But Mousie, thou are no thy-lane,

In proving foresight may be vain:

The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men,

Gang aft agley,

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,

For promis'd joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!

The present only toucheth thee:

But Och! I backward cast my e'e,

On prospects drear!

An' forward, tho' I canna see,

I guess an' fear!

Robert Burns

Dartmoor, Devon

It was Christmas Eve, and the sun was starting to set when he left the house, closing the door behind him with the utmost care, so that not a squeak was heard. Despite the creeping darkness, it was just edging on five o'clock. That was just as well, for it meant he was less likely to stumble upon any muggles. In truth, he wasn't really worried about that. The moors surrounding his house were white with snow, and even his heavy clothes, charmed as they were to protect against the cold, did not stop his progress from being painfully slow. The freezing wet wind blowing in from the Atlantic chilled him to the bone, and he could only imagine how someone who did not have the protections afforded him by magic would feel in this weather. No, he didn't think he would be meeting anyone tonight.

He knew, deep down, that the reason he had chosen the cover of darkness was not outwith the house, but within it. He shuddered as he turned the bend on the road from where his abode was no longer visible, but whether at the thought or the cold, he did not know. Tension drained away from him as he could no longer see the shapeless building in the distance, and he let the dusk envelop him as it turned to night. Not a sign of life was visible in the snow covered landscape, and he felt himself grow calmer and more confident. The hedgerows lining the road were overgrown, and gave his whole field of vision an eerie feel, making the night seem even darker and more constricting. This ancient night, for which he was named, enveloped him like a shroud. He felt it as he was transported away from the dreary present into a future which now no longer seemed as bleak as it once had.

A soft whooshing sound interrupted his thoughts, but he didn't have time to be startled, as the form of a small barn owl quickly flitted in his vision. He raised his left arm to provide a perch for it to land.

"Hello, Malcom. You can always find me, can't you?" he murmured once the owl had landed, softly stroking its head. "I hope the weather at Hogwarts was not too bad for you."

The owl managed to look offended at this, as if the notion that any weather would have stopped him from delivering a letter to its recipient was too ridiculous and offensive to contemplate. Malcom turned its face away in a huff, but still extended its leg, to which a small package was attached.

On noticing it, he untied the cord that fastened the package to Malcom's leg as quickly as his gloved hands allowed him, and stowed it in haste in one of his jacket's many large pockets. After depositing the parcel safely, Theodore fed the owl a piece of dried meat from another pocket, and released the bird, lifting up his arm.

"Go to my room and rest, boy. You've earned it," he whispered to the owl, even though he knew there was no one around that could hear him. Old habits died hard.

As the owl flew away to a well deserved rest in its cage, the boy looked around, even though it was too dark now to be able to see much. He wanted to assure himself, as best as he could, that there was definitely no one about. Then he walked a few steps farther down the road, and turned right across a gap in the hedgerow that was concealed from all but the most attentive passer-by. He walked as one who knew where he was going, even though the darkness was growing and he could barely see ahead. He had trod this path many times before, even though it was a mere game track compared to the main road he had just left. Shadows grew ahead as he approached a clump of trees that stood out among the snow covered moor, and soon found himself in the shelter of their branches. In this place, the snow had not fallen as heavily as it had on the uncovered plain, and here and there the ground was visible. The smell of peat filled the air in this poorly ventilated shelter. Even if he lived to be as old as Dumbledore, this would be the smell he would always associate with safety and protection. He made his way deep within the grove, towards a place where the trees formed a protective enclosure. A well worn tree stump served him as a stool, and as he sat he leaned against the trunk of a beech tree which overlooked the remains of its fallen brother; taking a long, deep breath, he unpocketed the package.

"Lumos," he murmured, pointing his wand at the brown paper wrapped volume. He quickly ripped through the cover, revealing a small, rectangular box, on top of which lay an envelope. Setting the former aside, he opened the latter, and drew from it a letter, which he quickly set himself to reading by the faint wandlight.

