began to scrub it against her face where the cloak had touched her before. Then she pulled the whole robe up over her head and threw it onto the floor next to the cloak, leaving her huffing from exertion in a longsleeve shirt and sweatpants.

"Wait, wait." Shirou raised his hands to placate her. "Sorry. I was overreacting from the influx of memories. There wasn't anything on the cloak. It's charmed to resist anything that would stain it or stick to it. Dust won't even gather on it."

Iris let out a sharp hissing breath and stood completely still.

"Okay." She said slowly. "I'm going to take this up and put it next to my laundry with a note that it is to be cleaned very thoroughly." She huffed a few times. "Then I am going to shower, again. Then I will join you for breakfast, which starts in... 10 minutes."

She sighed as she gingerly held her hands away from her body to avoid touching herself.

"You can wait here, or you can head down and I'll join you in a little bit."

"I'll wait."

Iris nodded as she knelt down, engulfed the cloak in her discarded robes, then gingerly picked it up and carried it towards the girl's dorms.

On the first step, she paused and looked back.

"We can deal with the other things about this cloak when it's clean."

She then stomped up the stairs.

-o-o-o-o-

By the time Shirou and Iris arrived in the Great Hall, Christmas breakfast was already underway.

It was honestly the most excessive feast that Shirou had ever seen, but not in a good way. There was an entire roasted turkey placed every few feet at each of the House Tables. Each one was surrounded by all sorts of traditional British holiday foods.

But due to the low number of students residing in the castle over the holidays, there were more turkeys per table than there were students.

Shirou was about to ask which of the overladen tables they should join, but instead had to jog to keep up with Iris, who was making a beeline for the center of the Head Table.

"Miss Potter. Mister Emiya." The Headmaster, wearing a Christmas cap and a slightly surprised smile, greeted them as they approached. "What can I do for you this morning?"

"Please!" Iris begged, placing her hands against the Head Table. "Please tell me that you washed it since my dad lent it to you!"

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose to meet his cap.

"How...?" He whispered.

"Please!" Iris interrupted him. "Bleach! Chlorine! Maybe you set in on fire for a bit! Tell me you at least rinsed it off or something!"

"I..." Dumbledore blinked in confusion. "I did wash it. Several times. Including last night."

Iris sagged against the Head Table, sighing in relief.

"But... why are you asking about that?" Dumbledore continued. "And how did you know that I was the one to give it to you?"

"It was my father's?" She asked, receiving a nod in response.

"He was a boy." She said with an unnecessary amount of scorn.

Every male in the vicinity felt a slight amount of irritation at her words, even if they had no idea about the context of the conversation.

Dumbledore merely chuckled.

"I'm sure that James wouldn't have..." He trailed off as he started into the middle distance, lost in his memories. "Oh dear."

"He was a boy." Iris said, emphasizing the derogative word.

Every adult male in the vicinity felt a sudden surge of guilt. They may not have known the context, but they had all been young boys at one point.