NOTE: This wormed its way into my head and wouldn't let go until I wrote it. As always, all rights in this work are given to Ms. Rowling and anyone else who owns the copyright to Harry Potter.

Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.

The words were etched into Harry Potter's memory, though he'd only read them once before they settled like lead in his stomach and burned like fire in his mind.

Oh, he'd faked enthusiasm for Ron's sake, trying the cloak on and marveling at how his body disappeared and tossing out ideas for what he could do while invisible.

Inside, though - inside Harry seethed. Not just at those words, but at the closing comment of, A Very Merry Christmas to you.

How could those words so carelessly - no, so callously - follow the ones that preceded them?

No wonder whoever sent it hadn't the courage to sign a name.

Harry might not know who, exactly, had sent the cloak, but he could narrow it down to someone within Hogwarts, and most probably one of the staff.

Certainly, a parent could have asked a student, or even one of the staff, to give it to him, but he didn't think that likely.

Still, Harry had no doubt that his response would get back to the sender, one way or another.

HP # HP # HP # HP # HP

Harry chose his moment carefully, waiting until dessert was served during the start of term feast, after all the students who'd gone home for Christmas had returned.

Once everyone was relatively quiet while they ate dessert - far more quiet than they ever were during the main course - Harry slipped from his place on the Gryffindor bench and made his way toward the head table.

He'd rehearsed his words carefully during the holiday, and he knew he'd have to reveal more about his life to this point than he would like in order to have the impact he sought.

Here's hoping it worked.

Harry stopped before the center of the staff table - unfortunately, that meant he stopped right in front of the headmaster, but needs must. If he wanted to have an impact, he needed to be as visible as possible.

It took less time than Harry had expected for the professors to realize he was standing there.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked.

"No, ma'am," Harry replied. "I just need to say something to someone."

"And that requires you to stand before the head table?" Her dry tone almost made him laugh. Almost.

"Well, yes," he said, "because I don't know who to say it to."

"Whom," she corrected, almost automatically. "Why don't you know?"

All of the professors, even Snape, were giving him their attention. Perfect.

"I received a gift Christmas morning," Harry began, then paused, frowning. "Well, that's not quite right. Something was returned to me Christmas morning, something that, according to the note that came with it, had once belonged to my father."

If he hadn't had their attention before, he had it now.

"The note said the item had been left in the writer's possession before my parents died." Harry was grateful that his voice came out even. All that time practicing had really paid off.

"What is it, if you don't mind sharing?" Flitwick asked.

"An invisibility cloak," Harry answered. "But that it's an invisibility cloak isn't important. What's important is that it's the first thing I've ever had that belonged to one of my parents."

He let his gaze sweep up and down the table as he continued, "That my father left it in the writer's possession tells me the writer's an adult, and most likely one of you. So…thank you. Thank you for giving me something that belonged to my parents."

Harry held up a hand to forestall any of the staff speaking. "No, please don't tell me which one of you sent it."

"Why not?" Flitwick asked.

"Because-" and now Harry let just some of the anger that had been simmering inside him since he read that note bubble over. "Because it's an invisibility cloak, and maybe, just maybe it would've kept even one of my parents alive if they'd had it that night!"

Okay, so it was more than a little anger that was bubbling out - and judging by the absolute silence in the Great Hall, Harry had far more attention than he'd planned on - but Harry let that anger fuel the glare he directed up and down the table.

"I'd really rather not know which one of you hated my parents that much."