Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two
by MysticSong1978
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot switch and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.
Dialogue is in double quotes ("") and Thoughts are in single quotes ('').
Author's Note
The Quidditch scene is going to be very similar to the book with some obvious changes. You may see strong similarities elsewhere as well. Pretty, pretty please don't complain to me about this in the reviews. I also ask that you just don't assume everything is verbatim and skip sections for even the sports section, which I've tweaked to my suiting, so if you just jump over bits, you'll miss a fair amount. I am not a huge sports fan in real life, so I figure I'm better off not trying to make-up a believable sports scene.
I have snuck a few quotes from Rickman films and a song lyric or two into this chapter. I'll be interested to see if you can spot them.
Yours,
MysticSong1978
By eleven o'clock, it seemed that the whole of Hogwarts had gathered in their respective stands, placed high above ground in a circle around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars; the seats were raised, but it was still difficult to keep track of the game at times.
Ron and Hermione were torn, but knew they would face torment from most of the Slytherins if they sat with Draco, so they joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean in the top row of the Gryffindor section. As a surprise for Harry, they had had painted a large banner on a sheet that Scabbers had destroyed. It read Potter for President and Dean, who was quite the artist, and one day hoped to attend Chelsea College of Art, had done a large lion intertwined with a shimmering serpent underneath. Some of the Gryffindors were a bit put out at this open show of camaraderie, and the less than friendly Slytherins simply made fun of them, but Harry's friends ignored it. Hermione even performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed in different colours; particularly those of the two Houses.
Meanwhile, in the changing rooms, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their emerald Quidditch robes (Gryffindor would be playing in scarlet).
Flint cleared his throat for silence.
In Harry's nervous state, he thought that Flint sounded a bit like a gorilla, but he kept his snickers to himself, lest the over-zealous captain pound him one.
"We've got the better team, the better seeker, we haven't lost the Cup in awhile, so don't you guys dare disappoint me or Professor Snape! Go get the Gryffindors! Or else!"
As inspirational speeches go, it wasn't top notch, but Harry was slowly adapting to the Slytherin's cunning, if a bit rough-and-tumble ways, and nodded at Marcus. By now, he knew the names of the other team, although he hadn't recognized the name of the Gryffindor seeker. Ron said it was an upperclassman who was good, but not particularly remarkable. Moreover, Harry had an advantage over everyone else; his Nimbus 2000, courtesy of Professor Snape.
Harry followed his team out of the changing rooms, hoping his knees wouldn't give way, and walked on to the pitch to loud cheers.
Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the pitch, waiting for the two teams, her broom in hand.
"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to his team's captain. He had a feeling his team wasn't known to play nice; not that the idea particularly surprised him. Marcus did look as if he had some troll blood in him. Although he certainly smelled a lot better than the troll of whom he'd been unlucky enough to recently meet.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd, lion and serpent drawn together, and took heart. His heart skipped a bit, his breath hitched; but he felt braver.
"Mount your brooms, please."
Harry clambered on to his broom.
Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.
Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off!
"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –"
"JORDAN!"
"Sorry, Professor."
The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.
"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve – back to Johnson and – no, Slytherin have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there – he's going to sc – no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and Gryffindor take the Quaffle – that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and – OUCH – that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger – Quaffle taken by Slytherin – that's Adrian Pucey speeding off towards the goalposts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes – she's really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – the goalposts are ahead – come on, now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!"
Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins. Despite their ever-blossoming friendship with Harry, and their desire to see him do well, Hermione, and Ron in particular, were caught up in the excitement and couldn't help but cheer their team on to a hopeful victory.
"Budge up there, move along."
"Hagrid!"
Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough room to join them.
"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars round his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"
"Nope," said Ron. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet. And the Gryffindor Seeker has just been hanging there like a lump on his broom. If I didn't know for a fact that Oliver had training sessions for awhile now, I'd have thought he just picked the likeliest looking candidate out of our common room this morning!"
"Kept outta trouble, though, that's something," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skywards at the specks that were the Seekers.
Ron and Hermione weren't sure if Hagrid meant one of the players or himself. They didn't ask.
Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Flint's game plan. Well, really just his plan. Flint's plan was don't lose or else, although the rough older boy had advised Harry to keep out of the way until he caught sight of the Snitch; no point being attacked before it was necessary.
