With a sigh, Harry crumpled up the tag and threw it in the bin, then stuffed the shrunk, wrapped gift into his trunk. He was new to present giving, altogether, and he didn't want to mess things up with Snape. He had never had friends to give gifts to before, either, and he hoped he had done that right, at least. Earlier this evening, he had sent presents out with Hedwig, to take to both Millie and Teddy's houses by morning. He'd also given a gift to Draco Malfoy before he left for the holiday, since the boy was always bragging about how many protections his manor had, and Harry didn't want Hedwig to get caught in any weird anti-Potter owl wards the Malfoys might have put up on Christmas Day. Draco had not opened the gift -- a pair of professional Quidditch racing gloves done in green leather -- but he had thanked Harry in that almost shy way the blond boy had, whenever he expected someone to be taking the piss, but then they paid him a compliment instead. Also, just before she had left for the train home the other day, Harry had given Hermione a present to take with her, since he wasn't sure how her Muggle parents would react to owl post at Christmas, and didn't want them to have kittens on what was supposed to be a festive day. Tomorrow at dinner, he would give Hagrid the drawing he had made of Fang snoozing in front of the hearth, done with pen and ink just like the one he had drawn of the professor. He didn't feel too shy about giving Hagrid a gift; after all, the big man had given Hedwig to him, so he figured he could give a present back without trouble.
Still undecided about his gift for the Potions professor, Harry bunked down for the night. To keep the worst of his nightmares at bay, he ran through one of the simple meditation exercises Snape had taught him over the last couple weeks. He certainly didn't want Snape to have to rouse him from bad dreams on Christmas Eve. He had not dreamed about being attacked by Avery much lately, and he was just as glad to put all of what bastard had done to him out of his mind for good. Instead, however, he kept having dreams of Quirrell -- or was it Voldemort? -- looming over him in what felt like cavernous, dark places, his snake-slit eyes the color of blood. In the darkness, Quirrell-mort hissed threats towards Harry in Parseltongue, the sound making the boy's hair stand on end and his heart clench painfully, while he scrabbled frantically for some way to escape. He didn't have the dreams every night, but often enough.
Tonight, though, was Christmas Eve, and Harry finally fell asleep, looking forward to the next day and the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all for himself. When he woke early in the morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.
He had to rub the sleep out of his eyes twice before he could believe what he was seeing. Presents! For him! He scrambled out from under his quilts and gaped again at the pile before he snatched up one of the packages as if it might disappear if he wasn't fast enough.
The tag read: To Harry, From Your One-time Secret Friend, Hermione
Ha! She'd finally signed her name to something, he thought with a snicker, then ripped off the wrapping as he had seen Dudley do so many times before, on Christmas and birthdays and bunches of other occasions. More chocolate frogs! Harry tore one open and shoved the treat into his mouth before he could stop himself. His first real Christmas present ever! It tasted great. While the chocolate dissolved in his mouth, he took a look at the card and saw the picture of Albus Dumbledore. With a frown, he tossed the card onto his bedside table and reached for another present. He already had plenty of that card.
This package was from Millie. He laughed when he opened the package of new Quidditch gloves, almost the exact same ones as he had gotten for Draco. The next parcel was wrapped in thick brown paper, and scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew into it -- it sounded a bit like an owl. He smiled softly to himself, hoping Hedwig was okay, and reached for the next one, a very small parcel which contained a note: We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.
Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece. "Nice," Harry drawled. Still, it was better than a used tissue or a bent coat hanger. Maybe next summer, he could get a lemonade at the drug store, at his aunt and uncle's expense. The next present was from Teddy, a book on Charms, and then there was another book shaped object, and Harry stared at the card for a long moment before he could put it down. It read: To aid your future studies. Happy Christmas, Harry. From S. S.
It could only be Professor Snape. Severus Snape, as Harry had heard him referred to by the Bloody Baron. The professor had given him a present. He had given Harry a present.
Surely that meant he would accept a present from Harry, too, didn't it? Harry jumped from bed and yanked the wrapped package out of his trunk faster than you could say Jack Frost. He quickly penned a tag to attach to the present, which he'd give the professor just as soon as . . .
He stopped a half moment later, realizing he hadn't even opened the professor's gift! Shaking his head, he sat back on his bed, holding the book-like shape close to his chest -- which was aching strangely, as if the space were hollow -- for another few heartbeats, feeling like something was clogging up his throat. Not like it was choking him, not quite. But almost. Letting out a tense breath, Harry peeled the paper away to find Oscar Keating's The Occluded Mind. A quick look through the table of contents let him know the book was one of a series done by this guy Keating, about such mind magic as Occlumency and Legilimency, the former of which Harry was supposed to start learning soon.
Feeling utterly warmed by this last present, he almost missed the one remaining package, but noticed it just as he was about to get off his bed again. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped the parcel, and something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. A note fluttered down on top of it, and Harry seized the note to read, without touching the material; he wasn't stupid.
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 stared at the note, then back at the shiny material. He knew what Teddy would say, and furthermore, what Snape would say. Thus, he spent the next little while casting various hex and curse detection spells at the thing, and nothing appeared wrong with it. Finally, hesitantly, Harry lifted the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material. As he picked it up, he realized the cloth formed a cloak of sorts, and when he drew the cloak around his shoulders and looked down at his feet, they were gone!
No way!
He jumped off his bed and dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in midair, but his body was completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.
Awesome!
He could not wait to show Professor Snape!