*here ya go, Mrs. Weasley – a gift from me to you, all wrapped up in ribbon. J Thank you guys so much for the wonderful reviews. And no, AngelCD, it doesn't take me a year to write each chapter, though it does take quite a while. My French teacher's a little jealous that I choose writing this over her class, lol. Luv ya too, Andria!!! Elham…yess!! Harry is a horrible wizard, isn't he? Magicalmischiefmaker – yes, I try to be unique. It's a gift, hahaha. Becky, you frighten me! Fictious – your review is great, very helpful. Thank you all!!*
Professor Dumbledore's office was easily the most unusual in the school, but Abby was quite used to it. After all, he was the head of the Order of the Phoenix, who were often stranger people than he. She walked hesitantly into the room, trying not to step on any of the notepad-sized Quick-Digging Holes that had been strewn about the room for some odd reason. Dumbledore was a wizard genius, but he was also a bit absent-minded and eccentric. He had Instant Freeze Ice Cubes (Just Add Water!) in a box on his desk, and Self-Sorting Papers scattered throughout the room, all busy shuffling themselves into some sort of order. In a golden cage near his desk sat Fawkes. She smiled as she approached. She was already very familiar with the bird. He had been in Dumbledore's hands since her parents were in school *is Fawkes a male or female? lol, I'm pretty sure it's a "he"* , probably long before then. Sometimes, when he was very young and indistinguishable as a phoenix (which were very rare), he used him like an owl to send mail. Now, though, he was unmistakable for what he was. His wings, which were enormous when they were stretched out, had beautiful, golden red plumage, and his long, slender tail was a fiery orange color. He reached his long beak through the bars of the cage and nipped affectionately at her finger, not unlike Cedric (her owl) when he was in a good mood.
"Ah, Abigail, there you are," came a strangely familiar but disembodied *hehe, I love that word* voice. It was undeniably Dumbledore. "I was just searching for something…just a moment…" One of the rolls of parchment on the desk quivered and began to rock from side to side. Abby jumped, wondering if she had somehow done that on her own. She was so startled she dropped her wand, which she had been unconsciously been clutching since she left Transfiguration. It was very likely she was doing it; all sorts of things like that had been happening lately. She watched anxiously as the parchment rolled itself right off the desk. There was a soft poof, like the sound of breaking glass against a pillow, and Dumbledore stood before her. He had a cloud of dust surrounding him, which he brushed lightly from his robe.
"My apologies," he said, reaching down for her wand and handing it to her. "I was just asking myself, 'If I were a piece of parchment, where would I be?' Then, suddenly, poof! Not quite what I expected, of course." Abby couldn't resist smiling. The light-hearted joke certainly helped to ease tensions. A miniscule portion of her nerves ebbed away.
"Headmaster," she began uncertainly, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "Um…well…Professor Granger told me to come see you." She chanced a glance up at him to try to read his eyes. She had learned early on that it was quite easy to guess most people's thoughts through their eyes. Eyes could often be just as expressive as smiles or frowns or even words. Dumbledore's could even be deceptive. He could say something with severe disappointment or sadness, but if his eyes were laughing you knew he was only teasing. However, his eyes were nowhere near hers for her to read. Instead, they had fixated themselves on her forehead. Her cheeks burning in embarrassment, she struggled to adjust the towel again. He chuckled softly.
"Water transfiguration, eh?" he asked, pulling his own wand from his robes. "Not a very easy thing to learn, I'm afraid. I seem to recall a certain young woman with bushy brown hair and brown eyes who couldn't seem to get the spell right. Top of her class, but had a lot of trouble with that one spell. She always used to come in here absolutely soaking wet. But in time I believe she did master it. In fact, I think she even teaches here now." Abby watched in awe as he pointed the wand at the fireplace and muttered a few words. Instantly a huge flame rose up from the logs.
"Professor Granger?" she asked in surprise. "She couldn't do it, either?" Dumbledore didn't answer, but Abby took this as a yes and smiled. So that was why she'd had so much sympathy for her in class. It was good to know she wasn't alone in her mistakes. Her fear now diminishing greatly, she had the courage to unwrap the towel from her hair. Dumbledore was silently directing her toward one of the thickly cushioned armchairs by the fire, so she guessed this meant she could dry her hair there. Her bright green scar was now entirely forgotten.
She shook her hair a bit to fix the crumpled mess the towel had made, and plopped down in one of the seats. She lifted the mass of soggy black and dropped it over the back of the seat, trying to fan it out so it would dry faster. Dumbledore sat in the seat opposite her. Her smile almost came crashing down. His eyes lost something of their sparkle the moment he sat down, and there seemed to be a bit of sadness in them instead. All her old insecurities rose up like a great flood to her heart. For a moment or two she was positively terrified of what he was going to say. He cleared his throat.
