Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter either. It belongs to its creator J.K. Rowling and probably Warner Bros. too. I'm not too sure about that. This piece of literature is simply the work of a humble fan. I also credit Laurell K. Hamilton and Jim Butcher for various themes, subjects, or references that I may use. It won't be a crossover but certain elements from the series will be used.
:Author Notes:
This will be leaning more toward alternate reality. It will have the same characters just a different spin on things. If you're not a fan of strong cursing or maybe even violence and bloodshed then there is a good chance that this story isn't for you.
"Who forces time is pushed back by time; who yields to time finds time on his side." The Talmud
Slave of Dragons
Potter "Year Two"
Chapter Five: March of Time
By: Water Mage
Sunlight flowed in through the windows of the Great Hall, letting in the dim sunshine on this cloudy morning. Harry picked at his ham and eggs, a deep frown set on his face. On either side of him sat Kevin and Terry, both watching him with concerned looks. A quiet Harry was never a good Harry. They tried to coax him into conversation but to no avail. They had been trying for three days straight. Once a person tries to kill you in your sleep, well, that kind of puts a damper on ones mood. Hogwarts rumor mill was having a field day with the new gossip, which were only the barest of facts of the true nature of the attack that happened three nights ago. Kevin with his heightened hearing had so far heard whispered, exaggerated tales of Harry going mad and trying to kill his dorm mates, to the impossible tale of the ghost of Lord Voldemort out for revenge. An older girl in Slytherin noticed Kevin watching her group, whom had came up with the Lord Voldemort theory, and surmised that he was listening in. She sneered at Kevin and gave him the finger, whispering "filthy vampire" under her breath, knowing that he would hear it.
"Dark magic slut," Kevin replied with a hiss his fangs bared, looking sharp and threatening.
He turned back to the table to find both Harry and Terry looking at him oddly. Terry was the first to clear his throat and asked slowly, "Not that I don't love a good insult, mate. But what in God's name is a 'dark magic slut'?"
Sheepish, Kevin shrugged. "She looks like she would do anything for a dark spell. So, dark magic slut."
Terry patted him on the shoulder, "Riight. In the future I'm the one who comes up with the insults and comebacks. If you have one make sure they are ran by me and approved first."
Kevin blinked at him and shook his head as if regaining focus. "I'm sorry, are you still talking? I honestly started tuning you out right as you began to speak."
Harry snorted and Kevin gave Terry a superior smirk. They always made it a game to see who could make him laugh first whenever he was feeling moody. He was about to open his mouth to thank them for cheering him up, but the sudden arrival of the morning owl post distracted him. He frowned at the huge barn owl that swooped down at him. Unconsciously, he reached for the knives sheathed to his wrists underneath his robe sleeves. The owl either was psychic or had better things to do because it deftly dropped the letter on his plate, and flew off again in a flurry of feathers. He stared at the unexpected letter. His father had already threatened to pull him from Hogwarts after the attack to keep him safe, but Harry had flat out refused to leave. People were always looking to take him out. Hogwarts, magical school or not, was just as safe or unsafe as his previous schools.
Harry picked up the letter and quickly read it.
THE DAILY PROPHET
International Division
Diagon Alley office
Dear Mr. Harry Potter-McKnight,
I'm a reporter at the Prophet. I'm doing a story on your miraculous survival
against the Killing Curse. As you know, this Unforgivable is considered
unblockable and for you to survive its death sentence is something that is
unheard of. To this day it's still unknown how you managed it as a baby.
The Prophet would be willing to pay you quite well for a vial of your blood.
Once studied by a team of warlocks, surely we can solve the mystery of what
allowed you to survive the Killing Curse. You, and the entire wizarding world,
will finally know the answer to the greatest mystery of the century. Please
send your blood sample via owl or messenger to the Daily Prophet offices
in Diagon Alley. I urge you to consider this offer carefully.
Yours Sincerely,
Allison Oliver
Allison Oliver
Senior Reporter
Would he look crazy if he started to bang his head repeatedly against the tabletop? He mentally ticked off yes to that question. Harry crumpled up the letter and stuffed in the bottom of his book bag. He remembered Allison Oliver. He vividly recalled the coldly polite tone his father used when he dealt with her that day back in June."So I guess the results were positive then?" asked Terry, crunching on a piece of toast. He laid a hand on Harry's arm, his face painted with perfect compassion. "Not all STD's are untreatable. We'll help you through this, mate."
