Twelve: Of inheritances and phoenixes

The stone gargoyle stared at her. She stared back and shook the bag with cauldron cakes, procured from the kitchens, in front of its ugly mug. It seemed not impressed by the offering. Ginny looked at her watch again. It was already three past eight and the stupid thing wasn't moving. She was late for an appointment with the Headmaster, greatest wizard alive and also the person responsible for her still to be determined punishment. This wasn't helping her case at all and it was all the gargoyle's fault.

"Come on, he said you'd like these," she said, giving the bag another shake.

Perhaps she should just ram the cauldron cakes down its stupid throat. Knowing her luck though, it'd probably choke on it and then she'd definitely be expelled. Was it technically considered murder if you killed an inanimate object turned animate?

"Come on, the House Elves made these. If you have a problem with their cauldron cakes, take it up with-" and then the statue moved aside and Ginny felt like a massive idiot.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes more sense than a statue eating them," she muttered as she hurried up the circular stone staircase that had been revealed. She hesitated before the door, wondering if you were still supposed to knock if you were already late and if so, if your knock should already convey the hint of an apology.

"Come in, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said, solving that problem at least.

She stepped inside and her breath was taken away. She'd only been here before once: last year, when Nagini had attacked her father. Back then she'd been too overtaken by sleep and shock to admire the room properly, but now she could see it was beautiful; the large circular room was so full with trinkets she didn't know where to look first. A claw-footed desk, the Sorting Hat dormant on a shelf, a broken ring resting on a pedestal, curious silver instruments spinning and spouting forth little puffs of smoke that drifted across the room. The walls were lined with the portraits of the past Headmasters, most sleeping gently in their frames. And then Ginny realised she probably should devote a bit more attention to the current Headmaster, who was studying her with a patient expression.

"I'm sorry for being late, Professor Dumbledore. I, uhm-"

"Encountered some trouble with the gargoyle. Yes, I heard," he interrupted her, not entirely successful at hiding his smile. "My instructions were a bit confusing, I admit. Have a seat." Ginny blushed as she sat down opposite him. So Dumbledore had heard her being an idiot. She folded her hands together and schooled her face into an expression of appropriate contrition.

"I'd just like to say again how sorry I am about Monday night's incident," she said.

"Yes, Professor McGonagall informed me of it already," he said, sounding even more disappointed than McGonagall had. "While I appreciate both the position you were in, as well as any memories it could have triggered, it was a troubling incident. Mister Nott will be able to leave the Hospital Wing this Sunday," Dumbledore said and Ginny realised she was relieved, even if it meant he'd probably be looking for revenge. "But he could very well have fared worse had your control of the spell been greater. You will not use such spells on students again." As his blue eyes met hers, she couldn't help but wonder if he knew about her last practice in the Room of Requirement.

"No, Professor."

"As for your punishment, you will have detention with me. There are certain matters we will need to discuss, and this way we will have an excuse that will not elicit undue curiosity amongst your peers, while also placating Professor Snape."

"Yes, Professor," she said.

"Now, with that unpleasant business out of the way, I would like to apologise myself, for not making time earlier to talk with you. I have been busy this summer," he said, gesturing at his blackened hand, "though that is no excuse for my absence. I have failed you just as much as your five brave friends, if not more." He leaned forward over his desk. "How are you, Miss Weasley?"

In his presence, she still felt like a little girl; the same girl who had been pulled along by Harry after the Chamber of Secrets. The same girl who'd been assured by Dumbledore that it wasn't her fault. Maybe that was why she couldn't muster the energy to dissemble. Or maybe it was because in his presence, she could no longer hear Tom's whispers anymore.

"It's difficult," she admitted, running her fingers over the scars on her right hand. "It's just, everything here reminds me of them. It's like I can still feel them, looking over my shoulder."

"I would not be surprised if you could. The ones we love never truly leave us," he said, his eyes briefly flickering to the ruined ring. "And though it may be a painful memory, it is one borne of love and I would urge you not to spurn them."

"No, I don't want to forget them. I never could," Ginny said. "I just wish I could forget that last night, but I keep thinking about it. All those scenes replaying over and over and over again in my head."

"That makes two of us," Dumbledore confessed. "Some sights… some sights cannot be forgotten."

The duel between Dumbledore and You-Know-Who is one between titans. She and Harry can only watch on in awe as a torrent of fire wrestles with a emerald green snake, thrashing wildly as waves of heat and cold roll over the whole room. Frost forms on the benches and is washed away mere seconds later by a wind so warm sweat drips down their faces.

