Professor Sprout collected Adrian after supper, catching him outside the Great Hall with a piece of toast folded around the last of his dinner.
He swallowed hastily when she told him the Headmaster was expecting them, then looked down at the food still in his hand.
“You may finish it on the way,” she said, steering him clear of a group of students stopping to consult a timetable.
“Professor Flitwick would like us to discuss your progress.
You aren’t being summoned to account for the toast.”
“That’s good.
I didn’t have much of a defense for that one.” Adrian took another bite as they joined the staircase, although his appetite had become rather less urgent.
“Should I have brought my notebook?”
“I asked Mr Diggory to fetch it.
He seemed to know exactly which one I meant.”
Of course he did.
Adrian had spent part of breakfast explaining why the distinction between recognising a rhythm and predicting an event mattered, until Cedric pointed out that predicting when Adrian would stop talking was proving considerably harder.
By the time they reached the gargoyle, Adrian had finished eating and brushed the crumbs from his fingers.
Sprout gave the password, waited for the entrance to open, and accompanied him up the moving staircase.
Fawkes was the first thing he looked for when the office door opened.
The phoenix stood beside Dumbledore’s desk, working his beak through the feathers beneath one wing.
Adrian slowed just enough for Sprout’s hand to touch his shoulder, gently encouraging him farther into the room.
Dumbledore looked up over his spectacles.
“Good evening, Adrian.
Please, sit down.
Professor Flitwick has brought enough notes that I suspect we shall be more comfortable.”
Flitwick occupied a chair beside the desk, with Adrian’s notebook open across his knees.
Snape stood near a cabinet of silver instruments, his expression suggesting that the evening had already disappointed him.
“Professor,” Adrian said, nodding towards him before taking his seat.
“Clarke.
How fortunate that you have found time between discoveries.”
“I’m trying to keep Tuesdays open.”
Sprout’s fingers paused on the back of her chair.
Adrian sat a little straighter beneath Snape’s stare, while Dumbledore moved a dish of sweets away from the papers spread across his desk.
“Then we must endeavour to make good use of this one.”
Flitwick began with the pendulum tests, spreading his diagrams across Dumbledore’s desk as he explained how Adrian’s accuracy had deteriorated towards the end of the session.
When he reached the exercise with the moving hoops, he tapped the drawing of the ball’s interrupted path.
“He stopped it on the second attempt, rather than continuing once the opening had moved.
A useful improvement.”
Snape examined the page over Flitwick’s shoulder.
“After first driving it into the hoop.
Evidently the wood provided an explanation he could follow.”
Adrian smiled down at his hands.
“Pretty hard to miss the feedback, sir.”
“Yet you missed the opening.”
Flitwick removed the diagram before Adrian could answer, replacing it with the results of the pendulum tests.
“His control of the levitation charm was quite adequate.
It was the expectation of an unchanged movement that caused the difficulty, and he adjusted once he understood that.”
Dumbledore had been studying Adrian rather than the papers.
He waited until Adrian looked towards him, then rested his hand beside the diagrams.
“Let us go back a little.
Before you reach for the thread or move the ball, what tells you that the moment has arrived?”
Adrian settled back in his chair, rubbing his thumb along the seam of his trousers.
He had crossed out three explanations in his notebook already, and none seemed likely to improve by being said aloud.
“It’s like when you know a song really well.
You know when the next beat should happen, even if somebody turns it down.” He glanced at Flitwick.
“Except I don’t need to hear anything.
And sometimes my hand starts moving before I’ve decided to move it.”
“Does it ever compel you to continue?” Dumbledore asked.
“No, sir.
I can stop.
I just feel like I stopped in the wrong place.”
Snape left the cabinet and approached the desk.
“And when the movement changes?”
“Then I’m wrong.”
“Without exception?”
Adrian considered the question before answering.
“If it changes before I notice, yeah.
Once it repeats enough, I can pick it up again.”
Snape examined the diagram without touching it.
Adrian watched his eyes move down the page, resisting the temptation to ask whether he had found a spelling mistake.
Sprout settled beside him.
“And your sleep?”
Adrian hesitated.
“There we are,” Snape murmured.
“It was one late night.”
“Two,” Flitwick corrected pleasantly, consulting his notes.
“You mentioned that Mr Diggory confiscated the thread on the second.”
Adrian looked at the notebook with sudden resentment.
“I’m starting to see the downside of keeping good records.”
“Excellent,” Snape said.
“Perhaps you will now discover the advantages of following instructions.”
Dumbledore waited for Adrian to turn back towards him.
His expression remained mild, but he had stopped looking at the diagrams.
“Mr Diggory’s assistance brings us to another matter.
When we last spoke, we agreed that these abilities were best kept quiet.”
Adrian’s fingers closed loosely around the edge of his chair.