Harry smacked the hand off his arm, and smiled crookedly. "They were your results actually. I just wanted to spare you some bad news."
"Serious, Harry," interrupted Kevin. "What's with the letter?"
Harry couldn't resist rolling his eyes, as he eyed his bag that carried the discarded letter with distaste. "This crackwench reporter wants a bit of my blood to study. Apparently she'll figure out how I stopped the Killing Curse from that one bloke."
"You just referred to the most fearsome Dark Lord of our age as 'that one bloke'?" asked Terry slowly.
"It's not like anyone says his name," replied Harry with a shrug. "How am I supposed to remember it if I never hear it?"
"Of course," remarked Terry dryly "It's such a forgettable name."
Harry nodded seriously, disregarding the sarcasm. "I know. I personally think we should call him Victor or something if we can't call him by his real name. Easier all around this way I think."
Kevin blinked. "Umm… How about no."
"As invigorating as this story is, we do have to get down to the dungeons," reminded Terry.
All three boys shared a dark look and Harry frowned. "Potions."
They slowly gathered their things and the other second year Ravenclaws mirrored them. Potions class may be less traumatic for them than the Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs, but Snape was still Snape after all. He treated them with utter scorn and took joy in docking points for their less than perfect potions. Potions that potentially would have been brewed perfectly if he refrained from breathing down their necks like the overgrown bat he was. Harry followed the throng of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, since they shared Potions this year, to the dungeons. He kept his head low. Thoughts of the attack from that night cycled through his mind on a loop. It wasn't the first time someone had attempted to come after him during sleep. As long as he was a McKnight, it wouldn't be the last time either.
What he couldn't help not thinking of was the way he had awoken. Dagda had appeared in his dream. The King of all Fey had tuned him into the Song of the Green, and once again sent him against an enemy with the power to fight, but without offering direct him. Harry didn't know whether to be pissed or thankful. He was a little of both if he admitted it to himself. The help did save his life. But this was his grandfather. His mother's father. Did he not care about him enough to step in, and smite some evil ass on behalf of his grandson's life? So maybe his feelings were a little hurt as well, supported by a large part of anger, if he really examined his emotions.
He entered the potions classroom and took his usual seat in the middle of the room in between Kevin and Terry. The other students entered and took their usual spots. He barely had time to spread his Potions textbook on the table before Professor Snape stormed into the room in a cyclone of greasy hair and swirling robes. The man marched to his desk, slammed his hands down on the surface, and stared at them icily. Someone was obviously a fan of the dramatics. The room was so quiet that you could hear the person across the room breathing. Harry wanted to roll his eyes as Snape's, dark, dark blue eyes swept across the room. Eyes that were so dark blue that they appeared an inky black most of the time.
"As Halloween is in a few weeks," said Professor Snape softly, but had no trouble at being heard. "I have been regaled with blundering students attempting potions to transform themselves or gain fantastical powers." He spat the last word out as if were a swear word, and from his expression it left a dirty taste in his mouth. "If I so much as catch another student using class time to brew such a potion that is clearly not a part of the lesson, you will be given detention till the end of the year."
His eyes landed right on Harry as the last word was uttered. That gaze to anyone else would be frightening. Too bad he was wasting his A game on Harry. Instead of cowering, he carefully schooled his face into eager obedience and nodded seriously. The older wizard gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. If he was a betting man than he would swear that Snape didn't like him. Harry's lips twitched and he fought back the urge to smile.
"Today we will be brewing the Hair Removal Potion," said Snape. He snapped his wand at the board and writing appeared on the surface in flowing, slanted script. Professor Snape paused, glaring at the students. "Don't sit there like a pack of dunderheads! Take notes!"
They didn't have to be told twice. When Professor Snape repeated himself it wasn't pretty. Not for him, since his face twisted up like a handicapped troll, and not for the students, since they had to look upon his mutated face. Snape's quiet, nevertheless sharp voice filled the room along with the sharp scratching of quills, as they frantically copied down the notes on the board. But they had to listen to Snape also, since he explained the meaning behind the methods and principles that went into creating the potion.
