As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. Whenever he was walking the hallways of the castle alone, Harry would cast Comfort Runes in unsuspecting locations, so that after a couple of weeks the dungeons were no longer freezing and most of the previously drafty parts of the castle were now tolerable. Harry estimated that the Runes should last about five years before needing to be renewed. No explanation was put forth from the staff about why they had allowed discomfort to reign supreme during the winter months for so many years, but Harry did not particularly care, as long as his efforts provided relief for the Hogwarts residents now.
A benefit of Autumn, however, was that Quidditch had begun, with the buzz about the beloved sport growing in intensity leading up to the first match of the season—Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Even Hermione, who had just learned that Quidditch even existed only a few months ago and showed no signs of being a sports fan, was getting into the excitement, reciting helpful tidbits to Harry that she had learned from Quidditch Through the Ages at least twice a day, even after Harry had politely informed her that he had already memorized the book. He found it nice to have a friend so invested in his success. As things stood now, Gryffindor was in the lead with House points, but needed to be careful with how many points they allowed Slytherin to score, in order for them to maintain their advantage.
Oliver Wood's plan was to keep Harry's flying abilities a secret heading into the game, and Harry had to keep reminding himself to respect his captain's wishes, stopping himself from joining in any pick-up games that the students sometimes threw together. Once opening weekend was over, however, Harry was not going to let anything stop him from jumping into the casual games. He decided he would simply always refuse to play Seeker in order to keep other teams from learning anything useful about his strategies for official games.
The morning of the first match dawned bright and cold, and the atmosphere of the Great Hall that morning during breakfast was energetic. News that Harry was playing Seeker had inevitably leaked by now, so that throughout the meal students kept coming by to wish him luck, with an occasional Slytherin fan attempting to instead make him nervous, which had no effect on Harry, who was excitedly eating a large breakfast in order to keep his energy up for the match.
"Good luck up there, Potter," Draco Malfoy said, stopping to address him across the Gryffindor table. "If you end up falling off your broom like the whole castle keeps saying you're bound to do, try to land on your head so you forget about last Friday's Potions class." With only a hint of a smirk, Malfoy walked away at that, confusing the older members of the Quidditch team, who were eating together, but making the first years smile.
"Draco accidentally boiled a frog alive in class last Friday," Harry explained to his teammates. "It was rather disturbing… and I kind of do actually hope I fall and hit my head if it means I can forget witnessing it."
"NO YOU DON'T!" roared Wood, leading to a chattering of stunned laughter from everyone at the table.
By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had various sets of binoculars or Omnioculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes. Harry bade goodbye to his friends and headed to the Gryffindor locker room. The team had practiced and scrimmaged ad nauseum, and yet there was still an energy in the air as if they had never played before in their lives.
Wood cleared his throat for silence.
"Okay, team. This is it. The big one," Wood said dramatically.
"The one we've all been waiting for," said George.
"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Harry. "We were on the team last year."
"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."
"Damn right you know it!" Harry said earnestly. "I'd like to see those twats score a single goal against you, Oliver!"
The rest of the team erupted in cheers and laughter at Harry's incredulous display of confidence. Even Wood cracked a smile.
"Give 'em hell!" their captain roared, and with a solemn understanding, the entire team charged onto the field to thunderous cheers.
Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.
"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. It managed to boost his already simmering confidence.
"Mount your brooms, please."
The teams mounted their Nimbus Two Thousands, and Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.
The fourteen players shot high, high, into the air, Madam Hooch scrambling to find a refereeing vantage point as the faster brooms out-sped her own. The Quaffle had already been grabbed by Angelina Johnson, with Gryffindor Lee Jordan commentating over magical amplification throughout the stadium, reporting the relevant movements of the team.
Harry circled the pitch. He had lost track of the Snitch almost the moment it had left its enclosure, which he knew was the point of the thing, but was annoyed by nonetheless. As he flew above the rest of the players, he had to keep reminding himself to focus on any hint of the tiny golden Snitch, ignoring the other action on the pitch, difficult as it may be, which was surprisingly quite a bit. Harry had never experienced any vision related to Quidditch, which he had initially felt was a positive thing, as Quidditch was incredibly fun for him and so could remain as a distracting pastime against the other concerns in his life. However, it also meant that—with hundreds of onlookers watching—he was sailing in uncharted waters.