He had expected questions about the tests; somehow, knowing this one was reasonable did not make it easier to answer.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who have you told?”
“Cedric knows the most.
About the animals, the electricity, and what happened with the Mooncalves.” Adrian glanced towards Sprout before continuing.
“Fred and George know I can talk to animals.
They found me talking to something near the greenhouses, and I told them what I was doing.”
“The Weasley twins.
An inspired choice of confidants.”
“They haven’t told anyone.”
“That you know of.”
Adrian almost answered immediately, then stopped.
Across the desk, Dumbledore waited without helping him out of the pause.
“That I know of,” he agreed.
“But they’ve had chances.
People were asking about what happened in the corridor, and they didn’t tell them about the animals.”
“Those are separate matters,” Snape said.
“Sure.
But they knew something people would’ve wanted to hear, and they kept it to themselves.”
Sprout leaned forward slightly.
“Did you ask them to?”
“Yes, Professor.
I didn’t just hope they’d figure it out.”
She nodded, accepting the answer without making it sound like approval of everything surrounding it.
“And Cedric?” Dumbledore asked.
Adrian looked down at his hands.
Through the window behind the desk, the last evening light lay across the rooftops, making the glass look warmer than the room felt.
“I’ve known him a long time.
He doesn’t run his mouth when something matters.” He raised his eyes again.
“And I needed somebody who’d tell me I was getting carried away.
I wanted it to be something new.
He was the one who changed the thread and made me miss.”
Flitwick’s expression softened, but Adrian continued before anyone could mistake the explanation for an excuse.
“I know you didn’t say I could tell him.
I thought keeping it quiet meant not letting it turn into something everybody talked about.
I didn’t think I had to pretend nothing was happening around my best friend.”
Dumbledore folded his hands on the desk.
“Did you believe we would forbid you to speak to him if you asked?”
“I wasn’t sure.” Adrian shifted in the chair.
“And I didn’t really want to find out you would.”
Snape gave a small, humourless breath.
“At last, an answer unencumbered by justification.”
Adrian looked towards him, the corner of his mouth lifting despite the heat in his ears.
“Figured I should quit while I was behind, sir.”
“An instinct you might cultivate.”
Sprout interrupted before Adrian could decide whether that deserved an answer.
“Cedric may be sensible, but he is also twelve.
He mustn’t become responsible for judging whether an experiment is safe.”
“He isn’t.
We used a button.”
“This time,” she said.
Her voice stayed gentle, which made Adrian pay closer attention.
“You are excited, and he wants to help.
That is precisely when two sensible children can persuade each other that something is worth trying.”
Adrian thought about the clock above the common-room fireplace and decided it did not need to enter the discussion.
Dumbledore drew the notebook towards him.
“I do not believe we gain very much by requiring you to conceal every difficulty from the people closest to you.
Nor should friendship become a substitute for supervision.”
He turned one page, studying the little drawing of the ball striking the hoop.
Flitwick made a small movement towards the notebook, too late to conceal Adrian’s annotation.
Dumbledore’s beard shifted.
“Professor Flitwick changed the circumstances, I understand.”
“Yes, sir,” Adrian said.
“Without warning.”
“A habit the world is regrettably fond of.” Dumbledore closed the notebook and slid it back across the desk.
“You may speak with Cedric.
If the twins already know about your conversations with animals, there is little purpose in pretending otherwise.
But there will be no demonstrations arranged to satisfy curiosity, and no new experiments outside the limits your professors have set.”
Adrian nodded, then paused.
“If something happens by itself, I’m not supposed to act like it didn’t, right?”
“No,” Flitwick said at once.
“Write down what you noticed and tell us.
If it causes pain, confusion, or a movement you cannot stop, come directly to a member of staff.”
“Even if it stops before you find one,” Sprout added.
Snape looked pointedly at Adrian’s hands.
“And the next time you decide an instruction contains a convenient ambiguity, ask.”
Adrian tucked the notebook against his knee.
“That one was pretty clear.”
“How reassuring.”
A soft scrape came from beside the desk as Fawkes shifted his feet on the perch.
Adrian’s attention moved before he could stop it, catching the phoenix stretching one wing into the lamplight.
Dumbledore followed his gaze.
“I believe you have listened patiently enough to earn a change of subject.”
Adrian looked back towards him.
“Can I?”
Dumbledore inclined his head, and Adrian rose without quite managing to make it look unhurried.
He stopped several feet from the perch.
Fawkes watched him with his head tilted, the long feathers of his tail hanging almost to the floor.
“Hey,” Adrian said softly.
“I remember you.”
Behind him, a chair creaked.
He ignored it, watching the phoenix’s throat as Fawkes made a low, liquid sound.
Adrian tried to repeat the first part.
Fawkes went very still.