"I've given you enough information, so you don't melt your cauldrons," said Professor Snape with his ever-present sneer. "Now get started!"
Harry sighed rubbing at his ear. Was it really necessary for him to yell out his last sentence every single time? It was like the man had Tourette's or something. Harry pondered that thought. It would make sense. Professor Snape did have an unhealthy rage problem. Harry figured it was because he wasn't getting sex regularly, but a genetic disorder would fit just as easily.
"Potter!" bellowed Snape, bearing down on him.
Harry frowned. He hadn't even seen him move. He had to start paying more attention. "Yes, Professor?"
Professor Snape gave him a snide look. "Are you going to get started or do you plan to spend the rest of the class period staring off with that idiotic look on your face?"
Anger bit at his insides, and Harry pushed it down as much as he could. "I want to get started, but your talking to me…sir."
"Ten points from Ravenclaw for cheek, Potter," growled Professor Snape, his eyes boring deep into Harry's green gaze.
His dark eyed stare challenged Harry to continue. Harry smirked, he couldn't let his biggest fan down. "It's Potter-McKnight actually."
Professor Snape's face filled with derision and untold amounts of contempt. Harry was shocked at the emotions that washed across that hook nosed face. He had gathered Snape didn't like him, but this was a bit much. Snape leaned in so that he was only six inches from Harry's face.
"I don't care who adopted you or what your name is," spat Snape, his teeth gritted together. "You're a Potter. Arrogant, conceited, pompous… just like your father."
It took Harry all of forty five seconds for him to realize that Professor Snape wasn't talking about Killian McKnight. He had said Potter. A rush of emotions swam through him all strong and powerful, pulling at his insides. James Potter had died when Harry was only baby. He knew only one father and that was Killian. But James Potter died for Harry, and that meant something to him. A sense of loyalty surged through his veins alongside anger. The anger was familiar. That was an emotion that he knew like an old friend. Harry took that anger and embraced it. Green eyes darkened as he directed his fiery stare at Snape.
"I don't know how you knew my father," Harry began, his voice growing colder the more he spoke. "But don't bad talk him in front of me."
Professor Snape adopted his usual, patented smirk. "Like I said. Just as arrogant as your father. You keep this up you may end up like him."
The storm of emotions that raged inside him couldn't be contained. Something snapped inside and all his fury was released. Harry slammed his hands on the tabletop and shot up from his chair. Momentary surprise flashed across Snape's face before he masked it. Harry stared him down his green eyes glittering with roaring anger.
"James Potter was more of a man than you'll ever be! My father died for his family!" bellowed Harry. His magic reacted with his emotions and lashed out. The cauldrons in the room began to shake and the tabletop beneath his hands splintered loudly with a deafening crack. He leaned in close to Snape's stunned face and said in a deathly whisper. "Talk about him again. And I will kill you."
He said it so quietly that no one else heard him but Snape. And of course Kevin. Preternatural hearing at its best. The onlookers saw Harry's mouth move and heard his barely inaudible whisper. Everyone was shocked to watch Snape stiffen as if someone told him that Merlin was still alive. Harry saw the horror that painted itself across his face. If he wasn't so furious he would have allowed the tiniest of smirks to break free. Harry could see the realization that dawned in his eyes, and he knew without a doubt that Snape believed him wholeheartedly when he said that he would kill him. It wasn't an idle threat. He meant it and the older wizard knew it too.
"Thirty points from Ravenclaw!" roared Snape, shaking with barely restrained rage. "Headmasters office now!"
Harry grabbed his bag and slung it across his shoulder. "I know the way."
He stalked out of the silent classroom keeping his eyes trained on the floor. Slamming the door on his way out made him feel a tiny bit more satisfied. Harry marched up the stairs and back to the first floor, leaving the dank and shadowed dungeons, and Snape's constant bitching. Harry loved his anger. It was great emotion to have, but Snape took it too far. It was like he lived just to bitch. And for the life of him, Harry couldn't figure out why Snape loved to be on his case more than any other student. Boys and girls normally put on such a front when they secretly liked someone… Was that it? It had to be. Professor Severus Snape was a pedophile and had a gay crush on him.
