Everlasting (H.P x fem.reader) YEARS 1-4

Year Two: Chapter Twelve

Harry's POV:

We stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and we entered. Professor McGonagall told me to wait and left me there, alone.

I looked around. One thing was certain: of all the teachers' offices I had visited so far this year, Dumbeldore's was by far the most interesting.

If I hadn't been scared out of my wits that I was about to be thrown out of school, I would have been very pleased to have a chance to look around it.

It was a large and circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of 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 headmistress, 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.

I hesitated. I cast a wary eye around the sleeping witches and wizards on the walls. Surely it wouldn't hurt if I took the hat down and tried it on again? Just to see...just to make sure it had put me in the right House—

I walked quietly around the desk, lifted the hat from its shelf, and lowered it slowly on my head. It was much too large and slipped down over my eyes, just as it had done the previous time I'd put it on.

I stared at the black inside of the hat, waiting.

Then a small voice in his ear said, "bee in your bonnet, Harry Potter?"

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

"You've been wondering whether I put you in the right House," said the hat smartly. "Yes....you were particularly difficult to place. But I stand by what I said before" — my heart leapt — "you would have done well in Slytherin—"

My stomach plummeted. I grabbed the point of the hat and pulled it off. It hung limply in my hand, grubby and faded. I pushed it back on its shelf, feeling sick.

"You're wrong," I said aloud to the still and silent hat.

It didn't move. I backed away, watching it. Then a strange, gagging noise behind me made me wheel around.

I wasn't alone after all. Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey. I stared at it and the bird looked balefully back, making its gagging noise again. I thought it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull and, even as I watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail.

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

I yelled in shock and backed away into the desk. I looked feverishly around in case there was a glass of water but couldn't see one; the bird, meanwhile, had become a fireball; it gave out a loud shriek and next second there was nothing by a pile of smoldering ashes on the ground.

The office door opened. Dumbeldore whisked in looking very somber.

"Professor," I gasped. "Your bird — I couldn't do anything — he just caught fire—"

To my astonishment, Dumbleodre smiled.

"About time, too," said Dumbeldore. "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on."

He chuckled at the stunned look on my's face.

"Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flames when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him..."