To change the future

Polyjuice Potion

"I'd like to read next!" Stephen Strange says, the book being levitated to him.

He stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall knocked on the door. It swung open silently, and they walked in. Professor McGonagall instructed Harry to wait and left him standing alone.

"Yes leave me alone so I can freak out about being expelled." Harry grumbles under his breath

Harry surveyed the room; it was clear that of all the teachers' offices he had seen this year, Dumbledore's was the most intriguing. Had he not been terrified of being expelled, he would have relished the opportunity to explore. The room was spacious and elegantly circular, alive with peculiar little sounds. Several strange silver instruments, perched on spindly-legged tables, buzzed and released small clouds of smoke. The walls were adorned with portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses, who were dozing softly in their frames. There was a massive, claw-footed desk, and behind it, on a shelf, sat a worn, frayed wizard's hat—the Sorting Hat.

Harry hesitated, casting a wary glance at the slumbering witches and wizards adorning the walls. It surely couldn't harm to take the hat down and try it on once more? Just to see... just to confirm it had sorted him into the correct House.

"The hat never makes a mistake, it puts you where you best fit." Dumbledore says gently

He moved silently around the desk, reached for the hat on its shelf, and gently placed it on his head. It was far too big and fell over his eyes, just as it had the last time he wore it. Harry gazed into the darkness inside the hat, waiting. Then a tiny voice whispered in his ear, "Bee in your bonnet, Harry Potter?" "Uh, yes," Harry mumbled. "Um - sorry to disturb you - I wanted to ask—" "You've been pondering whether I placed you in the correct House," the hat said sharply. "Indeed... you posed quite a challenge to sort. However, I reaffirm my initial assertion," Harry's heart soared, "you and your brother both would have thrived in Slytherin—"

"You would have, you're both cunning and good at getting information. And I've never seen either of you let anyone stop you from doing what you wanted." Theo says

Harry's stomach dropped. He seized the tip of the hat and yanked it off. It dangled limply from his grasp, dingy and faded. Harry shoved it back onto its shelf, a wave of nausea washing over him. "You're wrong," he declared to the motionless hat. It remained still. Harry retreated, keeping his eyes on it. Then, a peculiar, gagging sound from behind caused him to spin around. He wasn't alone. Perched on a golden stand behind the door was a bird that looked like a half-plucked turkey. Harry gazed at it, and the bird returned the gaze miserably, issuing the gagging sound once more. Harry thought it appeared extremely sick. Its eyes were lifeless, and as he watched, a few more feathers drifted from its tail.

"You should be glad Fawkes isn't here, he wouldn't have appreciated the comparison."

 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, when the bird burst into flames.

"Wait what?" Toni, Bruce and several people ask in alarm, only to stop at Thor's laugh "A Pheonix then?" Thor asks, Dumbledore nods before a bright light filled the room, Fawkes appearing on Dumbledore's shoulder.

The non magicals in the room gawked at the bird, while Thor beamed at the bird "I've always wanted to see one up close, I've only seen one far away when I was barely five centuries old!" Thor exclaims

Harry screamed in shock and stumbled back against the desk. He frantically searched for a glass of water but found none; meanwhile, the bird had turned into a fireball; it emitted a piercing shriek and in the next moment, there was nothing but a pile of smoldering ashes on the floor. The office door swung open. Dumbledore entered, his expression grave. "Professor," Harry choked out. "Your bird - there was nothing I could do - it just ignited -" To Harry's amazement, Dumbledore beamed. "It was about time," he declared. "He's looked terrible for days; I've been encouraging him to hurry up." He laughed at Harry's shocked expression. "Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flames when their time comes, only to be reborn from the ashes. Observe..." Harry glanced down just in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird emerge from the ashes. It was every bit as unsightly as its predecessor.