Harry shuddered. Snape having emotions other than anger was hard to even contemplate, let alone infatuation or lust. He came upon the ugly, stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. He didn't have to say a password. Sensing his presence, the gargoyle came to life. It jumped aside quickly and the wall behind it split open to reveal the spiral staircase.
Harry rolled his eyes and muttered dryly, "I guess someone is expecting me."
The wall closed behind him with a low thud and he stepped onto the staircase. Just as he remembered it moved on its own like an escalator, taking him higher and higher at least three floors from where he started from. It deposited him off in a narrow hall that led him to a heavy oak door. He cautiously opened it and stepped inside. Professor Dumbledore nodded at his fireplace, where a flaming shape was speaking quickly to him.
"Yes, Severus. I understand," said Professor Dumbledore to the fiery shape. "He's here now."
Harry frowned. Was that Professor Snape talking through the fireplace? What the hell kind of telephone call was this? The fire extinguished itself and Dumbledore turned around to face Harry. He was dressed in a set of deep purple robes trimmed in lavender with stars decorating the edges. The man loved his robes. Harry absentmindedly wondered if maybe Dumbledore loved to shop. He seemed to have a new robe every time he saw him.
"Ah, Harry," smiled Dumbledore. He gestured toward his desk. "Please have a seat."
The crimson phoenix, Fawkes, watched him as he took a seat. Harry wondered what it was about him that caused the bird to watch him so curiously. Could the creature sense the divinity that flowed within his veins? Did it know what Harry really was? Fawkes trilled a resounding note that made his very soul hum in contentment. He was going to assume that the phoenix could indeed see the truth. The spark of intelligence behind its eyes spoke volumes.
Professor Dumbledore took a seat in his chair and looked at Harry with his twinkling blue eyes that gazed at him speculatively. Harry didn't like that gaze. He felt like he was being measured. So he sat back in the chair and returned the stare. Never let it be said that Harry was the most mature person on the planet.
"Professor Snape informed me of your actions and why you were sent here," said Dumbledore. He didn't look mad, which was a plus. "I am disappointed that you two have once again resorted to another heated argument."
So it looked like it was blame game time. Harry frowned. "It wasn't my fault. Professor Snape has it in for me or something," he argued. "He came at me all intense, and I can't but react. This time he even bad talked my father. My biological father. Snape said I was arrogant and stuff like he was… I didn't even know they knew each other! Why would he even say something like that?"
A weary sigh left Dumbledore's lips. "It's unfortunate that Professor Snape would resort to bringing up past grudges."
"Grudges?" blurted out Harry. "Snape and my dad didn't get along?"
Dumbledore nodded, his blue eyes dimming as he remembered events from long ago. "James was in Gryffindor and Professor Snape was a Slytherin, both in the same year. For seven years they fought much the same way you and Ronald Weasley fight. Boys will be boys, and I'm afraid that for some people the past is harder to let go."
"Wait!" said Harry, holding up a hand. "Snape doesn't like me just because he didn't like my dad. All his anger and constant hatred directed at me is because he's still nursing some hurt feelings."
"I'm afraid so."
Harry blinked. "Oh. Well tell him to grow a pair and get over it. I'm tired of him leering at me. I was positive that he was a pedophile and wanted my body. It makes a little bit more sense than a grudge that's been held longer than I've been alive. Are you sure that's the problem?"
Dumbledore slowly nodded, looking at Harry as if he couldn't quite tell if he was being serious or not. "I am quite sure. I will tell Professor Snape to treat you more fairly, and I ask that you refrain from threatening to kill a teacher," he said the last seriously, his tone hard.
Harry met those old blue eyes and was just as serious when he said, "No promises. He talks about anyone of my parents again like that and I won't be able to control myself."
"Harry—"
"No," snapped Harry, his fists clenching with his rising anger. "My parents fought and died for me. Their memories deserve respect, so I'll fight just as hard for them."
"I meant no disrespect, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore sincerely. "But Professor Snape is a teacher and deserves respect."
Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. No one that insults my parents will ever get my respect. Especially from someone that treats me like dirt just because he's mad at a man, a man who has been buried in the dirt for over a decade."
