Harry hadn't realized just how incredible the Invisibility Cloak was.
If someone else were wearing it and tried to sneak up on him, he'd probably only notice them through sound or some other sense…
Were all Invisibility Cloaks in the wizarding world this powerful?
Who sent it?
As the thought crossed his mind, Harry noticed a slip of paper tucked inside.
Written in an unfamiliar, elegant, looping script that seemed to swirl within itself, the note read:
Your father left this in my possession before he died.
It is time it was returned to you.
Use it well.
A very Merry Christmas to you.
No signature.
"Is this… a relic of my father's?" Harry murmured, staring at the note in a daze.
"Dad, I'll forgive you for now for whatever wild stuff you and Snape got up to when you were young, making me put up with him for so long," he added under his breath.
Ron, meanwhile, was marveling at the Invisibility Cloak.
"If I had something like this, I wouldn't need anything else," Ron said, eyes wide. "What's up with you?"
"Nothing," Harry replied.
But as he calmed down, the whole thing struck him as deeply suspicious.
Who sent the Invisibility Cloak? Did it really belong to his late father?
Could it be from Snape…? Or maybe Dumbledore, since Harry knew Dumbledore had been holding onto his family's vault key until Hagrid passed it to him before he started at Hogwarts.
But why would it matter? According to Ron, it was just a valuable but not legendary item.
If Dumbledore had meant to give it to him, he would've handed it over with the vault key, no need for anonymity—Dumbledore was the one managing his inheritance, after all.
So maybe it was Snape. What had happened between him and Harry's dad to leave this relic in his hands? Harry was curious… but also felt it was better not to dig too deep.
His tolerance for Snape swung wildly. One moment, he was ready to throttle the man; the next, he realized that, whatever Snape thought of him, the professor's actions boiled down to docking points, nothing truly dangerous. During that Quidditch match, when Hermione saw Snape muttering a spell, it was more likely he was helping Harry than trying to kill him. If Snape had wanted him dead, it wouldn't have been such a half-hearted effort.
After the Christmas feast, Ron was stuffed to the brim with turkey and cake. The boy's appetite was no match for Harry's. Harry leaned over the side of his bed, pulling the Invisibility Cloak out from under it.
His father's… It had once belonged to his father.
Harry had so few real memories of his dad.
He let the cloak slide through his hands, smoother than silk, lighter than light itself.
He slipped off the bed and draped the cloak over himself.
Looking down, he saw only moonlight and shadows where his legs should have been.
Magic. Truly incredible.
The note—possibly from Snape, or maybe Dumbledore, or someone else entirely—had told him to use it well.
An Invisibility Cloak, used well, was for hiding or stealing.
Harry chose stealing.
With this cloak, most of Hogwarts was his for the taking.
Dumbledore's treasures might be guarded like a fortress, but the Restricted Section of the library? That was fair game. Borrowing books as a student wasn't really stealing—it was a scholar's prerogative.
Harry wanted to memorize more spells. If he ever couldn't return to Hogwarts, he could practice on his own, building his skills over time.
Ron mumbled something in his sleep. The cloak was big enough for a few kids to use at once, but this was Harry's first time trying it, and his destination might be dangerous. Better not wake Ron.
Harry left the dormitory, descended the stairs, crossed the common room, and climbed through the portrait hole.
"Who's there?" the Fat Lady asked in her gruff voice.
Harry realized these portraits had some use. They couldn't truly stop intruders, but they ensured someone always knew when people came and went.
He pressed forward.
The library was pitch-black. Harry's senses, honed through constant training, could shift into a heightened state when needed. Even in the dark, he could see clearly, moving past rows of bookshelves.
The Restricted Section was at the back of the library.
Guided by instinct, charisma, and his extraordinary perception, Harry dodged powerful curses, stepped over the rope separating these books from the rest, and raised his lamp to read the titles.
Some of the books were clearly too advanced or written in unfamiliar scripts. A few might even be tied to the ancient magic Hermione had mentioned. Harry would need a stronger foundation to understand them; their titles alone were incomprehensible.
Faded, peeling gold letters spelled out words Harry couldn't make sense of.
Some books had no titles at all.
One book bore a dark stain that looked disturbingly like blood. It was unsettling enough that Harry had to lift the cloak and glare at it to keep it in line.
He could've sworn he heard faint whispers, discussions, and even a hint of fear from the books.
It was as if they knew someone formidable had arrived, and they'd better behave—no, that couldn't just be his imagination.
Magic was incredible, again.
Harry wanted to find the Avada Kedavra and Imperius curses.
The Imperius Curse was obviously useful. Harry wouldn't use it on good people or his allies, but against enemies? It was perfect for quick infiltration and gathering basic intelligence.
As for Avada Kedavra, he wanted to study its instant-kill nature—how strong it really was, and whether he could resist it. Among the strange magical forces suppressed in his scar, one felt tied to it…
He also wanted to know if the legendary Avada Kedavra lightning chain was real.
The Cruciatus Curse, the third Unforgivable, didn't interest him much. Harry had a thousand ways to make someone suffer.
Dark magic carried risks, Hermione had warned. It could twist a person's heart. Malfoy had bragged that Snape knew a ton of dark magic, and he seemed… well, mostly fine. Maybe it did affect the mind.
Dumbledore surely knew advanced dark magic too—Harry didn't buy that a wizard of his caliber wouldn't. But Dumbledore's power was vast, and dark magic probably wasn't his focus, so he could suppress any backlash until his dying day.
If Dumbledore wanted, he could've ruled the wizarding world long ago. Harry knew what a peerless powerhouse like him could achieve—he was one himself.
In the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, he'd dominated an era. In the peaceful world of his Chinese-style upbringing, he hadn't done much… it wasn't that kind of time anymore.
When Grindelwald and Voldemort fell, leaving Dumbledore unmatched, he still never left Hogwarts.
That proved Old Deng was a good man, able to restrain his darker impulses.
As for whether dark magic would affect Harry—whether Avada Kedavra would make him bloodthirsty or the Imperius Curse would fuel a lust for control…
Well, Harry, who'd already suppressed the divine power of two gods, wasn't worried. A little frost on the surface was nothing.
————
Supporting me on Pa-treon to gain early access to advanced chapters and enjoy expedited updates. Your support is greatly appreciated.
pat-reon .c-om/Dragonhair
(Just remove the hyphen - and space, to access Pa-treon normally.)