The snake lets out a final screech and then collapses, shattering into a thousand pieces. The firestorm instantly launches it towards You-Know-Who. Yet before it can reach him, an emptiness opens before him, a darkness that eats the fire until the room is almost pitch black. Ginny can hear whispers coming from beyond the veil. They sound almost excited.

A flash of lightning illuminates the room, then strikes Dumbledore with such brilliance that for a moment, all she sees are spots. She is almost afraid to look when her sight returns, but Dumbledore is still standing, unharmed and surrounded by a gentle glow.

"It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom," Dumbledore says. You-Know-Who just laughs and weaves a pattern in the air, too fast, too complicated to follow. Dumbledore is already reacting before the incantation is finished, a shimmering golden shield forming around himself, as well as Ginny and Harry.

The next moment, the whole room shakes and a noise washes over them, so deep that Ginny doesn't so much hears it as feels it in every bone of her body. She reaches for Harry's hand and is relieved to find him doing the same. The golden shield shakes with them, hairline fractures spreading.

Another deep rumble runs through the room, the light dims even further till all they see are the two golden shields, the people in them and the tip of You-Know-Who's wand, glowing fiercely. As Dumbledore sinks to one knee, more and more fractures spread.

And then it stops and the light returns. The room is unharmed. They are unharmed. And You-Know-Who is gone. But from Dumbledore's expression, you can see it is not over, his eyes flitting all over the room.

"Stay where you are," he shouts in their direction, even as his wand traces the air, leaving streaks of the purest light behind. If Ginny doesn't know better, she'd say he is afraid.

Then You-Know-Who reappears, right in front of them.

"Avada Kedavra!" he says, voice sibilant.

Dumbledore is next to them in seconds. You-Know-Who needs less. Harry is still holding her hand when the curse hits him in the chest and she can feel it turn cold. He stumbles forward, slips from her grip and rolls down the stairs.

A flame whip speeds towards You-Know-Who, who simply blinks away. This time, he doesn't return. His laugh lingers though, echoing across the walls of the chamber, intermingling with Ginny's screams.

"I can still feel his hand in mine," she whispered, looking at her own. She still didn't know why Harry hadn't even raised a wand in defence. Had Voldemort been too fast? Or had Harry been too tired?

Something soft landed on her shoulder. For a second, she thought it was Dumbledore's hand, but he was still seated at his desk. Instead, a bird with beautiful red and gold feathers rested on her shoulder and emitted a sad sound when he saw her look.

"Hello Fawkes," she said, scratching his head. "I heard you sang at Harry's funeral." Mum had described it as 'the most beautiful and sad sound I've ever heard'.

"Does it ever get better, Professor?" she asked.

"Eventually," he said. "But it never goes away."

Fawkes began to sing softly and for a while, they just sat there. When the song had ended, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"There was something I wanted to give you. Harry's inheritance is a complicated matter due to the absence of his will and while I know he would have wanted for everything to go to your family, his vault remains sealed for now. I am doing what I can, but it is a slow process."

"I don't care for the money. None of us do," she said, perhaps a bit sharper than was necessary.

"I know you do not," Dumbledore assured her. "But what is right is right. It is with that in mind that I would already like to give you this." He showed her a cloak made of the gentlest fabric, his hand dipping in and out of sight as he handed it to her.

Harry's cloak.

She couldn't bring herself to reach out, to touch it. Dumbledore seemed to understand and waited. It looked so strange without Harry wearing it. It had always been a package deal. Harry and the cloak, the cloak and Harry. Ever recurring in Ron's tales, she easily could have pictured him, Hermione and Harry huddled underneath it in their first year, or sneaking past Umbridge. It was his, it would always be his. But maybe that is precisely why she finally took it from Dumbledore. Something to remember him by.

"Thank you," she said, pressing it against her chest and sniffling softly.

"There is more we need to discuss, Miss Weasley, but I think this suffices for tonight. I will see you again soon. I will send another letter."

"Yes, Professor," Ginny said, rising. Fawkes flew off her shoulder and landed on his perch. One feather lingered on her lap. She held it between her index finger and thumb, twirling it around slightly and then put it in her hair. Fawkes gave her a rather smug look.

"And if you do not mind, feel free to leave those cauldron cakes. I am feeling a bit peckish," Dumbledore said with a self-indulgent smile that Ginny could only return.

"Of course, Professor," she said, throwing the cloak around her shoulders and disappearing from sight. She already knew what she was going to use this for.