Chapter 39: The Gift in the Shadows
Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 39: The Gift in the Shadows
February was supposed to be the shortest month of the year, but for Harry, it was starting to feel like the longest one.
The snow had been replaced by a persistent drizzle that kept him locked inside the castle, and he had fallen into a grim routine that left him hollow and exhausted.
The magical school did not feel that magical anymore.
Mornings were for classes. He sat there in silence, taking notes without really hearing the lectures.
Professor Flitwick's voice was a distant drone. Professor McGonagall's sharp commands washed over him. Even Snape's potions demonstrations, usually fascinating, could not hold his attention. His quill moved across the parchment automatically, but his mind was elsewhere.
Afternoons were for detention with Snape. The Potions master had assigned him to scrub cauldrons and organise ingredient stores...tedious, repetitive tasks that left Harry's hands raw and his arms aching.
Snape watched his every move from his desk but rarely commented on his work.
Sometimes he made cryptic remarks about Harry's father, and about the importance of loyalty. Although Harry had noticed that Snape never mentioned his mother.
In the evenings, he mostly spent time in the library, trying to memorise any new spells he could get his hands on. To stop feeling so powerless all the time, he felt like he had to become stronger.
This was easier said than done.
Practising spells outside of the classroom was not allowed for first years. Only fifth years or older were given dedicated rooms for magical training.
The only option for Harry would be to go into some empty classroom or the Room of Requirement.
The issue was that he was always being watched by someone.
If it wasn't the paintings, it was the ghosts, or members of the Junior Inquisition who always happened to be nearby.
He told himself that perhaps he was being too paranoid. But he could not risk being caught doing something illegal right now because he was already walking on a tight rope. So he tried to be patient while learning everything he could.
Though the part that he hated the most about his routine was the Tuesday meetings with Dumbledore.
The Headmaster's questions never changed.
"How are your studies?"
"Are you keeping up with your friends?"
"Do you dream of your parents?"
"Does your scar trouble you?"
Harry answered the same way every time. He tried to keep his responses as neutral as possible and give the man nothing to go on. He had learned to keep his face blank, his voice steady, and avoid looking into the old wizard's eyes.
The meetings left him drained. He always returned to the common room feeling as though he had run a marathon, his palms sweaty, his heart racing.
Then, on the last week of February, something very bizarre and unexpected happened.
He found a package waiting for him.
Harry had returned to the Slytherin dormitory after dinner, earlier than usual. Draco and Crabbe were still in the common room, playing a slow game of wizard chess.
Harry had pleaded exhaustion, which was not entirely a lie, and retreated to his bed.
He found the package lying on his pillow.
It was small, wrapped in plain brown paper, and tied with a rough string.
There were no markings on the package and no note. No indication whatsoever of who had left it or what was inside.
Though the strange part was that no one outside the four boys selected for this bedroom, or the professors, should have been able to open the door.
There was a potent enchantment that prevented students from entering bedrooms that were not theirs.
Nevertheless, Harry was reasonably sure that this could not have come from any of his roommates, as he knew them all quite well at this point and they were not the kind of people to give surprise presents for no good reason.
"Did… a professor leave this here?" he wondered.
His first thought was that this was some kind of trap. Perhaps another one of Dumbledore's tests for him.
He stared at the package for a long moment, his heart hammering against his ribs. His hand hovered over his wand.
But something about it felt… different. The brown paper was old and worn, the edges soft, the string frayed. The package had not been placed with precision...it sat at a slight angle, as if someone had left it in a hurry, perhaps only moments before Harry entered the room.
He glanced around the dormitory. The other beds were empty. The curtains were drawn.
There was no sign of anyone else having been here.
Harry sat on the edge of his bed and reached for the package. His fingers trembled as he pulled the string loose. The knot was tight, but it gave way after a few tugs.
The paper fell away.
Inside, he found a cloak.
It was a very bizarre-looking cloak. The fabric was silver‑grey, impossibly fine, and seemed to flow like liquid under the dim light of the torches.
When he lifted it, he realised that it weighed almost nothing...lighter even than a scarf. The material shimmered, shifting between shades of grey and silver. Light seemed to slide off it, refusing to settle.
Harry was stunned when he looked down at his hands and finally realised what this was.
He had read about this cloak. In another world, in another story, it had belonged to Harry Potter. It had been a gift from Dumbledore, a relic passed down through generations of Potters, a Hallow from the old tales.
But in this world, Dumbledore had taken everything from his family: their vault, their house, their fortune, and even their lives.
This cloak should not be here.
And yet, here it was.
Harry could see through the fabric as if it weren't there. His hands had disappeared the moment he put them beneath the cloak, and he could now glimpse the sheets of his bed very clearly.