"That is quite enough, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore frowning, staring at Harry with equal parts disappointment and anger. "I will issue no punishment. This is a warning. One more incident like this and I will punish you. This matter is closed for now." His shoulders sagged and he appeared sad when he looked again at Harry. "You may go, Harry."
Harry groaned. He was not falling for the guilt trip. He stood stiffly and after giving the Headmaster a small nod, he spun on his heel and briskly left the office. Harry fumed silently as he deftly dodged students streaming through the halls. Snape only picked on him because he and James Potter hated each other? What kind of weak shit was that? His father was dead. Harry didn't know a thing about him really. Snape was demented that's all there was to it. He was starting to think that his theory made more sense. Snape had classic pedo-smile after all.
He walked without thought and it was a surprise when he found himself at the door to the Charms classroom, his next class. Terry and Kevin came around the corner. He gave a little wave and they jogged over to him leaving the awed second year Ravenclaws behind. They looked almost surprised to still see him. They probably thought he would be expelled. He was just as surprised he hadn't been.
Grinning, Terry slung an arm around Harry's shoulder. "Sweet Avalon, mate! I figured you were a goner for sure. You're on a roll this year with the trouble making!"
"Trying to give the Weasley Twins a run for the money," smiled Kevin.
Their humor eased the tension between Harry's shoulder blades. "Smart ass is my middle name after all," he smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "You guys wouldn't believe the shit Dumbledore told me about why Snape is always on my back."
"Tell us in a minute," stated Kevin, jerking a thumb at the classroom that was filling up. "It's time for Charms."
Harry nodded and they entered the classroom. The Ravenclaws didn't look angry that he lost points which caused Harry to relax even more. People were really serious about the House Cup. He had all the numbers opposite of zero when it came to school spirit, so the House Cup meant less to him than Ron Weasley's health. He took a seat just as Professor Flitwick entered the room. The little wizard, that most suspected was descended from Dwarves, waddled up to his podium that was setup in the center of the room with all the student stations circling it. Harry had heard somewhere that Flitwick was an accomplished dueling master, he didn't see it, but he wasn't going to test the rumor.
"Hello, class," squeaked out Professor Flitwick. "Today we'll be learning a simple charm that is used to make fading writing appear clearer, or to cause writing that's invisible to become visible. The incantation is Aparecium. Make sure you rotate your wrist nice and loosely, then flick sharply to get the maximum effect. You may work in groups or by yourself, whichever you prefer."
Harry sighed. Thank goodness he didn't pair them up. He eyed the Gryffindors they shared the class with and could already feel his eye twitch at their overenthusiastic go get'em attitude. It was like they were always on a permanent drug overdose.
"So did you get in lots of trouble?" asked Terry quietly, as Flitwick used magic to send papers through the air to land before everyone.
"You may practice on these parchments. I will go around and help anyone who needs it," announced Flitwick.
Harry shook his head and retrieved his wand from his pocket. "None at all actually," he answered Terry. "I pretty much told Dumbledore that I would never respect Snape and that it's moronic that he still has a grudge against my dad."
"What's he got against your dad?" asked Kevin confused. "I guess they would have known each other now that I think about it. Probably went to school together if Snape is as old as he looks."
Harry nodded, not surprised that Kevin had quickly made that connection. "They did go to school together. Year mates too. Apparently they hated each other enough that Snape has transferred his hatred from father to son."
"Wow," uttered Terry amazed. "You think your dad raped him or something?"
Both Kevin and Harry stared at him.
"What!" said Terry defensively. "I mean it's a pretty traumatic event! My older brother told me there was a bloke in Manchester who got raped as a teenager. He grew up, got angrier, went nuts, and eventually tracked the guy down who fucked him and blew his head off. He killed the guy's pet rabbits too. It was—"
Harry held up his hand, gaping at him. "Okay we get it. I can definitely tell you it wasn't rape."
"Oh," said Terry dumbly. "Maybe your dad stopped him from starting an apocalypse. We know Snape is the right hand of Satan."
Kevin looked at him like a small child. "Your imagination is way too active."
