"Professor," Harry gasped. "Your bird - I couldn't do anything - he just
caught fire -"
To Harry's astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.
"About time, too," he said. "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've
been telling him to get a move on."
He chuckled at the stunned look on Harry's face.
"Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is
time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him . . ."
Harry looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke
its head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one.
"It's a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day," said Dumbledore,
seating himself behind his desk. "He's really very handsome most of
the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures,
175
phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have
healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets."
In the shock of Fawkes catching fire, Harry had forgotten what he
was there for, but it all came back to him as Dumbledore settled
himself in the high chair behind the desk and fixed Harry with his
penetrating, light-blue stare.
Before Dumbledore could speak another word, however, the door of
the office flew open with an almighty bang and Hagrid burst in, a wild
look in his eyes, his balaclava perched on top of his shaggy black head
and the dead rooster still swinging from his hand.
"It wasn' Harry, Professor Dumbledore!" said Hagrid urgently. "I was
talkin' ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time, sir
"
Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on,
waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers
everywhere.
"- it can't've bin him, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I
have to -"
"Hagrid, I -"
"- yeh've got the wrong boy, sir, I know Harry never ='
"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly. "I do not think that Harry
attacked those people."
"Oh," said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side. "Right. I'll wait
outside then, Headmaster."
And he stomped out looking embarrassed.
"You don't think it was me, Professor?" Harry repeated hopefully as
Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk.
"No, Harry, I don't," said Dumbledore, though his face was somber
again. "But I still want to talk to you."
176
Harry waited nervously while Dumbledore considered him, the tips of
his long fingers together.
*208*
"I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you'd like to tell me,"
he said gently. "Anything at all."
Harry didn't know what to say. He thought of Malfoy shouting, "You'll
be next, Mudbloods!" and of the Polyjuice Potion simmering away in
Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Then he thought of the disembodied
voice he had heard twice and remembered what Ron had said:
"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the
wizarding world." He thought, too, about what everyone was saying
about him, and his growing dread that he was somehow connected