Chapter 2: Winter 1989

Before he knew it, had winter arrived and with it came the Christmas holidays. The First Year boy's dormitory was a hive of activity with the boys scrambling to locate misplaced textbooks and track down wayward shoes. . He was quite looking forward to a week away from the dreary dungeon dormitories, and even more excited to be free from the nasty pranks the other boys played on him. Though, the day they were to leave for the Christmas holidays wasn't so bad: for once, his dorm mates were ignoring Harry, though this was mostly because Edmund Sparrow was boasting about his family's holiday to Bulgaria (as he had been doing for weeks). Atticus Nettles, finally having enough, tossed Sparrow's trunk in the bath, ruining most of its contents. Harry slipped out of the dormitory to the dulcet sounds of Sparrow's screeches, not wanting to stick around and witness the fallout.

Shrugging his bag over his shoulder (he wondered if there was a charm he could learn to make it weigh less?), Harry joined the throngs of other Slytherins as they filtered out of the common room, winding their way through the dungeons and up onto the grounds. Cedric was already waiting for Harry in the Entrance Hall and surrounded by a large group of friends. When he saw Harry, Cedric broke away from the Hufflepuff horde and fell into step beside him, slinging his arm over Harry's shoulder. Harry listened patiently to his friend regale him with a colourful account of Hufflepuff's annual Christmas party. The highlights included: Professor Sprout catching Benji Hardwick snogging one of Filch's mops and four Sixth Years being treated for alcohol poisoning. Harry wondered if non-Hufflepuffs could be invited.

The boys fastened their winter cloaks and donned their gloves, joining the long line of eager students filtering out onto the school grounds. Harry and Cedric shielded their heads with their bags against stray snowballs Fred and George Weasley were tossing at each other and waded through the knee-deep snow to the carriages that were to take them to Hogsmeade Station. Cedric's Hufflepuff friends followed after, cramming far more bodies into the space than the carriage allowed. Harry even managed to trade a few words with the girl sitting across from him about Transfiguration.

One cramped ("Cosy," Cedric corrected.) carriage ride later, the First Years found themselves at Hogsmeade Station, the Hogwarts Express barely visible behind the thick plumes of smoke. Despite the fact that the train wouldn't leave for half an hour, Cedric ran ahead to claim a compartment. Harry followed at a more leisurely pace, sneaking glances at snow-capped Hogsmeade Village, which he wasn't permitted to visit until this Third Year. Well, he did have a few minutes before the train left. He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching him, locking eyes with only a nearby horse. Perhaps one quick trip to Honeydukes—

Wait, a horse?

Harry did a double-take, and sure enough, a horse was standing less than three metres from him, hitched to the closest carriage. Though Harry had to admit that the term 'horse' was being rather generous. It looked more like an animated Abraxan corpse, in his opinion. His eyes darted over the skeletal horse, taking in its leathery, bat-like wings and milky eyes. It stood so still it might have been carved from obsidian, the effect betrayed only by its dark mane which blew in the wind. The creature was almost beautiful, in a macabre sort of way.

A single thought popped into his head, so clear and so strong, all other thoughts were silenced: he needed to pet the horse. Before he was aware of what he was doing, Harry stepped closer to the beast and raised a hand, placing it on the creature's neck. The skeleton horse tossed its head and gave him a suspicious look, but when it didn't try to take a bite out of him, Harry gave its neck a slow stroke. Petting the beast wasn't like petting an Abraxan, or even a normal horse: it didn't have a coat, but rather a velvety kind of skin that was stretched tight over its bones, reminding Harry of the hairless cats he had seen at the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley.

No, not a beast, Harry thought, running his fingers through the horse's mane. The creature let out a shrill, haunting, birdlike shriek, its white eyes flickering shut. The sight reminded him of Uncle Sirius when he was in his Animagus form and Harry couldn't keep a small grin off his face. Reaching into his rucksack, he extracted an apple and offered it to the horse. It opened a pupil-less eye, giving the proffered apple a critical look before turning its sharp beak-like nose up at it.

"That was for lunch, anyway," Harry explained with a giggle before tucking the apple away. The horse tracked his movements before lowering its head and nosing Harry's bag. "I don't have much," he explained, pulling out the roast beef sandwich he had asked a house-elf to prepare for him. In a flash, the horse reached forward, snatching up the meat, and left Harry holding a handful of bread.