Once he caught sigh of a flash of gold but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasley's wristwatches, and once a Bludger had decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannon ball than anything; but Harry had dodged it and one of their beaters came chasing after it.
"All right there, Harry?" he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Oliver Wood.
"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying. "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds towards the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?"
A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle; too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.
Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement, he dove downward after the streak of gold, closely followed by the Gryffindor Seeker, who could, evidently, fly after all. Neck and neck they hurtled towards the Snitch – all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in mid-air to watch.
Harry was faster than his opponent – he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead – he put on an extra spurt of speed and –
WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Slytherins below – George Weasley had blocked Harry on purpose and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.
"Foul!" screamed the Slytherins. Hermione looked worried; Ron felt he was riding the fence between House and brotherly loyalty and his friendship with Harry.
Madam Hooch spoke angrily to George, who, like his brother, could be like a human Bludger at times, and then ordered a free shot at the goalposts for Slytherin. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.
"After Weasley takes Harry off course, Slytherin is awarded a penalty, taken by Pucey, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Slytherin still in possession."
It was as Harry dodged another Bludger which went spinning dangerously past his head that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that.
It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back towards the Slytherin goalposts; he had half a mind to ask Flint to call time out – and then he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air and every now and then making violent swishing movements which almost unseated him.
Lee was still commentating.
"Slytherin in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherin score – oh no . . . "
The Slytherins were cheering. Almost no one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.
"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing" Hagrid mumbled to himself. He stared through his binoculars. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he lost control of his broom . . . but he can't have . . ."
Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. Draco gaped in horror as his friend was carried higher and higher by his suddenly unfriendly broom. It almost looked, he thought, as if someone had cast a hurling hex on him; but it would take powerful Dark Magic to affect a Nimbus 2000! Something which not even the seventh year students could do; suspicious, he eyed the professors.
Harry's broom had gone into frightening barrel rolls with him just managing to hang on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had just given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.
Hagrid was having similar thoughts as Draco, and he voiced them as the Gryffindors pelted him with questions.
At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.
"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, grey-faced.
Hermione had first caught Draco's face and watched him as he studied . . . the professors. She swung her binoculars in that direction to find the DADA professor eyeing Harry, muttering non-stop under his breath. As she moved to put them downwards, she caught sight of Professor Snape doing the same thing. She hoped it was the anti-jinx, but she didn't want to wait to find out whose would take full effect first. She handed Hagrid his binoculars, and raced down the steps of the Gryffindor stands, sprinted to the stands where the professors sat, and snuck quickly up behind Quirrell.
Ron had picked up the discarded binoculars and turned to keep an eye on Harry. The Slytherin Beaters moved to catch Harry, but the closer they got, the higher the broom took him. They settled for circling like vultures under his jerking form, hoping to catch him if he fell.
Gryffindor, not entirely scrupulous when it came to winning against Slytherin, seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.
Hermione crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well chosen words. Bright blue flames shot out of her wand on to the hem of Quirrell's robes.
It took perhaps thirty seconds for Quirrell to realize he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket she scrambled back along the row – Quirrell would never know what had happened.
It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.
"Neville, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes; not able to bear the sight of Harry's hectic ride. He would never forget Harry's unselfish saving of him from his own frantic flight earlier in the year.
Harry was speeding towards the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to retch – he hit the pitch on all fours – coughed – and something gold fell into his hands.
"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.
"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it," the Weasley twins cried bitterly. But it made no difference. Harry hadn't broken any rules and Slytherin had won the match! Harry heard none of this, however, still trying to recover his breath, and his stomach, from the unexpected rollercoaster-like ride that his broom had taken him on.
As soon as the fever died down, Draco, Ron and Hermione had dragged him off to Hagrid's hut co calm down; Hagrid was making him a strong cup of tea. And strong, by Hagrid's standards, was probably enough to take the varnish off of good furniture.
"It was Quirrell," Hermione was explaining. "I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."
"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't seen what had transpired next to him in the stands. "Why would Quirrell do somethin' like that?"
The foursome looked at teach other, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth.
