It's been a while, but I've finally got another chapter for all of you wonderful people who put up with my (basically non-existent) upload schedule! I didn't even realize the last time I'd updated this was nearly a full year ago until I looked at the story this morning, and for that I am very sorry. I could have sworn I updated it last November, but looking back that was actually my Tom Riddle-centric one-shot Word by Word, whoops! :)

In any case, I hope you enjoy Harry's first encounter with Dumbledore - things are about to get tense!


~Chapter 23: Headmaster Dumbledore~


The morning after Rita Skeeter's inflammatory article graced the front page of the Prophet began with a literal bang.

"Are you going to open them?" Hermione asked, staring at the pile of letters quickly overtaking Harry's plate as they sat at the end of the Gryffindor table having breakfast.

Harry prodded the stack with his fork, tentatively lifting one corner up far enough to catch a glimpse of his half-eaten ham and eggs, well aware of Professor McGonagall's eyes on him. "I don't know who they're from," he protested, trying to fish out a bit of ham that hadn't plastered itself to the parchment.

He gave up when the latest messenger, a harried tawny owl, dropped a thick envelope that hit the top of the stack with a wet, squelching sound before it slid off, trailing an oily substance that reeked of decomposing fish, and bowled straight into his juice. Hermione caught his goblet before it toppled over and slid it out of harm's way.

As she wrinkled her nose in disgust at the smell, Harry watched the owl wheel about in midair and race back across the hall, all but throwing itself out the window above the teacher's table.

That… wasn't a good sign.

"I think we should leave," he said, grabbing his bag from between his feet and swinging one leg over the bench. Wisps of smoke had started rising from the suspicious envelope and, worse than whatever that was, he could see the corners of at least two crimson howlers tucked in among the rest and had no desire to be anywhere nearby when they went off.

Hermione turned to frown at him in disapproval. "You shouldn't leave mail unopened," she scolded. "Some of it could be import—"

Harry grabbed her arm and dove off the bench as one of the howlers split open in a shower of sparks and triggered a chain of explosions that shook the rafters.

His mail erupted in a ball of multicoloured flames that devoured the end of the table while the howlers shrieked in rage. Harry clasped his hands to his ears and shuffled back until he bumped against the Ravenclaw bench and, in a maneuver that would have made Basil proud, twisted his body under it and out the other side so rapidly that the startled sixth-year boy he passed beneath yelped and booted the underside of the table in panic.

As the students closest to where Harry had been sitting scrambled away, the staff jumped to their feet and rushed off the dais, tiny Professor Flitwick in the lead. The Charms Professor whipped out his wand and cast a silencing spell over the table, plunging the hall into merciful silence.

Harry watched them extinguish the flames, his ears ringing so badly that when Professor McGonagall came over to check on them she needed to repeat herself twice before he could understand what she'd asked.

"Are either of you hurt?"

He pulled himself out from beneath the table and shook his head before looking around quickly for Hermione. She was half under the bench beside him, a grimace on her face. "Are you okay?" he asked her as McGonagall was called back to the charred end of her house table by Flitwick.

"I've been better," she replied as she crawled out. There were scrapes on the back of her left hand from their hard landing, and she was rubbing her elbow as though it pained her. "Thanks for pulling me down. If you'd been a bit slower I would have been caught in the explosion."

"I owed you," he said, remembering he still hadn't repaid her for protecting him during their Transfiguration class, and again the night before when she'd distracted Filch. "You ended up in the hospital wing because of me, and I know you don't like detentions, so it was the least I could do." Hermione was looking at him with an unreadable expression. Was she angry with him? He looked down, his face suddenly hot. "To say thanks, you know?"

Hermione crossed her arms with a small huff. "Harry, you don't owe me anything," she scolded. "I helped you because I consider you my friend, and friends help each other because they want to, not to repay a debt."

"But you've done so much for me while all I seem to do is get you in trouble." He swallowed hard and hugged his bag against his stomach. "Why would you want to be friends with someone like that… like me?"

"Harry!" She sounded exasperated. "You're impossible sometimes! Is it so hard to believe we're friends because I like you? You're kind and brave, and no matter how much trouble you get yourself into your heart's always in the right place." Harry opened his mouth to protest that he'd done plenty of horrible things in the past, but she leaned forward, crowding him back against the bench, her eyes gleaming fiercely. "You risked your life to save Neville during our flying lessons. You insisted we help Malfoy with Professor Snape, despite it being none of our business in the first place. You were the one who was willing to risk expulsion to save a group of animals who hadn't done any harm." Her face softened. "I was angry with you last night," she admitted. "I must have called you every type of idiot under the sun. But you know what? The longer I thought on it, the more I realized you were also right." She tilted her head back, looking up at the enchanted ceiling where the dawn was painting the bellies of the clouds overhead in pinks and golds. A spasm of pain tightened the skin around her eyes and mouth. "I was a coward, hiding behind rules because it was easy and safe."

