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All of the characters except for my own handful of originals, as well as locations, names, titles etc. are and remain the property of JKR and I hope you like it.

Principles such as Splicing are mine as well as all unique books, histories, titles, traditions and spells. I give users permission to use them, but only if you reference me in your work.

Review please whether you like it or not. Tell me what you do and do not like and why! I do love having my ego stroked with 'Wow, great!' etc. but it's not as useful for my process as having some real examples and effects. If any of you would like to PM me a review or opinions or just talk about my story, please do so.

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Chapter 24: Inheritance and Questions Unasked and Unanswered

The headmaster's office was vast. Albus Dumbledore sat behind a fifteen-foot wide desk in a high backed chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. He regarded Harry who perched on an uncomfortable chair, unable to bear the gaze of those cool blue and oddly twinkling eyes for more than a few moments at a time. The air in the room was exactly warm enough to not be called cold, but cool enough that the pine-scented breeze from the tall windows bought his arms out in goose bumps.

They had been seated for more than ten minutes without a word being uttered. Fay and Tina-Marie had been dismissed back to their classes after a few choice words and the handing out of detentions, but Harry had been marched down several corridors, upstairs and was made thoroughly disoriented by the twisting and turning before they came to a stop at a large statue of a gryphon. The gryphon had leapt aside as Dumbledore approached and they'd ascended an animated spiral staircase that carried them into the office where they now sat.

Harry was used to silence and waiting under the stress of fear, but now his mouth was dry and he fidgeted in the uncomfortable chair. The tension of waiting while the ancient wizard with the eyes that seemed to pierce his soul was unbearable.

A moment before his will broke, the old man stirred. 'Your father,' he said in a soft voice that seemed to slide over the hundreds of weird and wonderful instruments and ornaments in the office, 'had a certain fondness for disregarding rules, especially rules that were in place for the safety of the whole school.'

The mention of his father made Harry tense further and threatened to pitch him off his seat.

'I know that you were informed that the third floor was out of bounds to all students at the start of the term and I am not surprised you have found your way there. I am surprised, however, that you have managed to make so much mess from a simple misadventure. There is little that happens in this school that goes beneath my notice and the contents of the room guarded by Fluffy is...'

'Fluffy?' Harry broke in, 'That thing has a name?'

'Fluffy is of paramount importance to a major issue of security. I will not tell you more, except to impress upon you the importance of not going near that door again. It has been repaired and new spells and wards put in place to guard it. By telling you these things I am trusting you a great deal more than most other people, Harry, more even than a few members of the staff. Do you know why?'

Harry tried to respond but he was so torn between anger and embarrassment at being forced to sit and be scrutinised by this old man, the fact that he would be talk of the school, the burning fury of being almost eaten by a guard dog and cold resentment of the fact that Fluffy had been there in the first place. All he managed was a non-committal shrug.

'I am trusting you because you are your parents' son. You are the very image of James Potter from his hair to his build and you have your mother's eyes. I taught them as students and after they completed their educations grew to know and value them as good friends. During the war against Lord Voldemort, they were among the greatest supporters of the light and truth. Their death was a terrible blow and loss to the magical world. It is because of who you are that I am choosing to trust you, Harry. You haven't had an easy life and you know the value of protection. I cannot tell you what it is that we are protecting, only that it is of vital importance that the thing we are protecting remains not only safe, but a secret. It is to that end that I want you to have this.' Dumbledore took out a parcel from a drawer in his desk and, holding it in both hands, walked around to Harry.

'It belonged to your father and it was in my possession when he passed away. I have kept it for you all these years. I was considering keeping it until Christmas for you, but as you're here…'

Harry pulled open the wrapping paper and revealed a shimmering section of cloth which was folded many times. He stood and shook it out revealing a long and flowing cloak of a material he had never seen before. It was almost weightless and as smooth as silk, but it felt extremely strong in his hands. It didn't have a single colour, but seemed to shift between shades of green, blue, grey, brown and yellow. It was fascinating. 'What is it?' he asked.

'It is your fathers cloak, I understand it belonged to his father before him.' Dumbledore said, returning to his seat. 'Try it on.'

It was an adults cloak which would have wrapped around Harry's slender frame at least three times and would have had several feet dragging on the floor. 'Sir?'

The headmaster stared at him, his expression unreadable.

A shudder of cool anger at that impassive face trickled up his spine, but Harry slung the great cloak over his shoulders and bought it together at his throat. It was enormous on him, he couldn't even…

His breath caught in his throat as a small smile spread across Dumbledore's lips. His body from throat to feet was gone. Disappeared. 'What… I… What is this?'