"I would hate to read his mind," said Harry, eyeing Terry who was staring off with glazed over eyes. No doubt involved in an elaborate fantasy where James Potter superoheroed Snape from triggering Armageddon.
Harry rolled his eyes and punched Terry in the shoulder to get his attention. "Hey, Terry get a grip."
"So is Snape going to be civil to you?" asked Terry, snapping from his daydream with surprising quickness.
Harry snorted. "Impossible. Dumbledore said he'll talk to him though. We'll see how much good that will do."
"Little I expect," agreed Kevin, brushing back a lock of blond hair.
There was a scream behind them and they spun around to see Hermione frantically trying to stamp out a flaming parchment all the while Neville Longbottom clutched at his wand, looking like he was holding back the biggest sob in the world.
Times like these made him grateful he hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor.
The corridor was dark and the torches burned brightly providing light that lit even the shadowed corners. Harry yawned feeling slightly lethargic from the good food at dinner. He scratched at his arm and stopped as noise to his left broke the silence.
"Ah, Harry Potter!" beamed Professor Lockhart, striding toward him as if someone told him Harry was going to give him free money. "Just the boy I was looking for."
Harry didn't relax. That smile if anything made him even more tense. "Eh, hello…"
"I noticed that you're sort of famous at this school," said Lockhart, smiling at Harry as if he thought it was cute that Harry was famous "and I being the celebrity that I am, wanted to let you know that its okay to feel awed when in my presence. One day you may indeed be as famous as me. Until then it's okay if you want to model yourself after me, or take notes on how to be as classy as I am."
Harry's mouth dropped. Professor Lockhart chuckled. "And there's that awe again! Listen Har', may I call you Har'?"
"No."
Lockhart continued talking not even registering that Harry spoke. "And you," he said, leaning down, grinning as if he was about to impart the biggest favor onto Harry. "You may call me Gilderoy."
Harry stared at him incredulous. "That's okay. I'd rather not."
"There, there," said Lockhart, nodding knowingly. "I know you must feel extremely honored. I'll let it sink in, Har'. I'll see you in class tomorrow."
He tossed Harry one of those thousand watt smiles and walked off whistling very off key. Harry stood rooted, staring at the empty air where Lockhart once stood. Did that really just happen? That was just too unbelievable. Harry shook his head pushing the event to the back of his mind. It was better to pretend that it just didn't happen. It would help him sleep at night.
"You really shouldn't be out by yourself after last night," said a voice behind him.
Harry jumped as Mr. Matheson silently walked to his side. The older man had let his blond hair grow out so now he had bangs that brushed against his forehead. His green eyes, lighter than Harry's own, pierced him and made him feel younger with how they calmly assessed him. What the hell was this? If people who fucking stalked Harry could fly then this hallway would be an airport.
Harry cocked his head. "Are you following me?"
"I'm a Shadow," Matheson stated shrugging. "What are you doing out here by yourself?"
"I went up to the Owlery to send off a letter to my dad. I wanted to tell him about today," he replied, he looked Matheson up and down with calculating eyes. "But I suppose you and the other Shadows already updated him on the situation."
Matheson's face was carefully blank, not reacting to the accusation. "You shouldn't be out alone. It was only three days ago that somebody tried to kill you."
A slow smile spread across Harry's face. "Maybe I want them to try something while I'm awake this time."
"Don't joke around like that," said Matheson frowning.
Harry took a step back and raised his arms. His sleeves slipped down revealing the knives sheathed on his wrists.
"Who said I was joking?"
Matheson quietly chuckled. "I suppose not. Come on, Master Harry. I'll walk you to your common room."
Harry grinned and walked with Matheson. They didn't speak a word. Harry didn't know what to say to start off. It was weird that his dad had people on payroll that actually watched him in secret. It was kind of creepy, but it's not like he could turn away the service. His dad's reasoning for having private bodyguards were sound. They were much needed after last year and this week's attempt on his life. If he had a galleon for every motherfucker that tried to kill him… well he would have enough money to buy The Weasley kids some decent robes. Well maybe just one of the spawn.
They came upon the mirror portal and Mr. Matheson bid Harry goodnight. Harry watched him walk away and shook his head. Now there was a man of few words. He wondered what his story was. Where had his dad found him? He made a note to find that out. Never hurt to know more about who was watching your back. The common room was half full as it still wasn't close to curfew. Harry waved at a few people and made his way to his dorm.