"I don't think you're a coward," he replied quietly. A small smile curled his lips. "After all, you were the one who cursed Draco out in front of Snape of all people. He's terrifying."

"Professor Snape," she corrected before looking at Harry guiltily. "I may have had an ulterior motive for that."

"Oh?"

She grimaced. "I know it was selfish of me, but I just… I wanted you as my partner."

Harry burst out laughing. "I thought you just wanted an excuse to yell at Draco!"

"Well, that too. I know the two of you are friends, but he can be a right prat sometimes."

Harry stood up and brushed the dust from his robes. "He's not so bad," he said as he hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. "He just likes to feel important. I'm sure if you stop one-upping him in class he'll warm up to you."

"But his answers are never complete!" she protested, following his lead until, when she reached down to retrieve her own bag, she discovered it was nowhere in sight. After a moment of confusion her face dropped in horror and she spun towards the destroyed table. "My bag!" she wailed, spotting a blackened lump of fabric beneath the remains of the bench. "All my books were in there!"

Guilt gnawed at Harry's belly as he did his best to console her, even promising to give her his own copies of their school books. She refused point-blank, but he didn't give up.

They were friends, after all, and no matter how vehemently she argued it voided all debts between them, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that her life would have been much less stressful without him in it. If the fact she stuck by him regardless wasn't worth repayment, what was?


"It exploded?" Neville asked in alarm two days later as Harry told him about the letter fiasco. His grandmother had dropped him off that morning in time to make it to their Charms lesson with the Ravenclaws, and the school rumour mill hadn't yet reached him.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Professor McGonagall promised they'll screen my letters until everything calms down, but you'll want to be careful too. You and your gran stuck up for me in that article, so they might decide to yell at you too. Sorry."

Neville's face was pale, but he nodded resolutely. "Thanks," he said, then his expression wavered. "I'm sorry about the snakes. My gran told me they… got rid of the other ones yesterday."

Harry started, looking at his friend with wide eyes, before he remembered that Neville didn't know he'd freed the snakes. It was only natural he would believe the ones Professor McGonagall destroyed were real. Still, it caused a cold sweat to break out across his back and he had to remind himself that he'd seen Basil last night, at which point the snakes had all been happy and safe.

She'd found him while he'd been on his way back to the Gryffindor tower and had insisted he take her up to the dorm so she could steal his body heat and gripe about the 'stupid softbellies' who couldn't tell a healthy mouse from a sick one. The ball pythons had even gotten it into their heads to try and eat Ms Norris and wouldn't listen when Basil insisted they were far too small to fit the cat in their jaws let alone swallow her. Harry silently wished them luck in their endeavour. He wouldn't mourn the scruffy cat — the only person who would was Filch, and by this point Harry didn't care much for him either.

Apart from their questionable choices in regards to prey, the snakes were apparently living the good life in the twisting maze of the Hogwart's pipe network. They'd cleared the vermin out of several excellent dens near the school kitchens, whose massive hearths and ovens ensured the stones remained warm no matter how cold it got outside.

"Do you like it there?" he'd asked her, his heart sinking with the feeling of being left out. It was ridiculous, there was no way he'd fit in the narrow channels and cubbies within the walls, but hearing about Basil's adventures made him want to see it all with his own eyes.

She considered his question. "It is nice, but I like this den best, especially when your loud denmates are gone."

"Why?"

She'd looked at him as though he were a hatchling just coming out of winter chillsleep. "Because this is where you are," she explained patiently. The heaviness in Harry's chest had lifted, and they'd spent the rest of the evening speaking about Harry's classes and the spells, potions and plants he'd learned about during the week.

Harry shook his head, coming back to the present. There was nothing to worry about. Professor McGonagall had kept her promise. The snakes were all safe.

