CHAPTER ELEVEN

Hannah eased into a chair on the edge of the common room, glad for once that it was empty. Since it had been her idea, she'd taken on the responsibility of writing to the Ministry, and she figured she'd better do it before she chickened out. Chewing her lip nervously, Hannah dug out the list of Ministry personnel Hermione had found for her, then reached back into her bag for parchment. Something brushed against her fingers, and her teeth drew blood as she fought not to make a noise. Not a spider, not a spider, she chanted fervently, and pulled the parchment free. It was clean, but she still gave it a quick shake before dropping it on the desk. She hesitated to reach back in her bag, but she still needed quill and ink, so she took a deep breath and stuck her hand in. She grabbed the quill, then searched around for her ink, and felt something nudge it into her hand. This time, a tiny squeak did escape, but Hannah quickly cut it off, sitting bolt upright and fumbling the bottle. Once it and the quill were safely set down, she scrubbed her hands on the front of her robes, skin crawling.

Okay, get it together, she thought, cringing. Think Ministry thoughts and try to write like Hermione. Don't think about the spiders in your bag. You can do this.

With that, she bent her head to her task, pen scribbling a little desperately as she tried to drown out the faint rustling in her bag.

Across the castle, Harry, one hand tangled in his messy hair, muttered under his breath, "This doesn't make any sense." Ron grunted quietly in agreement, or maybe in his sleep, because his eyes were closed when Harry looked up from his Magical Theory assignment. Sighing, he lowered his quill and got up to wander through the stacks, looking for nothing in particular. It was hard enough to focus on homework without worrying about everything else; even though last year had been completely weird, and Snape had been on his case nonstop, it had been a while since Harry had felt so terrible. Given the givens, it wasn't like he could exactly disappear anymore, either. His feet took him to the section on dragons, and he was browsing absently, thinking about Norbert, when he heard it.

"-still can't believe it-"

"Poor Mandy was scared to leave the dorm all week-"

"Are you sure it's him?"

"'Course. Everyone knows Parselmouth's the sign of a Dark wizard-"

The whispers grew closer, and Harry grabbed a book at random, opened it to the middle, and tried to appear very interested in the mating cycle of the Burgundian Ridgehorn. From the corner of his eye, he watched as two Hufflepuffs and three Ravenclaws rounded the corner, led by Ernie Macmillan.

"-knows how he survived anyway," Ernie was whispering. "He was just a baby, and that's probably why You-Know-Who tried to kill him in the first place. Competition. Bet he has other powers-"

"Shh!" one of the Ravenclaws hissed, face pale with fear as he swatted Ernie's shoulder. The others all froze as soon as they spotted him, and Harry turned the page, trying to look inconspicuous. Considering the death grip he had on the book, it probably wasn't very convincing.

"Potter," Ernie managed after a tense moment, swallowing hard as he said it.

Harry looked up. "Oh, hey," he said, trying to sound calm. He snapped the book closed with a little more force than he'd meant to, and watched half the group flinch. He turned to the first Ravenclaw, who he recognized, finally, as Michael Corner. "I've actually been looking for Mandy."

He hadn't thought it possible, but Michael actually got paler. "Wh-what do you want with her?" he asked, voice shaking.

"I wanted to tell her what really happened with the snake," Harry explained, keeping his voice level. "I realize it looked bad, but-"

"We were all there," Ernie interrupted, despite his own nerves. "We saw what happened."

Harry looked at him, trying to stomp down his anger, and said, "Then you know the snake backed off after I talked to it."

"All I saw," said Ernie, trembling, "was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake towards her."

"I didn't chase it!" Harry said, voice raising a little in frustration, and he took a deep breath. "It didn't even touch her, why would I want to do anything to Mandy-"

"Both her parents are half-blood," squeaked another Ravenclaw, Lisa Turpin, and he recognized her as the one who'd talked about Mandy refusing to leave the dorm. "What other reason does someone like you need?"

