"Holy cow... what is going on here?"
Just coming back from the bathroom, Basil saw Harry pointing his wand at Dumbledore.
Could it be like in the novels where the soul fragment in Harry's scar is conscious and can control him?
Did the movies really cut that much out?
Unlike most people who like to read or scroll while on the toilet, Basil preferred to focus on the task at hand.
Focus creates efficiency.
Which usually meant he got out of the bathroom faster.
But this time, his speed didn't help; he had missed what was clearly a dramatic scene.
However, the ensuing dialogue revealed the reason immediately.
Dumbledore wasn't some idol drama protagonist who refused to explain things to create misunderstanding. He understood the situation instantly from Harry's interrogation.
And he started explaining right away.
"Listen to me."
Harry wasn't a melodramatic soap opera heroine who covered his ears screaming, "I won't listen, I won't listen!" Although he was still agitated, he said, "Speak."
"This," Dumbledore held up the diary, "was not sent by me. The person who sent it was Lucius Malfoy."
"What proof do you have?"
"The proof is that when your father was at school here, he mainly used this Invisibility Cloak to sneak into the kitchens and steal food. You can ask your well-informed friend, Mr. Weasley, to investigate. It does not belong to Voldemort. And—"
"And you don't need to explain anything to me," Harry interrupted, sliding his wand back into his pocket.
He realized that Dumbledore could have easily subdued him, modified his memory, or forced him to submit.
The fact that this conversation was happening at all was the greatest proof.
He felt a bit awkward. "I'm sorry, I was out of line just now."
"No," Dumbledore said gently. "Daring to draw your wand against a stronger opponent for the sake of a friend... that shows the finest quality of character."
"Then about that Basilisk skin... can Basil have it? He found it first," Harry said, immediately seizing the opportunity to push his luck. "By your logic, that's also a fine quality." (Basil shouting internally: My man!)
Dumbledore chuckled. "Of course. However, to be used as potion ingredients, it needs to be processed by an expert. Severus will take a portion of the skin as a processing fee. Can you agree to that on behalf of your friend Basil?"
"No," Harry shook his head, blinking shrewdly. "You can ask him yourself in a bit."
He knew that after this incident, Dumbledore would definitely want to have a talk with Basil.
"Certainly," Dumbledore nodded.
"One more thing." Harry held up a finger.
"Yes?"
"Basil's financial aid," Harry said, sounding a bit indignant (Basil shouting internally again: Ride or die!). "He's an orphan, and his family has less than three Galleons to their name. Sure, he has some magical items that look expensive, but those are essential tools for survival—the kind you can't sell. Maybe he has some money now, but he earned that at Platform 9¾ (Harry deliberately omitted Basil's scalping of Unicorn hair and Bubotuber pus)."
"I will arrange that," Dumbledore nodded.
He actually knew what Harry was holding back.
But he didn't care.
Hogwarts wasn't his private property; it belonged to all the teachers and students.
Everything in the Forbidden Forest belonged to the sentient beings living there who called it home.
Whatever Basil obtained in the Forbidden Forest, as long as no harm was done, belonged to Basil.
Moreover, according to his investigation, no Unicorns had been harmed.
Basil's current wealth didn't conflict with his status as an orphan eligible for financial aid.
Basil's rule-breaking was harmless. As a young Gryffindor, being lively and adventurous was a virtue.
Besides, Basil's adventures were for survival, caused by Severus's arrogance and his own negligence.
"How do we get back?" After sorting out Basil's issues, Harry finally thought about himself.
Did they have to climb back up that winding, bumpy, slimy pipe?
Even with the assistance of Dumbledore's magic...
He really didn't want to crawl through that pipe again.
"You haven't passed your Apparition test yet, have you?" Dumbledore asked.
"Of course not, you have to be seventeen. I'm only eleven. And you can't Apparate inside Hogwarts, can you?" Harry was puzzled.
"True," Dumbledore seemed to be answering his own question. "Then, in that case, we need—"
He clapped his hands. "Fawkes!"
To Harry, it felt like a singer on stage suddenly shouting, "Cue the music!"
Because as soon as Dumbledore spoke, music drifted in from nowhere.
The sound was ethereal, mysterious, and invigorating.
The hair on his scalp seemed to stand up, and his heart felt like it had swelled to twice its size.
The music got louder and louder until Harry felt like his heart was vibrating right out of his chest.
Because it felt like the music was vibrating inside his ribcage.
Just then, a burst of flame erupted in the air ahead.
A crimson bird suddenly descended from the sky. It was the size of a swan, and that beautiful, resonant song was coming from its slender neck.
It had a long, sharp golden beak, bright black eyes, and a tail as long as a peacock's, shimmering with gold. Its talons were also gleaming gold.
Finally, the great bird landed on Dumbledore's shoulder and stopped singing.
"Is that... a phoenix?" Harry asked in awe.
Basil had given him the lowdown before.
Phoenixes are truly immortal creatures, reborn from fire. No one can trap them unless they choose to follow someone voluntarily.
They are the most independent, transcendental creatures.
Their tears are a panacea for poison and injury; their song can banish fear and mobilize positive emotions; their tail feathers are one of the best materials for wand cores.
Currently, besides Dumbledore, only the New Zealand Quidditch team, the Moutohora Macaws, had a phoenix follower.
But that phoenix, named Sparky, followed the team, not an individual.
Which meant only Dumbledore had achieved such a feat—taming a phoenix!
"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "Please hold onto its tail."
"Can I?" Harry felt a mix of excitement and hesitation.
He looked at Fawkes.
The bird spread its wings, hovering in mid-air without flapping, waving its long golden tail feathers, inviting Harry's touch.
His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the tail feathers. The closer he got, the warmer it felt.
Like getting close to the fireplace in the common room.
The moment he grabbed it, a strange sense of lightness washed over his entire body.
He floated up into the air!
Then, Dumbledore abruptly grabbed his other hand. "Time to go."
Fawkes flapped its wings.
Whoosh! Everything in front of him blurred.
They were flying at high speed, pulled by Fawkes.
His other hand was holding Dumbledore, pulling a full-grown adult through the air.
Yet he didn't feel the slightest strain, as if he were holding a feather.
The pipe was winding and twisting.
But inside, flying upward, they defied inertia at every turn, passing through smoothly as if flying in a straight line.
It felt like he was actually flying!
It was a thrill no broomstick could provide!
But this joy was fleeting.
In less than a minute, before Harry could fully process it...
They had already landed on the wet floor of Myrtle's bathroom. The sink that covered the pipe slid back into place automatically.
Fawkes the phoenix turned into a ball of fire and vanished into the air.
Myrtle, who had poked her head out of the toilet, let out a shriek and dove back into the water.
---
please vote and keep reading...
patr*** ilham20