"It was too bad," he agreed, torn between telling Neville the truth or keeping his promise to not breathe a word about the deception. He decided to err on the side of caution, as Professor Flitwick was making his rounds, checking up on their wand-work for the protection charm he'd broken the curriculum to teach them. It was a difficult spell, one they normally wouldn't learn for a few years yet, but Professor Flitwick had looked at the near empty seats on the Gryffindor side of the classroom and decided then and there that teaching students to cast spells without also teaching them to properly defend from them was an irresponsible oversight that must be remedied immediately. And so, regular lessons were put on hold — not only for their class, but for all of Flitwick's classes — until he was satisfied they could cast a basic protego.

Charms was not the only class to undergo modifications to the syllabus. When they arrived at Defence Against the Dark Arts, they found Flitwick had roped Quirrell into his plan for reform during the morning break, because instead of learning the Bat Boogie Hex like expected they were drilled on spell categorization and counter-spells, and spent a headache-inducing hour matching lists of common hexes and jinxes to the spells that would undo them before Quirrell took pity on them and sent them off early.

The professor's hand looked much better, Harry noted as he followed Hermione to the front of the room after class. The blisters had gone down, and he didn't seem to be in pain anymore as he wrote out a list of book titles for Hermione, who was so eager to learn more about how spell categories were determined she was bouncing with excitement.

"D-do you also need a b-book recommendation?" Quirrell asked him once he'd handed the list over to Hermione.

"No thank you Professor," Harry replied. "One extra book is enough for me."

Quirrell twitched and missed putting his quill back in its stand. "Oh, yes. I s-suppose it would be," he said, picking the quill up and trying again. He peered at Harry curiously. "And are your s-studies going well?"

"I think so? I know the book's supposed to be in English, but it's like reading a completely different language."

"If it's t-too hard you can always return it."

Harry smiled. "I'm not going to give up just yet. I think we're making a bit of headway, honestly."

Quirrell nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I hope you f-find it useful, then."

Harry and Hermione thanked him again and hurried out. They rejoined Neville, who had been waiting just outside the door, and together the three of them made their way to the library so Hermione could pick up her new books.


The afternoon promised to be dull, as it always was when they were forced to sit through Professor Binn's dry lectures on the goblin wars, but halfway through the class, just as they were all drifting off to sleep, something unexpected happened.

A light rap at the door caused them to start awake and look back over their shoulders. One of the Gryffindor prefects was standing in the doorway.

"Mister Longbottom," she said. "You're needed in the headmaster's office. Please gather your things and come with me."

Neville looked bewildered as he started to pack away his supplies. "I wonder what they need me for?" Harry could only shrug.

"Maybe it's to do with the article in the paper," Hermione suggested, turning away from her notes. "Both you and your grandmother were interviewed, after all, and from what I've heard that Skeeter woman loves bending the truth to make her stories more exciting." She wrinkled her nose. "I can't stand people who write nothing but rubbish. I suspect Professor Dumbledore doesn't either, especially if it's about his own students. He probably just wants to make sure she didn't misquote you."

Neville's face lightened. "That might be. I'll let you know when I get back."

They waved goodbye as Neville followed the prefect from the room, and then Hermione scrambled to catch up with her notes, as Professor Binn's had rambled on as though he hadn't noticed the interruption. Harry watched her for a few moments, wondering how she managed to pay attention, before the lifeless drone of Binn's voice got to him. Yawning, he lowered his head onto his arms and tried to go back to sleep.


The prefect brought Neville back just as class was ending only to turn around and call Hermione away.

"Sorry," Neville said when they asked him what the headmaster had wanted. "I'm not supposed to tell you until you've been up to see him. They'll probably call you next though, Harry."

His nerves now thoroughly wracked, Harry contemplated making himself scarce for the rest of the evening. In the end he decided against hiding. Neville looked no worse for wear from the experience, and besides, he'd promised himself not to run away any more. That was how he found himself being escorted along the sixth floor forty minutes later by a prefect who, from the way she stared at a point just over his right shoulder when she directed him to follow her up yet another flight of stairs, wanted nothing to do with the castle's resident parselmouth.

She stopped in front of a large stone gargoyle and muttered something that sounded a great deal like "cherry nougat". It must have been a password, because the gargoyle shuddered to life and, after rolling its great stone shoulders, stepped aside to reveal a narrow spiral staircase.

"Up there," she said, motioning for him to go through. Harry took a deep breath and put his foot on the first step. The stairs jerked to life beneath him, rising upwards like a muggle escalator, and it was only his quick reflexes that kept him on his feet. Behind him the light from the corridor cut off as the gargoyle moved back into place, sealing the exit.

Trapped.

He tightened his grip on the railing and gulped a great lungful of air, hoping it would calm his racing heart as he was lifted relentlessly upwards. He could do this, he chanted to himself, bolstering his resolve. He would do this!