"And in case you're getting ideas," Ernie added, elbowing back in, "me and Entwhistle have pure blood. These guys are under our protection. And Mandy."

Harry stared in open-mouthed astonishment. "My cousin and one of my best friends are both Muggleborn," he said, going up a few octaves incredulously. "Hannah is half. I don't care what kind of blood anyone's got! What is wrong with you?" He shoved the book back onto the shelf, making it growl warningly. He turned and stomped back to his table, then shoved his stuff into his bag. Ron sat up with a snort.

"Wassup?" Ron asked blearily.

"I'm going for a walk," Harry replied tightly, and stormed out of the library, ignoring Madam Pince's evil eye. He had no particular destination in mind, but he tried to keep to the side corridors, going out of his way to avoid other students, and for the first time in quite a while, he got lost. This didn't register, really, until someone called his name and he looked up and had no idea where he was.

It was a light, airy hallway, which puzzled him until he took note of the floor-to-ceiling windows. They sparkled as if they'd been recently cleaned, but had a faint green tinge. The hall didn't seem to lead anywhere, but a door was open halfway down, and Callidora was standing there with her arms folded. She didn't look mad, though her eyes were hidden behind her glasses. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Not really," Harry said before he could stop himself. "I mean, no, I'm fine, it's just-"

"Rumors?"

He hesitated, then nodded, and she returned the gesture before beckoning him forward. "Come into my office, have a snack," she suggested. It sounded better than wandering aimlessly until everyone forgot he existed, so Harry followed her in, dragging his feet. Once inside, however, he looked around curiously.

The office had a fantastically tall ceiling, and had the same charm as that of the Great Hall. Currently, there was a light snowfall, and it stopped about nine feet above their heads, with the occasional fat snowflake making a gentle plink as if it were landing on glass. There were two other tall, green-tinted windows behind a sturdy, practical oak desk, and opposite a wall of heavily burdened book shelves was a wall of Quidditch paraphernalia. It was mostly articles and photos, but there was also a collectible sand-colored robe with a griffon and the name Nejem on it in royal blue with an old Quaffle hung beside it. Harry made a beeline for it, unable to help himself. "Did you play?" he asked curiously, reaching up to touch the frame of a photo showing a younger Callidora and another girl laughing on a Quidditch pitch.

"No," Callidora said from behind him, "but I've always loved the sport." When he turned, she was pulling a box of cookies from her desk, and there was already a pot of tea brewing. Harry trotted over, stepping onto the soft, mosslike area rug that covered most of the floor, and set his bag down beside the desk. On its well-worn surface, a number of interesting trinkets were sitting, some of them gently whirring. Seeing his interest, she said, "Some of them are for measuring magic. Most of them are just because they're fun to look at." She reached out and gently flipped a switch on one with her finger, and it started blowing a steady stream of tiny, color-changing bubbles. Harry grinned, then sat down in a squishy armchair and accepted a cookie when she offered.

They chewed in companionable silence for a moment before Callidora said, "So, would you rather talk about your situation or play cards for a bit?"

"Cards," Harry said immediately, relieved. "Definitely cards." She shot him a knowing smile, then pulled a pack out of her desk. To his surprise, the cards pulled from their battered pack weren't magical - or at least, not originally.

Catching his curious look, Callidora smiled minutely and shuffled the cards. "I prefer them to Wizarding packs," she said. "They don't give me as much cheek." She dealt the cards. "Rummy?"

Harry nodded, and gathered up his cards when she was done. "A-are you Muggleborn?"

"Hm?" A raised eyebrow. Harry hastened to explain himself.

"I just mean," he said nervously, "most wizards seem- seem not to like Muggle things? Unless you're Mr. Weasley, anyway. Or Muggleborn."

"Ah." Callidora took a moment to rearrange her cards, then said, "That is a very good point. In fact, I am half. My mother was a Muggle- it quite scandalized my grandmother."

"Why?"