"Carnivore, eh?" He asked.

The horse shrieked in response.

"I'll see what I can do when I get back," he promised. Giving the horse a final pat, Harry turned and boarded the train.

It didn't take too long to find Cedric— all he had to do was find the loudest compartment filled with kids wearing yellow. His friend patted the vacant seat next to him and Harry's heart warmed as he wiggled into the tight spot.

"What took you so long?" Cedric asked, his voice dropping down to a softer, less boisterous tone. "Was it your dorm mates again?"

Harry shook his head and pointed out the window. "I was petting a horse."

"What horse?" a girl asked asked, breaking off her conversation with her friend to look out the window. "I didn't see any horses. Where were they?"

Harry thought the girl would have to be blind to miss the massive animals. Besides, what did she think had pulled the carriages? He pointed out the window in response.

She rolled her eyes. "Really? I thought they were in our compartment."

"That's enough, Niobe," Cedric said, cutting her off. "Lay off him, alright?"

"Yes," Niobe's friend chimed in, a smile playing at his lips. "We all know how sensitive Snakes are, don't we?"

It took a moment for Harry to realise that he was teasing him, rather than mocking him, though his confusion was understandable. He had, after all, spent the last four months trying to decipher the tone of his dorm mates' words, which were always laced with insults. But having a go at someone didn't always equate to malice, and his father and uncles were often sarcastic with each other without being mean. That's what friends did, right?

Heart pounding, Harry let out a hiss and flicked his tongue like a snake.

Niobe's friend cackled with glee and tossed a chocolate frog at his head.

The rest of the train ride pasted in an uneventful, sugar-filled rush. Harry was more than content to sit back and watch the proceedings of the compartment. He had rarely witnessed his friend with other students outside of class, but it was clear that Cedric was the leader of the group, though he wasn't a heavy handed dictator, like Nettles. He exuded a kind of charisma, even at twelve years old, that drew every eye towards him. He played peacekeeper when Niobe and Keith Whitmore broke out into an argument about the usefulness of Divination, and knew when to best draw Harry into the conversation. Kind and fair, Cedric seemed to embody the very definition of Hufflepuff, and after months of watching Slytherin power plays, it was refreshing to witness.

All too soon, the Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and after promising to write, Harry exited the train. Almost immediately, a tiny black-haired figure collided with him, and if it weren't for Cedric catching him, Harry would have toppled over.

"John—" James said, appearing only to grab Harry's little brother by the scruff of the neck and pull him away. "How many times do I have to tell you? We don't run off in public!" James crossed his arms and looked down his long nose at his youngest son and began to lecture him on the dangers of disappearing into crowds. Uncle Remus hovered a few feet away, torn between looking stern and laughing at his friend's plight.

"Hullo, Harry," Uncle Sirius said, sauntering past James, a smile quirking at his lips. He pulled his godson into a hug and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Did you have a good term?"

But before Harry got the opportunity to respond, Uncle Sirius was elbowed out of the way. "Get off my kid, you mangy mutt," James snapped, leaning down to embrace Harry.

For a moment, Harry leaned into his father's arms, inhaling the woody scent that clung to his clothes and soaking in the warmth that radiated from James's body. His father's wool cloak was soft against his cheek and the steady thudding of his heart was a familiar and comforting beat in his ear. He was surrounded by a feeling of warmth and safety that only his father could provide, and even though they hadn't even arrived at Potter Manor, Harry felt like he was already home. When Harry pulled away, he looked up into his father's smiling face, his hazel eyes dancing behind his glasses.

"How was your trip?"

Harry shrugged before gesturing to Cedric, who was still standing behind him, looking amused.

"You must be Mr Diggory. I've heard much about you," James said, reaching forward to shake the Hufflepuff's hand. "You're the one who keeps my son from becoming a hermit."

"I try, but he's quite determined," Cedric said, laughing when Harry stuck out his tongue.

"A shame," Uncle Sirius chimed in with a solemn nod, ignoring Harry's indignant splutters. "Don't let him corrupt you."

"I'll do my best," Cedric said.

"In the end, I suppose that's all we can ask for," James agreed. "Now, where are your parents? Your father is Amos, yes?"

