"Though you are in your shining days,

Voices among the crowd

And new friends busy with your praise,

Be not unkind or proud,

But think about old friends the most:

Time's bitter flood will rise,

Your beauty perish and be lost

For all eyes but these eyes."

William Butler Yeats

Fall in the Scottish Highlands turned out to be much like Winter back in Surrey. Harry wondered how cold it would get. It was a Friday night, and Harry was walking down a dimly lit corridor with Ted. Curfew was relaxed on Fridays and Saturdays; of course, curfew never bothered Ted, but Harry was a bit less sanguine about such things. The consequences of rule breaking at the Dursleys were seldom light, and he didn't see any reason to flout them unless he needed to. Old habits died hard.

The clouds that had been pouring their contents on the surrounding country had mostly left, and a full moon shone its pale light through the windows. The smell of freshly wetted earth reached Harry's nose, coming up from the grounds, through the open windows, as if beckoning them outside. It was a beautiful night, and it looked like the next day was going to be one of those sunny days that sometimes grace early November.

This was just as well; the first Quidditch game of the season, Slytherin v. Gryffindor , was scheduled for the next day. It was going to be the first Quidditch game Harry had ever seen, and he was rather curious about the wizard sport.

In the past couple of weeks, the game hype had been building up. Harry hadn't known about the game at first, but he had gotten a quick 401 from Daphne. She was a fanatical supporter of the only all female Quidditch team, the Holyhead Harpies, and told him all he ever wanted to hear about the game, and then more. If Harry was not that excited about it, it was because her enthusiasm had been tempered by Ted, who was not a big fan of the sport, though he still planned on going to cheer for Slytherin like everybody else. They needed all the cheering they could get, as the other three houses usually united against them.

"So, is Daphne going to try to get into the Quidditch team next season?" Ted asked, breaking the silence they had kept ever since they strayed into those dark, seldom walked corridors. After the initial discussion, Ted tended to tune out the Quidditch talk. In truth, Harry was starting to as well. The game had better be worth it.

"Have you seen her during the flying lessons?" Harry replied. "She'sgood."

Shewasgood. Harry hadn't ever actually seen what type of maneuvers Quidditch players had to perform, but he could tell Daphne on a broom was not to be taken lightly. Oddly enough, only himself and maybe Draco Malfoy were at her level.

"So are you." Ted replied simply. "Are you going to try?" Harry shrugged.

He had indeed found, to his surprise, that he was actually very good on a broom. Probably the best in his year, in fact. However, that didn't mean he was prepared to commit to school sports.

"Well, I have to see it first, don't I?" Harry replied noncommittally, but he didn't think that was likely. The discipline required for team sports just seemed… stifling, somehow. He definitely agreed with Ted on that.

He had just finished speaking when something in the air seemed to shift. Harry couldn't explain it, but the silence, which before had seemed to snuggle around them so naturally that it had seemed almost sacrilegious to break it; now, it was just tense, like the calm before the storm. Harry had a lot of experience in gauging ambients, but he couldn't articulate this in any way that would make sense to Ted, so he just looked around warily. He could sense the danger but not the source.

It was then that he saw it. He knew he couldn't move away in time, but he could limit the damage. He turned around and threw himself backwards, throwing himself down in such a manner that he pushed Ted ahead of him.

They almost escaped. What Harry could only describe as a jet powered bottle flew straight at them; their dive left them only barely in its path, but that was all that it took. If he had moved a second earlier, he could have probably avoided the huge blow to the head he took from the base end of a green glass bottle.

The bottle seemed to be propelled by a jet of a muddy looking liquid, though Harry suspected it was really powered by magic. He didn't have a lot of time to think about it, however, as he felt his head explode into a blast of pain as the glass broke into countless pieces and his skin was showered with the unknown liquid—evidently a potion, for he felt the most painful boils appear on his face almost instantly.