"Anybody give you shit for the point loss?" asked Terry as he entered the room.
Harry shook his head. "Surprisingly no. I think they're impressed I'm still alive or not expelled. Where's the rest of our dorm mates? I didn't catch them in the common room."
Kevin chuckled. "Probably the library. They were dead set on trying to make up for the points you loss."
"I will never get school spirit," sighed Harry, lying down on his bed. He stared at the ceiling tracing the painted patterns with his eyes.
"The House Cup looks like something they gave to the kids in the special ed class at the end of the school year anyway," laughed Terry, going over his homework. He plopped down on bed right beside Harry.
Kevin sat on his own bed, quietly laughing. "Are you saying that you were in special ed classes in primary school?"
Terry narrowed his eyes. "Bite me."
"Is that an offer?" asked Kevin teasingly with a smile, deliberately showing fangs.
Terry's eyes widened and he nervously shook his head. "No. No. No! I am so not trying to be your little Happy Meal with legs."
Harry chuckled and rolled off his bed. They teased each other back and forth and he shook his head at their quick banter. They lived for their verbal sparring. And when Harry got involved it turned into a verbal war. Before he met them he had never known what it was like to truly have friends. People that liked him just for him. It felt good. He opened his trunk and deposited his knives inside. His hand encountered a smooth, silky surface and he tugged it free. A shiny and extremely gaudy cloak fell from the trunk. He picked it up frowning at it. What the hell? When the fuck did he get—
"Oh!" he said aloud in realization. "This was my father's!"
"What are you going on about, mate?" asked Terry, peering down at him.
Harry smoothed out the wrinkles in the cloak staring at it truly for the first time. "I got this for Christmas. I don't know who sent it, but the note that came with it said that it belonged to my father. I kind of feel bad now…" Harry trailed off staring at the shimmering cloth. "I put it away since I didn't really need it and it's so horrid…but after the mess from earlier I think I should wear it sometimes… It's the only thing I have from him."
"That's a nice idea," said Kevin understandably.
Harry shook it out and with a dramatic flourish he slung it around his shoulders and struck a pose. "So how does it look?"
They stared silently with their jaws dropped.
"Oh God," moaned Harry, closing his eyes. "It's bad isn't it? Do I look like Dumbledore? I knew this fucking thing was too damn flashy!"
Terry pointed a finger, his eyes wide as saucers. "Harry! You're fucking invisible!"
Kevin jumped from his bed and sniffed the air, slowly taking a step, then another, following his nose. He grabbed at the spot Harry stood and his fingers touched the cloak. He pulled it away revealing a surprised and confused Harry who stared stupefied at his now visible hands.
"I was invisible!" exclaimed Harry. "What the bloody hell?"
Kevin wonderingly stared at the cloth gathered in his hand. "This is an invisibility cloak."
Harry stared at the fabric in awe. "Well fuck me."
Terry jumped up from Harry's bed and joined them in examining the cloak. "These are really rare," he said amazed. He looked at Harry and shook his head. "And you just had this in your trunk since last Christmas?"
"Yeah," replied Harry sheepishly.
Terry grinned clapping him on the back. "Good job. Worlds biggest idiot award now goes to Harry Potter-McKnight."
A moment later after Terry was picking himself up from the floor, and Harry smiled at the cloak in his hands. And here he thought his father had the worst taste ever. Now he saw the cloak for what it really was. It was more than a gift. It was a tool. The possible uses for the cloak raced through Harry's mind like strikes of lightning.
Thinking happily to himself, he grinned slyly, 'This will be fun.'
It's been awhile. I never meant to be gone so long. It was hard getting back into this. Going back over the earlier chapters of the Potter series, I cringe at some of the things I wrote. Some things I wish I didn't write, some things I want to add. Maybe one day I will revise the whole thing, but that's not today. I did revise some parts. I cut some lines, cut some scenes, changed scenes, and changed Harry's father's name to Killian. I hope that people still have an interest in this series. I want to say thanks to everybody who reviewed and sent me messages urging me to continue. I appreciated it.