'It is your father's invisibility cloak. It is quite rare and very, very valuable, Harry. I expect you to take good care of it and respect its powers.'

Harry pushed the cloak off his shoulders and his body reappeared.

'When you wear it like that you are, of course fully visible. The enchantment on the cloak is only active if it covers you, but raising the hood will make you completely invisible to all except the most… practiced of eyes.'

Harry, excited as he was, managed to record that little titbit in some deep part of his mind, 'Thank you, sir.' He said, taking the cloak off and folding it as neatly as possible.

'You're most welcome, Harry.' Dumbledore said, standing. 'You will, of course be required to perform detention for your breaking of the rules, but as you now understand the importance of said rule, I doubt that your suffering will be taste as bitter. I hope I need not tell you that you may not return to the third floor?'

Harry didn't respond, not trusting his tongue, but nodded instead.

That seemed enough for Dumbledore who leaned forward in his chair, steepling his fingers again. 'You may go now, Harry.' As he spoke, Professor McGonagall walked in through the door, her face like stone.

'Come on, Potter.' She said. 'Is everything okay headmaster?'

'Everything is just fine, Professor McGonagall, you may take Mr Potter back to his class now, if you don't mind.'

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Harry's detention turned out to be neither demeaning or depressing, in fact he found that he would be assisting Madame Hooch while she serviced all of the school brooms.

'I understand that you've taken to flying as your father did, Potter.' McGonagall said as they arrived outside Professor Quirrell's Defence Against the Dark Arts class. 'You should count yourself very lucky.'

'I do, thanks professor.' Harry said, eager to get into the classroom and away from the head of house's iron gaze.

Inside the classroom, he apologised for his lateness and took his seat next to Dean. Quirrell started to reply but gave up after five seconds of failing to complete his first word.

The class was covering a useful spell for escaping from being tied-up or bound. 'It-t-t-t-t's the first s-s-spell y-you will learn-n that is a-as easy wi-with-without a wand as with.' Quirrell was explaining as Harry took out his copy of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection and opening it to the proper chapter.

His mind whirled through the remainder of the class with all that he had learned and had been implied by Dumbledore. Upon reflection, he had so many questions to ask about his parents that he felt he might burst with them. Cursing himself for not asking when he had chance, he tried to concentrate on his work, but then his attention wandered to the cloak that was overfilling his book bag.

My dad's cloak and his before him.

Harry reached down with his foot and touched the top of his bag where the incredible garment lay. It was the only thing he had that had ever belonged to either of his parents.

An elbow dug into his ribs, pulling his attention back to the classroom. He looked up and saw Quirrell staring at him.

'Well, P-Potter?' he asked, leaning forward.

'Sorry, Professor, what was the question?' Harry asked, oblivious.

Quirrell's face flushed and his face grew taut. 'I asked if you thought you'd be able to break free of an impediment jinx.' He said angrily, his eyes hard and not at all Quirrell-like.

Harry's brow furrowed. Quirrell's face had returned to its normal soft, nervous and twitchy state almost immediately, but for an instant he had been very different. 'I… I don't know, sir. I'm sorry.'

Quirrell sniffed and looked down on Harry haughtily before turning on his heel and walking away. As his back turned, a stabbing pain shot into Harry's scar, rocking him back in his chair.

'You alright, Harry?' Dean asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

The pain intensified for an instant then vanished entirely, leaving Harry feeling like a bottle of pop that had been shaken. He was hot and cold all at the same time and his head swam.

'What is it now, Potter?' Quirrell shouted across the class. 'Not content-t-t w-w-with your own i-ignorance, you'ven-now decided to-to-to inf-flict it o-on the rest of u-u-u-us, am I right.' It was not a question. 'Ten points from Gryffindor.'

There were groans from the lions in the class and the fire in Harry surged as he felt his cheeks redden. He did his best to concentrate through the rest of the lesson and was the first to leave at the end, bolting out of the class with his bag under his arm.

Back in the dorm and alone, Harry inspected the cloak. It was perfect, a single piece of cloth without seams, hems or even a clasp – it just held itself closed when the corners were put together. It had to be more than thirty years old if it had belonged to his grandfather who, according to the brief reading he had done about the Potter family had died when James Potter was young but it was absolutely immaculate.

He stowed it on top of his four-poster and ran back down just in time to not be late for history of magic where they were all bored to death by Professor Binns over minor details of the fifth goblin rebellion in 1356. He spent the hour writing two lists: the first consisted of all the questions he had to ask Dumbledore and the other teachers about his family and the second was all of the things he had to read up on regarding the Potter family, invisibility cloaks, Lord Voldemort and cursed scars. He was desperately grateful that it was Friday and he had no classes over the weekend so that he could spend the time learning important things.

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