A short landing bearing a pair of arched wooden doors appeared suddenly around the bend. Caught off guard, he tripped on the top step, bowled straight through the doors, which swung open automatically at his approach, and landed hard on a red and gold patterned rug. His face burned as he picked himself up off the floor, but the office was empty apart from himself and he let out a small sigh of relief before turning his attention to the room itself.

It involved a great deal of looking up. Harry wasn't sure if the overall effect of the pointed gothic arches reaching towards the high ceiling was meant to be uplifting or intimidating, but they succeeded in drawing his eyes past a sea of slumbering portraits and into the rafters a good three stories above his head. Feeling even smaller than usual and more than a little uneasy, he dragged his eyes back down and stepped forward to study the headmaster's desk while it remained empty. It wasn't as large as he'd expected, and was nowhere near as ornamented as the chair that rested behind it. A magnificent ostrich plume was propped up in the quill holder, ready to be used, and there were a number of letters resting on a graceful metal tray that Harry assumed must be the man's inbox. There was a fire crackling merrily in an open rectangular pit a few meters behind the desk, beyond which he could make out another arched doorway that must have led deeper into the tower.

Having no interest in accidentally wandering into the headmaster's private quarters, Harry turned slowly and took in the office's walls, which were lined with shelves of books and glass-doored cabinets holding strange silvery instruments that gave off low clinks and hoots along with brightly coloured puffs of smoke. A miniature armillary sphere was rotating slowly on a small pedestal table watched over by a massive bird Harry assumed was stuffed until it turned its head to study him with intelligent black eyes.

Harry stared back, dumbfounded.

The bird sat upon a polished golden perch that appeared dull next to the brilliant sheen of its crimson and orange feathers. A crest rose proudly above its head and its long tail nearly swept the floor. It was the most striking creature he'd ever seen, and Harry had no idea how he'd missed it until now.

He was so bewildered that he didn't notice the doorway behind the fire pit open until the headmaster gently cleared his throat.

"I see you have met Fawkes," Dumbledore said, smiling at the look of wonder on Harry's face. "And while I wish there were more time for introductions, I'm afraid our colleagues from the Ministry are eager to kip off home for a well deserved lunch, so we should not keep them waiting."

"The Ministry?" Harry asked, snapping out of his awe as he remembered he'd been called here for a purpose other than admiring the headmaster's pet.

Dumbledore sighed, his shoulders slumping beneath his canary yellow robes. "Yes. I'm afraid that while their investigation continues we have a duty to assist them." He withdrew a piece of paper from one of the drawers in his desk and held it out to Harry. It was a waiver, Harry realized, similar to the one he'd signed for Quidditch. "They contacted your relatives for permission to perform a few tests — nothing painful, I assure you," he added quickly when Harry looked up at him in alarm. "I believe they are still trying to determine what happened to young Mister Finnigan."

Harry nodded mutely. He didn't want to be questioned again, but refusing now would be suspicious. Why couldn't the Dursleys have ignored the form? They'd been happy enough to do that before he'd ran away to Hogwarts. The answer came to him as the headmaster guided him around his desk and down a handful of stairs to the door set in the back wall.

They wanted him to be guilty.

Of course they did. If he were thrown in wizard prison they'd never need to deal with him again. He'd be gone from their lives as irrevocably as if he'd died. Harry took a long, slow breath. He wouldn't let them win. Straightening his back, he pretended the sweat running along his spine was from the heat of the fire behind him as Dumbledore ushered him into the back room.

Unlike the office, the room was small and rather cosy, with a pair of overstuffed armchairs set across from a small love-seat. The chairs were taken by a pair of wizards who stood as they entered the room, looking very formal in their tidy, well-cut robes. Dumbledore nudged him towards the open seat before he retreated to his office, closing the door behind him and leaving Harry to face the ministry officials alone.

One was the auror who had questioned him before — Kingsley, he thought the man's name had been. The other was a wiry old man with a stern face and a clipboard tucked under his arm. He was wearing a muggle business suit under an open robe, a mixture that caught Harry off guard after having spent the past month and a half surrounded by wizarding fashion.

"Good afternoon, Mister Potter," Kingsley said. "Please take a seat."

"Good afternoon, sir." Harry replied, sitting down on the love-seat and trying hard not to fidget. He glanced at the unknown wizard and was alarmed to find him writing notes on his clipboard.

