Better Be Slytherin!

Harry shot several feet into the air and spun around to see the Bloody Baron floating beside the door to the lavatory. 'Merlin! I didn't see you!'

The ghost inclined his head a smidgen. 'I know.'

Harry huffed a laugh despite himself, then said, 'Do you know, then? Who sent this to me, I mean?'

'I do.'

'Well?'

'Well . . .'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Well, who sent it?'

'The man your father gave it to before he was murdered.'

Harry frowned. The Bloody Baron could sometimes be bloody annoying, but he wasn't usually so blatantly obtuse. 'Is it a secret? Or are you unable to tell me?'

A pleased look entered the ghost's eyes. 'Very good, Harry Potter. It is the latter.'

With a short nod, Harry ran through the various suspects, and came up with a very short list. 'If I guess the name, can you tell me if I guess right?'

Another glimmer of pride, and Harry could not help but stand straighter under the ghost's regard. 'Yes.'

'It was Dumbledore, right?'

The Baron inclined his head minutely.

'But, why wouldn't the Headmaster want me to know he sent it?' Harry bundled up the cloak and tucked it into his trunk so he wouldn't be tempted to leave the dorms, even when he knew Snape would be angry if he did it. Tucking the slippery material under his spare socks, so it wouldn't be seen easily by anyone who happened to open his trunk, Harry peered over his shoulder at the ghost, who had moved farther into the room and was inspecting his box of frogs, which was already almost half empty. 'Or is it that he didn't want me to know that my father left it with him?'

'The latter,' the ghost said again.

'Weird,' Harry muttered, and wondered why Dumbledore might want to keep such a secret. For just a moment, he had the odd thought that Dumbledore would rather have kept the cloak and not given it up, but then had been required to, by someone . . . or something. An oath, perhaps? He shook his head, pushing thoughts like that aside. No matter what life the Headmaster may have condemned Harry to with the Dursleys, he did not strike Harry as a common thief, to steal from the dead. Frowning still, Harry sat on his bed again, pulling the book by Keating into his lap. 'What do you think he meant by, 'Use it well'? He told me to use the cloak well, in the note he left with it.'

'I cannot answer that question for you,' the Bloody Baron said in an oddly strained voice. 'He wishes you to discover that for yourself as well.'

'Yeah, and get myself strung up by the toes by my Head of House.' Harry shivered and leaned back against his pillows. 'No, thanks.'

The Bloody Baron floated to the bedside and looked at the book in Harry's hands. 'A gift from Severus Snape?'

Unable to hold in a grin, Harry nodded. 'Yeah. For Christmas. We have our first Occlumency lesson tomorrow. I figured to read the first chapter tonight; he said it would help.'

'I am sure it will.'

'Do you know anything about Occlumency?'

The ghost looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head slowly. 'Not through personal experience.'

'But you know people who've learned it?' Harry pushed.

'Besides your Professor Snape?' the Baron asked with a raised brow.

'Well, yeah.' Harry turned to the table of contents and read through it again, then opened to the introduction and started reading.

It had been quiet for long enough that Harry had nearly forgotten that the Bloody Baron was in his room, never mind that he had asked a question. Thus, he was surprised enough to startle when the ghost said, in a low, weighty tone, 'I do, child. Both Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle learned the magic necessary to protect their minds against intrusion, but more importantly, they both mastered the magic that allows them to enter others' minds, to prey upon your mind, to seek the truth in your thoughts and to mine your memories for information.'

As he spoke, the ghost had floated closer to Harry's bed, and then straight into it, so his glowing body was actually split by the bed. A shimmering mist surrounded the Baron, and in the suddenly freezing air, hoarfrost rippled out from the ghost's translucent to form feathery patterns across the bedclothes. Crystals of ice sparkled in the cloth. The Baron's haunted silver eyes were mere inches away from Harry's now, and were so filled with torment and horror that Harry's heart lurched in his chest.

'T-tom Riddle?' Harry whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from the Baron's terrible gaze, unable, almost, to breathe. His throat stung with cold, and goose bumps had risen on his arms. Shivering hard, he hugged his arms around his middle.

The ghost's mouth was so close, Harry could have counted his teeth, and he would swear he could feel the Baron's frigid breath on his cheeks as the ghost intoned, 'Tom Riddle is one of the greatest wizards of all time, Harry Potter, and one of the most terrible. A Slytherin of great cunning and cruelty, and even greater ambition. He would cheat death, if he could, and destroy any who got in his way.'

'Voldemort,' Harry guessed, knowing he was right.

The ghost's eyes bored into him. 'You must guard your mind against him, and against the dreams he awakens