𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝟐 & 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙁𝙧𝙖𝙪𝙙

THEY STEPPED OFF THE STONE staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and they entered. Professor McGonagall told Beomgyu to wait and left him there, alone.

Beomgyu looked around. One thing was certain: of all the teachers' offices Beomgyu had visited so far this year, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting. If he hadn't been scared out of his wits that he was about to be thrown out of school, he would have been very pleased to have a chance to look around it.

It was a large and beautiful 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 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.

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

Then a small voice said in his ear, "Bee in your bonnet, Choi Beomgyu?"

"Er, yes," Beomgyu muttered. "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—" Beomgyu's heart leapt "—you would have done well in Slytherin."

Beomgyu's stomach plummeted. He grabbed the point of the hat and pulled it off. It hung limply in his hand, grubby and faded. Beomgyu pushed it back onto its shelf, feeling sick.

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

It didn't move.

Beomgyu backed away, watching it. It's not like he despised Slytherin, after all, some of his most trusted friends were there and he had met decent ones in that House; but. . .he just didn't want to prove everyone now that he might've been the actual heir, and that made Beomgyu sick.

Then a strange, gagging noise behind him made him wheel around.

He wasn't alone after all.

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

Beomgyu was just thinking that all he needed was for Dumbledore's pet bird to die while he was alone in the office with it, when the bird burst into flames.
Beomgyu 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 next second there was nothing but a smoldering pile of ash on the floor.

The office door opened. Dumbledore came in, looking very somber.

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

To Beomgyu's astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.

"About time, too," he said. "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on." He chuckled at the stunned look on Beomgyu's face. "Fawkes is a phoenix, Beomgyu. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him. . ."