It was as Harry dodged a Bludger sent by a Beater from the Slytherin team and which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, Harry thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He had never felt anything like this while riding a broom. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off, which Harry knew should not be possible for a Nimbus 2000.
Tightening his grip on the handle of his broom, Harry reached out with his magic… There. Someone was attempting to place a jinx upon his broom. Harry reversed the magic and blocked the jinx, while at the same time pushing outward along the ribbon of magic which had attempted to assert itself inside Harry's broom. It did not take him long to uncover its source—Quirrell.
Working to turn his focus back to his search for the Snitch, Harry could not help but to reflect on this move from Quirrell. It was oddly desperate, attempting to essentially murder Harry in front of hundreds of people. Perhaps this was some sort of retaliation for Quirrell's failed attempt at getting to the Stone on Halloween? Did that mean that Quirrell and Voldemort were aware that it was Harry who had intervened, or was Voldemort just angry about it and wanted to kill Harry to cheer himself up? Harry actually smiled at that thought, which he then realized was ridiculous while at the same time recognizing that his musings were distracting him from the game.
"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the — wait a moment — was that the Snitch?"
A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.
Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch — all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.
Harry had a better angle than Higgs — he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead — he put on an extra spurt of speed —
WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below — Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, him holding on tightly.
"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.
Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor, and although Angelina Johnson made the shot, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again. Harry flew a complete circuit of the stadium to vent his frustration at having been denied the Snitch, skimming the heads of the spectators, who cheered, laughed, or screamed, depending on their dispositions. As he did so, he could not help but notice all of the different colors of hair, waving banners, faces, and robe embellishments, and it got him thinking. Against such a busy backdrop, the Snitch was difficult to see from high in the air. Even if it was above the pitch itself, Harry might be at such an angle that the crowd would be in the background.
So, Harry tried something different. When he got above the Gryffindor section of the stands, he hovered just feet above the spot where Ron and Hermione sat with Hagrid.
"All right there, Harry!" Hagrid called out, while others clapped and whooped their support.
Harry did not respond, but braced himself with his hands, and then pulled his legs up until his feet were lined up on his broomstick. He had done this kind of thing many times with the Nimbus 2000 he had at home, but took extra care now considering the differing balance of weight caused by the Quidditch equipment he was wearing.
"Slytherin in possession — Flint with the Quaffle — passes Spinnet — passes Bell — Potter seems to be… Yes, he's standing on his broom?" Lee announced throughout the stadium. "Oliver Wood does like to offer surprises in his gameplay strategies, and this is certainly one of them!"
Harry filtered out Lee's continued commentary and the responses it was getting from the crowd, rising his broom a bit as he stood atop it by angling the front upwards, and moving forward once again. When he was high enough above the crowd, he bent down and grabbed the broomstick with both hands, then rotated his body sideways, hooking his feet onto the broom at the last second. He now hung from his Nimbus 2000 like a sloth.
He was aware of a reaction from the crowd at this, but continued to ignore it, now flying down to the pitch so that his hanging back was only inches from the grass. Pulling himself up with his arms so that his face was right next to the broomstick, he began flying at speed across and around the pitch, scanning the air for any sign of the snitch, alternating his position every now and then to get a clear view with only the blue sky as a backdrop.
"What the hell are you…" Oliver Wood's voice rose and fell like a cruising police siren as Harry sped past him, continuing to look for the Snitch while avoiding the occasional Bludger sent his way. After only a couple of minutes, Harry saw it, hovering in a corner over the Hufflepuff section of the stands, which would normally have provided the Snitch with excellent camouflage.
Aware that Higgs would likely be watching him, Harry forced himself to not give any sign of having seen it, just continuing his route around the pitch. When he got below the area in which the Snitch was, he kicked one leg hard against the grass under him, spinning his body back around atop his broom, and rocketed towards it.
As expected, the Snitch sensed his pursuit and shot off. Harry maintained eye contact with it, focusing his senses on the tiny golden ball. Even so, he was also aware that by now, Higgs had seen his pursuit and was angling towards the Snitch as well, while Lee shouted excited commentary about this new development. Just as Harry thought Higgs could potentially reach the Snitch before him, it changed directions abruptly just over the middle of the pitch, diving down at a steep angle. This coincided with a rush of activity from the Chasers at the center line, who seemed to be having quite the battle over the Quaffle, Bludgers being whacked about furiously.
