Chapter 7: The Phoenix

Somehow Harry made it through the rest of his classes, and then proceeded to eat way too much at dinner as if the food could somehow fill the anxious pit in his stomach. Hermione had to remind him to slow down about five times. He'd shown his friends the note, completely incapable of keeping it a secret, not that anyone had asked him to. They were dying to know what this secret was and would undoubtedly be impatiently awaiting his return to the Gryffindor common room afterward so that he could tell them everything.

"Maybe your parents were protecting some kind of ancient magical artifact," Hermione suggested as she and Ron walked with him toward the Clock Tower for his meeting with Professor Dumbledore, who had been absent from dinner. Harry's friends had been speculating all day about what this secret could possibly be.

"Maybe your parents invented some kind of brand-new magical artifact," Ron said.

"Maybe your parents were spies, are there spies in the wizarding world?"

"Of course there are spies. Do you think your parents were spies, Harry?"

"I don't know. I actually don't think I've ever even thought to ask Sirius about my parents' jobs," Harry admitted. This whole business was bringing up a lot of questions he'd never even thought to ask about his parents. He began to make a mental list of questions to ask Sirius later.

"If they were spies, Sirius might not even know about it," Ron pointed out.

"Well evidently Sirius knows about whatever the secret is, or at least part of it." This in and of itself was rather shocking to Harry. To learn that Sirius had been keeping some kind of big secret from him his whole life seemed so contradictory to the relationship he'd always had with his godfather. He tried not to blame Sirius for this, knowing that he was trying to keep Harry safe and had been assured that secrecy was the way to accomplish this. Knowing Sirius, he was sure that his godfather was just as anxious as he was for everything to be out in the open.

"Are you sure Sirius isn't a spy?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's just an actor. Well, I guess I'll see you guys back in the common room." They had reached the entrance to the Clock Tower Courtyard. In just a minute, he would finally be able to stop speculating. At least, he hoped so.

"Good luck, Harry," Hermione said. "We'll be waiting up for you."

Ron and Hermione left, and Harry summoned the courage to walk out into the courtyard. It was a mostly simple courtyard, cobblestone with a few benches lining the outskirts. In the center, however, was an ornate fountain surrounded by stone columns stretching up to a roof like covering and was covered in carvings of birds. It was by this fountain that Professor Dumbledore now sat, waiting for Harry.

Harry was almost surprised to see the headmaster. He knew that Dumbledore had invited him there, of course. There was a letter in his pocket to prove it. But still, there was a part of him that was still having a hard time wrapping his brain around the fact that the headmaster of his new school had invited him to a private courtyard meeting to discuss some long-kept secret that involved Harry's deceased parents. Probably because that was ridiculous.

"Ahh, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore as Harry slowly approached.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore."

"It's a very nice evening indeed. I was just admiring the weather. I presume you got my letter?"

"Yes, Sir, Professor Lupin gave it to me."

Dumbledore nodded and stood up from his place on the edge of the fountain. "Yes, I understand that you know each other well. I regret that I haven't had the pleasure of getting to know you myself prior to now."

"Did you… Did you know my parents very well, Sir?"

"I did, Harry, they were wonderful young souls. I regret how soon they were taken from us. From you most of all."

Harry nodded politely. "Thank you, Sir. I wish I could have known them better."

"Well, as you may have guessed after reading my letter, I have something I wish to share with you. It's certainly not the same as having your parents back, but it may widen the picture of your home life during that too-brief period when the three of you lived together."

"I have been curious about what it is you wanted to tell me," Harry admitted.

Dumbledore laughed. "I'm certain that's quite the understatement. Would you walk with me, Harry? There's someone I would very much like you to meet."

Harry's curiosity reached new heights as he and Dumbledore walked toward the far side of the courtyard and began to cross a long, covered bridge. Both were quiet at first, their footsteps on the wooden walkway the only sound. But after a while, Dumbledore began to speak again.

They chatted politely about Harry's first day of school, Dumbledore expressing his hopes that Harry had a good first impression of the day's classes and that he was finding his way around the castle well enough. Harry told Dumbledore about Sirius's latest play when asked about how his godfather was doing, as it had been a while since the two of them had spoken. The conversation then took a bit of an unexpected turn, however.

"You have an aunt, if I recall correctly? A Mrs. Petunia Dursley," said Dumbledore.

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the sound of his aunt's name. He wasn't aware that Professor Dumbledore knew so much about his family life. It was one thing that he'd known Harry's parents and godfather; he'd been their school headmaster after all and perhaps it wasn't so unusual for a headmaster to keep in touch with students after graduation. Knowing his muggle family members, however, was another matter entirely.

