The boy was named Justin Finch-Fletchley, and when Snape rolled him to his back, exposing his face, Harriet knew he was Petrified before the wizard could say a word.
She couldn't look away from him, even as she shook, still sitting on the cold floor with a sluggish trickle of blood dripping from her knee into her rumpled sock. Harriet could have been the one attacked—Harriet or Hermione or Elara, or any of the few students meandering about the library, since that was where Justin must have come from. She couldn't understand how it had happened, and so quickly. It could have been me.
When McGonagall came upon them, she spotted Justin and gave a muffled shout—and then shouted again when she spied Harriet and the agitated serpent wriggling about her neck. "Miss Potter—!"
"Minerva, take Potter to the Headmaster," Snape said, using his wand to levitate Justin into the air. The Potions Master looked ghastly in the dim light, pale with shock, right hand twitching. There was sweat on his brow.
"What?! Severus, there is a snake—!"
"Now is not the time or the place, woman! Quickly, before Slytherin comes strutting by, get her away from here!"
McGonagall didn't appreciate being ordered about, but she urged Harriet to her feet, staying as far from the hissing snake as was possible in the hall's confines. Snape's mention of Slytherin spurred Harriet onward, though she did so in a daze, the image of Nearly Headless Nick and Finch-Fletchley burned in her mind. What in the world could Petrify someone who was already dead? And the writing on the wall—! Was that another threat against Professor Slytherin?
Livius continued to spit and threaten the invisible voice, and Harriet would've been very flattered at his chivalry if the snake didn't threaten to bite and eat anyone and everything for every minor inconvenience he incurred. "Shut up, Livi," Harriet whispered as she tried to wrestle him back into her shirt, but the others had been right when they said he was getting too large, and she had barely grown at all. Professor McGonagall continued to goggle at her, stunned into silence.
"He's my familiar, Professor," Harriet explained.
"Your familiar?"
"Yeah—I mean, yes, ma'am." She succeeded in calming Livi enough for him to go invisible once more, earning a startled huff from the Transfiguration professor. "The Headmaster and Professor Snape know about him."
"Oh, I'm sure they do, Miss Potter," Professor McGonagall said, her brogue thick and agitated, and she uttered something else in an undertone, but Harriet didn't quite hear it.
They hurried on, Harriet struggling to keep pace with her shorter legs and her knee stinging terribly by the time they reached the seventh floor and the entrance to Dumbledore's office. McGonagall gave the password— "Gobbling gumdrops," —and then shooed Harriet up the spiraling steps without her. "Stay in the office, Harriet, until Professor Dumbledore finds you," the witch instructed, disappearing before Harriet could ask anything else. She realized the professor had called her by name, and though the thought warmed Harriet and told her Professor McGonagall didn't believe she'd attacked Justin, little could displace the sudden chill sitting in her middle.
The office hadn't changed a bit since she'd seen it at Hallowe'en, the door to the closet where Quirrell met his end still sealed tight, the mullioned windows giving a glimpse of the sunset's final vestiges smeared on the horizon like a bloody fingerprint. Most of the headmasters and headmistresses snoozed in their frames, but a few watched curiously as the young witch came edging in the room, uncertain of herself.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Harriet said aloud—but no, Professor McGonagall mentioned the Headmaster would come to find her, probably after checking on Finch-Fletchley and Nick. Sighing, Harriet went to one of the comfortable winged chairs by the hearth and sank into it, glancing at the smoldering bits of ash and wood settling in the grate.
She worried about Hermione and Elara; just because the monster had already attacked this evening didn't mean it wouldn't attack again—and Elara and Hermione must have left the library by now. Were they back in the common room, safe with the others? Or were they still in the corridors? Harriet swallowed down her trepidation and prodded her knee, keeping her eyes fixed on the growing bruise and clotting scrape.
A clock chimed the hour.
There were a great many things in the Headmaster's office Harriet hadn't had the time or the wits to inspect before. Restless and in need of a distraction, she hopped to her feet and took the chance to investigate now, pacing along the wall with its wood shelves and shorter tables laden with strange devices. Harriet thought Professor Dumbledore might have more books than the library crammed into the shelves, several protected behind locked cabinet doors, and though she wondered what kind of texts a wizard like Dumbledore might collect and seal away, she didn't touch the doors.