Harry and Terence Higgs both dove after the descending Snitch, having to deal with a web of obstacles coming from all directions. In his peripheral vision, Harry thought he saw Higgs collide with one of his own teammates, and smiled. It was then that Harry's broom was hit hard by a Bludger from below, smacking into Harry's left hand where it gripped the broomstick, and flipping Harry backwards. If it had not been for the Ritual of the Rising Phoenix, the bones in Harry's fingers would surely have snapped. As it was, the force of the Bludger combined with his accelerating descent was enough to dislodge Harry from his broom entirely.
Thinking quickly as he fell, Harry spun his body around so that he was facing the ground, finding the Snitch and using whatever and whoever flew past him to push his way off of to try to get to it. At one point Fred Weasley clearly tried to catch Harry, who only used Fred's outstretched arm to help swing himself to just the position in which he needed to be as the Snitch took a left turn. Hurtling through the air, Harry grabbed the Snitch with both hands, wanting to take no chances, then grasped it firmly in his left hand as he shot out his right arm to grab Angelina around the waist as she flew towards the Slytherin goals, the Quaffle under one arm. She grunted, then worked to right them both on the broom after the force of the impact.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" she screamed at him.
Harry reached his left hand in front of her, showing her that he had caught the Snitch.
"Winning," he yelled over the crowd and the wind.
Madam Hooch, having apparently seen this as well, blew her whistle and called an end to the match. Harry put his hand into the air now, showing the crowd why. They cheered or groaned predictably.
"Yes!" Angelina said, taking her hand off of the broom for a moment to pump her fist. She then slowed and began curving back, just in front of Flint. She tossed him the Quaffle, underhand, which he fumbled. It fell a few feet before being pulled back into its box by Madam Hooch.
Just before Angelina landed, to celebrate, Harry gripped the broom tightly with his right hand, and pulled his body up into a one-handed handstand, bending his elbow and pushing his way off, somersaulting in the air before landing in a half-kneeling position, the fist with the Snitch punching into the ground. As he brought his head up, his face alight with victory, he saw the rest of the team rushing towards him, while fans continued to clap and cheer, or rush the pitch to join in the celebration.
The Gryffindor team slammed into Harry, their calls and cheers assaulting him as much as their arms.
"That was— that was— that was—!" Wood kept repeating, seeming to be unable to find the correct adjective for what he had just witnessed.
"That was really fun!" Harry yelled.
Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The one time Harry had seen this in action, he had needed to excuse himself to deal with the maniacal laughter it caused, knowing that Fred and George were pelting Voldemort in the face without realizing it.
On more than one occasion, Harry had overheard older students remarking about how much warmer the dungeons were than during previous winters, which Harry knew was due to his Runes. He wondered if anyone would ever be curious enough to investigate and find them. For the most part, he hoped they did, so that future generations would know to do the same thing.
While Harry had already been rather famous before he even came to Hogwarts, he was downright popular now after his sensational capture of the Snitch during the Quidditch match. While the opposite sentiment was true from most Slytherins, Draco Malfoy had maintained the rather playful banter the two of them had established with one another, which Harry appreciated.
Deciding to do it simply to upset the balance of the status quo, during the last Potions class of the term Harry walked into the class and sat next to Draco rather than any of his usual partners.
"I'm sick of the staff pitting us against each other," Harry said by way of explanation when Draco had looked at him quizzically after Harry had sat down. "They only do it as a way to keep us eager to earn House points with good behavior. It's kind of insulting."
Draco did not respond, either by words or expression, but even without utilizing his Occlumency skills, Harry could see him giving the concept some thought. When Professor Snape walked in and saw the two of them sitting together, he stopped and stared at the phenomenon.
"Haven't even begun, and yet I see we are mixing things up already," he quipped. After making brief eye contact with Harry, he said no more about it, and began the lesson.
Later in class, while Harry was measuring out powdered spine of lion-fish, he brought up with Draco something that was another reason he had sat next to him.
"So, I'm going to host a few kids at my home on New Year's Day. I have some hills that are great for sledding, or skiing… maybe play some Quidditch on my pitch, just for fun. I'll send you an official invitation, if you might be interested."