He realized that Ted had been hit too, though fortunately rather less, as Harry had shielded him from most of the impact. The last thing he noticed before everything turned to black was how the boils in Ted's skin formed a pattern rather like the Gryffindor house crest, and how two unfortunately familiar laughs sounded in the background.

Harry woke up in strange surroundings. He was lying in a bed with linen sheets, the walls around him bare white, in contrast to the much somber room he had in his dorm in the dungeons. He only barely noticed any of this, however, as his head felt like it was about to explode and his skin as if he had just rubbed it with sandpaper. It did seem, as he started recalling past events, that whatever boils may have been inflicted upon him were gone, however. Still, the shock from the sudden hammer in his skull made him groan involuntarily and close his eyes shut again.

"Harry, you're awake!"

"Daphne?" Harry managed to mumble. "Where am I? What the hell happened?"

"You're in the hospital wing." As she spoke, Harry was finally able to open his eyes. Daphne went on as he reached for his glasses.

"You've been out for a while. Apparently Theodore had to drag you here across half the school."

Harry finally managed to put his glasses into place, and looked at the girl sitting beside his bed. She was glancing over him with a worried expression. "You don't remember what happened?" she asked, as if trying to gauge whether he had suffered brain damage. Harry rubbed his temples.

"I do, now. Sorta," he replied, frowning. It was coming back to him in bits and pieces. "Where's Ted?"

"Madam Pomfrey's checking him over. He's been awake for a while."

"Madam Pomfrey?" Harry asked.

"The school nurse, you know? I didn't see you two come back so I asked Professor Snape about you, after the game. He told me you two were here, so I came right up."

"Wait, after the game? It's already Saturday?" How long had he been out?

"Yea, you've been out since last night until now, apparently. Theodore's woken up a while ago, and since he probably doesn't want me there while he's being checked up, I came to check on you," she said, grinning. "Apparently they had to put you out to regrow your skin." She paused. "How did that happen, Harry?"

Harry told her, as best he could patch things together, including who he was almost sure were the culprits. When he was finished, all Daphne had to say was:

"Well, what are you going to do about them?" She jumped from up. "I'm sure you want to get dressed, so I'll tell Madam Pomfrey you're up."

She ran out, and right before closing the door, turned back and grinned. "Oh, yea, we won," she said, closing the door behind her.

Harry was left there alone to contemplate his options. As he put his clothes on, he pondered.

As Christmas break neared, their schoolwork seemed to soar, and not even Quidditch obsession was able to distract any of Harry's yearmates from dedicating most of their time to study. However, as with everything, there were still some lulls, and this was one of them.

It was a Friday afternoon, and they were blessed with the miracle of a sunny, albeit cold, winter day. Harry had used this chance to return to his spot under the old birch tree on the edge of the grounds. Even though the weather had forced him to turn out the warm clothing in force—it was cold enough that there was still dew on the ground, which he had protected himself from through the clever use of a pilfered blanket—he sat against the tree's fearsome trunk with his notebook on his knees, telling himself he was going to start his homework now.

Ted, delicate flower that he was, opted to stay inside catching up on his sleep, but Daphne had eagerly followed Harry to the grounds. She was currently sitting on one of the tree's mighty branches, after a feat of climbing that showed more gymnastic skills than he imagined her to have, especially considering she was wearing a school robe.

He laid aside his parchment, telling himself what he already knew-he would finish it later. Probably in the evening before the due date. He looked around, basking in the glorious landscape of the Scottish Highlands.

As his eyes wandered, they settled upon a small cabin on the edge of the grounds. Smoke was escaping from the roof, though Harry could see no chimney. He wandered if the roof simply had a hole to let the smoke out, and shuddered at the thought of the cold winter winds sweeping in.

Harry thought the cabin managed to look both cozy and ramshackle at the same time, and found himself smiling. Harry was startled from his forgotten contemplation when he saw the cabin's door opening suddenly, with a creak that the wind carried to his ears through the silence.