Dear Ted,

I hope you are having a good time at home, and are bearing up well. Malcom delivered your letter safe and sound, you'll be pleased to hear. I'm looking forward to opening your gift tomorrow. I have no clue what it could be, as the house elves are apparently gathering any incoming gifts and making sure we only get them on Christmas morning, so thanks for mentioning you sent one, as at least I know I will be getting something! It's certainly more than I ever did before coming to Hogwarts!

Theodore frowned. Harry did not often talk about his life before coming to Hogwarts, but Theodore had gathered enough to know it was very far from what he had ever imagined the Boy-Who-Lived's home life to be like. He supposed that was why they had got on so well. Though Theodore did not like to talk about it any more than Harry did, the latter had, with an almost frightening prescience, gathered that Theodore too relished the freedom from home life Hogwarts offered them in a way that was too much like Harry's own, not to have shared some of the same kind of experiences. Nevertheless, sometimes Theodore almost wished for the neglect Harry had gone through...

He shook his head. There was no need to dwell on unpleasant thoughts, least of all on Christmas Eve. He kept reading.

Hogwarts is very different during the holidays. There are no Slytherins staying in our year, other than me, of course, so I have the dorms all to myself! We all eat at the same table in the Great Hall. It's very weird sitting next to people from other houses and years, not to mention the teachers! Unfortunately, the Weasley idiots are staying as well, so not all is bright, but we've managed not to cross paths so far.

It's really good that Hogwarts stays open during these Holidays, so I don't have to see the Dursleys more than I strictly need to. I've been spending a lot of time in the library recently. It's really cosy when it's empty.

Harry continued for some paragraphs with a discussion of his doings at Hogwarts during the holidays, often remarking on how different it was then. Theodore wondered if he could get away with staying there for Easter. He quickly read through to Harry's parting lines

Anyway, I've written for too long now. I hope you manage to get through the holidays well, and that my present is useful to you. I long to see you and the others in the New Year.

Best,

Harry J. Potter

Theodore smiled at the mention of the others. It was probably true that he was Harry's best friend, but the building of a small, relatively loose circle of friends around the shorter boy was something that felt so different from how Theodore had lived his life up to that point (and, he thought, how Harry had as well), that he did not know quite how to make of it. For one, it certainly helped with his father (and hadn't he been flabbergasted when he learned that the first year Slytherins were pretty much divided into 'Draco Malfoy's gang' and 'Harry Potter's gang'), as his friendship with Harry was thereby subject to less scrutiny than it would have been were they not part of that extended group. However, he did like the rag tag collection of characters that had gathered around Harry, and gave him a rather different picture of the kind of people who ended up in Slytherin than his father's school stories had done. He was now less conflicted about his place in Slytherin house.

Theodore pocketed the letter with a smile, together with the box—which he would open on the next day. Slowly getting up, he thought of the amount of time it had taken him to track down the copy of the Daily Prophet with the picture of Harry's parents in it. He didn't know what was worse, being like Harry and not remembering his parents at all, even what they looked like, or being like him and remembering his mother. While he at least had cherished memories, they made the pain of loss all the more searing. Still, pictures and other mementos made the loss a bit more bearable. The thought that the muggles, who were after all Harry's own flesh and blood, had never showed him a picture, or told him anything about his parents, filled Theodore with anger. However, he knew that could be unfair, and he could do nothing about Harry's degenerate relatives. But he did know now that the future need not be endless darkness. Walking softly, he made his away carefully through the dark back to the house, whistling a joyful Christmas tune.

Near Holt, Norfolk

The dawn poked holes through the cloud cover, announcing the arrival of Christmas day. Despite casting a heavy shadow upon the land, the clouds had issued no rain or snow for a while. Moisture was still abundant, for drops of dew peppered the green fields. All was quiet in the large L-shaped house dominating the countryside, and only the fluttering of a large barn owl broke the quietness of its surroundings. Owls would not normally be out and about at the break of dawn, especially near human habitation: they would be resting from a feast of small rodents somewhere safe. This was no regular owl, though, which could be clearly seen by the small packet tied to its legs.