Draco did not reply immediately, stirring the cauldron between them.
"Your home?" he finally said, no hint of animosity present.
Harry shrugged. "Yeah. I didn't know I even had one until a couple of years ago, but my family—my real family—has a manor. It's… erm… Unplottable, but my house elves can bring in whoever I instruct them to, so if you wanted…"
Draco reversed the direction he was stirring their cauldron, as the instructions said to do, quiet for a while. "Yeah. All right, you can send the invitation but I can't guarantee I'll be able to come," he eventually said.
Harry was glad for that much. Last week, he had heard Fred, George, and Ron talking about having to stay at Hogwarts during the break while their parents and sister travelled to Romania to visit their brother Charlie. They had not seemed too keen on the idea, so Harry had invited them to spend the break with him, knowing that he had plenty of guest suites standing vacant and two house elves who would be over the moon at having guests to tend to during the break. The Weasleys had accepted, which had inspired Harry to coordinate a New Year's gathering, with several of his friends already having accepted the invitation.
"I would need signed permission from their parents, Mr. Potter."
With a hopeful smile, Ron handed Professor McGonagall the letter he and the twins had already received from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, giving their consent for their three sons to go home with Harry over the break.
After Transfiguration today, Ron and Harry had stayed behind, Harry wanting to see if it was possible for the four of them to travel back to Potter Manor by way of Zeely and Toory, rather than having to sit on the Hogwarts Express for hours, only to have the house elves transport them from London anyway.
With a mildly annoyed but resigned face, Professor McGonagall looked the letter over, then sighed. "Very well. You and Misters Weasley may travel directly from Hogwarts. I wish your house elves the very best of luck over the holiday," she added. Harry and Ron both grinned widely.
"Thanks Professor!" Harry nearly shouted, and he and Ron scrambled from the classroom before she could change her mind.
"With all the animals you've said you have there, do you think it'll be safe for Scabbers?" Ron asked as they made their way to lunch.
Harry frowned involuntarily. He did not particularly like Scabbers, though he could not pin down any reason for the feeling. He was a perfectly agreeable rat, even if he was rather lazy and useless.
"No, it's fine. You can set him up in your room and just let him roam about in there. We'll make it so he can't get out," Harry said, trying to ignore his feelings.
"Brilliant. Thanks!"
The morning that the Hogwarts Express was set to take students to King's Cross, Harry and the Weasleys rushed to pack their things just like everyone else, gathering their trunks and bags and saying goodbye to friends who were staying at Hogwarts for the break. They boarded one of the little stagecoaches lined up outside the front doors, squeezing Lee Jordan in with the twins, with Hermione between Harry and Ron, who had needed to hold Hermione's trunk vertically in front of him to make the arrangement work.
"Ron, I can manage that," Hermione suggested.
"No, it's fine. You might be twice as smart as I am, but I'm twice as strong," Ron replied with a grin.
"One of those is woefully underestimated," George quipped.
"And one of them is woefully overestimated," Fred said.
Harry smiled, very glad that the Weasleys were coming to the manor with him, looking forward to having others around to enjoy what it had to offer.
"You were right, by the way," Hermione said as they travelled over the path to Hogsmeade, the excited voices of students in the other carriages underlying the cold winter air. "My parents wanted to know what adults would be supervising."
Harry nodded. When he had concocted the idea of having his friends over, it had taken him longer than he now deemed reasonable to consider how their parents would feel about their children travelling to an unplottable location, unable to verify their well-being and with no adult witches or wizards with whom to communicate about matters. So, in the invitations Harry had sent to each of their houses, he had made it clear that parents and guardians were welcome to accompany their children. As predicted, Toory and Zeely were beside themselves over the prospect that so many people would be attending a gathering at the manor, having not been able to coordinate something on this scale in many, many years.
"Are they coming, then?" Harry asked hopefully.
Hermione nodded. "Yes! I think it might be the highlight of their lives!" She laughed. "They got to see Diagon Alley for a bit, but they're over the moon to meet some of my friends and spend some time in a wizarding household."
Harry smiled. "Oh! That reminds me—you can all do magic at my house. The ministry can't detect underage magic there."
Fred, George, and Lee all exchanged looks with each other. "Brilliant!" they exclaimed together, and the others laughed.