His attention now on the doorframe, he saw Hagrid emerge from the cabin's dim interior and step out. As if he had been reading Harry's thoughts, he was carrying a tall wooden ladder he laid against the outer wall. As Hagrid began to climb, Harry wondered what sort of wood was able to bear the man's enormous frame. Then he remembered. The ladder was probably charmed to be unbreakable. He couldn't help but bring forth a smile at the thought.

Hagrid was busying himself fiddling with the place on the roof Harry had seen the smoke exit just a few moments before. It seemed Hagrid was vulnerable to the elements after all.

Harry felt a pang of guilt thinking of the man. He had been the one to introduce him to the wizard world, rescuing him from his evil family who had gone to amazing lengths to prevent Harry from attending Hogwarts. To top it off, he had bought him Hedwig as a birthday present, as if getting away from the Dursleys wasn't enough of a present to make up for the 10 years of presents he missed. Yet, Harry still had not said one word to him ever since he arrived at Hogwarts.

He tried to tell himself he hadn't had the time, but he knew that wasn't true. The reason was that the few times the groundskeeper came up in conversation among the Slytherins, his mention was always accompanied by snide remarks and laughs. Harry thought that was unfair, and was reminded that for all that he had found a measure of acceptance, his housemates could still be bigoted and mean. He knew better than to say anything though. His pre-Hogwarts years had taught him that could bring all pain and no gain. He just told himself they didn't know any better than the way they were raised.

However, as he saw Hagrid lower his arm into the hole on the cabin's roof Harry had seen earlier, and pull out what seemed to be a makeshift chimney from inside, Harry rememberedhedid not have that excuse. He knew what it was like to be on the receiving side of snide asides. Harry decided he would be a better man and try to make up for his faults by paying a visit to the groundskeeper. He just hoped he had not waited too long that his bridges had burnt.

Harry had so lost himself ruminating on these thoughts, that he was startled when Daphne broke the silence.

"Do you think we're gonna have snow this weekend, Harry?"

Harry looked up to see Daphne peering down at him, her long black hair cascading down from her head toward the ground. He was a bit startled by the sight of his friend looming so strangely over him, but he let his gaze reach ahead to the sky instead, where he could see the growing wind was pushing heavy dark clouds toward their location. From what little he had learnt in primary school about the weather in the Scottish Highlands, Harry thought that it was, indeed, very likely that they would have snow.

"Wouldn't surprise me, Daph. Do you have any idea how much snow this area" he waved his arm around in a vague attempt to embrace the vastness of the mountains around them "usually gets?"

Daphne frowned in thought, though only after pulling herself up to a more stable position, for which Harry silently gave thanks. "Well, my parents weren't very specific, but they said it was quite more than we get in Norfolk." She jumped down to his side. "Which probably means it isn't going to get any hotter. Shall we go inside Harry?"

Harry started to lift himself up to go back, looking behind regretfully. He didn't think his friends would really accept that he be friendly with Hagrid. Not yet, anyway. Well, to tell the truth, he wasn't really sure about it, but he thought it better to be cautious, since after all, he had to live with them, not Hagrid. Besides, he liked his new friends; even if he had never had any others, he knew Dudley's friends, and thought his own were much better. Possible prejudices and all, he still liked them, but he still knew in his heart giving Hagrid the cold shoulder was wrong. Looking behind regretfully, he walked behind Daphne back to the castle.

By mid-December, all their worst fears about the Highlands weather had proven to pale in comparison to reality. It was the first day of Christmas break, and all of Harry's year mates were going home to stay with their family. Harry himself would not, of course, since he would never willingly spend any more time with the Dursleys than he absolutely had to, but that didn't stop him from accompanying his friends to the grounds, where they would be lead back to the train station.

"You haven't changed your mind, have you?" asked Daphne, obviously expecting the answer to be no.

