𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Potter smiled then and laughed—a boyish giggle, for he was very much a boy, smaller than Fi, like a little black Crup pup with guileless eyes and delicate bones. Fi felt the urge to be careful and gentle with Mr. Potter, though she knew he must be far more durable than he appeared. She did not want to pity the lad. She only wanted to see him thrive, just as she wanted to see all her students thrive and grow and learn.

"Maybe...maybe some help with Potions?" Potter asked, shrugging one shoulder as if to feign nonchalance. "I, erm, don't seem to do very well—."

Fi's opinion of Professor Snape lowered in that instance, because whatever petty game he wished to play should not affect the boy's education. "I am an excellent potioneer, Mr. Potter, almost as good as your Potions Master—." Better even. The great billowing prat. See if I offer him any more of my good Ogden's. "So if you find my teaching methods agreeable and don't mind my shrieking bird, please do not hesitate to use my office hours. I will be perfectly happy to help."

"Thanks, Professor Dullahan."

She nodded, pleased, and hoped he would take the offer for tutoring. "Now, off with you. Don't be late for class."

Potter hurried on and Fi watched him go for a moment before directing her fiercest glare at the gargoyle. She was half-convinced it would leap back the moment she passed and pin her in place, but Fi forced herself to dart forward, flinching when the stairs beyond the arch began to revolve upward. "Oh, more bloody moving stairs."

At the top of the stairs, Fi knocked on the door and waited for an answer. When none came, Fi cracked open the barrier. "Hello? Headmaster Dumbledore? It's Professor Dullahan."

Curious, Fi peeked inside and didn't spot the elderly wizard puttering about. She walked in without invitation once she saw the whirl of silver instruments humming and bobbing about on the solid end tables, her interest too rampant to suppress. Fi couldn't make heads or tails of the vast majority of the items and wasn't willing to take a proper look, lest she break something irreplaceable. She paced farther into the well-appointed space, watching the portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses as they watched her, muttering to one another, snapping at her not to touch things.

A gentle trill drew Fi to the desk and the golden perch set at its side. "Oh, precious thing, you," she breathed as the phoenix locked eyes with her, clacking his beak. Fi had met a phoenix or two over her years but still found herself in awe of the fiery birds when she did cross paths with one. "I must admit I'm quite jealous of Dumbledore now."

Fi held up a hand, waiting, and the bird eyed her with suspicion before inclining his long neck, allowing to her to stroke his radiant plumage. "Beautiful creature. Don't tell Puck. Such a jealous birdbrain."

The phoenix chirped.

"Right? I've been carting him around for however many years, you'd think he'd relax himself a bit more."

Fi continued to stroke the bird and pepper it with compliments until the avian grew bored of her praise and turned away. Her eye landed instead upon a familiar weathered hat sitting upon a shelf. Fi had last seen it on the head of a Slytherin before it had been whisked out of the Great Hall, at which point it must have been tossed back onto its spot here. Fi ignored her twitchy fingers for the better part of ten minutes, tapping her foot, but when Dumbledore still didn't show up, she pushed one of the lighter chairs over to the bookshelf, stood on the seat, and plucked the hat from its place.