Cedric nodded and shouldered his bag before leading Harry and his family through the throngs of students and parents. John's attention was divided between welcoming home his older brother and pestering Cedric about Hogwarts. Cedric took the questions in stride, patiently answering John's questions about the castle ("No, I haven't encountered a jaguar on the grounds yet, but there's still time!") whilst scouring the platform for signs of his parents.

"There he is!" A man who could only be Mr Diggory exclaimed, brushing past the bored-looking woman and sweeping Cedric up into a hug. "My boy!"

Cedric, for his part, didn't look embarrassed by his father's actions, even though his feet were dangling several inches off the ground. He greeted his father with the same warm tone he used with everybody, and when his father set him back on his feet, wandered over to his mother to kiss her cheek. Cedric turned back around, his mouth open in what Harry assumed to be an introduction of the Potters, but was cut off by his father.

"By Jove, it can't be," Mr Diggory said, his eyes widening so the whites were visible. "It can't be! But is this John Potter?"

There was a hush that fell over the platform, and it felt like every head turned in their direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous Boy Who Lived. Unaware, Mr Diggory leaned forward to shake John's hand, all the while exclaiming what an honour it was to meet him. Emboldened by Mr Diggory's approach of the Boy Who Lived, children and grown adults alike flocked towards Harry's little brother, clamouring to meet him. John squeaked in panic and buried his face in Uncle Remus's robes.

This reaction was nothing new to the Potters. Ever since that fateful Halloween night eight years ago, the Wizarding population of magical Britain heralded John Potter their saviour. Wherever the family went, people demanded John's attention, asking him for autographs or interviews. There was even the odd marriage proposal. And those were the nice ones. There were people who weren't happy with John's defeat of Lord Voldemort and weren't always the most subtle about showing it. Harry had a vivid memory of taking a bone-breaker curse for his brother when he was nine by a man in a black robe, cutting their trip to Diagon Alley short in favour of a visit to St Mungo's.

In response, his father seldom ventured out of the family manor, and even more rarely let Harry or his brother off the grounds. The fact that John was even standing on Platform Nine and Three Quarters meant that his brother had had to beg for several days to come pick him up. And now that Mr Diggory had drawn the attention of everyone on the platform, it was probably the last time John would be allowed out in public for quite some time. Sure enough, Uncle Remus extracted John out of the clutches of a particularly handsy middle-aged witch and Disapparated with a loud crack! Harry let out a heavy sigh and gave a weak smile to Cedric, who was watching the whole fiasco with wide eyes.

"Is he going to be okay?" Cedric shouted so he could be heard over all the voices. Sure, Harry had described the bedlam that seemed to follow his little brother around, but it was another thing to experience it for yourself.

Harry nodded and rolled his eyes. Giving his friend a parting wave, he grabbed onto his father's arm and braced himself for the uncomfortable sensation of Disapparition.

After he had finished retching and the sick was vanished away, Harry followed his father up the steps of Potter Manor. The front entryway had already been decorated with garland and holly, giving the usually cold and intimidating marble room a festive cheer. Someone (Harry suspected Uncle Sirius) had even placed reindeer antlers on an ancestor's bust. Following his nose, Harry wandered to the kitchen where the scent of gingerbread was strongest. There he found his brother and uncles wearing aprons, a streak of icing across Uncle Remus' cheek. John was complaining loudly and could be heard over the Christmas carols playing on the wireless, which was an impressive feat considering Uncle Sirius kept pointing his wand at it and increasing the volume. The Potter's house-elf scurried around, collecting up dirty bowls and pans, pausing only to sink into a low bow when he saw Harry and James.

"What do you have in this bag, love?" His father asked, following him into the kitchen and placing Harry's bag down on the table. "The entire Hogwarts Library?"

"Madam Pince only allows First Years to borrow out eight books at a time," Harry said with barely concealed annoyance. Harry had learned that the hard way after Professor Snape had assigned a three-foot essay on the uses of fungi in antifungal tinctures. Not only had he gotten banned from the library for a week, but he only received a twenty-three on the essay. He was still annoyed about that.

Uncle Remus raised his eyebrow, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the frosting still smeared across his cheek. "She also doesn't allow them to be removed from school grounds."