His friends hadn't been that surprised when he told them, considering even the little Harry had shared about his domestic life back in Surrey, but it did make it seem a bit more real to them. It was pretty much then that what was left of the veneer of the Boy-Who-lived legend was washed away and all that was left was Harry Potter. Still, it didn't stop them from trying to convince him to do something else than staying at Hogwarts alone.

"I told you guys, I'd love to spend Christmas with you. Any of you," he said, including all members of his circle of friends. Ted seemed a bit uncomfortable – he had not joined his chorus of friends in offering Harry an invitation, but Harry understood. From what Harry had managed to glean, Ted's father was hardly much of an improvement on the Dursleys.

"But in order to go with you, I would have to get permission from my guardians." Harry went on. "You can guess on how forthcoming they would be withthat," he concluded, shrugging.

"Well, I didn't actually expect you to change your mind now, given that you would've still had to pack and all," Daphne nodded, grinning. "But I wanted to give it one last shot."

There was a pause as they walked in silence, until Blaise finally spoke.

"I hear the Weasleys are staying here for Christmas, too. Try not to get caught in one of their so called 'pranks' again, won't you? You'll be all alone here, this time."

They had all heard about the Weasley twins' latest attack on Harry and Ted, of course. Harry was not deterred.

"Don't worry Blaise, I've something planned. If all goes well, they won't be so cocksure by the time you all get back," Harry finished with a feral grin.

"What are you thinking?" asked Ted, eyebrow raised.

"It's not very definite yet, but I'm getting there."

"Watch out, Harry, they're not … Nice People," Tracey finished lamely, but Harry thought he knew what she meant.

"Tracey, I've been dealing with Not Nice People all my life," he replied, flashing what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

They were just reaching the scheduled meeting place on the grounds, so Harry faced them all, wishing to forestall any more questions.

"Well guys, I hope you have a great Christmas," he started. "Write me."

He wasn't one for touchy-feely displays of affection, so he left it at that. He did mouth a silent "good luck" to Ted, but that was it. Waving goodbye, he walked back to the school.

In the ensuing days Harry had the castle practically to himself. That wasn't really true, for there were a good few students staying, but it seemed that way because of how much less they were compared to normal. This was especially true in his own house, where there were only three or four people left besides him—all older years whom he did not recognize. In any event, they all stayed out of each others' way.

Due to the much reduced number of students, the students no longer sat at meals divided by their house. Instead, the teachers and students all shared one round table. It was Christmas Eve, and the Great Hall was cheerfully decorated with Christmas trees and other such ornaments, and the mood seemed to be generally in keeping with the spirit of the season, but for Harry, feelings were rather more mixed. He had always spent his Christmases locked in his cupboard, while Dudley shared in the festive joy with his parents. He'd had to watch him gloat about the ever increasing number of presents he received, while Harry would count himself lucky to get a pair of "new" hand-me-down socks. Even in school, he never had anyone to share a Christmas related activity with, as the senior Dursleys were all about Dudley. You could say he had neverfeltChristmas joy, at least since he was old enough to remember such things. He was in the wizard worldnow, but nothing would give him back his stolen childhood, and it was in moments like this, when he felt so strangely detached from all the emotion around, that he was more painfully reminded of it.

On the other hand, hewashere now. He would only be stuck with the Dursleys for six more years, and only during the Summer vacation at that. He had friends for the first time in his life and was able to relish every new day instead of looking at it as just another round of torture to be endured. In the end, he decided, it was better to face the hopeful future than to dwell on the dark past. Resolving to do his best to achieve that, he turned to the girl on his left, who he now noticed was a fellow first year – in fact, she had been with him on the boat ride across the Hogwarts Lake. He remembered noticing how her hair almost shone with the moonlight, but the sky was clouded now, and the indoor lighting didn't provide for such a spectacular effect. Nevertheless, she was still very recognizable.

"Morag, right?" Harry asked her as she finished her main course. She seemed startled, but quickly got herself back together.

"Yeah. How did you know?" she replied coyly.