"This is my colleague Doctor Goodridge," Kingsley said, motioning to the man. Harry's back went up immediately at the title and he fought to keep his expression mild. "He's a specialist in the field of magical psychology and is currently acting as a consultant in our investigation. Please answer his questions honestly."

Harry nodded, not having any other choice.

What followed was the strangest half an hour Harry had ever spent in the presence of a doctor. Goodridge had him hold a metal ball that gave off small electrical shocks and asked him to rate the intensity of the feeling on each of his fingers on a scale of one to ten. He then showed him a series of still photographs of people making various expressions and asked Harry to identify them, as well as tell him what he felt while looking at them. Harry had no problem identifying the majority of the emotions, even going so far as to be able to tell the difference between contempt and anger — it was all in the eyebrows — but he feared he didn't do as well on the second half of the test. He wasn't sure if Goodridge expected him to feel the same emotion as the people in the photographs or a different one, and the doctor had a poker face that even Draco would be jealous of.

"Anxious," Harry said, his hands tightening in his lap when Goodridge held up a photograph of a man yelling fiercely at the camera.

"I see, and what about this one?" he asked, showing Harry one of a woman crying hysterically.

Harry frowned, trying to identify the emotion coiling beneath his sternum. "Curious," he decided, "but also wary."

"Can you elaborate?" the doctor asked. "What about her makes you feel curious?"

This was the first time he'd been asked to expand on an answer, and Harry was caught off guard. "I guess I want to know what happened to her," he said haltingly.

"And if you knew?"

"I'd avoid it," he replied, wanting nothing to do with whatever had caused the woman to look as though her entire world had come crashing down. He had enough of his own issues to deal with. He didn't need a careless misstep to give him more.

They finished the half-hour with Harry looking at abstract paintings that appeared to have come from a kindergartens' finger-painting session and trying to identify images in them. Harry saw animals for the most part, though one of them — he admitted somewhat hesitantly — looked a great deal like Professor Snape swooping over a billowing cauldron complete with great streaky bat wings. When he'd finished his description, Kingsley had been forced to turn away and hide his laughter under the pretence of a coughing fit until he regained his composure.

Then the test was over and the two wizards packed up and departed through the fire in Dumbledore's office. Harry, who'd expected to be told what they were testing for, if not how he'd done, was left sitting on the love-seat confused and put out at the secrecy of it all.

"There," Dumbledore said, appearing in the doorway once he'd seen his guests off. "Not too bad, I hope?"

"No sir," Harry replied before he jumped to his feet, eager to be away. He'd started towards the exit when Dumbledore held out his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"A moment, Harry," he said. "There are a few things I wish to speak with you about before we are called to dinner. I believe I also promised you an introduction to Fawkes." He motioned to a deep, squishy armchair in front of his desk that Harry was certain hadn't been there before. "Please, take a seat."

Harry hesitated, his eyes flicking over to the door that would lead him out of the tower, before he nodded stiffly and perched on the edge of the chair. The unease he'd felt since entering the office was making itself known again, crawling up beneath his ribs to slowly choke the air from his lungs.

Dumbledore swept into his tall-backed chair and held out a small silver tin of yellow candies. "Sherbet Lemon?" he offered. "I find myself particularly fond of them."

"No thank you, sir," Harry replied quietly, keeping his eyes on his hands, which were folded tightly in his lap. As though sensing his discomfort, Fawkes hopped off his perch and glided down to the corner of Dumbledore's desk. His talons clacked against the wood as he found purchase and folded his broad wings back against his sides. He warbled gently and Harry glanced up in surprise as a wave of warmth rushed from his head all the way down to his toes.

"Fawkes is a phoenix," Dumbledore explained, stroking the bird's chest with the back of his hand. Fawkes nibbled gently at his fingers, dislodging them so he could preen the feathers beneath.

It had been over a month since Harry had skimmed his book on magical beasts — at least the parts that hadn't involved serpents such as runespoors, ashwinders and basilisks — so it took a moment for him to dredge up a handful of facts. "Oh!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening as he looked at the phoenix with new appreciation.

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "Remarkable creatures, phoenixes, and very faithful pets." He turned to regard Harry. "I hear you have a rather unusual pet yourself."

In an instant, all the wonder Fawkes had engendered drained away. "I don't have a pet, sir," Harry replied, meeting his eyes defiantly.

"I know you brought a snake with you to Hogwarts. It was with you in Transfiguration last week. I also believe it was the reason you followed Professor McGonagall and Mister Filch down the third-floor corridor back in September. Am I wrong, Harry?"

