Dumbledore straightened with a long breath and removed the specialised spectacles he had been wearing.
Black’s tag lay on the desk.
It looked slightly different now.
Its colour had faded from pure black to a dark charcoal grey.
Dumbledore turned it over.
A symbol had appeared on the back.
It had taken several attempts with different methods to make it visible: a circle filled with strange markings.
For all his learning, Dumbledore couldn’t decipher them.
Amongst them, however, was one symbol he recognised.
The sign of the Deathly Hallows.
He pressed a long finger gently against it.
The markings stirred.
They broke apart and re-formed, shifting within the circle until they became letters.
Those, too, rearranged themselves.
At last, everything stopped moving.
A single line remained:
G.
G.
Institute of Biological Research.
Professor McGonagall was busy in her office.
It might still be the summer holidays, but she had a headmaster who preferred to leave much of the running of the school to others.
There was a great deal to finish before the first of September.
A flutter of wings sounded outside her window.
She had been about to take a break anyway, so she let the owl in.
It was an unusually eager bird.
Ignoring the owl treats on her desk, it dropped its letter and immediately flew off again.
McGonagall waved her wand.
A teapot and cup floated over, and the pot tipped to pour her tea.
She took a sip, then picked up the letter.
‘Hermione Granger?’
She recalled a little girl with prominent front teeth, and a faint smile softened her face.
McGonagall had taken the Grangers to Diagon Alley herself.
A day in the child’s company had given her a fair idea of what to expect.
An intelligent girl, eager to learn.
There was something of her own younger self in Hermione, too.
She was rather fond of her.
Judging by the thickness of the letter, Miss Granger had quite a few questions.
Well, this was as good a time as any to answer them.
Before long, she put down her cup and forgot about it.
‘A Hidebehind?’
The child had encountered a Hidebehind?
Hermione was plainly safe enough to write, but McGonagall still felt a sharp pang of alarm.
A young witch of eleven or twelve would stand as much chance against one as a lamb against a hungry wolf.
She read on.
‘An eleven-year-old boy defeated it with Transfiguration?’
Several possible explanations for Hermione’s escape had already occurred to her.
A passing wizard might have intervened.
Perhaps the girl had somehow managed to frighten the creature away.
But the idea that an eleven-year-old child had killed it had not entered her mind.
It was absurd.
Was the girl lying?
That was McGonagall’s first thought.
Transfiguration was a demanding branch of magic.
She knew exactly how much work, patience and effort had gone into her own mastery of it.
At eleven, a young wizard might not even be able to manage a Wand-Lighting Charm.
Yet Hermione claimed that a boy her own age had used Transfiguration to kill a vicious Hidebehind.
Those creatures were cunning as well as savage.
Killing a fully grown one was no simple matter even for an adult wizard.
McGonagall felt the first stirrings of displeasure.
Then she reached the next part.
‘And afterwards, Professor Dumbledore arrived?’
She frowned.
If Hermione were inventing this, why include someone McGonagall could consult so easily?
Was it true, then?
But how could it be?
According to the letter, the boy had instantly turned a large rock into a stone lion.
Even supposing a child that age possessed the necessary skill, where would he find the magical power to accomplish such a transformation in an instant?
The second half of the letter contained Hermione’s questions.
She had attempted Transfiguration herself, just as the boy—Black—had done.
But she couldn’t make even a small stone change in any way.
How should she begin?
McGonagall sighed.
‘Oh, you foolish girl.
A possible explanation was beginning to take shape.
Perhaps Hermione hadn’t lied at all.
Perhaps it had been Dumbledore who had Transfigured the rock and saved them.
From the account in the letter, he might have been nearby and helped without revealing himself.
Why he wouldn’t simply step forward and deal with the creature, McGonagall couldn’t say.
But it was certainly the sort of peculiar thing he might do.
She was considering her reply when someone knocked.
Setting the letter down, she said, ‘Come in.’
Dumbledore entered at a brisk pace.
He looked tired.
‘Minerva, I thought I ought to tell you in person.
Something has come up, and I need to make a journey.
I’m afraid the work I agreed to take on…’
McGonagall regarded him with practised resignation.
‘Very well.
But please don’t be away too long.
There really is a great deal to do.’
He nodded apologetically and turned to leave.
‘One moment.’
Her gaze flicked to the letter on her desk.
‘I’ve received a letter claiming that a boy killed a Hidebehind with Transfiguration.
I assume this was actually your—’
‘Yes!
The boy!’
Dumbledore turned back, suddenly animated.
‘Only eleven, and he brought down a Hidebehind with Transfiguration.
I’ve never seen such an extraordinary young talent.’
He paused.
‘Ah.
I quite forgot to mention it.
Congratulations, Minerva.
You’ll have a remarkably gifted Transfiguration student joining you this year.’
McGonagall stared at him.
Hermione hadn’t been lying.
It was true.
An eleven-year-old boy had killed a Hidebehind with Transfiguration.