"I remembered you from the sorting, of course," he smiled, reassuring her. Some people didn't like talking to Slytherins, so while he found out if Morag was one of them, he had to tread lightly.

She nodded.

"Well, most people don't really remember things like that."

"I have a good memory," Harry shrugged. "I had to develop one, I guess."

Morag frowned but didn't pursue that possibly interesting tangent. That was just as well, because Harry wasn't willing to go any further down that road. Harry appreciated her for that.

They talked softly for the rest of the meal, neither mentioning why they were there instead of home. An unspoken solidarity bounded them to that. Regardless of how much he liked most of his housemates, he realized that only talking to people from his house for practically the whole period had kind of made him lose some perspective.

Just as the younger years were starting to head to their dorms, Harry turned to her.

"Merry Christmas, Morag", and strode down the hall as she called back, wishing the same to him. He turned and grinned at her before turning the corner and waltzing down to the dungeons. That had cheered him up.

As he woke the next day, he was startled to find a small pile of packages sitting at the foot of his bed. Hehadused some of his newfound wealth to buy something for his friends – made possible by an owl order catalog he found out was available. A pair of dragonhide Quidditch gloves for Daphne ("to help you practice for next year"), a pair of glasses charmed to allow the wearer to see at night for Ted ("to help your odds of not getting caught"), a wizard history book for Blaise ("you said you found this period fascinating") and the tomeNon-Pureblood Slytherinsfor Tracey ("I told you you were not alone"). He also bought some symbolic knick-knacks for everyone else in his year, just as a token of good-faith and house spirit.

However, he hadn't been sure if he was really going to get anything. He'd certainly never broached the topic with anyone, and thought that perhaps they would've thought they didn't know him for long enough for him to be present-worthy; he was worried he might seem overeager by buying them presents himself when they had not.

Fortunately, that was not the case, as the pile showed quite neatly. He dug in and opened the first of several packages, which he found to be from Tracey. It contained a polished golden doorknob, which upon reading her letter he found to be an 'anti-Muggle doorknob', "to keep your relatives out of your room", she said. Harry chuckled – that could actually become very useful.

The next was a book from Blaise entitledMagical Families of the South West. As instructed by Blaise's letter, Harry turned to page 110, to see a chapter entitledThe Potters. He smiled, stowing the book away to read later. Next came a pair of sneakers enchanted to make the wearer run faster, from Daphne. She included a note not to let them get lost into the muggle world, or they could get in trouble.

Finally, Ted had sent him an old copy of the Daily Prophet. Harry thought this odd at first, but then he found it was dated from the days Voldemort was a large. There, next to an article detailing an attack by Voldemort's followers, who Harry learned were called Death Eaters, Harry found a picture of "James and Lily Potter, two of the first on the scene." Harry remembered how Hagrid told him his parents had fought Voldemort, but this made it all the more real to him. It was because of that man that Harry was, at eleven years old, only finding out what his parents even looked like, or hearing anything about what they had done in life. He knew that Voldemort had terrorized thousands, but somehow it seemed that this was the worst thing he had ever done, and Harry hated him for it, whatever had happened to him.

It was then that, since Voldemort had apparently been a Slytherin, he would have slept in this same dormitory in his own first year. Possibly even the same bed Harry had just laid in. The thought caused him to shudder in revulsion, and he carefully laid the newspaper on the bedside table, sparing one more glance at his parents' picture. He had a feeling he would spend many more hours looking at it, wondering what might have been. He made a mental note to find a way to thank Ted properly.

Finally, aside from a few other knick-knacks from a few of his other year mates who apparently had had the same idea, and a fifty pence coin from the Dursleys he angrily threw at the wall, there were two packages left. One, wrapped in thick brown paper, turned out to be from Hagrid, containing a thick wooden flute. Harry felt a twinge of guilt. He still had not visited the groundskeeper, or made any friendly overtures towards him. He would have to see to that.

