Rory Potter, the Girl Who Lived

The Polyjuice Potion

          "The two of you will go up and speak with Dumbledore. Alone - yes alone, Miss Potter, I have work to attend to," McGonnagall says.
          She says the password, "Sherbet Lemon" and leaves Harry and I to clamber up the steps to Dumbledore's office. When we enter, I'm mesmerized. So many interesting things, all over. Harry wanders off to look at the Sorting Hat, but I notice a bird on the Headmaster's desk.
          Its a phoenix, but it looks awful. Where bright firey red feathers would normally be, it has dusty maroon and bald patches all over. Its eyes aren't bright as I've learned they are, but a dull brown.
          "Hello, Mr Phoenix," I say softly, touching it's faded feathers. Harry wanders over to stand next to me as I stroke the bird gently.
          "What is it, Rory? It looks like its sick - " Harry starts, but at that moment, I snatch my hand away as the bird bursts into flames. Harry yells in shock and jumps away, dragging me with him, but I'm unfazed.
          Just then, Dumbledore appears. Harry jumps into an explanation: "Sir, Professor, your bird - he just caught fire!"
​​​​          "About time, too," Dumbledore smiles. Harry's expression goes slack with shock and I giggle at him.
          "Wh - what - ?" Harry stutters.
          "I do believe your sister knows, Mr Potter. Care to explain about Fawkes, Rory?"
          "Okay," I nod, then pull Harry back over to the pile of ashes on Dumbledore's desk. "Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flames when it is time for them to die, and they're reborn from the ashes. That's why they can live for a really long time even though they're not immortal. Look!"
          A little baby phoenix pokes his head from the ashes and hops out. I send a questioning glance at Dumbledore, and he nods his permission. So I pick up the newborn bird. It cheeps and pushes on my wrist with its head like its trying to get comfortable. I smile tenderly at its small form.
         "See, phoenixes are extraordinary. They can carry over twenty times their weight, and their tears have the power to heal almost any wound. And when its not their Burning Day, they are beautiful," I say, then set the baby phoenix on its perch.
          "It wasn' them, Professor Dumbledore!" says Hagrid urgently and suddenly, bursting into the room with a dead rooster swinging from his hand emitting feathers. "I was talkin' ter them seconds before that kid was found, they never had time, sir - "
          Dumbledore tries to say something, but Hagrid goes ranting on with renewed intensity, waving the rooster about. The way it flops limply makes me a bit sick to my stomach.
​​​​​​          " - it can' have bin either of them, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have ter - "
          "Hagrid, I - "
          " - yeh've got the wrong students, sir, I know Harry and Rory never - "
​​​​​​          "Hagrid!" Dumbledore says loudly, holding up a hand. "I do not think the Potters attacked those people."
          Hagrid's open mouth shuts and opens a few times before he turns bright red and says, "Oh. Righ'. I'll wait outside, then."
         Professor Dumbledore waits calmly while Hargid shuffles off awkwardly. When the door shuts, he finally turns to us, studying Harry and I with placid eyes. We wait is confused silence. He really doesn't think it was us?
          "You mean I, sir? You don't think it was us?" Harry asks tentively after a moment.
          "Of course not, dear children. I would never believe it was you. Which means you are free to return to your common room," Dumbledore says pleasantly.
          Harry and I step to leave, but as I touch the doorknob, Dumbledore's voice rings out again. I stop and turn to face him. His old face looks somber.
          "Before you leave, however, I would like to ask you one thing: Is there anything that either of you wishes to tell me?"
          I didn't expect that question, so I stare dumbly and repeat it, "Is there anything we wish to tell you?"
          "Yes, Miss Potter. Anything that's troubling you?" Dumbledore says, his blue eyes scrutinizing us behind his half-mood glasses.
         After a few moments where Harry and I seriously consider telling him about the Parseltongue, conversing telepathically with my necklace, Harry shakes his head, saying, "No, sir, I don't believe so."