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HRA# Chapter 80: The Invisibility Cloak and Percy’s Death
🕑 Added 2025-03-27 20:11:54 +0000 UTCIt was nearly impossible for a young wizard to encounter any real danger near Hogwarts. The four founders had thought of almost everything, establishing a comprehensive set of protective measures, and generations of headmasters had patched up any remaining gaps.
“Fair point,” Ron said with a shrug. He continued eagerly, “Since that’s the case, once I’ve finished putting it together, we should test it out on the Black Lake. Harry, your Engorgement Charm should be able to make it big enough for us to climb inside—can I be the captain?”
“Up to you,” Harry replied, sitting cross-legged on the carpet beside him. “Then I’ll be the first mate.”
“Heh, that sounds brilliant,” Ron grinned widely. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Harry. Hurry up and open your presents—it’s only once a year! Honestly, you’ve got a ton of them. You’re going to be busy today.”
He wasn’t exaggerating. Next to Ron was a modest pile of packages reaching about knee height, but beside Harry’s bed loomed an actual mountain of gifts. Parcels of all sizes were stacked so high they nearly surpassed the bed’s curtains, forming a jagged peak.
Gifts were great, but there was such a thing as too much—unwrapping all of these would likely take Harry most of the day.
“I need help, Ron,” Harry said seriously.
“Of course, I know you need help,” Ron replied with another shrug. “Why do you think I’m rushing through mine? Oh, look, another sweater. One every year.”
Ron held up a deep maroon sweater.
“Er, it’s one of Mum’s knitted sweaters,” Ron said, his face flushing slightly. “We all get one every year.”
“A touch of motherly love,” Harry commented. “Very warm.”
“To be honest, I’m not a fan of this color,” Ron grumbled as he pulled it on. It fit perfectly, the length just right.
Kids grow fast, but Mrs. Weasley’s sweater didn’t show the slightest sign of being ill-fitting. It was as if she’d measured Ron herself.
Truth be told, Harry suspected Ron secretly liked it despite his complaints.
A sudden tapping on the glass broke the moment. Harry turned to see Jaina clutching a package and perched on the windowsill. The moment he opened the window, she swooped in and began furiously pecking at his hair.
“Sorry, sorry! Happy Christmas to you too, Jaina,” Harry said, half-laughing as he fended off the irate owl. “Here, this is your Christmas present. You’ve been working hard lately… Hmm, maybe this is a good thing? I don’t send letters often, and—look, you’ve put on some weight. Sorry about that. Take your time eating.”
At the mention of her weight, Jaina angrily nipped at Harry’s fingers, so he poured out extra nuts as an apology before returning to the carpet with the gift she’d delivered.
Yes, another present—this time from Hermione. It was a book: Centennial Highlights: How to Foul Discreetly.
Er, a book about Quidditch. The title made Harry’s expression twist slightly. He wasn’t entirely sure what wizards were aiming for with this sport—was it some kind of fancy foul competition? The kind where you win as long as you don’t get caught?
“Ah, she sent me a box of chocolates,” Ron said, glancing over. “She probably thinks you’re aiming for the Club Cup, so she got you that book. I’ve skimmed parts of it before—honestly, it’s full of useful tricks, though they’re pretty tricky to pull off.”
“I reckon I’ll use it,” Harry said, tossing the book onto his bed.
Neville’s gift was also a book—Detailed Duel Spells. According to the note, he’d dug it up from his family’s collection and thought Harry might like it.
After quickly finishing his own gifts, Ron scooted over to help Harry tackle the mountain.
Harry had received far more presents than he’d sent out. As they unwrapped, he and Ron discovered that many came from strangers—people they’d never heard of or met. These were likely sent by readers of the Daily Prophet, moved by sympathy for the boy they believed had been mistreated by his Muggle aunt and uncle, hoping to give him a happy holiday.
Well, Harry appreciated the kindness, but their information was outdated. His relationship with the Dursleys was decent enough these days.
Beyond those gifts from across the wizarding world, the rest came from Hogwarts students—spanning all four houses and seven years. Most were from those who’d attended the first Shaman Priest Club lesson. Even if they hadn’t been chosen in the end, they still cherished the memory and sent Harry something to mark the occasion.