"We found something out about him," he told Hagrid. "He let that troll in as a diversion on Halloween so he could get somewhere he wasn't supposed to up on the third floor. Hermione saw him headed there after he came out of his pretend faint in the Great Hall. Professor Snape diverted him, but not before something tried to take a bite out of his leg; did a worse job on Quirrell though. Hope it hurt," Harry said bitterly.
"Fluffy wouldn't hurt anybody," said Hagrid under his breath.
"Fluffy?" queried Draco.
"Shouldn'ta told yeh that," said Hagrid.
"Is that why Professor Dumbledore said we weren't to go into that corridor," asked Hermione, "because there's some creature up there . . ." she peered into Hagrid's eyes . . . "guarding something? Hogwarts is supposed to be one of the safest places around if you have something that needs protecting," she finished assuredly.
Before Hagrid could reply, Ron burst in. "You named something that bit two professors on the leg Fluffy!"
Hagrid looked sharply at Ron. "He wouldn't hurt no one that weren't trying to get past the trapdoor he's guarding, Ron!" He paled. "Shouldn'ta told yeh that." Hagrid sighed. He was loyal to the Headmaster beyond any reasonable doubt, but he could never be a Secret Keeper; especially with these four. He wouldn't have to be tortured; he'd give the information freely. He didn't do it out of any malice; he just didn't know when to stop talking.
Draco raised an eyebrow; eerily reminiscent of Professor Snape.
"Whatever he's guarding, it must be very important. Dumbledore must trust you a great deal, Hagrid, to include you in its protection. I'm sure you wouldn't hand over control of one your creatures to just anybody," he drawled in a silky, confident voice that made Hagrid beam with pleasure.
Hagrid had eventually come to terms that Draco wasn't out to stab Harry in the back, and he smiled brightly at the young boy. "Very important, that it is, young Draco. But that's between your Headmaster and Nicolas Flamel, that is."
"Aha!" Exclaimed Harry. "So there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved?"
Hagrid groaned. "Shouldn'ta told yeh that neither." He looked furious with himself.
Hermione patted him gently. "We won't tell on you, Hagrid. We're very grateful that you told us. It might have to do why Professor Quirrell was trying to knock Harry off his broom with that hurling hex."
Hagrid looked somewhat placated as he shooed the quartet out the door; but he still shook his, angry at himself, and took a swig of the tea Harry had left behind. It was so strong by this point that it may well have been alcoholic!
Christmas is coming; the goose is getting fat. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. Ron cheered them on for it, though. The foursome had started bringing other students into their group as Professor Snape had suggested. Ron's brothers were among the first. Ron felt that the trick on Quirrell made up for some of their past animosity towards Harry.
The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver post had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.
No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the common rooms and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy, and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them as they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.
The few students who either possessed a predisposition for Potions, or those whom had come to enjoy the subject, despite the professor's rather caustic teaching methods, understood that that the cooler air was to protect the more volatile ingredients – warmer temperatures could cause them to explode, or at best, expire before they were used – but the knowledge did little to brighten the prospect of sitting in an ice box for single or double periods.
In one Double Potions period, Millicent Bulstrode, a large, over-bearing troll of a girl – Harry had decided that some Pureblood families must be both closely inter-related and perhaps pure only as far as human blood went – brought the unrest between her trio and the foursome to a head.
"I feel awfully sorry," she drawled, in a voice dripping with insincerity, "for the people who have to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas because their very own families don't want them."
She was looking at Harry when she spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them. Bulstrode had been even more unpleasant since the Quidditch match, despite the fact that Harry had won the game for them, due to the inter-House banner that the Gryffindor stand had sported.
It was true that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor Snape had come around the week before, making a list of his students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had signed up at once. He didn't feel sorry for himself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas he'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie. Draco would be going home, of course, he didn't want to arouse any suspicions with his parents, but had promised to owl something fun to Harry if he had a chance.
When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound indicated that it was Hagrid who was carrying it.
"Oi! Need some help there, Hagrid?" Ron asked, peering around the branches of the tree?"
"Nah, I'm all right, thanks Ron."
"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Bulstrode's bitter voice from behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be the gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose – that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."
Ron's tempter got the better of him, and he dove at Bulstrode . . . just as Snape came up the stairs.
"WEASLEY!"
Ron let go of the front of Bulstrode's robes.
"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. "Bulstrode was insultin' his family."