Presently, the owl swooped down and landed on the sill belonging to one of the top floor windows, facing the rising sun. The bird knew it would have to wait a while, for it was not the time for Men to be awake yet. However, having been kept in the Owlery at Hogwarts for the past few months, it did not know his owner well enough. Even though its landing produced naught but the softest sound, a ruffle of feathers against glass and talons against stone, it was enough to wake the sleeping girl inside. Light green eyes flickered behind raised eyelids, and she was quickly up on her feet. Daphne Greengrass was a notoriously light sleeper.

Indeed, that had been the worst thing about Hogwarts, having to share a dorm with people who did not necessarily take into account that she was likely to wake up at the slightest noise. She had completely failed to anticipate this. Of course, she had magic at her disposal, and a few nights of poor sleep, followed by a letter home, had quickly led to her parents sending her a charmed pair of ear plugs. She'd enjoyed Hogwarts a lot more after that!

Being back in her own room, she had forsaken the ear plugs, which were after all a bit of a pain to insert. She had not counted on being awoken by the same bird who had been the bearer of that wonderful solution to her sleep problem. Still, she did not hold it against it. Quickly walking to the window, she briefly opened it just enough to let her owl in, rapidly closing it once it had safely flow to its perch, from where it was pointedly offering up the package that had been tied to its talons.

Daphne quickly undid the ties and freed the owl from its load, feeding it a treat at the same time.

"Thanks Bernie," she said, petting him on the head. "You must be so tired from flying all night. Why don't you go to sleep?"

As if it had been waiting for this cue, Bernie quickly leapt up into its open cage and ate some more of the food provided for him, before taking up a restful posture and preparing for a long-deserved sleep. As this was taking place, Daphne had released a small letter which accompanied the box, and tore the envelope open. She was not concerned about the lost sleep, for even if she was now eleven, she still allowed herself to feel eager for Christmas morning. And as she sat down at the foot of her bed to read the accompanying letter, she quickly realised this was the first present she was going to open, from a person she could safely say was the classmate she had least expected to have this year.

Dear Daphne,

I hope you are enjoying yourself at home. Hogwarts is quite different during holidays.

Daphne found Harry's descriptions of Hogwarts outwith term time to be quite interesting. It had to be quite a pain being the only Slytherin staying and have to eat with all the other students, especially since it seemed most of them were Gryffindors, who couldn't be expected to be friendly. Harry seemed to be coping alright with it, and Daphne keep reading until Harry finally reached the topic of the box which lay in front of her.

I know how keen you are to join the quidditch team next year, so I bought you these, which should help you practice (and play!) in all kinds of weather.

This excited Daphne quite a bit, but she read through to the closing lines before putting the parchment aside and opening the box. Upon doing so, she was greeted with a pair of gloves that to the untrained eye looked to be made from leather. Daphne knew better, though, as they were clearly made from dragonhide, an extremely resistant material that made for very durable clothing—and much more expensive. Perfect for all-weather play indeed. She tried them on in front of a mirror, and although she was hardly wearing her flying gear at the time, she liked how they fit, felt and looked. Her fondness for quidditch did not completely overcome her fashion sense, after all, even though she never went to what she felt were the extremes her mother would have liked her to go to. Astoria was so much better at that.

Sighting, she put the gloves back into their box, and stashed it, together with the letter, away from view. No need to have her family ask embarrassing questions about her friendship with the Boy-Who-Lived, after all. Her mother would probably tell her she was being much too free with her friendships, but Daphne had no plans to be the Slytherin Ice Queen her mother wanted her to be. And really, Harry was so completely different than anything she had ever expected, it was hard to even know where to begin telling them about him. It was so hard to get him to relax, but he seemed to be genuinely happy in those few moments. Shaking her head in wonder, Daphne went off to start her morning ablutions, but not before making a mental note to thank Harry when she got back to school.