Harry raised his chin. "Yes, sir."

Dumbledore folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward. His eyes were penetrating, as though he could see straight through him. The pressure of his gaze made Harry's skin crawl. He hated feeling transparent, but to look away now would be to admit defeat and he would not sell Basil out, no matter how much the headmaster pretended to know.

"It's unbecoming for a young wizard such as yourself to lie, Harry," Dumbledore said with a hard edge to his voice.

Harry pressed his lips together, his body rigid. His eyes began to water as the pressure intensified. The curse scar on his brow was burning, the heat spreading down across his face until, with a twinge like an icepick being driven into his skull, the pressure vanished.

A spasm of pain tightened the skin around Dumbledore's eyes and he turned his head aside, blinking hard. Fawkes raised his head and trilled once before he returned to preening his wings.

"Does your scar hurt often?" Dumbledore asked once he'd regained his composure.

"How did you know my scar was hurting?"

"I know a great many things, Harry," he said, his voice low with an air of mystery that Harry assumed was meant to impress him. It didn't.

"My aunt knows a great many things too, and she's a snoop," he replied bitingly.

"I have no need to spy," Dumbledore protested, but Harry had just spent part of the last hour identifying emotions and knew guilt when he saw it.

He sent the man a look of deep disgust. "You even sound like her. You've got one set of rules for yourself and one for everyone else."

Dumbledore's face was white with fury but he didn't screech or yell like Petunia would have. Instead, he smoothed down his robes and carefully rearranged his hands so they were folded on his desk, one atop the other. "When you come to be my age, you realize how many of the mysteries and secrets of your youth were always apparent to those who understood the signs, no matter how cleverly you believed you'd hidden them."

Harry scoffed in disbelief. "People only see what they want to see." Ten years with the Dursleys had proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"I believe your pet's name is Basil," Dumbledore said casually, causing Harry to look up sharply as his blood froze in his veins.

There was no way Dumbledore could have known her name. The only people he'd told were Hermione, Draco, Neville and the Weasley twins, and the thought of any of them ratting him out left him cold and numb. He grit his teeth and didn't answer, even when the seconds dragged into minutes and the silence between them grew oppressive. No matter how sympathetic or kind Dumbledore acted, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that admitting Basil's existence to him would be the same as sentencing her to death.

Dumbledore was the first to give in. "Harry, please understand that I am merely concerned for the wellbeing of my students, which includes Mister Longbottom, who was treated for a snake bite on the first day of classes. I know the snake that bit him belongs to you, there are many witnesses who will attest to it."

Say nothing, Harry reminded himself. As long as you're quiet, they can't use your words against you.

Dumbledore stood and reached into the sleeve of his robe, drawing out a long dark wand with several knots spaced evenly along its length. "I hoped this wouldn't be necessary, but if you won't speak you leave me no choice but to summon her here."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. "What?"

"It's a simple enough spell," Dumbledore explained, raising his wand. "All that's required is an incantation, a slight wave of the wand and a mental image of the item or creature you wish to summon. Now, Acc—"

Harry leapt to his feet and lunged forward, snatching the wand from Dumbledore's hand before skittering out of range, his heart lodged in his throat as the realization of what he'd just done sunk in.

The portraits above them gave up the pretence of sleep and erupted in an uproar of shock and disbelief. Fawkes cried out in alarm and took flight, circling once before settling high up in the rafters.

"That's assault, that is!" exclaimed the portrait of a rotund wizard with a bulbous nose. "The nerve of youth these days. In my time they knew better than to go about attacking their elders."

"And in mine," agreed a witch with tight grey curls plastered to her head. "Return that wand immediately young man or I shall tan your hide!"

"Have him scrub the astronomy tower!"

"And write a letter of apology!"

"No, expel him!"

"Oh bravo, Mister Potter!" cheered a wizard with a pointed black goatee and immaculately tailored robes in a deep forest green. There was a wicked grin on his thin face. "Steal the tin of candies next. That will really get his goat!"

"Don't encourage him, Phineas!" the other portraits yelled.

Harry let the sound of their voices wash over him, never once taking his eyes off Dumbledore, whose expression was no longer genial.

"Harry, return my wand." His voice was low and dangerous. The portraits immediately fell silent. Harry gripped the wand a little tighter, moving it behind his back.

"No, I won't."

Dumbledore took a step towards him but Harry circled right, keeping the desk between them.

"Mister Potter, I won't ask you again. I understand you have some attachment to this snake, but I cannot allow you to keep a dangerous animal in the school."