"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you." The three paused a moment, sneering at Ron for his deduction of House Points, when the professor's smooth voice came again. "Well, what are you waiting for? I shall count to three. There will be no . . . four."
At that, Bulstrode, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the three, scattering needles everywhere, and smirking. Snape quirked an eyebrow at Harry and Draco and continued on his way down the corridor.
"I'll get her," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Bulstrode's back, "one of these days, I'll get her –"
"If I were you, Ron," Draco interjected, "I'd be glad Professor Snape interrupted when he did. Bulstrode may just be a girl, but she's got a mean right-hook. Always has," he finished, a bit ruefully.
"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat, it does."
So Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.
"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree – put it in the far corner, would you?"
The Hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls and no fewer than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.
"How many days left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.
"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me – Harry, Ron, Draco, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."
"Oh, yeah, you're right," said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had a multitude of golden and silver bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the newest tree.
"The library," said Hagrid, following them out of the Hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"
"Oh, we're not working," Draco told him smoothly. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."
"You what?" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here – I've told yeh – drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."
"We just want to know who he is, that's all," said Hermione.
"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added. "We must have been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere – just give us a hint – I know I've read his name somewhere."
"I'm saying' nothin'," said Hagrid emphatically.
"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," concluded Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.
They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Quirrell was trying to steal? The trouble was they weren't quite sure where to begin since they didn't know what he might have done to get himself into a book in the first place. Draco and Ron both felt they had read his name somewhere before as well, but just where that might be eluded them.
Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulled them off the shelves at random, muttering to himself even still about 'the unfairness of Snape, making us think he was a nice guy, the greasy git,'. Draco looked at Harry and shrugged a bit helplessly.
"I suppose at some point, perhaps sooner than later, we should explain about the two faces of Professor Snape, before Ron does something foolish," said Draco, "but I'm not sure the library is the best place for that sort of discussion."
Harry nodded; the professor had warned him right off that if Harry wasn't in Slytherin, he, Snape, might have to treat Harry in quite the unfriendly manner to keep up appearances. At least in public.
"Why don't you give him an idea at least, for the time being, Draco," Harry suggested. "It couldn't hurt."
So Draco followed Ron down the aisle and gave him a whispered explanation with promises of more to come at a later, more private date and place while Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section. He'd been wondering for awhile if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of those books, and he knew no one would ever grant such a privilege to a first year. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never actually taught at Hogwarts and only ready by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"What are you looking for, boy?"
"Nothing," said Harry.
Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.
"You'd best get out, then. Go on – out! No, boy, not that way, that's it, that's the exit; shoo!"
Wishing he'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story; he figured as a Slytherin that was something he ought to work on, Harry left the library. He, Ron, Hermione, and Draco had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Quirrell hearing what they were up to.
Harry waited in the corridor to see if the others had found anything, but he wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for a fortnight, after all, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks.
Five minutes later, the other three joined him, shaking their heads. Ron seemed a bit calmer, and they head off to lunch, parting ways at the Hall doors to head to their respective tables.
Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They each had a dormitory to themselves (or mostly - Ron's brothers hadn't gone home either) and they were making the most of it; usually hanging out in the Gryffindor common room as it was much warmer than any spot in the dungeons. They sat by the fireplace eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork – bread, crumpets, marshmallows, and plotting ways to get the three lumps of Slytherin expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.
Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. It was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figurines were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family – in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had any trouble getting to do what he wanted.
Harry played with chessmen that Professor McGonagall had lent him and they didn't trust him at all. He wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was very confusing.
On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all; he had no reason to. When he woke early next morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.
"Merry Christmas, Harry," came the rich voice of his professor from the doorway of his dorm.
Harry looked up at Snape, blinking as he reached for his glasses. He looked at the end of his bed; the presents were still there. Wordlessly, he stared at Snape, unsure how this came about and disbelieving that they were for him.
"What? Nothing clever to say?" drawled Severus, but there was no bite to his words.
"I have presents?" Harry finally managed to croak out. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat.
"Your relatives did send you something," he sneered, but then his face cleared, "but you will find the rest are from your friends and acquaintances here at Hogwarts. In fact, I believe Mr. Weasley is waiting outside with his own pile so that you may open them together. Would you like for me to let him in?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, please, sir. I'd like that very much," awe still in his voice.