Harry didn't know what to think. Of course, he didn't know his own cloak's full history, and it was possible that it was still within its expected lifetime of invisibility. However, something inside him told him that was not the case. For one thing, he didn't think Dumbledore—for he was sure Dumbledore was the one who had given him the cloak back—would choose this way of returning it if it was something completely devoid of any personal meaning for Harry. And a very recently purchased cloak, even if it had been his father's, was not the kind of stuff that was worth that sort of mystery, as Harry was sure his father must have had other family heirlooms. Even the Dursleys had them.

Yet, even if he was finally starting to internalize his status as a wizard, Harry wasn't quite ready to think that his family would just happen to be in possession of what was literally the stuff of legend. He frowned, deep in thought. He was going to have to research this further, he knew. His mind would not let go of this opportunity to find out more about his origins, to anchor himself further into this world which he already loved so much. He pulled out his notebook and began making a list.

Things to research on the my invisibility cloak:

What are these legends about an everlasting invisibility cloak? Research wizard legends

Is there more detailed stuff about invisibility cloaks? Keep researching library

He stroked his chin with his quill. This angle was about done, he thought, at least until he had follow-up data that might give him clues for future research. But, he realized suddenly, there was another angle he had overlooked, one which would be rather pleasing personally.

If the cloak really is 'legendary', how could my family have gotten their hands on it? Research our family history! Start with Blaise's book

Talk to people who might have known my father, to try to find out how old the cloak really is

He rested his quill, satisfied. That seemed like a plan that would keep him busy for a while, so he thought he would start right there and then. He flipped to the book's index, looking for some cross references on wizard legends and invisibility cloaks. It was not formatted in the most useful way, but he managed to find two volumes he could use for the first two items of his to-do list: Leggerworth's Litany of Legendary Legends, by Leonard Leggerworth and A Demiguise's Legacy: A Guide to the Crafting of Invisibility Cloaks, by Willem Kuyper. A quick perusal of the library index told him that the latter book was not available for consultation, so he quickly scribbled down a note to see about ordering it. Happily, however, the former was, and a few minutes later a smiling Harry could be seen leaving the library with it safely tucked away on his rucksack. After a trek to the dungeons, the tome lay next to Blaise's present, ready to be thoroughly researched. But first, he would have to visit Hagrid.

A few hours later, after a comforting lunch, Harry was strolling through the grounds towards Hagrid's hut. He walked at a leisurely pace, and he knew that was at least partly because he still was not sure how to handle the groundskeeper. Fortunately, he had bought one too many knick knack items in his Christmas shopping, so he was able to spare a small box of sweet drops for Hagrid. Harry had intended it to be a present for one of the prefects, but he couldn't decide which one, and was afraid it'd make him seem like he was trying to suck up to authority. He knew it wasn't that much, but he honestly hadn't thought the groundskeeper would be buying him a present either, so it would have to do.

After walking for a couple of minutes, Harry finally reached Hagrid's thatched hut, and carefully knocked. Almost instantly, he heard noise inside, and after a short delay, the door opened with a squeak, and the groundskeeper was before him. Hagrid still seemed as tall as he had that night on the rock, when he'd given Harry the best birthday present of his life by telling him about the wonderful world of wizards, and saving him from the torment that had been his daily life. That recollection steeled his resolve. Regardless of what Hagrid may have said or thought about Slytherins, Harry's gratitude for what he had done would not let him put this off any longer.

"Hello Hagrid," he said sheepishly, still unsure about how he would be received. "I hope you had a Merry Christmas. I came to thank you for your present."

Hagrid seemed vaguely surprised at seeing him there, probably because Harry had ignored him until then, but his scraggly faced was almost instantly graced with a smile.

"'Appy Chris'mas, 'Arry! I'd b'gan t'think you'd fergotten 'bout me." Harry had to suppress a slight recoil at the implied reproach, but Hagrid went on. "Well, what'r y'waitin' fer? Come in! I've got some tea and cakes jus' abou' ready."

Harry nodded, smiling with relief at Hagrid's joviality. It seemed that things would not go so bad after all. He was ushered inside and bidden to sit at a large wooden table.

