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Chapter 9 — Fireplaces and Phoenix Feathers
Before Darren could react, the world spun wildly around him.
It felt like being squeezed through a narrow rubber tube — as if his entire body had been shoved through a water pipe.
"Good boy," came Dumbledore's gentle voice once Darren managed to steady himself. "Eat some chocolate. You'll feel much better."
Dumbledore handed him a large bar of chocolate.
Darren accepted it curiously.
He'd heard that wizarding chocolate was different — said to lift your mood, ease fear, and restore your strength.
Even Harry, after his first run-in with Dementors, had been force-fed some by Professor Lupin.
He took a tentative bite.
A comforting warmth spread through his body immediately.
"Magic really is magical," Darren murmured in awe.
Dumbledore chuckled and nodded. "Indeed it is, my boy. Magic is a wonderful thing.
Though, really, Severus… why must your home always be so dark?"
Snape's lips curled. "Albus," he said dryly, "if your brain hasn't been completely pickled in lemon drops, you'd remember that I haven't lived here in years."
He would rather stay in the dungeons of Hogwarts than return to this place.
It reeked of his miserable childhood — and worse, of memories of Lily.
Snape's expression grew distant. His eyes seemed to hollow out entirely.
Darren didn't interrupt. He was too busy looking around, taking in the surroundings with open curiosity.
It was a small, two-bedroom flat.
The curtains were drawn tight, casting the entire place in shadow.
A massive fireplace dominated the living room, and the rest of the space was barren — so empty it almost looked like the house had been robbed long ago.
Even a thief would cry and leave empty-handed, Darren thought wryly.
"The flames, if you please," Dumbledore murmured, pointing his wand toward the fireplace.
Instantly, a bright fire roared to life.
He reached into the firebox and pulled out a small pot, from which he took a handful of glittering green powder.
"This is Floo powder," Dumbledore explained kindly. "Throw it into the fire, say your destination clearly — 'Hogwarts' — and step in."
Snape gave Darren a sharp glance, then without a word, scooped a pinch of powder, tossed it into the fire, said clearly, "Hogwarts," and disappeared in a whirl of emerald flames.
Darren blinked.
So Snape does have a soft side, he thought, grinning. He knew I might mess it up, so he gave me a demonstration first.
Under Dumbledore's encouraging gaze, Darren smiled shyly, took a handful of the powder, and tossed it into the flames.
"Hogwarts!" he called, stepping in.
The world spun again in a storm of green fire — and when he stumbled out, he found himself standing in a wide, elegant office.
Snape was already there, expressionless as ever. The moment Darren appeared, he turned on his heel, his robes billowing as he left the room without a word.
Left behind was a witch wearing a pointed hat and a stern expression, her quill frozen above the parchment.
When she saw Darren, her eyes widened in disbelief.
"Darren…" she breathed. "You—oh, my dear child, you look so much like them… Dumbledore sent word that you'd been found, but—oh, I'm so glad! You and Harry will finally be reunited soon…"
Her voice trembled slightly as she dabbed at the corner of her eyes, trying to compose herself.
"Child," she said firmly, though her voice softened, "Lily would be so happy to see how you've grown."
Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace behind Darren, brushing soot from his robes. "Indeed, Minerva," he said solemnly. "Lily would be proud. Both her sons have grown — and Darren, thankfully, survived his long adventure.
But I still have a few matters to discuss with him privately."
"No, Albus," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "Can't you see the wound on his head? He needs healing and rest, not more questions!"
Her tone had the fierce protectiveness of a lioness.
Dumbledore smiled gently. "Just ten minutes, Minerva. That's all I ask."
She hesitated, then pursed her lips. "Ten minutes. I'll be watching the clock."
"No problem at all," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Darren, come with me."
---
They stopped before a pair of ugly stone gargoyles guarding the headmaster's tower.
"Password," one croaked.
"Chilled lemon juice," Dumbledore replied.
"Of course it is," the gargoyle muttered, stepping aside as the wall split open to reveal a moving staircase.
Darren followed eagerly.
It was just like in the original story — the portraits of past headmasters lined the walls, whispering softly among themselves.
Silver instruments cluttered the shelves, clinking and spinning with gentle, mysterious sounds.
And somewhere nearby, a faint birdcall echoed.
"Chirp… chirp…"
Darren turned — and saw what looked like a plucked turkey perched on a golden stand, squawking indignantly.
"Ah," Dumbledore said, noticing his confusion. "That's Fawkes, my phoenix. He was injured recently, so I allowed him to undergo his rebirth. Once his feathers grow back, you'll see how beautiful he truly is."
Darren stared, fascinated.
So this is the legendary phoenix?
Honestly, it looked more like someone's botched roast dinner.
Still, for the sake of his "holy" image, he put on a worried face.
> "Will he be all right, Professor? Who would hurt something so kind and beautiful?"
[Ding! Holy Father Value +20]
Only twenty? Darren frowned inwardly. Tough crowd today.
Dumbledore smiled faintly. "It was an accident, my boy. Nothing more."
"Well," Darren said kindly, "I'm sure he'll be beautiful again soon."
Fawkes turned his head to look at the boy.
Somehow, the phoenix could feel the warmth in Darren's voice. If it hadn't already bonded with Dumbledore, it might have chosen this boy instead.
Dumbledore noticed the look and felt a flicker of surprise. Fawkes rarely took a liking to anyone.
Could it be… that Darren carried traces of phoenix blood?
He recalled an old rumor — that the first Mrs. Potter had once descended from a phoenix line.
Dumbledore's eyes flickered thoughtfully. Perhaps this child truly inherited more than Lily's kindness.
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