"Then the lending period shouldn't be longer than the winter holidays," Harry retorted. He slid into the seat next to John, who offered him a mug of hot chocolate.

"Prongs," Uncle Sirius said in mock horror. "The Slytherins have already corrupted your son."

"No," James replied, swiping a gingerbread man from the wire cooling racks. "You corrupted my son. Several years ago."

"Oh, yes," Uncle Sirius said, shaking his long hair out of his eyes and shooting a playful wink at Harry. "I do recall something like that happening."

Innocence corrupted or no, the family spent the next several hours catching up. Sure, they had exchanged letters and Harry received the odd care package or two, but it wasn't quite the same. Letters didn't light up like John did when he described the herd of faeries that had taken up residence in the flower garden, nor could they quite convey Uncle Remus' embarrassment when Harry passed along Nymphadora Tonks' 'love'. Even Uncle Sirius' announcement that he had obtained two whole weeks off work for the Christmas holidays was more exciting coming from the man's mouth.

Harry described his exploration of the castle, and how Cedric had managed to locate the school's kitchen (though they still had yet to figure out how to access it). John, in particular, was excited to hear about the house Quidditch teams, and Harry admitted he was considering trying out for the Slytherin team come September. Classes were interesting, he reassured Uncle Remus (who had tutored both him and John before Harry had left for Hogwarts), though some of the professor's teaching methods left much to be desired, and he wouldn't mind fewer essays.

"Speaking of," James said, interrupting his eldest son's story. "How have your practical lessons been? You wrote that you were having trouble casting spells in class."

"I say them in my head," Harry responded with a shrug.

The three adults in the room exchanged confused looks. "In your head?"

Harry nodded and took a sip of his hot cocoa, a bit of foam sticking to the tip of his nose. "So I don't have to talk. It takes a few tries, but it's getting a lot easier."

"Harry," Uncle Remus said in his best teacher voice. "There is no way you can do that."

Harry peered over the top of his mug, his glasses fogging over from the steam. "I asked Professor McGonagall about it. She called it nonverbal spell casting," he said. "Uncle Sirius does it all the time."

"Yes, but you're eleven."

Harry pointed his wand at the half-eaten gingerbread man in his father's hand and silently cast a silent tarantallegra at it. The gingerbread man jumped onto the table and began to perform a lively jig despite only having one leg. John whooped in delight and offered his own gingerbread man for Harry to charm next.

"Harry James, you know better than to use magic outside of school. Do you want to get expelled?" his father said, looking torn between praising Harry for the impressive display of magic and scolding him for breaking the rules.

"An underage wizard can use magic outside of school in life-threatening situations as per the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery," Harry recited. He had checked.

"Yes, but the only danger you are currently in is being grounded."

"Besides, it's not like they will know it was me," Harry continued, pushing back the sleeves of his robes and resting his elbows on the table. "The Trace is activated by magic being performed around an underage child, not by an underage child."

"Damn," James muttered under his breath. He fixed Harry with an annoyed expression. "You weren't supposed to know that."

"I picked up a few tricks in Slytherin," Harry replied with a shrug. "It's not all murdering kittens and ritual sacrifices."

"Regardless," James said. "It's up to parents to enforce the 'no magic outside of school rule.' So, I'm confiscating your wand until the end of the holidays."

With great reluctance, Harry placed his holly and phoenix feather wand in his father's outstretched hand, feeling naked without it on his person.

"Fat lot of good that will be, I reckon, if he's anything like Lily," Uncle Sirius chimed in from his seat at the table, pretending to read the Evening Prophet. "She didn't always need a wand."

"Mum could do wandless magic?" Harry asked in surprise.

James shot his best friend an irritated look. "Limited amounts—"

"She could make things fly."

His father shot a stinging hex and Uncle Sirius yelped in surprise. "Stop giving him ideas!"

Uncle Remus finally recovered from his shock and fixed him with a calculating stare. "How did you do that, Harry?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I practised," he said in a small voice. He toed the table leg, trying to avoid his uncle's intense gaze. It reminded him a little of how some of the professors watched him at school, and it made him feel uneasy. "I mean, it wasn't easy, but neither is getting out of the fireplace without tripping, and you manage that alright."