"Make yerself at home, 'Arry," said Hagrid as he busied himself with a kettle.

Harry nodded and sat in a rickety three-legged wooden stool, which he had a bit of trouble believing could hold Hagrid's huge frame. Then again, maybe it was there for visitors like himself.

After a short while, the kettle was whirring loudly, and Hagrid hurriedly poured its contents into two cups. Making his way to the table, he placed one in front of Harry at one end of the table, and took a seat in front of the other, right across. Harry tried to take a quick sip, but finding it too hot, decided to wait for it to cool down a bit. He might as well grab the bull by the horns and start tackling the elephant in the room.

"Hagrid, I've been meaning to come visit you for some time. I really am sorry for not coming earlier, but..."

Harry paused, unsure about what was the most tactful way to put it.

"I... Well, I got sorted into Slytherin, you know..." Harry trailed, nervously fingering his green and grey scarf.

Harry didn't see so much as feel Hagrid tensing at those words. He felt himself suppressing his own tension. Hagrid had been his first friend in the wizard world, but if he was going to abandon him just because of his House, he really was not worthy to have as a friend in the first place. But to find out his reaction, Harry had to carry on.

"You just didn't seem to be our number one fan back when you were telling me about Hogwarts." Harry paused, noticing how the tension drained from Hagrid, to be replaced by what vaguely looked like shame. "I guess I was just afraid of how you would react, that you'd think I was really a bad person all along..." Harry trailed, quickly sipping his tea, which had reached a pleasant enough temperature.

Hagrid seemed to be reaching for words there for a while, but eventually sputtered on.

"Tis true, I don' much like Slytherins. But blimey, 'Arry, I held yeh when yeh was jus' a wee babe. No son o'James an' Lily could ever be bad." He gave a dry chuckle. "I didn' invite yeh over fer tea b'cause I though' tha' bein' in Slytherin would turn yeh agains' me. A righ' pair we make."

Harry nodded, visibly relieved.

"I'd be lying if I said you were the most popular person there. But I'm never going to forget that you were the one to tell me about magic." He paused. "I know what not being popular is like, so I'm not going to let other people's opinions influence me on this, even if they're my friends." Harry finished bitterly, remembering how he spent most of his childhood ostracised because of Dudley, as he reached for his bag and handed a small wrapped box to Hagrid.

"Here, I got you this," he said, handing it to him.

Hagrid reached across the table and took the packet from Harry, quickly unwrapping it. Upon finding the pack of sweets within, Harry could see the big man's eyes starting to water.

"Blimey, 'Arry, 'm sorry I didn' invite yeh over earlier," Hagrid said, his voice strangled from holding back a sob. "Slytherin'r not, yer a great wizard, jus' like yer parents."

Harry blinked at this seemingly unexpected reaction, vowing to get Hagrid something more personal next time.

This was also the second time Hagrid had mentioned Harry's parents. For a moment, he couldn't help but feel the indelible sadness he experienced every time he thought of how they had been robbed from him. He knew that perhaps it was the idea of having parents he missed more than his parents themselves, as he had not been old enough to remember them, but to him, it didn't matter. He still yearned daily for the family he would never know.

Hagrid, however, seemed to have known his parents. There was the chance to find out something more about them, and Harry was not going to let it go to waste.

"Hagrid, did... did you know my parents, then?" Harry asked, his voice trembling slightly as he approached the subject.

Hagrid's face saddened in understanding, though Harry could tell that the groundskeeper was thankful that both of them were willing to put the past three months behind them.

"Aye, 'Arry, I did. Bes' wizard and witch I ever met. Knew 'em through all their school years! Spent half o'them chasin' yer dad away from the fores', mind you!"

At Harry's raised eyebrow, Hagrid went on a tale of his dad's erstwhile adventures in the Forbidden Forest, when the latter was in his late school years. Harry listened intently as this tale seamlessly segued into another, and again, for what seemed like hours on end. Indeed, it was only as the light dimmed and the shadows lengthened inside the small cabin that Harry realized he should be heading inside for dinner. Fortunately, Hagrid seemed at the end of an individual story, so Harry could leave without cutting anything short.