Adrian’s mouth closed.
After a moment, he lowered his chin and looked slightly away, giving the bird room to decide whether the attempt had been offensive.
The phoenix made the sound again, shorter this time, then reached beneath one wing to settle a feather.
“Was that an answer?” Flitwick asked quietly. Get faster updates on novelping.com.
“I don’t know.” Adrian kept his voice low.
“I haven’t heard enough to tell.”
“A refreshing distinction,” Snape observed.
Adrian glanced over his shoulder.
“I do make those sometimes, Professor.”
“Treasure the occasion.”
Fawkes clicked his beak, reclaiming Adrian’s attention.
Adrian smiled and waited, hands loose at his sides.
After a little while, he repeated only the last note, leaving out the part he had been least certain of.
Fawkes leaned forward, studying him, then gave a soft, rising trill that Adrian felt unexpectedly in his chest.
The tightness he had carried through the meeting eased.
His shoulders lowered before he noticed them doing it.
Dumbledore’s quill stopped moving.
Adrian took a slow breath, watching the phoenix settle again.
“Okay,” he murmured.
“That one I liked.”
Fawkes offered no translation.
He lifted a foot and began attending to one curved talon, apparently satisfied that the visitor had been dealt with.
Dumbledore came to stand beside Adrian, leaving enough distance that neither crowded the perch.
“You needn’t attempt to imitate everything at once.”
“I know.
I just don’t get a lot of chances to hear a phoenix.”
“No,” Dumbledore said, watching Fawkes.
“I suppose you do not.”
Adrian looked up at him, then back at the bird.
“Could I come by again sometime?
I can be quiet.”
From the desk, Snape made a faint sound.
“Mostly quiet,” Adrian amended.
Dumbledore’s eyes crinkled behind his spectacles.
“We shall arrange a time.
Bring your notebook, and perhaps begin with listening.”
Fawkes lowered his head within reach.
Adrian glanced at Dumbledore, waited for his nod, and gently brushed one finger along the feathers above the phoenix’s beak.
They were warm enough to startle him.
He withdrew slightly, then let Fawkes lean into the touch on his own.
Behind them, Flitwick asked a quiet question about the time, and Sprout rose to take Adrian back before curfew.
Adrian thanked the Headmaster and each of his professors at the door.
Snape acknowledged him with a slight inclination of his head, then looked towards the notebook beneath his arm.
“Bed, Clarke.
Your discoveries will survive until morning.”
Adrian smiled.
“I’ll try not to disappoint you before breakfast, sir.”
“Begin with arriving awake.”
Sprout opened the door before either could continue, although Adrian thought he caught her smiling as she turned towards the stairs.
Dumbledore returned to his desk after the door had closed.
Fawkes watched him sit, then tucked his head beneath one wing.
Snape remained standing.
“An assurance of discretion from two Weasleys,” he said.
“We might as well prepare an announcement.”
“Neither has made one,” Flitwick replied, gathering his papers.
“And Mr Diggory’s observations were useful.
He questioned the effect rather than encouraging Adrian to exaggerate it.”
“He also helped him conduct an unsupervised experiment.”
“With a button, Severus.”
“With what was available.”
Dumbledore removed his spectacles and laid them beside the notebook diagrams.
“Which is why I should prefer that the next experiment be brought to Filius rather than hidden from him.”
Snape’s mouth tightened, but he did not immediately answer.
One of the silver instruments on the shelf emitted a thin ribbon of smoke, and Dumbledore reached across to turn it away from the papers.
“He expected a reprimand,” Flitwick said.
“He told us what happened nonetheless.”
“After being asked.”
“Yes,” Dumbledore said.
“We shall have to continue asking.”
Flitwick looked down at the account of the Mooncalves.
His forefinger rested beside the date of the outing.
“The timing is certainly suggestive.
I should like another observation under controlled conditions before claiming more.”
“And before placing him beside another creature in the hope of producing a result,” Snape said.
Dumbledore glanced towards the perch.
Fawkes had opened one eye.
“Quite.”
The silence lasted long enough for Flitwick to finish aligning his papers.
“He was affected by the song,” he said at last.
“As were you,” Dumbledore replied.
Flitwick smiled reluctantly.
“Yes.
Of course.”
Snape looked between them.
“The boy already has sufficient difficulty distinguishing an interesting opportunity from a sensible one.
I suggest we avoid sharing it.”
Dumbledore picked up his spectacles, turning them once between his fingers.
“Your suggestion is well taken, Severus.”
Outside the window, the last strip of light had disappeared behind the hills.
Flitwick tucked the diagrams into his folder, leaving the page of failed tests on top, and Dumbledore reached for his appointment book.
He wrote Adrian’s name beside a time the following week.
After a moment’s consideration, he left the line beneath it empty.