TBAY: All these kids with Inv. cloaks

[Tom Wall <thomasmwall@yahoo.com>]

No: HPFGUIDX 51907

Tom is sitting at his kitchen table, 
intently flipping through his tattered
copy of Goblet of Fire and scrawling 
notes on a sheet that rests atop a 
cluttered, completely disorganized 
pile of papers. He's cheerfully 
listening to his radio, humming 
along to the lilting voices of Simon 
and Garfunkel.

"Hel-lo darkness my old friennnnnnd, 
I've come to talk to you a -"

Abruptly, the signal goes haywire, 
replacing the sweet harmonies with a 
hissing, garbly static.

"Oh, brother," he sighs, and getting 
up with a great big yawn and stretch, 
he darts over to the little box sitting 
on the kitchen counter. 

He picks it up, shaking the defenseless device in that futile manner 
that people often do, especially when electronic items stop working 
for no reason whatsoever. He does this despite the well-known fact 
that the shaking rarely accomplishes anything, and this occasion is 
no different.

The radio retaliates with a grating, fingers-on-the-chalkboard sound, 
and so, out of sheer frustration, he places three great smacks on the 
little device.

THWOMP-THWOMP-THWOMP.

The machine responds angrily with more spitting and hissing, and Tom, 
who is not at all interested in battling with a machine that is 
certain to win in the end anyways, reaches out to turn the dial 
to 'off,' when he hears, ever so faintly, the sound of voices engaged 
in conversation.

"Hmmmmm," he mutters, and lowering his ear to the speaker, begins to 
fiddle with the knob.

"As if I'm ever likely -" spit, zzzzzz, spatter, hiss "- Veronica of 
the Imperio'd!Arthur -" ssss, zzzzz, sputter "- didn't think real 
Moody -" zzzzz, ssssss, spatter, sputter, hiss-hiss-hiss...

"Oh come ON," Tom growls, irritated, and lands another spectacular 
blow to the radio.

THWOMP!!!

The machine retaliates with a whine that is *worse* than before, but 
at least, yes, now he can hear a voice speaking without disruption.

"Risti's right. There is just *no way* that Barty would have had the 
time to get that Cloak back in the trunk. He was wearing an 
Invisibility Cloak during the Third Task. He used it to skulk about 
taking out the other champions, trying to leave a clear field for 
Harry. And then he was right there on the scene when Harry 
reappeared. I can't really imagine that he would have gone 
back to his *office* while Harry was in the Graveyard, can you?"

Although the voices continue, Tom stops listening, lost in thought.
"Hmmmmm, no, I'm not sure if that's quite... let me just... yes, I'm 
sure it's here somewhere..."

He walks back over to the table, and flips through his thick, worn 
novel until chapter 31, The Third Task, and reads silently to himself.

"...Hagrid, Professor Moody, Professor McGonagall, and Professor 
Flitwick came walking into the stadium..."

"Yep, yep," Tom thinks to himself, "that's right..."

And he skims forward a few lines, until he reaches:
"We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," said 
Professor McGonagall to the champions..."

"AHA!" Tom exclaims. "Yes, quite. Moody was *supposed* to be there. 
He would have been visible to everyone."

"Well, better let these folk know that they're mistaken... there was 
certainly no use of an invisibility cloak by Crouch!Moody during the 
Third Task. Still... don't know if this is an *important* discussion 
or not, but... yes, well, maybe they'd be irritated that I'm 
eavesdropping, although quite accidental... after all, it *is* rather 
rude to listen in on other conversations... still, all the same, 
quite sure they'd understand... maybe even appreciate..."

Tom glances at his radio, and politely switches the knob to 'off.'

He pauses, silent in thought. Then, having made up his mind, he 
whistles, and a sleek grey owl, resembling a graceful black 
silhouette in the early morning light, swoops in through his window.

After hurriedly scribbling the appropriate passages and reference 
numbers down on the parchment, he rereads the note, and adds a post-
scriptum:

"P.S. - If you're at all concerned about others listening in on your 
conversations, then you should make sure that your 'transmit' button 
is switched to 'off,' and that no-one's sitting on it or anything, 
just for future reference."

Whispering a few words to the owl, Tom lifts his arm skyward, and the 
bird leaps into flight with a great flapping of his wings. He watches 
it soar off into the cloud-dappled horizon, and although he has 
absolutely no idea where it's going, he's certain that it will find 
them.

"Somehow," he thinks to himself, settling comfortably back into his 
chair, "they always do."