A set of stairs led to an upper platform, an area behind the professor's large desk that held more portraits upon the curved wall, more shelves, and several shut doors. She considered going up those steps but didn't, because Harriet decided those doors must lead to Professor Dumbledore's quarters and it felt terribly rude for her to go poking her nose about where it didn't belong.
Harriet's eyes moved over the tables with their silver instruments and came to rest upon a familiar pile of glass.
She shivered when she stopped before the Mirror of Erised's fragments. Professor Dumbledore had the largest pieces floating in the air, like a bizarre, string-less Muggle mobile, shifting ever so slightly when Harriet approached and her breath caught the edges. Looking into the shards, Harriet didn't know what she expected to see—maybe nothing at all, given Quirrell had shattered the dodgy thing when he tried to kill her—but individual images moved within the fragments. She peered closer.
It took Harriet a moment to realize the mirror still worked—at least, after a fashion. Instead of displaying her single greatest desire, however, each chunk and sliver showed smaller wants and wishes, big, small, important, and petty alike. There Harriet saw herself having a lie-in, and there she saw her mum's face, and here laid her favorite sweater with the top button fixed, and that bit over there showed all the Petrified victims back on their feet. Harriet didn't know what to look at first, and the effect was disorientating.
She still hated that mirror.
Harriet wandered back to her seat, and by the time Dumbledore arrived, the young witch was crouched near the hearth, Livius coiled on the warmed bricks and irked with her for not letting him bite the owner of the voice they'd heard in the corridor.
"Good evening," Professor Dumbledore said, smiling at her before his gaze lowered to the indignant snake. "Oh, dear. I thought we had an agreement about your familiar staying in the dorms, Harriet?"
Frick. Standing, Harriet fussed with her sleeves and tried to meet his gaze, but she couldn't bring herself to look past the Headmaster's crooked nose. "I'm—sorry, Headmaster. I'm always really careful, and it's not all the time! But I—I just...feel safer when I have Livi."
Professor Dumbledore sighed, and then simply nodded, looking tired in the dying fire's dull red glow. "I understand. We will have to discuss this further at another time, but for now...."
He gestured her over to the desk and they left Livi behind, Harriet taking one of the smaller seats meant for guests and students, and Dumbledore sat next to her. The Headmaster's heavy gaze once more fixed upon Harriet, and she fidgeted in her seat. Did the Headmaster think she had something to do with Finch-Fletchley? Did anyone else know she'd been there? How did the monster move about so quickly?
"Is Justin gonna be all right?"
"Yes, thankfully. Poor boy will be back on his feet as soon as the Restorative Draught can be brewed."
"What about Nick? He got Petrified, too."
Professor Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought. "Yes, Sir Nicholas should be all right as well. Professor Snape is convinced that by reducing a sample of the Draught to a gaseous state, he'll be able to revive Gryffindor's House ghost."
The sudden image of Snape holding a spray bottle like the one Aunt Petunia used on her houseplants popped into Harriet's head and she smothered the inappropriate urge to snort.
Something about the Headmaster's demeanor bothered Harriet. All things considered, the elderly wizard seemed quite composed, a calmness about him she appreciated, but didn't understand. Why wasn't he asking about what happened, about what she saw in the corridor? Why wasn't he—?
Frowning, Harriet studied Professor Dumbledore, and he studied her too, his expression more bemused than anything, his brow raised in question. "Headmaster...." She started, pausing to gather her thoughts. "You...you know what it is, don't you, sir? The monster from the Chamber."
"Do you know what it is, Harriet?"
"It's a snake," she said without hesitation, the line between her brows deepening. "I don't know what kind and we can't figure it out—but I can hear it."
A grave expression overcame Dumbledore, and he moved to touch the back of Harriet's hand. She hadn't realized she'd started gripping the armrests so tightly. "You mustn't go looking for it, Harriet. It is incredibly dangerous."
"You know what it is," she repeated. Irritation bubbled in her chest and prickled hot through her shoulder and neck. Looking in the wizard's blue eyes made her miffed all of a sudden. "I don't understand, Professor. If you know, then why—? People have gotten hurt, and everyone's so frightened. Why—why isn't the school closed? Why hasn't anyone done anything? Why haven't you done anything?!" Harriet took a breath and shook her head, realizing that she'd raised her voice considerably, and the portraits on the wall murmured with reproach. "I'm sorry, I don't—I didn't mean to yell, sir."
