Chapter 18: Deathly Hallows

On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed early, thinking of the delicious feast and great joy awaiting him the next day. When he woke up the next morning, he immediately saw a small pile of wrapped gifts at the foot of his bed.

“Merry Christmas,” Harry climbed out of bed, pulling on his robe, as Ron mumbled sleepily to him.

“Merry Christmas,” Harry said, beginning to unwrap his gifts.

Hagrid sent him an owl whistle; Hermione gave him a box of sweets; Ron’s mother sent him a sweater; Sir Crookshanks gave him a set of books by Tolkien—The Lord of the Rings, perhaps the most “magical” thing he could have found. Eve also sent a gift: Gorky’s trilogy—Childhood, In the World, My University—likely because Harry had mentioned in his last letter that Ron loved How the Steel Was Tempered.

“So many wonderful Muggle novels!” Ron said enviously. “Can I borrow them?”

“Of course, if you can get through them,” Harry replied. He had read too much Slavic literature as a child and now found them tedious.

“What about your last gift? Who’s it from?” Ron asked, chewing on a frog candy from Hermione.

“Let me see—no name, just says it’s my father’s legacy,” Harry said, unwrapping the package to reveal an invisibility cloak.

“Whoa, an invisibility cloak,” Ron said enviously again. “These things are expensive—I’ve dreamed of owning one.”

He paused, then added: “Yours must be made from high-grade invisibility beast fur, because ordinary invisibility cloaks start fading within two years, but yours—your father’s—must be at least decades old.”

“Put it on and try it,” Ron urged.

Harry draped the cloak over his shoulders and looked in the mirror—he saw his body vanish completely. From any angle, only a lone floating head remained. The sensation was uncanny.

As he studied his reflection closely, he realized the cloak’s effect was flawless—a true invisibility, unlike Zhang Qiu’s charms, which left faint outlines when moved. Even as Harry walked around, feeling the fabric flutter, the cloak’s concealment remained perfect.

“I can’t help wondering,” Harry said, “if invisibility beast fur has this effect, how did anyone ever catch them?”

“I don’t know,” Ron scratched his head. “Maybe traps, or some kind of detection magic.”

Harry fell silent. A possibility crept quietly into his mind: What if this wasn’t just an ordinary invisibility cloak? What if it was the very cloak the Deathly Hallows legend said Death gave to the youngest brother?

He did not tell Ron this guess, nor did he plan to tell anyone. Like the first owner in the tale of the three brothers, he wished to hold this gift from Death in quiet secrecy.

Of course, quiet possession did not mean ignorance. After lunch, Harry told Ron he was going to the library and left the dormitory alone.

Harry did not bring the cloak. He walked calmly through the corridors until he reached Professor Binns’s office door.

Having learned from his success with Nicolas Flamel, Harry had grown fond of this all-knowing, silent ghost professor.

“Merry Christmas, Professor Binns,” Harry said. “I came specially to deliver your Christmas gift.”

“Oh, oh?” Year after year, almost no one remembered this poor soul who had lost his body; in fact, since his death, he had received barely a handful of Christmas gifts.

Professor Binns’s translucent form drifted slowly toward Harry, his shadowed gaze fixed on the copy of The Lord of the Rings in Harry’s hand. Harry couldn’t help shuddering.

“Thank you, Harry,” the professor said. “It’s kind of you to give me a set of books. Students sometimes give me sweets or tea, but I can’t consume those.”

“Yes, this is a set of—uh—” Harry nervously delivered his prepared speech, “a history of another world imagined by people. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

“That’s splendid,” Binns said, his voice as dull as ever, but Harry could see from his expression that this borrowed gift had delighted the ghost professor immensely.

“By the way, Professor, would you mind?” Harry carefully pulled out the book he’d borrowed from Ron—The Tales of Beedle the Bard—“Could it help answer some of my idle speculations?”

“Go on, child,” Professor Binns said. “As long as I know.”

“You see, Professor, this is a collection of fairy tales, and my favorite is ‘Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump.’” Harry circled the subject cautiously. “May I ask—was there ever a real Babbitty Rabbitty in history?”

