Bewilderingly, his cloak was saved from its date with the bonfire of hatred, having faded back to its normal black and white over time. Although the colours were now reversed, Handy wasn’t sure how he felt about that, as if he didn’t stick out enough already. He silently cursed magic users and their shenanigans as he affixed it about him. He had to tighten the clasps and heft the hem of the cloak into tiny clips in its underside, now that he was out of his armour the cloak dragged terribly on the ground and it’d be ruined had he done nought about it. He’d commission another one, might as well have more than one, he could certainly afford it.