"The Cloak of Invisibility…" He was about to put it down when he noticed something falling from between the folds of the cloak. A small piece of parchment.
The paper was old and yellowed, the edges soft. Harry placed down the cloak and unfolded the note with shaking hands.
The handwriting was very peculiar and unmistakably familiar. He had seen it before...in the history book his grandfather had written, in the final pages that had been added by an unknown hand.
The same looping letters, the same careless strokes he was seeing right now.
"If you want to discover the secrets behind the third‑floor corridor, wait until the last month of the last trimester and pay attention. You will have a chance then. Use this wisely.
From a Friend."
Harry read the note three times.
"The last month of the last trimester," he thought. That was nearly four months away, in early June. Why so long? Why not act now, while he still had time, while Pansy might still be reachable?
He knew that the chances of Pansy being the "guest" that Professor Snape and McGonagall had mentioned would be very unlikely.
Despite this, he still wanted to go in there and find out what the Headmaster was keeping hidden. At the very least, it might be something he could use against the old wizard.
Pansy's brother had died for getting too close to that secret, so it must be extremely important to Dumbledore.
Harry's eyes went back to the note. He would need to check that the history book hidden in the library again and compare the handwriting, but he was fairly sure it was the same.
The letters were written in a very peculiar style, which had already caught his attention when he read his grandfather's book. It was the same style used in the last chapter of the book.
"A friend, huh?" He glanced at the signature.
Back then, he had felt like someone had left that book for him to find.
Someone who was trying to help him out. It would have been too much of a coincidence otherwise. Now he finally had the confirmation. Someone was trying to help him in secret.
But who… and why? He did not know that. Could it be another student? One of the professors? Perhaps a ghost?
It had to be someone connected to his deceased grandfather, Fleamont Potter.
He folded the note and tucked it into his pocket. Then he lifted the cloak again, running his fingers over the silken fabric.
'Invisibility,' he thought. 'Real invisibility.'
If it worked the way he thought, this would be crucial to get around the castle without being spotted.
He would need to test it first.
Harry did not have to wait long for an opportunity.
That same evening, Draco and Crabbe were still in the common room, hunched over the chessboard.
A few other Slytherins were scattered around the room, reading or chatting quietly. No one was paying attention to the dormitory corridor.
Harry crept to the common room door, the cloak draped over his shoulders. He had left his wand behind because he didn't want to risk any accidental magic giving him away. The fabric pooled around his feet, hiding every inch of him.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The common room was warm and noisy. The fire hissed. A group of older students laughed at something near the window.
Draco was frowning at the chessboard, his chin resting on his fist. Crabbe was studying the pieces with his usual quiet intensity.
Harry walked slowly towards them, testing the cloak with every step. He kicked a small rug by accident, and it skidded across the floor.
Draco looked up. "Did you see that?"
Crabbe shrugged. "The rug moved, so what?. Draft, probably."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "We are underground..."
Harry held his breath.
He crept closer until he was standing directly between Draco and Crabbe. Neither of them reacted. Their eyes looked right through him.
'It works,' Harry thought, a wild exhilaration flooding through him. 'It actually works!'
He reached out and gently moved Draco's queen one square to the left.
Draco blinked. "Did you –?"
"I didn't touch anything," Crabbe said.
Draco stared at the board. "The queen moved. By itself."
"Maybe you forgot where you put it," Crabbe suggested.
Draco shook his head slowly. "No. I remember exactly where it was."
Harry grinned under the cloak. When they looked away from the board, he moved another piece. This time, it was Crabbe's rook, and then he stepped back.
"Wait...your rock wasn't there!. Did you move it while I was distracted?" Draco asked.
"Of course not," Crabbe responded, sounding offended at the accusation. "I am not a cheater." He looked down at the board. "Maybe there is something wrong with this board..."
Draco looks around the room. His eyes passed over the space where Harry stood without stopping.
Crabbe shrugged. "Maybe it's because it's an old board. Sometimes chess pieces get restless."
"Chess pieces don't move themselves...well, they do, but not without telling them to move." Draco stood up, his gaze sweeping the common room. "Is someone there?"
Harry stayed perfectly still. His heart was pounding, but he didn't make a sound.
After a long moment, Draco sat back down. "I must be tired."
"We have been staring at that board for an hour," Crabbe said. "Maybe we are seeing things."
Draco grunted and reset the pieces to their original positions.
Harry slipped away, returning to the dormitory. He threw the cloak onto his bed and stood there, shaking with excitement.
"It works. They couldn't see me at all. They couldn't even tell I was there."
He now had a real Invisibility Cloak.
And a secret helper.
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