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Aurora Areli
WE STEPPED OFF THE stone staircase at the top and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently, allowing us to step inside. Professor McGonagall told Harry and I to wait, and left us there, alone.
As I looked around, I decided that, out of all the teachers' offices I had visited so far, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting. If I hadn't been so scared that Harry and I were going to be expelled, I would have been glad to get a look around.
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 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.
A strange, gagging noise made us whirl around.
It turned out that we weren't alone after all. A decrepit-looking bird was standing on a golden perch, resembling something like a half-plucked turkey. I watched it in both curiosity and confusion while it stared balefully back, making its gagging noise again. Its eyes were dull and feathers were falling off its tail as Harry and I watched.
I realized that it must be a phoenix; why else would Dumbledore have a sick bird in his office?
Then, it burst into flames.
Harry yelled in shock and backed away, sending me a panicked look. After giving one last shriek, it became nothing more than a smouldering pile of ash on the floor.
"We — we just," he stammered, "we just killed Dumbledore's bird!"
"No, Harry, it's —" I started, but just then, the office door opened and Dumbledore came in.
"Professor," Harry gasped, "your bird — we couldn't do anything — he just caught fire —"
Dumbledore only smiled, leaving Harry in a baffled state.
"About time, too," Dumbledore 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 Harry's face.
"Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry," he explained. "Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him . . ."
I looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its head out of the ashes, not looking much prettier than the old one.
"It's a shame you two had to see him on a Burning Day," Dumbledore said, seating himself behind his desk. "He's really very handsome most of the time: wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers and they make highly faithful pets."
