Chapter Twenty

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Chapter Twenty- "Mistakes were made..."

We step off the stone staircase at the top and Professor McGonagall raps on the door. It opens silently and we enter. Professor McGonagall tells us to wait, and leaves us here, alone.

Very smart, very smart indeed.

If you can't tell, that's sarcasm.

I look around. One thing is certain: of all the teachers' offices I've visited, Dumbledore's is by far the most interesting.

It's a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stand on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls are covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom are snoozing gently in their framed. There's also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard's hat - the Sorting Hat.

Harry moves slowly over to the desk, lifts the Hat from its shelf, and lowers it slowly onto his head. It's much too large and slips down over his eyes. Sighing, I run my hand over the bookshelves and begin to read the titles.

"You're wrong!" Harry says suddenly, making me drop a book on the floor. He's put the hat back on the shelf, and is moving away from it slowly. I'm just picking the book up when a strange, gagging noise makes me and Harry look around.

We aren't alone after all. Standing on a golden perch behind the door is a decrepit-looking bird which resembles a half-plucked turkey. "It looks very ill," Harry says, thoughtfully.

Well yeah, it's a Phoenix, it's about to explode and start life again, duh!

"All we need now is for him to die," Harry jokes, just as the bird bursts into flames.

Harry yells in shock and backs away into the desk. "Is there any water?" Harry gasps, looking around. Fawkes (the bird), meanwhile, has becomes a fireball; he gives one loud shriek and next second there's nothing but a smouldering pile of ash.

I should probably tell him that's meant to happen. Ah well, this is funny.

The office door opens. Dumbledore comes in, looking very sombre.

"Professor," Harry gasps, "your bird - we couldn't do anything - he just caught fire -"

Dumbledore smiles as he says, "About time, too. He's been looking dreadful for days, I've been telling him to get a move on."

He chuckles at the stunned look on Harry's face and turns to me.

"I'm guessing you didn't tell Harry about a phoenixes life span. Phoenixes burst into flame when it's time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch Fawkes ..."

I look down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, new-born bird pokes its head out of the ashes.

"Hey Fawkes," I stroke the baby phoenixes head.

"It's a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day," says Dumbledore, searing himself behind his desk. "He's really very handsome most of the time: wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers and they make highly faithful pets."

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