"I don't know, Big D," Harry replied, his eyes still wide with wonder. "It was just there with my other presents. There was only a note." He handed the slip of parchment to Dudley. "It said the cloak belonged to my dad, and that it was being returned to me. It told me to use it well."
The spidery, elegant script was not written by hand; it was the clear mark of a self-writing quill.
"This is amazing," Dudley murmured, his fingertips gliding over the strange, liquid-like fabric of the Invisibility Cloak. He felt its unique texture for a moment before handing it back to Harry. "Later," he said, a glint in his eye, "we can use this to acquire some advanced study materials from the Restricted Section."
His suggestion was, as always, related to their training. The Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library contained books on the Dark Arts, ancient runes, and highly dangerous magic. Dudley had long wanted to study them thoroughly, but borrowing from that section required a professor's signed permission, and Snape would only approve books related to Potions.
With an Invisibility Cloak, such trivial hurdles would no longer be a problem.
"The Restricted Section?" Hermione, who had been listening intently, pulled a folded piece of parchment from her pocket and handed it to Harry. "While you're there," she said with a determined look, "could you help me get these as well?"
It was a long, densely packed list of book titles. Clearly, like Dudley, she had been eyeing the library's forbidden collection for some time.
"Are we going now?" Harry asked, buzzing with excitement.
"If possible, we move tonight," Dudley confirmed.
"Okay."
After dinner, Harry could barely contain his eagerness. He threw the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders, and his body vanished completely. With Madam Norris now firmly on their side, getting caught by Filch while wandering the castle at night was no longer a concern.
"Wicked," Ron breathed, his eyes wide. He'd heard stories about Invisibility Cloaks, but to see one in person was something else entirely. Their price was astronomical.
"How does it feel, Harry?" Hermione asked, already taking notes in a small book. "Can you see the path ahead clearly?"
"It's smoother than silk and feels like nothing at all," Harry's disembodied voice replied. "And yes, I can see perfectly."
"It masks your scent," Dudley added, his analysis sharp and precise. "It also dampens the sound of your footsteps, your breathing, and even your heartbeat to a certain extent. But you still need to be careful. I can sense your presence within five meters of me."
Ron's jaw dropped. If it were him, Harry could be standing right in front of him, and he wouldn't have the faintest clue.
A short while after Harry departed on his mission, an uninvited guest suddenly appeared in the Slytherin common room.
"Where did this big red chicken come from?" Ron yelped, pointing at a magnificent, fiery bird that had just landed on the mantelpiece. The bird let out an indignant squawk, then swooped down and began pecking at him, chasing him around the room.
"Big D, help me!" Ron cried, dodging the bird's sharp beak.
"Is that... a phoenix?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide with awe. She had only ever seen them in illustrations. Phoenixes were exceptionally rare magical creatures, highly intelligent and possessing extraordinary powers, including the ability to be reborn from their own ashes. Their tears had powerful healing properties and were a priceless ingredient in the most advanced potions.
Though the Ministry classified them as XXXX-class creatures—one level below a dragon—it was only because they were notoriously difficult to tame, not because they were aggressive. Unless, of course, you called one a chicken.
"Fawkes, that's enough," Dudley said calmly. "Stop bullying Ron." He reached into the enchanted pouch Hermione had made for him and pulled out a special blend of poultry feed for magical creatures. "Here, have some of this."
Fawkes chirped happily, abandoning his pursuit of Ron to land on the table and enjoy the treat.
"His name is Fawkes," Dudley explained to Hermione. "He belongs to Professor Dumbledore." At the word "belongs," Fawkes let out another protesting cry.
Phoenix tears were a top-tier potion ingredient, a commodity beyond price. Of course Dudley was tempted. He had been trying to build a good relationship with the bird for weeks. At first, Fawkes had been aloof, ignoring him completely. That all changed the day Dudley perfected his special feed. Now, the phoenix came to visit him every night as he trained, more punctual than an alarm clock.
"It's not time for our usual meeting," Dudley said, looking at the bird. "You're not just here to play, are you? Did Professor Dumbledore send you?"
Fawkes, having finished his meal, chirped in affirmation and gestured with his head for Dudley to follow.
"I'll be right back," Dudley told Hermione, then followed the phoenix out of the common room.
Dumbledore wasn't in his office. Fawkes led Dudley to an old, disused classroom on the fourth floor. After receiving a few more treats, the phoenix flapped its wings and departed happily. 'Enjoy the snacks now,' Dudley thought dryly. 'I'll be collecting payment in tears later.' He had been eyeing Fawkes's valuable tears for a long time.
Pushing open the heavy oak door, he found Dumbledore standing before a magnificent mirror in the center of the room. It was an ornate, floor-to-ceiling mirror with a golden frame, supported by two large, clawed feet. An inscription was carved into the arch at the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
"Professor, you sent for me?" Dudley asked, walking over. Dumbledore remained fixated on the mirror. Dudley glanced at his own reflection and saw nothing out of the ordinary.
"Sit," Dumbledore said, finally stirring from his contemplation. With a wave of his hand, two stools appeared from thin air. Dudley sat down without hesitation.
"Dudley," the Headmaster began, "you mentioned wanting to form a Disciplinary Committee. After careful consideration, I have concluded that such a group is indeed necessary."
Dudley's expression remained impassive. He had expected Dumbledore to deliberate until his second or third year. This was surprisingly decisive.
"However," Dumbledore continued, "there are two conditions."
"First, as the committee is a new venture, I cannot grant it too much power until its value is proven. Its jurisdiction will be limited to the first-year students."
"So, the first-years will be a test group?" Dudley asked, his voice neutral. Jurisdiction over first-years alone was largely meaningless. It would make them little more than glorified prefects for the younger students.
"A test group," Dumbledore confirmed, nodding. "A very accurate term." His expression grew serious. "Second, you must pass a test of my own design to prove you are capable of managing such an organization."
"Professor Dumbledore, please wait a moment," Dudley interrupted calmly. He met the Headmaster's gaze, his own eyes unreadable. "I think you've misunderstood something."
"I merely offered a small suggestion based on my personal observations and thoughts."
"That does not mean I am the one who wishes to do it."
[Chapter Complete]
***
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