"...an' Filch never could figure ou' where 'e went. T'was on'y later tha' I learned yer dad'd owned an invisibility cloak fer all 'is years at 'Ogwarts! No wonder 'e always seemed ter slip away at th'last mo'!" Hagrid finished with a chuckle, and then stopped with a sigh, seeming himself to notice the darkness.

Harry's ears were instantly prickled at this news. It was definitely true. His father had owned the invisibility cloak in his school years. Hagrid interrupted Harry's thoughts on this.

"Blimey, 'Arry, it's gettin' late. Yeh should be headin' inside fer dinner, but r'member, yer welcome 'ere any time yeh wan'!"

"Thank you, Hagrid," Harry replied. "I'll be back!" Harry would, too. He had spent a very pleasant afternoon, and he was desperate for anything he could learn about his parents and his origins.

"Thanks for the tea," he finished, before he ran off to the castle. It had gotten cold, and he was hungrier than he realized. From amongst the general fascination with his parents' histories, of which he vowed to learn as much as he possibly could, the detail about the cloak jumped at him. He needed to keep digging for the truth. He was more determined than ever!

Harry sat by the fire in the Slytherin common room. It was a dark night outside, though it was just after dinner. He had never realized just how far north Scotland really was. The night's darkness was compounded by the heavy gray clouds pouring snow into the grounds, and Harry felt much freer now that he had been in the almost empty Great Hall, where the sky's darkness bore down on him from the enchanted ceiling; yet he knew he was in a dungeon, and had nothing but rock above and beside him. Truly the mind worked in mysterious ways.

Harry had all but forgotten that, however. In fact, even if the weather outside had been unseasonably sunny and pleasant, he would have still spent as little time possible with dinner, for he was anxious to get back to the book he was reading by the cosy fireplace's warm glow. That was not surprising, for the volume Harry was so intently poring over was the Christmas gift he had got from Blaise, Magical Families of the South West; he was, of course, reading about the Potters.

His reading was bittersweet. He was fascinated by the history of his father's family, history he hadn't dreamt of for the first eleven years of his life, and yet reading it cast dark clouds over his soul, for he knew all he had—would ever have—was history. Thanks to Voldemort, he never had his own father to tell him these tales growing up, as he was sure James Potter would have. Instead, he grew up hearing lies about how his dad was a drunk who had got himself and his mother killed in a car crash.

He shook his head, trying to clear the sadness and anger from his mind. There was no sense in dwelling on it, and he felt like he was on the verge of grasping something especially important. There weren't very many magical families in the United Kingdom, much less in the South West, which didn't have that many people to begin with, if he remembered his primary school geography lessons correctly. This allowed the author to go into much detail about every family in the area. Harry had even noticed the Dumbledores in the table of contents, and made a small note to read up on them later. Harry was very interested in the web of family connections, whence he learned that he was actually related to some families whose names he recognized from school. Others were indicated as extinct lines with some remaining lateral branches, presumably descended from females who lost the family name when they took up their husbands'. It didn't seem as if he was related to any of his Slytherin year mates, at least not obviously—he really hadn't thought to enquire of their mothers' maiden names, after all. He seemed, however, to be connected to one lost line of moderate importance, the Peverells.

Harry's eyebrow shot up when he read this. He remembered reading about that family very recently, but the exact circumstances escaped him at that moment. He tried to keep reading, but the thought was driving him mad. Even as he was reluctant to leave the protecting warmth of the fire, he knew he wouldn't be able to focus if he didn't work this out. He got up and quickly jogged to his room, where he picked up his private notebook and the books he had recently got from the library.

He started with his notebook, querying it for the name that was rattling in his brain. He flipped through the pages, increasingly frustrated at not being able to find it. Just as he was about ready to throw the notebook away in disgust, the corner of his eye caught something that made him shout in triumph, holding the pad aloft, before realizing he was fortunate to be the only person in the common room, otherwise people would surely inquire what he was so excited about.