"You're well within your rights to be frustrated with me, Harriet, it's quite all right." He sighed and peered at the witch over his half-moon spectacles as if looking for something. After a moment, he gave his head a slight shake and looked away. "I fear that sometimes the easiest solutions are not all they appear."
"What d'you mean?"
"I merely wish to explain that, were it my decision, I would close the school until the danger is corrected, but it isn't my decision. A Headmaster may cancel classes if needs must, but I cannot shut Hogwarts without consent from the Board of Governors."
"But then why doesn't the Board of Governors close the school? Not that I want the school to close, it's just—not safe." Hermione's not safe.
"Ah, Harriet. You cut to the heart of the matter, for though your question seems a simple one, it has a very complicated answer." Dumbledore said nothing else, and instead contemplated his desk and his phoenix perched upon his gilded stand. Harriet thought the bird might be molting or—ill, perhaps—though she didn't give it much thought now. She wanted Professor Dumbledore to explain, but Harriet sensed she'd stumbled upon a topic beyond her, like a weed with a root that went down, down, down into the earth, and no matter how hard she pulled, she'd never get to the end of it, and would only get a handful of slivers for her effort.
Hermione was right, though, she thought. The staff knows a lot more than they're telling us. Why does the Board want Hogwarts open? Is someone trying to frame Professor Slytherin? Harriet flinched when Livi nudged her hand, then let her fingers slip over his horns and the smooth, dry scales of his snout, coming to linger on the gem set in his skull.
"I know you would like to know more, Harriet, but I fear it wouldn't be safe to tell you. I would not burden you with knowledge beyond your control."
Harriet just nodded.
"Why did you not come to me when you heard the voice? Or to Professor Snape, perhaps?"
"Well, I—. At first, I thought I'd imagined it, and then—then I was nervous, I guess. It took me a while to figure out it was a snake, and then I didn't know what kind of snake it was."
"I hope you feel able to tell us information like this in the future, my dear girl. Either myself or Professor Snape—or Professor McGonagall, who had a great many wonderful things to say about our reptilian friend here when we crossed paths in the hall."
Harriet winced. "You got me in trouble," she muttered to Livi, whose answering look plainly said he disagreed. The serpent continued to coil himself tightly in her lap, settling in like an irreverent cat who cared little for the fact that Harriet would have to get up eventually.
Just then, Fawkes gave a mournful cry, and when the bespectacled witch lifted her chin to look at him, the bird burst into flames.
Harriet jumped to her feet and Livi hit the floor with a thump. "Professor Dumbledore!"
The Headmaster sat in his chair still, smiling, and Harriet was sure he'd gone round the bend when he chuckled. "Well, it's about time. He's been looking dreadful for days now and I've been hoping he'd get on with it."
"Wh—?"
"Fawkes is a phoenix, Harriet. It's his Burning Day."
"Yes, I know he's a—! Oh," she finished with a soft breath, the flames settling as swiftly as they'd ignited, Livi hissing furious words at Harriet's feet. Harriet had read that phoenixes were reborn from their own ashes, but she hadn't expected to see such a thing herself, or for it to be so—explosive. Or sudden. Or panic-inducing.
I thought I set him on fire accidentally like Uncle Vernon's trousers. Holy Merlin.
Professor Dumbledore stood and shuffled around the desk, going to the golden stand now sporting nothing but a few wilted feathers and a pile of soot. "Witches and wizards in the east say it's good luck to see a Burning Day," he commented as he started to gently brush his fingertips through the ash. "They say it's a miracle, and maybe they're right. It certainly is very strange and wondrous magic."
A bald baby chick emerged, chirping softly, wiggling its newborn wings as Professor Dumbledore smiled down at his familiar. As Harriet watched, she couldn't help but think the Headmaster's words described all kinds of magic, be it the kind that revived phoenixes from their fiery grave, or the kind that could Petrify the dead. It was all strange, wondrous—
And often terrifying.
A/N: It always annoyed me that the Board of Governors was only brought up in canon, what? Once? Twice? I personally find it interesting to have more checks and balances to the Headmaster's power.
Harriet: "Professor, your bird is on fire."
Dumbledore: "Good."