"Do you know my aunt, Sir?"

"I haven't been formally introduced, no. Do you have much contact with her and her family? She has a son your age, I understand."

Harry's brow wrinkled in confusion, but he answered, "Um, yeah, Dudley. I see them maybe a couple times a year."

Dumbledore nodded. "Good to hear that you're on good terms." Harry wasn't sure if that was the best way to describe his relationship with the Dursleys, but didn't contradict him. "They haven't, by any chance, mentioned anything about Hogwarts to you?"

This question really puzzled Harry. Perhaps Dumbledore was wondering if they were accepting of Harry's magical heritage? It was possible that his mother had said something to him at some point about her sister's hatred of the wizarding world. Dumbledore did say he'd known his parents well.

"Not really," Harry admitted. "They're a bit… nervous when it comes to magic." That was putting it mildly.

"Ahh. Such a shame, sometimes, how our fears can blind us."

Harry nodded but wasn't sure how to respond. They were coming to the end of the bridge at this point, and stepped down into the grass, finding themselves in the middle of a circle of large stones.

"Where are we heading, Sir?" Harry asked, finally working up the nerves to ask.

"We are going to call on Hagrid's generous hospitality. His home is right down the hill, here." Harry glanced down the slope he now found himself atop. He could make out a small, round hut in the distance beside a field of very large pumpkins.

"The groundskeeper, Sir? I spoke with him yesterday when he was escorting us to the sorting ceremony." With the emotional roller coaster that the day had been, it was hard to believe that he'd met Hagrid only yesterday. "He said something about how he's been waiting for me to come to Hogwarts."

"He certainly has," Dumbledore agreed. "Let's not keep him waiting."

Harry and Dumbledore started down the hill and came to a stop at the door of the hut. The door almost seemed too big for the building it was guarding, as if the doorway had been re-cut to accommodate the unusual height of the hut's inhabitant. Dumbledore knocked and Hagrid appeared in front of them almost instantly.

"Hello, Professor! Great to see you again, Harry. Please come in."

After returning the sentiment, Harry stepped into Hagrid's hut. It was every bit as small as it appeared from the outside, with one small room acting as kitchen, dining room, living room, and bedroom combined. The countertops and furniture seemed to be custom made to fit Hagrid's frame and were a bit mismatched, but looked comfortable all the same, if a bit old and worn. A large black dog napped lazily in front of the fireplace, and at the circular wooden dining table sat Professor Lupin.

Harry's mouth widened into a grin at the sight of him. "Rem- Professor Lupin!"

Lupin chuckled at Harry's slip-up. "Come have a seat, Harry."

Harry did just this, instantly feeling better with a familiar face around. It took a bit of effort to get into one of Hagrid's tall chairs, and even once he managed, he still found that the table in front of him was a bit too tall for comfort.

"Fancy some tea?" asked Hagrid. Without waiting for an answer, he set a very large steaming mug in front of Harry. It had a strange smell.

"Thank you," said Harry. Out of politeness he reached out to grab the mug, thinking he would take a small sip, but Lupin subtly touched his arm to prevent him from lifting the beverage off the table.

Dumbledore joined them at the table and soon had a mug of his own, which he lifted to his mouth, almost letting his lips touch the liquid within.

"Shall we get started, then?" Dumbledore asked. "I feel Harry here has waited long enough."

"Should I let him in then, Professor?" Hagrid asked. Harry glanced around. Was someone waiting outside? He certainly hadn't noticed anyone when they approached. Dumbledore did say there was someone he wanted Harry to meet, and there wasn't currently anyone in the hut who Harry hadn't met yet. At the headmaster's approval, Hagrid opened a window and proceeded to make some kind of bird call. At first, Harry thought maybe this was the signal for their mystery guest to come inside. But then a bird flew through the window, landing on Hagrid's outstretched arm.

It was the most beautiful bird Harry had ever seen. Its feathers were the vibrant red of a rose in full bloom. It was about the size of a hawk, and its talons looked just as sharp. Its long tail feathers reminded Harry of a peacock with its feathers folded inward, cascading over Hagrid's arm like a scarlet waterfall. Harry could have sworn that small flames had puffed out behind the creature as it made its unexpected appearance. And when it saw Harry, it let out a long, mournful cry and flew to him at once, landing on his forearm that he didn't even remember deciding to offer.

The biggest shock of all were the tears that began to form in Harry's eyes. He had no idea what he was expecting to happen when he entered Hagrid's hut that evening, but somehow, he felt as if he'd been waiting to see this bird for years.

"Whose bird is this?" Harry asked, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. He gently stroked the bird with two cautious fingers.

"He's yours, Harry," Hagrid said. "He's a phoenix."