A conversation at King's Cross Station between the Master of Death and the Great Manipulator.
Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were standing at King’s Cross station, where Albus was explaining to Harry about the Hallows. “Professor, There’s something I don’t understand.”
“Go on, my boy.”
“You said you got the cloak from my father, right?”
“That is correct. I borrowed it from him before he took you and Lily into hiding. I promised him I would give it to you,” Albus replied.
“And what, exactly, did he say to you when he handed it over to you?”
“That was a long time ago, Harry.”
“And we’re in a place without time. Humor me. Put that ‘well organized mind’ to work, for one.”
“Err. I think it was, ‘Give this to Harry for me. It’s been in our family since before there were magical Potters.’
“And you knew it was one of the Hallows, correct? The one that allowed it’s owner to hide from death.”
“Well, I suspected it up until then, but that confirmed it for me, yes.”
“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Harry was pacing back and forth down the aisle. “Now, define ownership for me, please.”
“Harry, where are you going with this? Perhaps I can help you.”
“Oh, I’m just thinking some things out, using you as a sounding board, as it were. Now, define ownership, please.”
“All right, Harry. Ownership is the legal ability to determine what happens to a piece of property. Some would say,” Albus chuckled, “That possession is nine tenths of the law, but I can tell you that from all my years on the Wizengamot that that last tenth has a nasty habit to sneak up and bite you when you last expect it.”
“Great, great. Now, you admit that I didn’t have to be in possession of my Gringott’s key in order to be the owner of that gold, correct?”
Dumbledore looked up at the pacing young man, aghast. “I assure you, Harry! I never –“
“Hmm? Oh, no. Not that. Now, tell me, were you an idiot or just a sadistic prick?”
“What? Whatever do you mean, Harry?” Dumbledore looked truly confused. Harry sighed. This would have been so much easier if he’d been the sadistic prick he’d wanted the man to be.
“I guess you just haven’t connected all the dots yet, headmaster.” Harry replied, sadly. “I’ll give you two more questions to answer before I decide what to do with your eternal life. How does one gain ownership of something?”
“Well, the normal way is to purchase it, such as a broom or a potion, or even most wands. Another is to inherit it, such as your bank vault, and the third is to be given it from the prior owner.”
“And which happened for me to get the cloak?” Harry asked.
“You inheri- No! You were given it! When James handed the cloak to me to give it to you, it became your property!” Harry looked at the old man. Albus Dumbledore looked exactly like Hermione when she figured out a confusing arithmancy problem.
“So, what does that tell you about the night my parents died, headmaster?” Harry asked sadly. The confused look on the dead man’s face returned.
Harry sighed. He was going to have to draw the entire picture. “It tells you that James was not the owner of the cloak when he died, because if he had been, he would not have died. It tells you that my mother’s bargaining did nothing. There was ancient magic invoked that night, yes, but it wasn’t from Mum. It was from the owner of one of the Deathly Hallows. As the owner of that cloak, Death could not find me. That’s what happened. It wasn’t Mum’s sacrifice. It was Dad’s. He handed you my cloak, but he GAVE it to me. I was the owner, which is why the killing curse rebounded.”
Albus looked shocked, but even that minor hint of color in his face fled when the young man spoke again. “That means there were no wards and no reason for me to be stuck in hell at Privet Drive. Now, you have a choice. I obliterate the last of your soul, making your ‘Next Great Adventure’ a lot shorter than you thought it would be, or you find Mum, Dad, and Sirius and tell them!” Harry snarled the last sentence as his voice rose in pitch and volume. If it had been the real King’s Cross, Harry would have been hearing Bobbies coming to investigate his disturbing the peace.
From a long ways off, Harry could hear a voice that matched his mother’s begin to rip several large pieces out of the “body” of one Albus Dumbledore. Smiling, Harry went back to the “real” world. The old man may have been an idiot, but he was a brave idiot.