“I thought I’d prepared enough gifts, but it’s still not enough,” Harry sighed. “Do you think it’s too late to send Jaina to Diagon Alley to buy a batch of chocolates and send them out?”
“Er, I reckon the shopkeepers in Diagon Alley celebrate Christmas too,” Ron said, thinking it over. “Maybe you should ask Professor Dumbledore about this? He’s so famous, he must get tons of gifts every year and know how to handle it.”
“Really? Dumbledore did mention once that people send him Howlers,” Harry quipped, making Ron burst out laughing.
“Why would anyone send him a Howler?” Ron guffawed. “He’s Dumbledore! Nah, Harry, I think you’re fine skipping it this year. It’s too late now—it’d be a huge job, and Jaina might peck your fingernails off.”
“Just keep track of who sent what, and next Christmas, include them when you’re preparing gifts—maybe a box of sweets or chocolates.”
“Good idea. That’s the plan, then,” Harry nodded. He reached for another package—small, light, and thin.
The next moment, something silvery-gray spilled from his hands, fluid-like and shimmering. It pooled on the carpet beside his legs, glinting brightly.
Inside the package was a note:
I’m very sorry, Harry. Your father left this with me before he died, and it should rightfully return to you now. Use it as you wish.
Wishing you a heartfelt Merry Christmas,
Albus Dumbledore
“Dumbledore sent you a gift!” Ron exclaimed, reading the note and practically vibrating with envy. “That’s got to be an Invisibility Cloak! Incredibly rare! Try it on, quick!”
As a wizarding-world native, Ron’s instincts were spot-on.
It was indeed an Invisibility Cloak. When Harry draped it over himself, it vanished entirely—no shimmering silver, no gray hue—and so did the parts of his body it covered.
“Aha! I knew it!” Ron said, brimming with excitement. “Let’s sneak around the castle tonight, Harry! With this, Filch won’t catch us!”
Even during the Christmas holidays, Hogwarts enforced a curfew.
As a Weasley, Ron had long dreamed of exploring the castle at night like Fred and George. For a Gryffindor, a Hogwarts life without a night adventure was soulless.
“Sure, anytime you want,” Harry said casually. “I’ll keep it in my bedside cabinet—you know, the one in my trunk. Feel free to grab it if you need it.”
The Invisibility Cloak was valuable, but since it required wearing it and limited movement, Harry found it less convenient than the Disillusionment Charm he was learning—a spell that could achieve the same effect with greater ease.
More than the cloak itself, Harry was curious about why his father’s cloak had been with Dumbledore—and why the apology? It almost felt like the headmaster had sticky fingers during some past adventure.
As Harry and Ron chatted, the dormitory door burst open. For a split second, they thought Hermione had hopped a train back to Hogwarts overnight.
But it was Fred and George, both sporting blue sweaters identical in style to Ron’s—except one had a large yellow “F” on the chest, the other a “G.” Clearly, Mrs. Weasley had put thought into distinguishing her brood.
“Merry Christmas!” the twins chimed in unison.
“We hope you like what we got you—oh, Merlin’s beard,” Fred and George froze, awestruck. “A gift mountain!”
“I’ve dreamed of this more than once as a kid—”
“At least five times.”
“More like a dozen.”
“Point is, we’ve fantasized about endless presents,” Fred said, rubbing his hands together.
“Then what are you waiting for?” Harry nodded toward the pile. “You’re just in time—help me out.”
With two gleeful whoops, Fred and George dove into the fray.
With four sets of hands, the work sped up considerably. Harry figured he might even make it to the Christmas feast at noon instead of spending the whole day buried in wrapping paper.
“Oh! Look, Harry’s got one too!” Fred suddenly held up an item and shouted, “I bet little Ronnikins told Mum!”
“George!” Ron growled, furious. “You promised not to call me that!”
“Sorry, Ron,” Fred shrugged. “But I’m Fred. George is over there.”
“Doesn’t matter which of you it is!” Ron snapped, then turned to Harry, a bit nervous. “Er, I told Mum. She thinks you’ve been looking out for me at school.”
“And after reading those Daily Prophet stories,” George cut in, “you wouldn’t believe it, Harry. She nearly cried—tears in her eyes, saying how pitiful you were. No offense.”
“It’s fine. I like it,” Harry shrugged, pulling on the sweater. “By the way, if there’s one next year, can I request deep blue?”