She shot him an amused look, then stared pointedly at his cards until, embarrassed, he got the hint and laid down three. A moment later, Callidora added a card to his sequence, then said, dry as a desert, "Well, she fancied herself to be one of Callidora Black's greatest friends, despite being a Muggleborn herself. The Blacks are as Pure as they come, and are very stuck-up about it, as you might've noticed in your young Draco. His mother is a Black."

This was an awful lot to take in at once, so Harry only hummed and wondered if he ought to learn more about this family. They fell into silence as he digested it, and it wasn't until they'd played a few more hands that Callidora mentioned, "I've noticed you've been a little frustrated in my classes. Is there any way I can help?"

Between all the Chamber of Secrets drama and the ongoing spectacle of Lockhart's ill-fated romance, Harry had no idea when she'd even had the time to notice. He opened his mouth to say that he was fine, but he caught her mild and knowing look, and mumbled instead, "I just... don't get it."

"Mmm, I see," she said, and straightened one of her cards. "Let's try this. Is it too boring?"

"No- well. A little, sometimes." As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry regretted them, but Callidora only nodded.

"Alright. That's one thing we can work on." A flash of a smile. "Do I lose you when I lecture? As in speak too fast, or use too many weird words?"

Harry thought about it, then said, slowly, "You can be kind of fast."

With another nod, Callidora set her cards aside for a moment in order to take out a piece of parchment and a brilliant blue quill with a magenta nib. "To record ideas," she explained, laying the parchment flat on the desk and smoothing it before balancing the quill on it, point-down. It held when she let go. "Too boring, and I speak too quickly," she said, and the quill wrote those exact words down. "The downside, of course," Callidora added to Harry, "is that it will record every word we say. But a See-All Scrivener is better than a Quick-Quotes anyway, in my opinion." She picked her cards up.

"What's a Quick-Quotes?" Harry asked, watching with interest as the See-All copied their words down flawlessly.

"It's a little like a See-All, but it makes up stories around what the person says," Callidora said with a derisive snort. "Ridiculous. So, let's see." She went quiet a long moment, one of those odd pauses that came over her from time to time, then said, "Okay. Boring, too fast. What else?"

Harry gave an embarrassed little half-shrug. "I dunno," he mumbled, laying down a card. "It's just... hard."

Callidora hummed, then did the same. "I think I can work with that."

They played a couple of games, Harry struggling to figure out if she was letting him win or was complete rubbish at cards, then had a quiet snack before Callidora coaxed him into bringing out his homework. She went over it with him step by step, taking note of areas he had no problem with and helping him work out something that didn't make sense to him. Always, always she let him figure things out for himself, only giving him helpful pointers or insisting on a quick break, and by the time dinner rolled around he was almost done.

"Let's stop for now," Callidora said at last. "It's nearly dinner time - why don't you go relax with your friends until then? Take some of the stress off." She smiled, and Harry slowly smiled back.

"Thanks, Professor," he said, gathering his things and putting them back in his bag. He drained his teacup, then got up. "Um, bye," he said, a little awkwardly.

"See you at dinner, Mr. Potter," she said, mock solemnly, and he grinned before leaving her office.

Deciding to drop his bag off at his dorm first, Harry set about trying to find his way back. Several wrong turns and a very chatty stairwell later, he found himself back in front of the library. A quick peek inside showed no sign of Ron, so he hurried past, not wanting to run into anyone else.

Unfortunately, he did anyway.

It was very nearly a literal collision, in fact, and never before Harry been so glad of his quick reflexes. There, in the corridor in front of him, were Nearly Headless Nick and a tiny Ravenclaw. Both of them were petrified.

"Bloody-" Harry swore, jerking back in alarm. His bag slipped off his shoulder, and he grabbed it before it hit the floor. He'd almost walked right into Nick. Before he could do more than stare in horror, a familiar voice broke the silence.

"I told you!"

Harry turned around, trying not to groan. Ernie and his friends looked like they'd just come out of the library and the sound of footsteps clued him in to the fact that Ernie's shouting had drawn attention.