"Nonverbal magic at twelve is different than Floo travel," Uncle Remus pointed out.

Thankfully, Harry was saved from having to answer when Uncle Sirius let out a bark-like laugh and reached over to muse Harry's already untidy hair. "Moony, you're talking to the child of the man who became an Animagus at fifteen and managed to create a map of Hogwarts," he said before planting a kiss to Harry's temple. "The Potters don't do anything in half measure."

Whether it was intentional or not, the distraction worked, and Uncle Remus's focus was redirected to reminiscing about their school days. Harry and John listened with rapt attention as their father and uncles described the mischief they managed to cause and the pranks they had liked to pull. Stories of Harry's mother would pop up occasionally, and James would only look slightly sad as he told them.

"Whatever happened to the map?" John asked after a particularly fanciful story about Divination, nose biting teacups, and several kilos of Honeydukes' peanut butter fudge.

"Filch confiscated it," James said with a shrug. "He said he wanted to destroy it."

"A damn shame if he did," Uncle Sirius said. "It was a work of art."

"It was written on the back of a spare bit of parchment. Dorcas Meadows even used it to spit out her chewing gum once," Uncle Remus pointed out.

"She was also a work of art," Uncle Sirius replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and when Harry turned into bed that evening, he had a content smile on his face. He had missed his family's antics and noise, and his father's liberal gifting of hugs stood in stark contrast to the Slytherins' cool attitudes. And when John crawled into bed with him, Harry realised he had missed that too. Home was warm and lively, whereas the common room at school was cold and sterile. While he didn't want to leave Hogwarts, Harry sometimes wanted to get away from it all. The stares of the other students, the mean spirited pranks, and his dorm mates' cruelty had started to weigh heavily on his shoulders. If only he could find a way to sneak off to be alone, perhaps his time at Hogwarts wouldn't be so arduous.

The answer came to him at once, and he felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner: the Marauder's Map.

That would make it so much easier to avoid his tormentors. Sure, Filch had over a decade to destroy it. But what if he hadn't? Filch was a Squib and the Marauder's Map was a magical object. Who's to say that he had been able to? For all Harry knew, the map could still be in the caretaker's office. It wouldn't be hard to sneak in and search for the map, though he would need a lookout. He didn't relish the idea of being caught rummaging in Filch's office. He'd have to send a letter in the morning— Cedric would no doubt view the heist as a grand adventure.

He fell asleep that night with plans of mischief and magic, his brother's head heavy on his shoulder.

Genius Fratris

Christmas morning started in the early hours of dawn for Harry when a large black dog jumped on his chest, knocking the air out of him. From there he was herded down to the lounge, the dog nipping at his bum when he moved too slowly. He stumbled into his brother on the staircase, who was looking far too chipper for so early in the morning. The brothers entered the lounge together and were greeted with the sight of a massive tinsel covered tree, beneath which sat dozens of colourfully wrapped gifts. John squealed with delight and raced forward to inspect the presents, sorting them out for the intended recipient. Harry followed at a more sedate pace, slumping into one of the chairs next to the roaring fire.

"You know, Sirius," James said, shuffling into the room and clutching a large mug of coffee. "Christmas doesn't need to be celebrated at four in the morning."

The large dog gave an indignant bark before transforming back into Harry's godfather. "Bite your tongue, you filthy heathen."

Grumbles and drowsiness aside, the Potter family tore into the presents with an ardent ferocity. By the time Uncle Remus arrived for breakfast, nothing was left but empty boxes and shredded wrapping paper. From his father, Harry received new clothes while Uncle Remus opted to get him several books (Fundamentals of Spell Creation looked particularly interesting). Uncle Sirius' gift, though, garnered the most attention: tickets to the four-hundred and twenty-first Quidditch World Cup, which would be held in June.

"You're spoiling them, Sirius," James said with a heavy, resigned sigh.

Uncle Sirius gave an unconcerned shrug. "What's the point of being fabulously wealthy if I can't spoil my nephews?" He asked before picking up a dancing John and spinning him in a circle. "Besides, you and Remus are coming too."

"Oh, are we?" Uncle Remus looked vaguely annoyed with this assumption. He never was the biggest fan of Quidditch.

Sirius nodded, setting John back on the ground. "I checked the calendar, and it's going to be a new moon."

