The phoenix just glided gently around, rotating around one wingtip like the being of light and air that it was, and soared back to Harry Potter's shoulder, where it settled down quite firmly.
"You silly boy," said Padma across from her, looking like she was deciding whether to laugh or grimace, "phoenixes aren't for smart girls who do their homework, they're for idiots who charge straight at five older Slytherin bullies. There's a reason why the Gryffindor colors are red and gold, you know."
There was a lot of friendly laughter in the Ravenclaw common room.
Hermione wasn't one of the laughing ones.
Neither was Harry.
Harry had put a hand over his face. "Tell Hermione I'm sorry," he said to Padma, his voice almost fallen to a whisper. "Tell her I forgot that phoenixes are animals, they don't understand time and planning, they don't understand people who are going to do good things later - I'm not sure they understand really the notion of there being something that a person is, all they see is what people do. Fawkes doesn't know what twelve means. Tell Hermione I'm sorry - I shouldn't have - it just all goes wrong, doesn't it?"
Harry turned to go, the phoenix still on his shoulder, began slowly trudging toward the staircase that led up to his dorm.
And Hermione couldn't leave it at that, she just couldn't leave it at that. She didn't know if it was her competition with Harry or something else. She just couldn't leave it with the phoenix turning away from her.
She had to -
Her mind keyed a frantic question to the entirety of her excellent memory, found just one thing -
"I was going to run in front of the Dementor to try and save Harry!" she shouted a little desperately at the red-golden bird. "I mean, I actually did start running and everything! That was stupid and courageous, right?"
With a warbling cry the phoenix launched itself from Harry's shoulder again, back toward her like a spreading blaze, it circled her three times like she was the center of an inferno, and for just a moment its wing brushed against her cheek, before the phoenix soared back to Harry.
There was a hush in the Ravenclaw common room.
"Told you so," Harry said aloud, and then he started climbing the stairs up to his bedroom; he seemed to climb very quickly, like he was very light on his feet for some reason, so that in just a moment he and Fawkes were gone.
Hermione held up a trembling hand to her cheek where Fawkes had brushed her with his wing, a spot of warmth lingering there like that one small patch of skin had been very gently set on fire.
She'd answered the question of the phoenix, she supposed, but it felt to her like she'd just barely squeaked by on the test, like she'd gotten a 62 and she could've gotten 104 if she'd tried harder.
If she'd tried at all.
She hadn't really been trying, when she thought about it.
Just doing her homework -
Who have you saved?
Aftermath, Fawkes:
Nightmares, the boy had expected, screams and begging and howling hurricanes of emptiness, the discharge of the horrors being laid down into memory, and in that fashion, perhaps, becoming part of the past.
And the boy knew that the nightmares would come.
The next night, they would come.
The boy dreamed, and in his dreams the world was on fire, Hogwarts was on fire, his home was on fire, the streets of Oxford were on fire, all ablaze with golden flames that shone but did not consume, and all the people walking through the blazing streets were shining with white light brighter than the fire, like they were flames themselves, or stars.
The other first-year boys came to bed, and saw it for themselves, the wonder whose rumor they had already heard, that in his bed Harry Potter lay silent and motionless, a gentle smile on his face, while perched on his pillow a red-golden bird watched over him, with bright wings swept above him like a blanket pulled over his head.
The reckoning had been put off one more night.
Aftermath, Draco Malfoy:
Draco straightened his robes, making sure the green trim was straight. He waved his wand over his own head and said a Charm that Father had taught him while other children were still playing in mud, a Charm which ensured that not a single speck of lint or dust would dirty his wizard's robes.
Draco picked up the mysterious envelope that Father had owled him, and tucked it into his robes. He had already used Incendio and Everto on the mysterious note.
And then he headed off to breakfast, to seat himself on exactly the same tick of the clock where the food appeared, if he could manage it, so that it would seem like all others had been waiting on his appearance to eat. Because when you were the scion of Malfoy you were first in everything, including breakfast, that was why.
Vincent and Gregory were waiting for him outside the door of his private room, up even before he was - though not, of course, dressed quite as sharply.
The Slytherin common room was deserted, anyone who got up this early was heading straight to breakfast anyway.
The dungeon halls were silent but for their own footsteps, empty and echoing.
The Great Hall was a hubbub of alarm despite the relative few arrivals, some younger children crying, students running back and forth between tables or standing in knots shouting at each other, a red-robed prefect was standing in front of two green-trimmed students and yelling at them and Snape was striding toward the mess -
The noise dimmed a little as people caught sight of Draco, as some of the faces turned to stare at him, and fell quiet.
The food appeared on the tables. No one looked at it.
And Snape spun on his heel, abandoning his target, and headed straight toward Draco.
A knot of fear clutched at Draco's heart, had something happened to Father - no, surely Father would have told him - whatever was happening, why hadn't Father told him -
There were bags of fatigue beneath Snape's eyes, Draco saw as their Head of House came close, the Potions Master had never been a sharp dresser (that was an understatement) but his robes were even dirtier and more disarrayed this morning, spotted with extra grease.
"You haven't heard?" hissed their Head of House as he came close. "For pity's sake, Malfoy, don't you have a newspaper delivered?"
"What is it, Profe-"
"Bellatrix Black was taken from Azkaban!"
"What?" said Draco in shock, as Gregory behind him said something he really shouldn't have and Vincent just gasped.
Snape was gazing at him with narrowed eyes, then nodded abruptly. "Lucius told you nothing, then. I see." Snape gave a snort, turned away -
"Professor!" said Draco. The implications were just starting to dawn on him, his mind spinning frantically. "Professor, what should I do - Father didn't instruct me -"
"Then I suggest," Snape said sneeringly, as he strode away, "that you tell them that, Malfoy, as your father intended!"
Draco glanced back at Vincent and Gregory, though he didn't know why he was bothering, of course they looked even more confused than he did.
And Draco walked forward to the Slytherin table, and sat down at the far end, which was still empty of sitters.
Draco put a sausage omelet on his plate, began eating it with automatic motions.
Bellatrix Black had been taken from Azkaban.
Bellatrix Black had been taken from Azkaban...?
Draco didn't know what to make of that, it was as totally unexpected as the Sun going out - well, the Sun would expectedly go out in six billion years but this was as unexpected as the Sun going out tomorrow. Father wouldn't have done it, Dumbledore wouldn't have done it, no one should have been able to do it - what did it mean - what use would Bellatrix be to anyone after ten years in Azkaban - even if she got strong again, what use was a powerful sorceress who was completely evil and insane and fanatically devoted to a Dark Lord who wasn't around anymore?