It was a vivid green sweater, a tad tight. Harry guessed Mrs. Weasley had sized it based on Ron, not accounting for Harry’s daily workouts and occasional magical sparring, which made him taller and sturdier.
No big deal—he tapped it with his wand, and the tight spots loosened, fitting perfectly.
“Ten points to Gryffindor!” Fred squeaked in a mock falsetto. “A flawless Silent Spell, Mr. Potter. I almost thought a professor cast it.”
“Wait, it was a professor,” Fred realized. “Never mind, then.”
He shrugged, set a box beside Harry, and patted the sweater. “I’ll pass your request to Mum—she’ll probably be thrilled. This is a box of her homemade toffees. Hope they’re not too sweet. But, George, I think Mum put more effort into Harry’s.”
“Obviously, she’s extra careful with non-family,” George said breezily. “Enough chatter—let’s finish these gifts and get to the Great Hall. You’re not slacking off, are you?”
“Never.”
Percy poked his head through the door crack. He’d come out to scold Fred and George for their racket, but two against one was no contest. Within moments, they’d wrestled him into a matching Weasley sweater, knocking his glasses askew.
It was like a straitjacket for a madman—Percy’s arms were pinned, leaving him helpless.
“No sitting with the prefects today!” George declared sternly. “Christmas is for family reunions. We’re not home, but we’re all here together!”
“I don’t think he wants the prefects,” Harry said, unwrapping another gift as he watched the scene. “Percy probably wants to dress up sharp, stand out a bit, and maybe—”
“Wuh—NO!! HARRY!!!” Percy’s panicked shout cut him off, loud enough to drown out the rest.
Writhing like a caterpillar, Percy broke free of Fred and George’s grip and lunged at Harry—likely to clamp a hand over his mouth. But in his haste, he couldn’t free his arms.
Like a toppled log, Percy crashed miserably to the floor.
“Hey! Percy! You’ll squash the snacks!” Ron protested.
“Forget the snacks right now!” Percy snapped, exasperated. “You should be more worried about your brother—me!”
“Harry! You can’t—”
“Hmm?” Harry hummed lightly.
Percy’s tone softened instantly, almost comically gentle. “I mean, have you been craving anything lately, Harry?” His voice was warm—too warm—and his face bore a smile so unfamiliar to Ron it was like winter sunshine. “We could chat about it.”
“Blimey, Percy,” Ron gaped, horrified. “You look positively creepy.”
“Shut it!” Percy shot his clueless brother a glare, but when he turned back to Harry, his expression was all softness again.
“I think you’ve misunderstood,” Harry said with a shrug. “I meant you probably wanted to kick off the New Year with a fresh look for the family. No idea why you’re so worked up.”
Percy’s jaw dropped, his face blank as if he’d just seen Professor McGonagall twirling in a floral dress.
“You’re a right sneaky bull, Harry,” he croaked, his voice heavy with resignation.
He could already feel the pressure bearing down from behind—like twin black holes swallowing all hope.
A black tomorrow.
“Ohhh, so our prefect dolled himself up to spend a lovely New Year with us~” Fred crooned in an exaggerated singsong.
“Shut up, George,” Percy muttered, deflated. “Don’t call me ‘prefect’ just for this.”
“I’m George, you dolt,” the real George corrected, picking up the tune. “But Fred, why’d he freak out so much when Harry brought it up?”
“Maybe he’s hiding a secret, dear brother.”
“Goodness—a secret!” George hammed it up. “Here I thought he got all flashy—”
“To charm the bees—”
“—and dazzle the crowds—”
“—like he’s off to meet someone special~” Fred smirked slyly. “Shame on you, George.”
“Terrible shame,” George agreed. Like a pair of grinning villains, the twins loomed over Percy’s sprawled form.
A shiver ran through Ron at that menacing leer.
“Looks like we need to step out for a bit, Harry,” they said.
Fred and George each crouched, grabbed one of Percy’s flailing legs, and dragged him toward the door.
“No—NO!!” Percy’s scene was straight out of a horror flick—ten fingers clawing long furrows in the carpet, his last desperate struggle for survival, his wail of despair. “Save me, Harry!! You evil Minotaur!!!”
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T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks
Comments
joshua rooney
May he rest in peace 🙏 🪦 😌
Vick
Indeed, Percy's (mental) death.
