the ring︱harry potter x (fem.) reader

cøs: wishful drinking

~ tessa violet

"Please, can I draw mustaches on them?"

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Third Person POV

Together they stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall knocked on the door. It opened silently and they entered. Professor McGonagall told Harry to wait and left him there, alone.

Harry looked around. One thing was certain: of all the teachers' offices Harry had visited so far this year, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting. If he wasn't scared that he was about to be expelled, he might have enjoyed a look around.

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

Harry hesitated. He cast a wary eye around the sleeping witches and wizards on the walls. Surely it couldn't hurt if he took the hat down and tried it on again? Just to see... just to make sure it had put him in the right House --

He walked over quietly around the desk, lifted the hat from its shelf. and lowered it slowly onto his head. It was much too large and slipped down over his eyes, just as it had done the last time he'd put it on. Harry stared at the black inside of the hat, waiting. Then a small voice said in his ear, "Bee in your bonnet, Harry Potter?"

"Er, yes," Harry muttered. "Er -- sorry to bother you -- I wanted to ask --"

"You've been wondering whether I put you in the right House," said that hat. "Yes... you were particularly difficult to place. But I stand by what I said before" -- Harry's heart leaped, relieved -- "you would have done well in Slytherin --"

Harry's stomach plummeted. That was not the answer that Harry wanted to hear. He grabbed the point of the hat and pulled it off. It hung limply in his hand, grubby and faded. Harry pushed it back into its shelf, feeling sick.

"You're wrong," he said aloud to the still and silent hat. It didn't move. He backed away, watching it as if it would jump at him and attack him. Then a strange, gagging noise behind him told Harry he wasn't alone.

He spun around. Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey. Harry stared at the bird, and it looked balefully back, making its gagging noise again. Harry thought it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull and, even as Harry watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail.

Harry was just thinking that all he needed was for Dumbledore's pet bird to die while he was alone in the office with it. Then, the bird burst into flames.

Harry 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 the next second there was nothing but a smoldering pile of ash on the floor.

The office door opened, and Dumbledore came in, looking very grim.

"Professor," said Harry quickly. "Your bird -- I couldn't do anything -- he just caught fire --"

To Harry's astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.

"About time, too," he said, Harry felt a bit more relieved but was now filled with confusion. "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on."