When they arrived at Hogsmeade Station, they bade farewell to Hermione and Lee, and Harry and the Weasleys moved to a quiet location.
"All right, everyone ready?" Harry asked. The three brothers nodded. "Toory and Zeely!" Harry called.
With a crack, the two house elves appeared in front of him, almost immediately rushing forward to envelope Harry in a hug. Zeely looked up at him.
"Master is not eating enough!" she cried, wiggling her fingers around his midriff.
"Zeely, I try. But the cooking at Hogwarts just isn't as good as yours!" Harry said, knowing she would appreciate it.
"Zeely and Toory will take care of that, Master Harry," she said, releasing him.
From the cage in Harry's hand, Hedwig gave a hoot of greeting, and the elves gave her some attention before finally seeming to notice the others.
"These are your Wheezes, Master Harry?" Toory asked, looking at Ron, Fred, and George.
"The Weasleys, yeah," Harry said, going on to introduce everyone.
Toory did a couple of laps around the red-headed brothers, sizing them up and occasionally poking their legs and buttocks. "Very well. Zeely can take Master Harry and the tall one, and Toory will take the similar-looking and more difficult ones" he said matter-of-factly. Harry and the others shared amused expressions.
"Yeah, that's… that's fine," Harry agreed.
"Hold my hand, now, and try not to wiggle," Toory said, holding his tiny arms out to Fred and George who, for the first time Harry had ever seen, looked a little uncertain.
Harry nodded reassuringly at them and moved with Ron so they could both take Zeely's hands. With a nod at each other, Toory and Zeely initiated their magic, the six of them disappearing with a loud crack.
They appeared in the only area of the manor accessible from outside its boundaries—the same wooded path on which Harry had found himself two years ago after first putting on the Lord Ring. He could have used it again today to get to the manor, but it would not have worked for anyone else.
"Yeah, I thought you probably lived in a tree," Fred said, nodding and turning to survey the area. "I'm guessing that one," he went on, pointing.
"That is a nice tree, but no. It's this way," Harry said. "We'll walk," he added to Toory and Zeely, anticipating their likely question, as they could have easily Apparated them to the manor now that they were on the grounds. "But you two can take everyone's luggage in, if you don't mind."
"Of course, Master Harry," they chorused, snatching all of their bags and trunks and cracking away.
"They're not going to… erm… look in them, are they?" George asked with a hint of concern.
"No," Harry said with a laugh. "C'mon." Before he led the way down the path, though, he unfastened Hedwig's cage and she fluttered out at once, landing upon his offered arm. "You want to fly the rest of the way?" he asked, already knowing the answer. She trilled a happy hoot and took off at once, flying a few feet forward before circling back to appreciatively tap Harry's head gently with her talons, then flying away again.
Thanks to the thick trees, only a hint of snow had reached ground level so that it was not a difficult walk. As they move forward, Harry gave the Weasleys some general information about the manor, including a few of the protections on it. Of course, he shared no details, and in some cases told them nothing at all, particularly with what they were about to see as they turned the final corner on the path. He had debated as to whether he should warn them about the dragons, or not, and hoped it had not been a mistake to spring it on them unprepared.
"But up here, it's just a nice clearing before we get to the maze," he explained casually.
"A maze? Wicked!" Ron said, walking next to Harry, with Fred and George behind them.
As they turned the corner, Harry rotated and walked backwards the last few paces, wanting to see their reactions. They did not disappoint. Ron froze in place, his eyes looking like they might pop out of his face, while the twins each reached out to grab the lapel of the other, scrambling back as Harry once had, missing the path entrance and slamming into the hedge.
Harry theatrically slapped his forehead. "Did I forget to mention my dragons?" he said facetiously, unable to hide a smile. He spun around then, giving in to the pull of excitement he could feel from Sarah and Penny—the two rather plain names the mother and daughter had eventually chosen, Harry having suggested much more dragon-sounding monikers, all of which were turned down. Now, Harry ran at them, their tails thrashing madly.
Knowing exactly what Sarah would do when he did it, Harry leapt into the air, not holding back his strength, and propelling himself several feet up in a great arc. Sarah swept her wings out and met him smoothly, bowing her head so that he landed gracefully upon her neck as she set back down. As he hugged her and scratched between two plates of armor, Penny moved forward and rested her head atop her mother's neck, demanding equal attention.
