Inside the wooden door lay a spacious, circular office. Portraits covered the walls, each one softly snoring—former headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts, now dozing as the hour grew late.
Flitwick lowered his voice. "These are all portraits of past headmasters."
Wyzett nodded, his eyes roaming the room with curiosity.
Several desks stood about, and one against the wall was crowded with strange silver instruments—spinning, hopping, and releasing little puffs of smoke. Two curved cabinets hugged the walls. In one cubby rested a battered old wizard's hat: the Sorting Hat, used in the legendary Sorting ceremony.
As Wyzett tried to take it all in, a melodious trill sounded overhead.
He looked up—there, a magnificent crimson bird hovered in the air.
The bird was swan-like in shape, trailing golden tail feathers that shimmered in the lamplight. Its beak and talons were long, lending it an air of deadly, regal elegance.
"That's Headmaster Dumbledore's companion, Fawkes the phoenix," whispered Flitwick. "A rare and wondrous magical creature."
"I've read about phoenixes in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them," Wyzett replied, eyes shining. "But he's even more beautiful than the illustrations."
As if he'd heard the compliment, Fawkes let out a soft, musical note and floated down to hover beside Wyzett.
"Try holding out your arm—he seems to like you," Flitwick encouraged, delighted. "Don't worry, phoenixes are gentle souls."
Wyzett did as he was told, raising his forearm as if for a falcon. Instantly, Fawkes swooped down and perched gracefully.
Just as Flitwick promised, the phoenix was no burden—only a gentle warmth, radiating from his feathers.
That warmth felt strangely familiar, stirring memories of when Wyzett first arrived in this world.
"I remember you…" Wyzett murmured softly, his voice tender. "Thank you for catching me."
Fawkes trilled again, nuzzling his cheek with a feathery head.
"Looks like you and Fawkes already know each other—how wonderful," Flitwick said with a smile. "I'll have someone bring you a bit of supper. It'll come straight here."
Wyzett flushed, embarrassed. "That's really too much trouble, Professor."
Flitwick winked. "It's late, and I fancy a midnight snack myself. Just convenient, you see."
. . .
What Flitwick himself ate for a midnight snack, Wyzett never found out.
But one thing was certain: the feast that appeared on the desk was no ordinary bedtime nibble.
A generous lamb chop, a thick steak, and three golden roast potatoes—enough to leave anyone stuffed, even in their dreams.
Still, the savory aroma was irresistible. Wyzett tucked in, savoring each bite of "bedtime snack."
He nibbled at the steak and, remembering his reading, offered Fawkes a Dirigible Plum.
He'd learned from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them that phoenixes enjoyed dew, herbs, and berries.
The Dirigible Plum seemed to delight Fawkes. The phoenix lifted his regal head, inviting Wyzett to stroke his neck.
He obliged, running his hand along the soft, radiant feathers. The warmth here was even more intense—almost like a living flame.
As he petted Fawkes, Wyzett felt a sense of kinship with the phoenix, and a deep calm settled over him. For the first time all night, he could truly relax and reflect.
Memories and recent events swirled together in his mind, and a faint melancholy crept in.
. . .
He didn't know how much time had passed before Dumbledore's voice broke the silence. "It seems you and Fawkes are getting along splendidly."
Wyzett looked up to see the headmaster standing in the doorway, a gentle smile on his face.
Age had silvered Dumbledore's beard and hair, but his eyes sparkled with undimmed vitality and wisdom.
Fawkes spread his wings and glided to Dumbledore's arm, nuzzling the headmaster's cheek with his elegant beak.
Dumbledore patted Fawkes' back, and the phoenix soared up to his perch by the door.
The headmaster crossed to the desk and asked, in his warm, kindly tone, "Your first Halloween at Hogwarts—quite an adventure, wasn't it?"
Wyzett nodded. "I'm planning to write about tonight's events and send the story to Mr. Lovegood."
"I'm something of a devoted reader of The Quibbler myself," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling.
He noticed the troubled look on Wyzett's face and, with a magician's flourish, produced an assortment of sweets from his pocket. "I look forward to reading your article."
As Dumbledore offered him a Lemon Drop, Wyzett spoke first. "Headmaster, could you tell me what really happened tonight?"
"After I showed up, the troll abandoned its original target. Suddenly, I was the only one it wanted to attack. That's not normal."
"And then there was the Runespoor attack before. According to Hagrid, the eggs came from that snake. But Luna told me the Runespoor that attacked us was very old—probably too old to lay eggs, right?"
"Those eggs earned me five hundred Galleons—that's no small sum. So I want to know: what am I not supposed to know?"
He finished in a rush, feeling as if a weight had lifted from his chest.
Dumbledore's smile softened. "It feels better, doesn't it, to say what's on your mind?"
"Yeah…"
"That's good," Dumbledore nodded. "It seems life has already changed you quite a bit—so young, and yet you've lived through so much."
"I once went through a time like that myself—bottling up my troubles, with no one to confide in… until I made a terrible mistake."
Wyzett looked up, puzzled. "A terrible mistake?"
"Yes," Dumbledore replied quietly, but did not elaborate. "You should confide more often, Wyzett. Don't keep it all inside."
Wyzett cleared his throat, a little embarrassed. "Life here is wonderful! I just… these two things puzzle me."
"It's precisely because this place is so wonderful that I don't want anything to spoil it."
"That thirst for knowledge—for the simple, pure truth about the world—is exactly what Ravenclaw values most," Dumbledore said, smiling. "You're truly well suited to your house."
"Let's talk about the Runespoor incident first. That was the work of some pure-blood families. I intervened, and the result was those eggs."
He spread his hands, his expression resolute and reassuring. "They won't dare try anything else. You can use that money without worry."
"Pure-blood families targeting me?" Wyzett thought of Slytherin's attitude toward him. "Is it because I'm an Obscurial?"
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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