He settled down, instinctively bringing all his gear close to himself, even though there was no one there to be overly curious. Old habits died hard, he guessed, and the one time he was so overly excited that he didn't care that it was noticed by other people, it resulted in the Dursleys putting endless obstacles to his Hogwarts letter. He had vowed not to be so careless again in the future.

He picked up Leggerworth's Litany of Legendary Legends, recently obtained from the library, and set it next to his notebook. After quickly turning the book's pages to find the table of contents, his finger excitedly ran along its lines, searching for the chapter his notebook referenced. Among the many legends referenced in Leggerworth's Litany was "The Tale of the Three Brothers", part of a collection of stories entitled The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Harry sighed at the thought that all these stories would have probably been told to him as bedtime stories by his parents, had they not been taken away from him, but he shook his head and carried on; not having his newfound friends around was making him glum and despondent, and the season didn't help either.

His finger quickly found what he was looking for, and noting the page number, Harry quickly flipped through the book. He stopped not at the Three Brothers' tale itself, which he remembered, but leafed through it to the next chapter, an accompanying analysis of the legend, which Leggerwoth's book contained for each tale it included. Harry had not even realized that when he chose the book, but that feature was proving invaluable now. He had noted this story as it mentioned an invisibility cloak, and if he remembered correctly, the scholarly analysis said something about the Peverells.

He had found the tale itself fascinating for more than one reason. He enjoyed the ingenuity of the three brothers who had bargained with Death, one to get an unbeatable wand, another to get a stone that enabled him to summon the spirits of the dead, and the final and youngest of the three to get an invisibility cloak that enabled him to hide from Death itself. He fingered his own invisibility cloak as he considered this, wondering if it might be the same cloak mentioned in the legend. Would he really be able to hide from death?

But even though the legend itself didn't commend the second brother for seeking to bring his lover back from the afterlife, Harry thought that surely that was the most interesting of the three brothers' artefacts. Maybe it was just the fact that it was the one that spoke most to his needs. The invisibility cloak was useful, but Ted was living proof that you did not need one to get around Hogwarts. The wand seemed amazing, but of course it would be wasted on Harry at present, as his knowledge was so limited. But the stone...

Harry thought of his parents' picture on Ted's old Daily Prophet. He couldn't tell how long he stayed like that, staring into the distance and thinking of what could have been, and what could be. It was even possible he drifted off for a while. When a crackle in the fireplace awoke him, it was one in the morning and the fire was almost burned out. He shook himself. It was really too late to do any more reading, but he wanted to find out if he had dreamt the Peverell connection. He tried skimming the analysis, knowing he would never be able to read through the whole thing at that time. His efforts were rewarded about halfway through, in the midst of a discussion about a possible real life basis to the legend:

While most agree that the Deathly Hallows are mere legends, some maintain that the objects mentioned in this story actually exist, even though track of them has been lost. An association has especially been made between the elder wand and a historically attested wand known as the Deathstick, which is first known from the life of Antioch Peverell. This wand is known for leaving a trail of death in its wake, as wizards were willing to fight to the death in order to possess it. This association, combined with the fact that Antioch Peverell was the eldest of three brothers, has lead some to conclude that the Peverell brothers were actually the three brothers in the story, which would then be based in reality. However, there is nothing to support this association, as the Deathstick does not appear, in any records, to be connected with any other artefacts, much less ones possessed by the remainder of the Peverell family.

And Harry stopped reading there, for that was enough for him to know with almost complete certainty that he was not on a wild goose chase. Despite Leggerworth's claim that the other two artefacts were not known, did not Harry have the youngest brother's cloak right in his hands? He would finish reading the analysis the next day, with much more care, but it was definitely too late to do any more reading. Harry went to bed thinking of the resurrection stone, and that night, he dreamt of the three brothers, and of the family whose likeness he now knew, though they were gone behind the veil.