"Unfortunately, Abby, I also have something else to tell you," he said gravely. She closed her eyes and braced herself. Here it comes, she thought. He's going to tell me I'm not magical enough for school and he's going to kick me out. Oh no – what's Dad going to think? Oh Harry, I wish you were here! "I have been in touch with your parents since you've started school, not to keep an eye on you but to check in with the Order of the Phoenix. It seems your parents have been threatened by Dark wizards enough for them to believe they need a Secret-Keeper. They do not want to lose you, though, so your father sees it fit to put you under the spell as well. He and your mother will be here to take you home after breakfast tomorrow morning. Please make sure you are packed and ready to go by then."
Abby felt fear strike her heart as it had never before. Her eyes flew open. Take her home? Tomorrow morning? Threatened by Dark wizards? A Secret-Keeper?! This was all too much. A thousand questions rose to her mind, but they all caught in her throat. Her mouth opened and closed but not a sound came out. Dumbledore wasn't finished, either.
"Professor Snape will be accompanying you. He has agreed to be your family's Secret-Keeper."
It was as though someone had just forced a giant rock down her throat and it had crashed through her heart and stomach. *isn't that the nastiest feeling?* Her eyes widened, the sudden realization of this hitting her all at once. She jumped right out of the chair.
"Snape?!" she exclaimed disapprovingly. "But Professor, a Secret-Keeper has to be someone you trust! You have to rely on them for everything! They're your only contact with the outside world! Snape, of all people! Sir, I – I don't want to go. I won't go. I won't be able to talk to you, or Lily, or Paul, or – or Elijah! That's not fair! Aren't I safer here than under the care of a Secret-Keeper? I sit in on Order meetings, you know. I'm not stupid. Voldemort isn't after my mum or me; he's after my dad. Wouldn't it make more sense to make her his Secret-Keeper and leave me here? I can learn things here that will help me defend myself when I get older. Professor Phillips is, after all, a better Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher than my parents could ever be."
The more Abby spoke, the angrier she realized she was and the angrier her words came. She didn't mean to raise her voice. Her frustrations were coming out too quickly for her to control. "I hate when he does this to me!" she cried. "He treats me like I'm four years old! He watches every move I make, and sometimes anything I do isn't good enough for him. It's like Snape – and he says they don't get along! What a joke. It's more like he's been taking pages right out of Snape's book. God, how am I going to learn anything if he won't give me the chance to make my own mistakes? He won't even give me a minute to breathe!"
When she finished, she remembered she wasn't alone in the room. Dumbledore was staring patiently at her, making absolutely sure she was finished before he spoke. She had never felt so foolish before. Suddenly she felt about four inches tall. She slunk quietly back into the armchair, her shoulders drooped and her eyes wide and afraid. She had just raised her voice to a teacher, the Headmaster no less. Now she was going to be expelled for sure.
"Abigail, please listen to me," said Dumbledore softly. It was this tone that made her so afraid. "Your father fears for you more than you know. He loves you more than anything else in the world. When you were born, he was so proud he must have called half the city of London. He even phoned his aunt, uncle, and cousin, who couldn't have cared less. But he wanted family, blood family, to know, even if they don't want to know. When you were 10 months old, he almost lost you. I had never seen him cry before, but that day he came very close to it. He was pale and trembling, as though he'd spent a full week in Azkaban. He's made quite a few mistakes in his life, many of which should have cost him his life. The one thing that terrifies him most is watching you make those same mistakes. He was lucky. You may not be."
Abby froze. She could still feel her heart thrumming loudly in her ears, but not for the same reason. Fawkes' soft singing in the background was the only sound in the room. "A-almost lost me? How?"
"Your parents never told you the story? Not Mrs. Finnigan or Mr. Weasley? No one?" Too shocked to speak, she shook her head slowly. What was he talking about? He sucked in a deep breath.
"I should think you would have known. Well, no matter. You know Voldemort has been after your father for years. When your parents were married, he began to chase after your mother as well. The two of them were simply too powerful in our world. He was jealous, really. He was afraid you would get to be just as powerful. Somehow, after years of searching, he found you and your parents. I'm not really that sure how, but he did. And he found his way into your house. Your father was off at the Ministry of Magic, and your mother was asleep. You were the first one he saw. Abby, do you know why your dad is famous in our world?"
She nodded in complete disbelief. The question hardly needed answering, but she decided to answer anyway. "Because…he was the boy who lived," she replied quietly.
"Right. When Harry was a year old, Voldemort tried to use the Killing Curse on him. His mother had taken her life and used it to save his, so for 13 years he was untouchable to a Dark wizard. He could not be killed. Voldemort was nearly destroyed in the attack, and your dad was left with that scar that has become so famous. Mark of the Phoenix we call it, because it symbolizes a second chance to live. You, my dear, survived the same exact curse. However, the cause and effect of your survival is what baffles us. You were given a scar like you dad's, but Voldemort was not destroyed. Only terribly weakened. What's more, you should have died. Thank heavens you didn't, but no one knows why you didn't. Your father was saved by love. You were quite unprotected. That's not to say that your parents didn't love you. They did then and they do now. They just weren't there. That's why they're so afraid to leave you. They're afraid it might happen again. Abby, just as your father was the boy who lived, so you are the girl who lived."