Something snapped inside Harry and all his panic and unease ignited into blazing anger. "Dangerous?" He almost choked on the word. "You want to tell me that one little snake, who doesn't even have venom, is dangerous and should be destroyed, when you're keeping monsters in the school." His lips pulled back in a snarl. "You're right, I did go down the third floor corridor, and I saw the hounds. I also saw how much trouble Professor McGonagall had locking them back up — and she's an adult! If a student opened that door they could be killed, she told me so herself!"

"He has a point," said Phineas.

Dumbledore's face was flushed and he was standing very still. He took a deep breath and then forced out a smile that looked anything but genuine.

"I'm afraid the hounds, as you call them, must remain in the school this year," he explained. "They are guarding a very powerful magical artefact on loan from an old friend of mine that I cannot allow to fall into the wrong hands. It was nearly stolen once already from Gringotts late last summer, and we must take all precautions to ensure that does not happen again."

"So you're keeping it here? Even though someone wants it bad enough they broke into a bank?" Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"There is no place more secure in all of Britain."

That wasn't the point, but Harry was too angry to spell it out to him.

"That being said, you have made a valid point, and I can understand why you feel my position on your pet is unjust," Dumbledore admitted reluctantly.

"I don't have a pet," Harry growled. "I have friends. One of whom just happens to be a snake."

"Your friend, then." Dumbledore tried to edge closer, but Harry slid around the corner before the old man could get within arm's reach. They stared at each other across the desk, Harry now next to the headmaster's chair while he stood behind the one Harry had been occupying.

"Will you let her stay?" Harry asked, sensing weakness.

Dumbledore made a placating noise. "Things aren't that simple, my boy. You must understand that snakes are still held in fear by many, even so long after Voldemort's defeat, and after the event that took place in your Transfiguration class, some of the students' parents have concerns about their children being around a snake — even a little one."

Harry's heart sank, but he rallied quickly and shook off his disappointment. He couldn't leave this office without ensuring Basil would be safe, and if Dumbledore didn't want to commit he'd just need to force the issue, no matter how terrible it made him feel inside.

"If you don't swear to leave her alone, I'll tell the board of governors about the hounds."

It was a shot in the dark, but from the way Dumbledore's face hardened Harry knew the board wasn't in the loop about using the school as a safe-house, and wouldn't be pleased if they found out.

Some of the portraits gasped, but Phineas started laughing. "A touch of the black, is it? I think I like you, boy."

"There is no need for threats, Harry," Dumbledore said, holding his palms up in front of him. "I merely wished to warn you of the danger your… friend faces if she remains in the school. She has nothing to fear from me personally, of that I assure you."

Harry didn't believe him. "Swear it!" he hissed. "Swear that you'll leave her alone!"

"I give you my word," Dumbledore said gravely. "Now, I believe luncheon is nearly over and I'm sure you're hungry after speaking to the investigators." He held out his hand. "Once you have returned my wand you will be free to go."

Harry hesitated, gripping the wand a little harder. Dumbledore was between him and the exit, and even if the man was now smiling at him in that genial, grandfatherly manner he remembered from the start of term feast, there was always the chance it was a ploy to get him to lower his guard. Quickly glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the door to the back room was still open. Before Dumbledore's patience ran out he whirled on his heel and threw the wand as hard as he could. It arced over the fire and straight through the door, hit the floor with a clatter and rolled under the love-seat.

Dumbledore gave him a look of deep disappointment, but refrained from commenting as he stepped around the desk to retrieve it. Harry slipped around the other side and made a b-line for the exit. He burst through the door, not bothering to close it behind him, and took the stairs two at a time. He was forced to wait for the gargoyle to step aside when he reached the bottom and spent the entire time bouncing on the balls of his feet, his ears pricked for the sound of robes on the stairs behind him. Luckily, it seemed that Dumbledore was either having a hard time locating his wand or had decided not to pursue him after all, because there was no sign of him when Harry bolted into the castle proper, determined to get as far away as possible.

He ran into Hermione and Neville three floors down.

"There you are Harry!" Hermione said as he skidded to a stop in front of them. "We were worried when you didn't show up for lunch— what's the matter? You look ghastly."

"I blackmailed him." Harry's voice was little more than a choked whisper. "I blackmailed the headmaster."

"What?" Hermione shrieked. Neville was staring at him open-mouthed, at a loss for words.

Harry sank to the floor, his legs shaking too hard to support him. "He knew about Basil. He was going to use a spell to summon her and… he would have killed her." He looked up at them, his eyes wide as saucers, begging them to understand. "I had to stop him."