Harry didn't know how to play flute, or anything else for that matter, but he gave it a little whistle upon which it produced a vaguely owlish sound.

The last one was very light, and as Harry opened it he was met by a silvery gray piece of cloth he realized to be a cloak. However, as he slid his hands under it to lie on his bed, feeling its watery touch, he found that he could see through them and the cloak itself. Startled, he dropped it to the floor, upon which it became visible again, but not without a note falling out of it first.

Harry picked the note up first, and saw these words written in an eccentric handwriting:

Yourfather 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, but judging by the handwriting he could guess who it had come from. Why would his parents have given such a useful thing to Dumbledore, though, especially given how useful it could have been hiding from Voldemort? He frowned. First, he wanted to confirm whether the cloak did what it seemed at first sight.

He carried it to the bathroom, where he stood in front of the mirror, facing his reflection, and threw the cloak over his torso. And sure enough, just as he did so, he saw part of his reflection disappear. He tried getting it to cover his head, and confirmed he could see through the fabric, from the inside. It was just like magic. He grinned and took the cloak off, hugging it to himself. He had gone so long without any memento of his parents, and now he had been showered with a photo, an heirloom and a family history. While they did make the loss seem even more gaping, they had also filled something he knew he needed. He even felt more charitable towards Dumbledore. He felt his eyes water, but fought it even though he knew there was no one around to see it. He learned long ago tears didn't help anyone.

He wanted to find out more about the cloak, but of course the library was closed for Christmas day, so he wouldn't be able to discover whether it had anything to say about it until the next day. So, he found the hours crawl by, even though he was filled with an unusually cheery mood, even going to the point of wishing Ron Weasley a Merry Christmas, even though the redhead just ignored him. Fortunately, no one else was around. He'd deny it if Wesley ever brought it up.

Finally, after an agitated night of unsettling dreams, where he always heard a woman scream and a flash of green light, right before waking up, he was up as soon as the Great Hall opened for breakfast. He was the only one present, which was fortunate because the way he practically vacuumed his food was really very unbecoming. But he couldn't help himself, and after a few minutes he was running towards the library.

He slowed down as he approached, for he knew if Madam Pince saw him running she would be highly displeased. As it was, he approached the surly librarian's desk slowly, mindful of her regard for rules.

"Good morning, Madam Pince."

She looked at him with a wary frown, but nodded in return. Harry figured that was all he was going to get, and he wasn't there to pay a social visit anyway.

"Could I have the index, please?" he asked. The index was exactly what it says on the tin. It contained an index list of all the books in the library, complete with cross-references.

Madam Pince's frown deepened at this point, but he was expecting that.

"And just what are you in such a rush to read you had to be here at first light?" she asked.

"Just some homework I realized will take a while to complete, Madam Pince," he said, trying to appear innocent.

He didn't know whether it worked, but she handed him the index without further comment. Harry took it and decided to start the search by looking for books on invisibility. He dismissedThe Invisible Book of Invisibility, as he doubted he could read anything on it, and settled on tryingInvisible, or Just Hard to See?

He proceeded to find the book, which was no easy task, given how the library seemed to be structured. After a few minutes' search, however, he located the desired tome and sat down to examine it.

Just as Harry hoped, it contained an entire chapter on invisibility cloaks. Harry started to read, a task which was not helped by the book's fine print. The author went on describing a cloak's make and properties. Harry found himself nodding at the book, as he recognized all of the properties described in the cloak he had come to possess. All seemed to match, until he came upon this intriguing line:

"Despite legends about a centuries old invisibility cloak which had been able to retain its invisibility in a perfect state, any invisibility cloak, no matter the type of make, start to 'fade' from invisibility into a kind of opacity ten to fifteen years from their inception."

Harry frowned. Something didn't seem right. His father had been dead for ten years, and Harry imagined he hadn't bought the cloak right before dying, immediately entrusting it to Dumbledore.

How peculiar.