Mon Cher (Severus Snape Daughter FF)

Ch 9 // COS

They stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and they entered.

Professor McGonagall told Harry and Clara to wait and left them there, alone.

Harry looked around. "Clara," he said while admiring the large and beautiful circular room, "have you ever been inside Dumbledore's office?"

"All the time when I was younger," Clara replied while walking over to one of the walls that was covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. "I would sneak out of my dad's class and come in here and eat lemon drops."

She looked over to the enormous, claw footed desk where the candy sat in a bowl. She smiled lightly before a voice snapped her out if her thoughts.

“Bee in your bonnet, Harry Potter?” It was the sorting hat.

“Er, yes,” Harry muttered as he held it nervously in his hands. “Er — sorry to bother you — I wanted to ask — ”

“You've been wondering whether I put you in the right House,” said the hat smartly. “Yes… you were particularly difficult to place. But I stand by what I said before you would have done well in Slytherin — ”

Harry grabbed the point of the hat and pulled it off. It hung limply in his hand, grubby and faded. Harry pushed it back onto its shelf. “You're wrong,” he said aloud to the still and silent hat. It didn't move. Harry backed away, watching it.

"What was that about?" Clara asked as she walked over to Fawkes and started petting him gently.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing."

"Harry, you just happen to possess some qualities that Slytherin's share. That doesn't make you the heir of Slytherin."

Fawkes made a strange, gagging noise.

"It looks really ill." Harry said approaching the bird.

Clara petted him until the last of his feathers fell off. "Yes," she nodded, "it's almost his time."

Before Harry could say anything, the bird burst into flames. He yelled in shock and backed away into the desk. He looked feverishly around in case there was a glass of water somewhere but couldn't see one; the bird, meanwhile, had become a fireball; it gave one loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a smouldering pile of ash on the floor.

The office door opened. Dumbledore came in, looking very somber.

“Professor,” Harry gasped. “Your bird — I couldn't do anything — he just caught fire — ”

To Harry's astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.
“About time, too,” he said. “He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on.” He chuckled at the stunned look on Harry's face. “Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him…” Harry and Clara looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one.
“It's a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day,” said Dumbledore, seating himself behind his desk. “He's really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage - Clara will tell you. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets.”

Dumbledore settled himself in the high chair behind the desk and fixed the two Gryffindors with his penetrating, light blue stare. Before Dumbledore could speak another word, the door of the office flew open with an almighty bang and Hagrid burst in, a wild look in his eyes, his balaclava perched on top of his shaggy black head and the dead rooster still swinging from his hand.
“It wasn' Harry or Clara, Professor Dumbledore!” said Hagrid urgently. “I was talkin' ter them both seconds before that kid was found, they never had time, sir — ” Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers everywhere. “ — it can't've bin them, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to — ”