"I'm not-" he started, swallowing hard. "I didn't-"

"Thought it was funny when I saw you running past," Ernie said, puffed up with his own righteousness. Harry was so thrown by this - why run towards the crime scene? - that he could only stare.

Salvation arrived in the form of an ashen-faced Professor McGonagall, who immediately checked the victims over. Satisfied that they were alive, she conjured two stretchers to whisk them away to the hospital wing. By then, quite a crowd had gathered. McGonagall shooed them to the main hall with platitudes Harry didn't manage to comprehend through his shock. When she touched his shoulder, Harry jumped, and was surprised to see that they were alone. She peered over her glasses at him, brow furrowed but concerned rather than angry.

"Come along, Mr. Potter," she said, gently, and steered him away.

For the second time in one day, Harry found himself inside a teacher's office. This time, it was Dumbledore's, and every passing minute felt like it was being squeezed through a tube about fifty years long. He set his bag down by the door, then anxiously picked it back up only to set it back down again in a more out-of-the-way spot. As he fidgeted and tried to calm himself, a familiar hat caught Harry's eye.

After engaging the Sorting Hat in a very long staring contest in which the hat took no part at all, Harry picked his way across the room to its shelf. Carefully, he lifted the hat and set it on his head. It slipped down just the same as it had the year before, which was oddly comforting, and then it said, "Mr. Potter."

"Hi," said Harry.

"You're worried I put you in the wrong House," the hat observed.

"Er- yes."

The Sorting Hat gave a funny little chuckle that sounded almost fond. Harry wondered if hats could be fond, though he was careful not to wonder it too loudly. "It's true you would have done well in Slytherin. Very well indeed," it said, and Harry's heart sank. Before he could drum up a response, however, it continued, "But you will do better in Gryffindor. And Harry?"

"Yes?"

"It isn't your House that defines you. It's you that defines your House."

"Wh-? What does that even-?" A sudden feeble screech caused Harry to nearly jump right out of his skin, and he pushed up the brim of the hat in time to see an ancient, sickly bird he hadn't seen before burst into flames. With a yelp of alarm, Harry yanked the hat off and put it back on the shelf before hurrying over, but by the time he arrived, the bird was already a pile of ash on the floor. "Oh, no-"

"Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry jumped again, and he spun to face Dumbledore, wide-eyed. "Professor!" he croaked. "It- I- I don't know what happened! It just - was on fire!"

"About time," said Dumbledore with what the panicked Harry thought was rather too much cheer. "He's been looking dreadful for weeks. I've been telling him to get a move on." He smiled warmly, then stepped forward and slowly knelt in front of the ash pile, putting out a hand. As Harry watched in astonishment, a tiny, ugly baby bird poked its head out, and Dumbledore scooped it up. He deposited the bird on a part of the perch that was shaped like a tiny nest. "Fawkes is a phoenix. They burst into flame when it's time for them to die and be reborn." Once Fawkes was secure, he went behind his desk and settled comfortably in his chair. "It is quite a shame you had to see him on Burning Day, he's usually very fine to look at. Red and gold plumage," Dumbledore added with a wistful sigh. "Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. Now, then-"

Reality returned all at once, and Harry blurted, "Professor, I didn't do it, I swear-"

The headmaster gently held up a hand to stop him. "I don't think it was you, Harry," he said. He paused to let this sink in.

After a long moment, Harry said weakly, "You don't?"

"No. Tea?" Dumbledore folded his hands neatly on the desk and twinkled, the very picture of grandfatherly concern, though this was completely lost on Harry. A teapot emerged from the clutter of the room, as did cups, and tea began to prepare itself. Dumbledore was quiet as this process took place, and when the tea was done, plucked his cup out of the air and said, "I actually wanted to ask you something - have you anything you'd like to tell me? Any questions or worries?"

Harry frowned, puzzled by this turn events. What could he tell the Headmaster? Yes, sir, I'm hearing voices in the walls, all of the school thinks I'm the Heir, and- no. There was no way he was going to talk about anything. He shook his head. "No, sir," he said. "Nothing."