Harry believed asking directly about the three brothers was foolish, and the Jumping Cauldron or the Hairy Heart would likely offend Binns, so he chose the kind, lovable Babbitty as his entry point.

Before coming, Harry had drunk several cups of strong tea, preparing for a long conversation. To his surprise, Binns answered immediately with a revelation.

“Oh, The Tales of Beedle the Bard. I once studied this book with Dumbledore. Beedle was a minstrel who lived in the fifteenth century, and his stories were drawn from real people.” He spoke in a low tone. “Your favorite, Babbitty Rabbitty, was in fact the French witch Lisette de la Pape…”

The story of Babbitty had already been mentioned in Dumbledore’s annotations. Harry feigned interest, eager for Binns to move on to the tale of the three brothers.

“...That is Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump. As for the Jumping Cauldron, we believe its prototype was Linfred of Stinchcombe, a potions master who generously helped his Muggle neighbors…”

Harry’s breath quickened sharply. This was an unexpected discovery—he had never imagined his own ancestor might be the owner of the Jumping Cauldron.

“...Regarding the Hairy Heart, we agree Beedle based it on the Horcrux. Splitting off a part of one’s body is a foolish act, corrupting one’s character. Given Beedle’s era and the great wizards of the time, it likely alludes to Salazar Slytherin. Note—this is merely our private speculation. Perhaps Slytherin’s temperament changed due to improper magic, causing him to break with the other three founders…”

Slytherin’s ideological conflict with the others was no secret—Harry had read about it several times in the school’s history. But what intrigued him was the professor’s suggestion that Slytherin had used the wrong magic—could he, too, have possessed a Hairy Heart?

“...The Fountain of Fair Fortune may have been inspired by Felix Felicis. Felix Felicis does not grant luck—it enhances one’s ability, which aligns with the fountain’s meaning: true happiness stems from one’s own effort…”

Felix Felicis? Harry mentally noted the term—perhaps an extremely advanced potion.

“...As for the legend of the three brothers, we all agree it refers to the Peverell family. Most likely, the three Peverell brothers never met Death—they crafted the three magical objects themselves. But puzzlingly, such a powerful family vanished quickly from history. None of the brothers left male heirs to carry the Peverell name, making them one of the earliest pure-blood families to disappear.”

“That’s strange, isn’t it?” Harry asked eagerly. “The book clearly says the youngest brother gave his invisibility cloak to his son—he must have had descendants.”

“Oh, because his son fathered only one daughter,” Professor Binns said. “We still find the tombstone of Ignotus Peverell in Godric’s Hollow. His granddaughter, Eulalie Peverell, married Hardwin Potter. The Peverell name died out then.”

Hearing the name “Potter” again from the professor’s lips, Harry felt his very veins tremble. The Potter family descended from the Peverells through the maternal line; the invisibility cloak had been passed down through generations until his father—and now, through unknown hands, to him.

Professor Binns, lost in history, seemed indifferent to the fact that the student before him shared the same surname. He continued speaking about how Slytherin was also a vanished name, and so on.

When Harry stepped out of Professor Binns’s office, his mind was entirely consumed by the invisibility cloak. Legend said the three Hallows, when united, could even conquer Death—and were thus collectively called the Deathly Hallows.

Now, as a descendant of Ignotus Peverell, the cloak had come effortlessly into his hands. The Elder Wand had a documented history—he remembered the research book. Only the Resurrection Stone remained…

Deathly Hallows… Master of Death… These uncertain words swirled in his mind. Harry was nearly drowned by ambition he could not contain.

When he finally snapped out of his reverie, he found himself standing at the library door.

“Perhaps I should be practical,” Harry told himself. “First, understand potions. I can’t even brew a Wit-Sharpening Potion well—how can I guarantee I’ll master something as critical as Felix Felicis?”

Thinking this, he walked into the library—not to find the book on the Elder Wand he’d glimpsed once, but to wander until he picked up Advanced Potion-Making. To his delight, it contained the exact recipe for Felix Felicis.

Felix Felicis, as expected, was a top-tier potion—six months of brewing yielded only a single small bottle. Overwhelmed by the intricate steps, Harry soon returned the book to the shelf and went back to play chess with Ron.