Harry missed Uncle Remus' retort, a tap on the window catching his attention. A proud looking barn owl was perched outside with a neatly wrapped package tied to its leg. Harry crossed the kitchen and allowed the bird inside, offering it a piece of bacon as he freed it from its load.

He was stopped from opening the parcel by his father, who fixed him with a concerned look. "Who is that from?" James asked, drawing his wand and moving to join his eldest son at the window. Harry could understand his father's hesitance. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time someone had sent them cursed mail.

"It's the Diggory's owl," Harry replied quietly. At least he thought it was. Most owls looked the same to him if he were honest.

His father cast a few detection charms on the package before deeming it safe enough to open. The owl gave his father a dirty look as if offended that he thought it was carrying anything dangerous. It took off with an indignant hoot, landing on top of one of the kitchen cupboards, turning its back towards them.

Harry rolled his eyes at the dramatic owl before returning his attention back to the package. Taking off the paper, he was met with the sight of a woolly jumper and a book titled Maya the Mute. He reached for the jumper first, finding a note pinned to it when he tried to pull it over his head. It was punctuated with an alarming number of exclamation points and written in Cedric's messy scrawl.

Harry!

Happy Christmas! You mentioned that your common room has been chilly lately, and I can't have my favourite snake freezing! I apologise for the Slytherin green, but Mum said the colour 'brought out your eyes'. I feel weird telling you that, so consider the jumper from her! Anyway, I found this book at Flourish and Blotts a few days ago and I couldn't not get it for you! I think you'll find it interesting— she reminds me of you!

Your friend, Cedric

Harry blinked rapidly, hoping his family wouldn't see the tears that were forming in his eyes. He had sent a present to Cedric, of course: a beautiful glass globe that was charmed to project the night sky. Cedric had mentioned that he missed being able to see the night sky in the Hufflepuff dormitories, so when Harry had seen the little trinket in Diagon Alley, he hadn't hesitated to buy it. It hadn't been cheap, but then again, it wasn't like Harry had a lot of friends to buy Christmas gifts for.

The lonely and insecure part of Harry's brain had nearly convinced him that Cedric hadn't thought of him as a friend. But now, not only did he have physical proof that Cedric was his friend, but he had it in writing too. The thought filled him with so much warmth, he wondered if he was blushing. Tucking the note into the pages of his new book, Harry rejoined his family at the breakfast table.

The rest of the holidays continued in a similar merry vein, with equal amounts of time spent wrestling on the snow-covered manor grounds and reading his new books by the fire. He exchanged a few letters with Cedric, thanking him for the gifts and making plans to search Filch's office for the Marauder's Map. Cedric also cheerfully proposed searching for secret passages after they learned how to gain access to the school's kitchens (knowledge none of the former Marauders would divulge, much to Harry's annoyance).

But his last, and perhaps his most special gift, came to him towards the end of the Christmas holiday. Harry had been walking down the hallway to his room, flipping through a book on detection charms that he had found in the library when his father called him into his study. Harry's mind reviewed all the things he had done since returning for the holidays. Was he in trouble? Other than using his wand, he hadn't done anything wrong. Well, he had pushed his carrots onto his brother's plate during dinner, but that was hardly something to be punished for. Besides, his father hadn't even seen him do it.

Nervous, Harry marked the page and closed his book, clutching it to his chest as if it were a goblin forged shield, and tiptoed towards his father's office. He peeked through the crack between the door and the frame, surveying his father. He didn't look angry, but then his father was staring into the fire next to the desk, so Harry couldn't see all of his face. Summoning his courage, Harry slipped into the room, stopping a foot away. His father didn't say anything for a long time, though Harry didn't mind the silence. If he were in trouble, he much preferred silence over a lecture.

Finally, his father turned to look at him, the firelight reflecting off his glasses lenses and obscuring his eyes. He reached out towards Harry and pulled him closer, scooping him up and settling him into his lap. Harry rested his head on his father's shoulder and his hand reaching up to play with the buttons on his robes.

"My father," James began at last. "Was older when I was born. He was in his seventies by the time I left for my first year at Hogwarts. I'm not seventy," James clarified at Harry's confused look. "Your mother and I had you when we were much younger."

