Can A Phoenix Love A Lion? (Hermione Granger x Male Reader)

21. The Return

Next morning, Y/N, Harry and Ron were in the headmaster's office, Dumbledore sitting behind his desk. For nearly a quarter of an hour, they spoke in the rapt silence. They told him about how Hermione had finally realised that Harry was hearing a basilisk; how they had followed the spiders in the forest, that Aragog had told them where the last victim of the basilisk had died; how they had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom; how Riddle had managed to enchant Ginny with the diary....

"You all realise, of course, that in the past few hours, you have broken perhaps a dozen school rules," Dumbledore said.

They spoke like one. "Yes, sir."

"And that there's sufficient evidence to have you three expelled."

"Yes, sir."

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "Therefore," he said gently, "it is only fitting that you all receive special awards for services to the school."

Relief—warm, sweeping, glorious relief—swept over Y/N.

"T-Thanks, sir," Ron said.

Dumbledore nodded, beaming. "And now, Mr Weasly, if you would have an owl deliver these release papers to Azkaban." He gave a sealed letter to Ron. "I believe we all want our gamekeeper back."

Ron walked out, almost running with the letter in his hand, to the owlery. Y/N watched him go, then turned back to Dumbledore. The sun was warm on his back, reassuring, yet he suddenly felt a little more uncomfortable and nervous.

"First of all, I would like to thank both of you," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. That, or Fawkes prefers Y/N to me." He stroked the phoenix, which had fluttered down onto his knee. Y/N grinned awkwardly, rocking left and right on his feet. Dumbledore looked at him. "Maybe I'll have to give him to you one day." He laughed.

Y/N felt his face going red and his eyes bulging.

"Of course, not now," Dumbledore said. "Second," he said more thoughtfully, "I sense that something is troubling you, Harry. Am I right?"

Harry stared in the distance. "It's just...you see, sir, I couldn't help but notice certain things—certain similarities between Tom Riddle and me."

"I see," Dumbledore said, looking thoughtfully at Harry from under his thick silver eyebrows. "Well, you can speak Parseltongue, Harry. Why? Because Lord Voldemort can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar."

"Voldemort transferred some of his powers...to me?" Harry said, thunderstruck.

Dumbledore nodded. "Not something he intended to do, I'm sure, but it certainly seems so."

"So the Sorting Hat was right," Harry said, looking desperate. "I should be in Slytherin."

"It's true, Harry. You possess many of the qualities that Lord Voldemort himself prises—determination, resourcefulness and, if I may say so, a certain disregard for the rules. Why then did the Sorting Hat place you in Gryffindor?"

"Because I asked it to," Harry said in a defeated voice.

"Exactly, Harry," Dumbledore said, beaming once more. "Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. If you want proof that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at this."

Dumbledore reached across his desk, picked up the blood-stained silver sword, and handed it to Harry. Harry turned it over, the rubies reflecting red light on his face. He seemed to be reading something below the hilt. "Godric Gryffindor," he whispered.