"Look at you!" Harry said gleefully. "I've only been gone a few months and look how much you've grown!" He patted Penny's head with vigor. "I missed the both of you so much!" He stayed there for a few moments longer before swinging off of Sarah's neck and standing in front of the dragons, the Weasleys still rooted to the spot behind him.
"These are my friends, and my guests," Harry told the dragons, gesturing to the boys and using a much more serious tone than before. "Please treat them as such."
Sarah and Penny both looked to the Weasleys for a moment, then back to Harry, and he could feel their understanding. "Also, erm… be careful with them," he added in a low voice. "They're a lot more fragile than I am. Just… regular wizards."
It took some coaxing, but eventually, Ron, Fred, and George approached the dragons and eventually came to enjoy interacting with them. By the time Sarah and Penny were flying them all over the maze to the manor, Fred and George were downright enthusiastic about them, both of them having to be pulled away by Harry and Ron so they could enter the manor.
"Criminy," Ron exclaimed once he was able to get a good look at Harry's home. "It's a bloody mansion!"
Harry could have tried to downplay the manor's exuberance, but knew it would be transparently insincere, deciding instead to just be honest.
"It's batshit crazy. I spent most of my life thinking my parents were layabouts who died in a car crash, only to find out that this," he waved at it all, "was what they were really about. Kind of insane."
Harry led them inside, where they were met again by Toory and Zeely, who took their cloaks and pulled off their boots without asking, fitting all four of them with very comfortable slippers, something Harry was used to by now and had missed, but that the Weasley brothers initially found a bit alarming.
"I hope they won't do that with our underwear," Harry heard George say to Fred in an undertone.
"Mmmm, they actually might," Harry warned, giving Ron a wink when he turned back around. "All right, let's take the tour, part one," he said, and they moved on through the manor, Harry tempering himself with how much history he shared at first as they strolled from room to room, knowing that it would take hours to explain everything. He managed to get as far as showing them to their quarters before Zeely and Toory accosted them all, practically demanding that they have lunch. Harry insisted that they do so in the kitchen and that Toory and Zeely join them, as usual.
They ate, Harry attempting to make his guest more comfortable by regaling them with the most interesting tales of his first two years in the manor when he had been getting used to everything. By the end of the meal, he felt as though there was less awe from them, which had definitely been the goal, wanting them to feel more comfortable.
"Will Master show his Wheezes the place he nearly died falling on his head, naked as the day he was born?" Toory asked absently as he tended to the sink, leading to a round of delighted laughter from the Weasleys.
Harry smiled glumly. "I had been planning to skip that part of the tour."
In the days leading up to Christmas, Harry felt that his guests had settled in nicely, getting used to the manor. He had eventually introduced them to the many magical creatures on the grounds; given them a full, although abbreviated, tour of the manor; spent countless hours with them on the Quidditch pitch playing a variety of game variations; invented the indoor, rather terrifying game of "Hide and Stun;" been fawned over by Toory and Zeely to the point where Ron had sincerely started to become concerned about his waistband getting tighter (something Harry suspected might have been the work of a shrinking charm from Fred or George); and otherwise just enjoyed the features of the manor, Harry and Ron occasionally opting to camp-in somewhere rather than stay isolated in each of their quarters every night.
Over the past two years, Harry and the elves had created a baseline for Christmas decorations, which they had all agreed this year would be installed by the elves before Harry returned for break, with the three of them adding the rest of the embellishments together. Harry had been looking forward to it, forcing himself to get the two hours of sleep before jumping out of bed to meet the merrily-awaiting Toory and Zeely. The three of them put up the decorations the elves had saved for now, some of which were purely cosmetic and depended on what kind of look Harry was interested in this year (which turned out to be more festive than usual this year, having friends with him), and other items which were family heirlooms that Harry enjoyed sharing in the placement of, always forcing himself to leave these particular treasures stored away for most of the year so he could rediscover them every Christmas.
Geographically, Potter Manor was not too far from Hogwarts, so that they both had similar weather, which on Christmas morning was as idyllic as Harry could have hoped for, with a steady, slow dropping of large snowflakes against an already-blanketed landscape. Just before sunrise, after the elves had assured him that all packages were accounted for and ready to be placed under the tree, he had put a few he had not told Toory and Zeely about under it himself, then gone back to bed. Harry liked to wake up on Christmas morning, and was looking forward to it more this year than ever.
