CHAPTER TWELVE
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. Ron was admir-
ing the cloak.
“I’d give anything for one of these,” he said. “Anything. What’s
the matter?”
“Nothing,” said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the
cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father?
Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door
was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry
stuffed the cloak quickly out of sight. He didn’t feel like sharing it
with anyone else yet.
“Merry Christmas!”
“Hey, look — Harry’s got a Weasley sweater, too!”
Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large
yellow F on it, the other a G.
“Harry’s is better than ours, though,” said Fred, holding up
Harry’s sweater. “She obviously makes more of an effort if you’re
not family.”
“Why aren’t you wearing yours, Ron?” George demanded.
“Come on, get it on, they’re lovely and warm.”
“I hate maroon,” Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over
his head.
“You haven’t got a letter on yours,” George observed. “I suppose
she thinks you don’t forget your name. But we’re not stupid — we
know we’re called Gred and Forge.”
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