Severus gave Harry a brief smile, just a quick quirk of his lips, before he left in a swirl of robes to allow Ron passage into the Slytherin common rooms.
"Happy Christmas, Harry!" exclaimed Ron, a bit sleepily, as he raced past Snape into Harry's room. Harry pulled on his dressing gown and flashed a smile at his friend.
"You too," said Harry. "Will you look at this? I've got some presents!"
"What did you expect, turnips?" said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry's.
Harry flashed an embarrassed grin at Professor Snape who was still standing in the doorway watching the boys, holding his morning cup of coffee.
"Do you want to . . . join us, Professor?" Harry asked softly.
Severus considered, watching Ron covertly. When the red headed boy made no overt gesture of displeasure at Harry's suggestion, he nodded briefly. "Let us move into the common room, then," he announced, "where there are actual chairs. You boys may be able to walk again after sitting on the cold stone floor, but I believe I am past that point myself."
Harry and Ron shrugged, scooped up their presents and moved out of the dorm to sit in front of the fire. It was rather cozy here, anyhow, sitting in front of the fire on Christmas morning, opening presents . . . and drinking the hot cocoa that was sitting on the table waiting for them.
"Wow, thanks Professor Snape!" said Ron happily as he spotted the large mugs. Snape nodded perfunctorily, sipping from his mug, eyes expressionless as always, but Harry felt he was happy. Or at least, happy for Snape.
Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it – it sounded a bit like an owl to his ears.
A second, very small parcel contained a note.
We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Sellotaped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.
"That's friendly," said Harry. Snape raised an eyebrow but did not comment.
Ron was fascinated. "Weird!" he said. "What a shape! This is money?"
"You can keep it," said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was. "Hagrid, and my aunt and uncle – so who sent these?"
"I think I know who that one's from," said Ron, going a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My Mum. I told her you didn't expect many presents and – oh, no," he groaned, "she's made you a Weasley jumper."
Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of home-made fudge.
"Every year she makes us a jumper," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and mine's always maroon."
"That's really nice of her," said Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty.
"And I thought you liked your House colours, Mr. Weasley," interjected Professor Snape.
Ron made a face. "They're okay together," he explained, "but maroon by itself is just. . . Bleaaargh." Harry stifled a giggle.
Harry's next present also contained sweets – a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione.
This left only one parcel. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped it.
Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor, where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped. Snape's eyes widened momentarily, but neither boy noticed.
"I've heard of those," Ron said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every-Flavour Beans he'd got from Hermione. "If that's what I think it is – they're really rare, and really valuable."
"What is it?"
Harry picked up the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was peculiar to touch, like water woven into material.
"It's an Invisibility Cloak," said Ron, a look of aw on his face. "I'm sure it is – try it on."
Harry through the Cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell.
"It is! Look down!"
Harry looked down at his feet, but they had gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in mid-air, his body completely invisible. He pulled the Cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.
"There's a note!" said Ron suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"
Harry pulled off the Cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words.
Your father left this in my possession before he died.
It is time it was returned to you.
Use it well.
A Very Merry Christmas to you.
There was no signature. Harry started at the note. Ron was admiring the Cloak.
"I'd give anything for one of these," he said. "Anything. What's the matter?"
"Nothing," said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the Cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father?
Ron's stomach grumbled suddenly, and he stood up and stretched. "Harry, I think I'm going to head up to breakfast, want to come?"
"In a bit, Ron, alright?"
"Sure, mate. I'm going to go watch George and Fred try to manhandle Percy into a family breakfast. I tell you; sometimes you'd think he hates being seen with us in public."
Ron gathered up his gifts and left the dungeons.
Harry was still staring at his Father's cloak.
"Professor?" Harry turned to face the older man with a bewildered expression on his face. "Was this really something my Father owned?"
Severus carefully schooled his face into an expressionless mask. "Yes, Harry, I remember him using that cloak quite often."
"You said once that you would tell me about my Father, sir, when it was a more appropriate time? Would this be a good time?"
Severus was tempted to lie; to say it wasn't, that he had things to do, but the wistful, childish tone that Harry had unknowingly used eased his mood.
"Sit down, Harry," he said neutrally, "and I'll tell you what I can."
Updated 30 January 2017