"Happy Christmas," Harry said later, as Ron walked into the living room, looking strikingly like he belonged in the manor, in his slippers and the velvety-blue robe Harry had provided him. Fred and George came down shortly after that, Fred in a deep purple robe and George in emerald green, both of which went very nicely with their hair. A small table had been set up with coffee and pastries, which all the boys had to try to convince Toory and Zeely they could manage without being waited-upon, which warmed Harry's heart, knowing that many in the wizarding community would consider it their right to be served by house-elves. The Weasleys had quickly fallen into the same habits Harry had in accepting their service graciously, knowing the elves thrived on doing as much, without ever taking advantage of it.
Before long, they abandoned any pretense and set to opening presents, which were from a variety of sources. From Hagrid, Harry had received a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it — it sounded a bit like an owl. He thought about the presents he had gotten Hagrid, hoping he would enjoy them. From the Dursleys, Harry had received a small wooden box. Opening it, he saw a note from Aunt Petunia explaining that the box contained recipes handed down from her side of the family, which she had duplicated for him. Harry had needed to busy himself flipping through the cards in order to deal with the emotions he felt from this, knowing his mother had once helped her own parents make some of these. He had so many ties to his father here, with only ancient ones to his mother's ancestry. It was a very thoughtful gift, inspiring Harry to try a little harder to stay in touch with the Dursleys from now on.
"I think I know who that one's from," said Ron, turning a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My mum. She was asking what size you wear and — yep," he said as Harry unwrapped it. "She's made you a Weasley sweater."
They had all, in fact, received sweaters from Mrs. Weasley, the brothers seeming to reluctantly appreciate them, while Harry very much enjoyed having yet another present someone had handmade for him, the sentiment warming his heart. He hoped Mrs. Weasley liked his present to her—an all-home wireless and record-playing system that she could control from any part of the house and grounds at what he had learned the family called The Burrow. He had included a rather large gift certificate to Concordia and Plunkett Music Shop in Diagon Alley. Ron had told him about her love for music, so it seemed a good choice. It was something like a Muggle jukebox, but of course greatly enhanced and able to play music anywhere she liked at home.
After having heard about Mr. Weasley's hobbies from the boys, Harry had gotten him a ham radio kit, complete with a remote power source that would last him for decades. Ron, Fred, and George had all agreed that their father would be over the moon about it, and likely drive everyone crazy with tales of the Muggles he had befriended over the airwaves.
In the course of his research into magical families, Harry had read a lot about Ron's bloodline, even before meeting him. He knew that Mrs. Weasley had lost her last two remaining brothers in the war. During the past few months, Harry had worked to set up a reparations fund related to the war against Voldemort, skirting around Ministry bureaucracy and doing the research himself to determine who the recipients should be. Coordinating with Beatrice, they had eventually decided to keep Harry's name out of it all, simply to avoid the charlatans and entitled individuals who might try to regale him with tales of how they deserved a chunk of gold as well. Harry had full confidence that he had been thorough, and that his generosity would arrive to all who deserved it, and to none who did not. So it was that Mrs. Weasley would also be receiving notification of a deposit of ten million Galleons into the Weasley's account at Gringotts, five million each in memory of her brothers, Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Similar notice would be sent to dozens of individuals and families across Europe this morning, honoring the sacrifices made, and Harry felt helping to tip the balance towards equality in the magical community.
"That's really nice of her," said Harry, holding up the sweater, which had a large "H" embroidered into the chest. There was also some homemade fudge, which he immediately took a nibble of, finding it very tasty.
His next present also contained candy — a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione. His gift to her had been the most complicated he had sent to anyone, and would likely frustrate her, at first. The library at Potter manor had a magical indexing system which had been cultivated and improved over the course of its centuries of existence. When he had first gotten to Hogwarts, he had been shocked to learn that in order to find any given topic, students had to resort to flipping through each page of each book. There were some elements of the magical world that lagged behind modern Muggle achievements which Harry could understand, or at least tolerate, but he found this one to be downright negligent, especially in a school setting. His gift to Hermione was a detailed set of instructions for how to create and search an index of any library, which required a complicated series of spells. Being at home right now, she would not even be able to try out any of the spells yet, but Harry had promised to show her his library on New Year's Day, and work with her at Hogwarts as soon as they got back to implement the system there.
