Harry Potter: Prince of Shadows

Fawkes, the phoenix, gently used its beak to tidy Ian's messy hair.

The atmosphere in the air felt rather stiff.

They stared at each other, wide-eyed.

Dumbledore's raised hand hovered awkwardly—neither raised nor lowered. For once, even this old wizard, who had mastered Occlumency, couldn't hide the hint of awkwardness on his face.

"It seems Fawkes is very fond of you. That's extremely rare. Most of the time, Fawkes maintains a rather aloof attitude toward humans."

Dumbledore could only speak to break the uncomfortable moment.

"Professor…"

Ian was fully aware that the fluffy bird on his head was definitely one of the most formidable magical creatures alive. He glanced at Dumbledore, as though asking for help, trying hard not to move his head.

Although he'd always been curious about phoenixes, the situation was reminiscent of the old fable about a person who claims to love dragons but panics when an actual dragon appears. Even someone fond of big cats might think twice before letting a lion rub its face against theirs.

"No need to worry. A phoenix has wisdom surpassing that of humans. It's simply playing with you," Dumbledore explained, though surprise clearly shone behind his glasses.

He had never seen Fawkes grow so attached to anyone else. Even the kindest and bravest young wizards had never received such an intimate gesture—this near "grooming" of sorts—from Fawkes.

Indeed—Fawkes looked for all the world like it was grooming Ian's hairs, the way birds do, showing extraordinary closeness.

"Madam Elena mentioned you like to play with birds quite a bit. Perhaps you have a natural affinity for magical creatures, rather like Newt Scamander," Dumbledore said.

That was the most logical explanation Dumbledore could offer. It was well known that only those of the Dumbledore family could summon phoenixes in times of crisis.

Such a rare and powerful magical being does not reproduce itself over countless generations; rather, it answers the call of certain inherited bloodlines possessed by the Dumbledore family.

Perhaps some other families might have a similar lineage.

But—

In the specific case of this phoenix, Fawkes existed for Albus Dumbledore. By all rights, its will and emotions should be tied strongly to him alone.

"Newt Scamander? You mean the author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them?" Ian asked, still struggling not to shift too much. He tried to keep his body and head balanced.

"Yes, he and I are old friends. We've fought side by side, as close as two people can be," Dumbledore said, observing this scene of one boy and one phoenix with a subtle gleam in his eyes.

"If he knew there was a student like you at Hogwarts, perhaps he wouldn't keep refusing my offer of employment. Seems I'd better send him a very tempting letter," Dumbledore added with a hopeful smile.

"Um, to be honest, I don't think I have any great talent… I just feel like your bird is kind of toying with me," Ian said, sensing movement on his head.

Fawkes had begun grooming Ian's eyebrows, perilously close to his eyes—so close that it made Ian worry about being pecked.

He had no idea whether a phoenix might feel curious about moving eyeballs.

Far too unnerving.

"All right, Fawkes. Time to go home," Dumbledore finally said, noticing Ian's tension.

Caw-caw!

Fawkes let out a plaintive cry before answering Dumbledore's call. It lifted off Ian's head, glowing red, and returned to Dumbledore's side.

"If you ever need any help, feel free to come to me or Professor Snape. He may be harsh on the outside, but he has a warm heart. We'll both be happy to help you with any problems."

It wasn't clear whether Dumbledore was referring to problems in magical research or other matters. Smiling, he gave Ian a small wave—then disappeared from the room in an instant, Fawkes vanishing alongside him.

As the ripples in the space slowly subsided—

Ian stood alone in the now-silent living room, his heart still pounding from the lingering terror of it all.

Likely due to his residual shock, he didn't notice the delicate marking on the back of his hand gradually fading away. In truth, Dumbledore hadn't noticed that it had glowed earlier either.

Maybe—

No one but Ian could see it to begin with.

***

Phew~!

A swirl in space—

Dumbledore's figure appeared in Hogwarts Castle's corridor.

Night draped everything in darkness—

A thin veil of moonlight lay over the winding corridors. Along the passage, the ancient torches cast a warm, gentle glow.

"Fawkes, you were a bit rude tonight. You frightened the boy," Dumbledore said, standing by a window. The phoenix perched on his shoulder.

Caw-caw!

Fawkes trilled softly.

"You're saying you feel he needs your care?" Dumbledore didn't speak Phoenix language exactly, but living with Fawkes for so many years had let him pick up on its nuances.

Caw!

Once more, Fawkes answered.

"Unbelievable… Two extraordinary children indeed,"

Dumbledore murmured as a nighttime breeze flowed in through the window.

He gazed at the moon outside. Though his aging face remained calm, his deep, striking eyes seemed to hold the images of two very different individuals—one male, one female.

He was thinking, pondering, whispering softly, "Let's hope it's not what I suspect…"

In the night wind, the old wizard's figure appeared slightly stooped, as though burdened by weariness.

Just then—

Tap, tap, tap…

Footsteps echoed.

A man draped entirely in black robes emerged from the depths of the castle, carrying several boxes. A medicinal scent began drifting through the air.

"Severus."

Dumbledore didn't turn, yet he spoke the man's name unerringly.

"Ha—Albus. Looks like you're having trouble sleeping again. Perhaps I can provide you a vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion, if you'd like one peaceful, nightmare-free night."

Snape offered a humorless, sardonic smile and paused in the hallway.

"I just got back from outside,"

Dumbledore said, finally turning around and eyeing the boxes in Snape's hands. "Although I do suspect I'll have a sleepless night, I'm not eager to rely on potions for relief."

Snape merely gave a slight nod at this.

"A foolish choice,"

he said, ever sharp-tongued.

"Aren't you planning to brew Felix Felicis tonight?"

Dumbledore asked, deducing Snape's intentions from the ingredients he carried—possibly trying to steer the conversation in another direction.

"If you need to drink any potion, I'll be in my office."

Snape resumed walking, heading off toward his workspace.

But then—

"Wait a moment."

Dumbledore called out suddenly.

"Changed your mind?"

Snape turned back, his face betraying no emotion.

"I only have a… request, purely to satisfy my curiosity. I hope you won't misunderstand."

Dumbledore paused, picking his words carefully. Noticing the growing impatience in Snape's expression, he hesitated before lowering his voice:

"When you have time, could you look up the Prince family tree and see whether, in the last five generations, there was any intermarriage between the Prince family and the Dumbledore line?"

In that same corridor—facing the same two people—

This time,

It was Snape who looked thoroughly stunned.

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