Hermione's shock melted into pity. "Oh, Harry," she said, kneeling down next to him and pulling him into a tight hug he was too exhausted and frightened to protest. "I know how much she means to you, but that was incredibly reckless! Blackmail is illegal!"

Harry's stomach twisted painfully. "I know, but I— I had no other choice. Are you mad?"

She sighed. "Of course not, but you worry me terribly sometimes."

"Sorry," he said quietly. "I don't mean to."

She finally released him and sat back. "I know, but you really do have the most terrible luck." She looked up at Neville. "You've noticed it too, right?"

Neville didn't seem to hear her. He was gazing out the window, a small thoughtful frown pursing his lips. "You know," he said slowly. "I think Professor Dumbledore lied to you."

Harry froze. "What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

Neville shook his head, looking bewildered. "It's just… I don't think summoning charms work on animals. At least, none of my aunts or uncles ever summoned Trevor for me when he ran off, even when I asked if they could get him back using magic. I always had to use the four-point charm and track him down on my own."

Harry sat up straight. "He tricked me?"

"Maybe," Neville replied. "He knows a lot more spells than most witches or wizards, though. Maybe one of them would work."

They all stared at one another, processing Neville's words.

"Well," Hermione said as she rose to her feet and brushed the dust from her knees with a brisk sweep of her hands. "I guess there's only one thing to do now."

"Go to the library?" Harry guessed, springing to his feet as well.

"I will go to the library," Hermione said forcefully. "You will go eat lunch so you don't get in trouble with Professor McGonagall."

"But!—"

"You can join me after," she said, her face softening. "I have no idea how you managed to blackmail someone like Professor Dumbledore, but if he took you seriously then it must be something he won't risk getting out. Now, the two of you should get going. Lunch will be over soon and the sooner you're done eating, the sooner you can help me research summoning spells."

As she shooed them away, Harry reflected once again on how lucky he was to have Hermione as a friend.


Dumbledore remained seated at his desk long after dismissing Harry. He steepled his fingers and pressed them against his lips, lost deep in thought.

"It is more active than I'd hoped," he said to Fawkes. The phoenix chirruped in reply before turning away to preen one of his magnificent crimson wings.

"I had hoped growing up…" He shook his head and sighed. "But there is nothing to be done about that now."

Rising from his desk, he walked across the room to where a small, faded photograph sat partially hidden behind a brass astrolabe. He picked it up, his fingers brushing over the silver phoenixes decorating the frame. A group of twenty witches and wizards standing in two loose lines smiled grimly at the camera. James Potter stood in the front row, his right arm wrapped protectively around his wife's shoulders. His left arm was cradled against his chest in a sling. The skin of his wrist, just visible above the cuff of his robes, was traced with black veins — a parting gift from Voldemort himself.

"You would have never forgiven me," he said quietly, gazing at their faces. The photograph had been taken shortly before Lily discovered she was with child and bowed out of the Order of the Phoenix, choosing to put the well-being of her son before her role in the resistance. "But perhaps, given time, you would have understood it was the only way to save him."

He gently placed the photograph back on the shelf and returned to his desk. Running a hand over Fawkes's crest, he allowed the phoenix's warmth to chase away the chill of doubt that crept over him when he remembered the fury burning in Harry's eyes.

No matter what misery it caused, he could not allow the thing imprisoned in the boy to gather enough strength to break loose. If it did, the child known as Harry Potter would cease to exist.


~End Chapter 23~


Harry's conversation with Dumbledore ended up being revised extensively from my original draft, in which there was very little tension and Dumbledore basically rolled over on allowing Basil to stay at the school. The new scene was going well - and then Harry jumped up and stole his wand. I was just as surprised as Dumbledore when it happened, followed quickly by wondering how the hell I was going to get Harry out of this one. Luckily, blackmail had already been introduced with the entire Snape-Draco situation, so it wouldn't be that far of a stretch for Harry to give it a try. :)

Hopefully I'll be able to get into the main Samhain stuff starting next chapter (it's been a long time coming) now that I've gotten the first meeting between Harry and Dumbles done so there will be a point of comparison for afterwards - as well as some tasty foreshadowing for what's to come next.

Thank you to everyone who's stuck around, as well as to those who have favourited, followed or commented! I'm going to do my best to get another chapter up by the end of the month, which will hopefully be aided by the fact that I'll be working from home for the foreseeable future!

Stay safe everyone!