The boys opened the rest of their presents. Harry knew that the millions he had anonymously given the Weasleys would inevitably lead to the them being able to get pretty much any material item they fancied going forward, but he wanted to openly give them something they would like, from him. At first considering making it a group present, Harry had decided to purchase three separate Wireless Walls, which he had again coordinated through Beatrice to have commissioned and adopted throughout the Quidditch league. A simple-looking metal cube, the device would project a 3D display of any Quidditch match being broadcast over the usual audio-only Wireless system the magical community used. Harry had been working on this ever since the first time he had gone in person to a Quidditch match, finding it reprehensible that this was the only way to actually watch a match when Muggles had been broadcasting television signals for years. The patent on the invention was still tied up in the predictable red tape of the Ministry, but Harry had several prototype models that all worked perfectly, which he was happy to give away. Ron, Fred, and George were so shocked and appreciative at the existence of such a thing that he decided to wait to tell them that it also contained recordings of the last 200 years' worth of Quidditch World Cup matches.
To everyone's delight, Toory and Zeely had also received tiny Weasley sweaters, the house elves having met Mrs. Weasley previously, Harry wanting a more personal approach to inviting her sons to the manor. Harry himself was not able to offer his own house elves any clothing, as this would break their magical bond with him (and their hearts), but they could be given clothing by anyone else, which they both giggled somewhat guiltily about as they opened the sweaters this morning, being so used to clothes being taboo.
Eventually, there was only one parcel remaining under the tree. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped it. Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.
"I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. "If that's what I think it is — they're really rare."
"What is it?" Harry asked, but he was pretty sure he already knew. He picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.
"It's an Invisibility Cloak," said Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm sure it is — try it on."
Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and the three brothers gave a yell.
"It is! Look down!" Ron said, pointing.
Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone. He picked his wand up from the sofa and conjured a mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.
"There's a note!" said Ron suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"
"Nice mirror, by the way," George commented at Harry's magic.
Harry ignored that, pulling off the cloak and seizing the letter at his feet. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:
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.
There was no signature. Harry shook his bodiless head. "Just when I think there are no more surprises."
"Who's it from?" Fred and George asked simultaneously.
"It didn't say," Harry told them, taking off the cloak and passing it to Ron. "Just that it belonged to my father. I wonder if he had when he was at Hogwarts. He never mentioned it in The Marauder's Guide to Mischief."
Harry started to tidy up some of the paper wrappings, bending down and picking them up rather than vanishing them, using the time to envision his father sneaking around Hogwarts at Harry's age.
"It would explain—" he stood back up to find Fred and George staring at him, mouths agape, while Ron played around with the cloak, oblivious to their reaction.
"What did you just say?" George asked, dumbfounded, Fred mutely nodding his agreement at the question.
"Erm… which part?" Harry asked, perplexed.
"The Marauder's Guide to Mischief," Fred clarified quickly. "Why did you say that?"
"Oh," Harry said. "Yeah, that's what my father and his friends called themselves at Hogwarts—The Marauders. They seemed put a lot of effort into simultaneously getting up to mischief and trying to find as many secrets as possible about the castle, according to some of the journals I've found."
Fred stepped towards Harry, shaking his head quickly, while George dropped his Weasley sweater and put his hands on his head, his face in shock. Harry had a strong urge to look into their minds to see what this was all about, but controlled himself, assuming they would explain.
"Your father was a Marauder," Fred half-asked, half-stated, holding his hands up in front of him.
"Er… yeah—called himself Prongs. But how do you know about—"
The question was cut off at the gasp from Fred and outright cry of surprise from George.
"Prongs! Your dad was Prongs?" he yelled.
"What're you on about?" Ron asked for the room at large, putting Harry's cloak down.
Fred whipped around to share an identical look of incredulity with George, which quickly morphed into one of sincere amusement, the two of them shaking their heads. George joined his brother in standing in front of Harry, where the twins then dropped to one knee, each of them grasping a hand from Harry.
"We are unworthy!" Fred yelled theatrically.
"We prostrate ourselves before you, my prince!" George added, going so far as to kiss the ring on Harry's hand.
"What the actual fuck?" Ron said, which Harry felt summed up his thoughts nicely.