Harry's brow furrowed, trying to follow where this conversation was going. Was… was his father trying to explain where babies came from? Because Uncle Sirius had already done that. Harry opened his mouth to tell his father, but he was already speaking again.

"When I left for Hogwarts, my father gave me a gift. It was something his father gave to him, as his father did before him." He reached around Harry to open a drawer and pulled a squashy looking parcel wrapped in silver tissue. "This has been passed down for generations in our family, going to the oldest child. I think it's time I gave it to you."

Harry wasn't sure what caused his hair stand on end— it could have been the gravity of the moment or perhaps the insane amount of ancient magic radiating from the gift. With trembling fingers, he pulled the ribbon that tied the present together, lifting the paper up to sneak a peek. Inside, was a silvery bundle of cloth that slipped through his fingers when he attempted to pick it up. No, it didn't slip through his fingers at all. His fingers disappeared. Harry quickly withdrew his hand, craning his neck to look up at his father with wide eyes.

James chuckled and carded his fingers through his son's messy black hair, his thumb brushing against the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. "It's called an Invisibility Cloak. It aided me with many a prank and jaunts to the school kitchen after hours," his father explained. He fixed Harry with a serious stare that couldn't quite hide the humour in his eyes. "Not that you should do that."

Harry wanted to laugh, but no sound came out. Hesitantly, he reached out and stroked the cloak, which felt cool to the touch. It was as thin and diaphanous like fairy wings and the fabric shimmered as if it were woven from unicorn hair.

"Dad," Harry said, his throat tight. "I can't take this."

His father pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're not taking anything, love. I'm giving it to you."

"But what if you need it?"

"Then I can ask to borrow it," he said.

Harry remained quiet for some time, trying to collect his racing thoughts. "But what about John?"

James' brow furrowed in confusion, the hand in Harry's hair stilling. "What about him?"

"Shouldn't he get it?"

The question only seemed to confuse his father further. "Why would he?"

Harry fiddled with the edge of the cloak, watching his hands disappear. "Well, he's the 'Boy Who Lived', isn't he? Doesn't he deserve it more than me?"

"You listen to me, Harry," his father said, slipping his fingers beneath Harry's chin and forcing him to meet his eyes. "John might be the 'Boy Who Lived', but that doesn't make you any less important. You are my firstborn and my heir. This cloak is your birthright. If John needs to borrow it, he may ask you, and you are free to say no. The only person who you would ever have to give it to is your oldest child when you feel they are ready for the responsibility."

Much to his embarrassment, tears flooded his eyes at his father's words. Whilst his father and uncles had always been very careful to treat both boys the same, it was easy to feel unimportant when your brother was heralded as the saviour of the wizarding world. Everywhere the family went, people wanted to meet John, shake his hand, or give him gifts. Harry often found himself pushed to the side, and though he never really wanted the attention John got, at least John got noticed. People only ever talked to Harry because he was John Potter's brother.

But there, sitting in his father's lap, he was receiving something that not even John could have. A priceless family heirloom that not even the Boy Who Lived could claim, and all because he was Harry. Not the older brother of Boy Who Lived, or the son of Lily and James Potter, or even that weird quiet kid who sat at the back of the class. He was Harry, and just Harry. Nothing more, nothing less. And to his father, that was more than enough.

There was something so precious about the knowledge that you mattered to someone, Harry decided. Especially for a lonely, insecure soul like his.

When the tears began to fall, his father brushed them away with the pads of his thumbs and pulled Harry to his chest, holding him close. Harry buried his face in his father's robes, the warm scent of his father's cologne consuming him. He wasn't sure why he was crying, really, not when he felt so happy. Or maybe it was because he was so happy, that his body could only hold so much of it at once. Either way, he clung to his father and allowed himself to be cuddled (even though he was eleven-years-old), soaking up the love that only his father could give.


"You alone are enough. You have nothing to prove to anybody." ―Maya Angelou


A/N: Still not dead! I debated whether or not to write this chapter, or focus solely on Harry's time at Hogwarts. In the end, I decided there were enough important elements in this chapter (receiving the cloak, being comforted by his father, cementing his friendship with Cedric) that couldn't be done properly in exposition. Let me know what you thought. I love reading your reviews! -CheckAlexa