"I... well, I was sleeping..." Harry said, choosing his words carefully. "But it wasn't just any dream... it was real... I saw it happen..." He took a deep breath. "Ron's father... Mr. Weasley... was bitten by a large snake."
As he spoke, he watched the expressions on Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall's faces. He saw Professor McGonagall look stunned and then give him a complicated expression, while Dumbledore leaned back and looked up at the ceiling.
Ron looked at Harry, then at Dumbledore, his face pale and shocked.
"How did you see that?" Dumbledore asked in a low voice. "I mean, do you remember where you were when you saw the attack? Were you near the victim or were you watching the scene from above?"
"I was the snake," Harry said. "I saw it all from the snake's point of view."
Understanding also appeared on Dumbledore's face. He then stood up abruptly and addressed an old portrait near the ceiling. "Everard!" he said sternly. "And you, Dilys!"
A yellow-faced man with short black hair on his forehead and an old witch with long silver curls by his side opened their eyes immediately.
"You should have heard it, that man has red hair and wears glasses," Dumbledore said sharply. "Everard, you need to raise the alarm, to make sure he is discovered by one of your own..."
At Dumbledore's request, the two former headmasters left their frames and disappeared.
"Everard and Dilys are two of the most famous headmasters of Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, quickly approaching Fawkes. "And their portraits hang in other important magical institutions. They can come and go between their portraits as they please, so they can tell us what is happening in other places..."
Harry was about to say that Mr. Weasley could be anywhere, but then he remembered that Fish seemed to know something before this, and also Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall; apparently, Dumbledore knew something, and Harry swallowed his words again.
"Sit down for a moment, Everard and Dilys won't be back for a few minutes..." Dumbledore stroked the golden feather on Fawkes's head with his finger and said softly, "We need a little alarm."
There was a flash of fire, and Fawkes disappeared.
Professor McGonagall waved her wand, and immediately more chairs appeared next to the desk, with steaming cups of black tea on the table.
"Take a seat," she said kindly. "There's no point in worrying now."
Harry and Ron sat down as they were told, but their expressions were still disturbed.
Fish, however, was not so sincere, as he slid to a nearby cupboard, opened the door, and grabbed the Sorting Hat hidden inside.
"..."
The Sorting Hat hadn't bothered to struggle, and anyway, it was useless.
But instead of using it as a nest, Fish put it on his head and sneaked over to his desk, taking a seat next to Professor McGonagall.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, grabbed one of the elaborate silver instruments and moved it to the desk...
To be more precise, he placed it in front of Harry.
Then Dumbledore sat back down, took his wand, and tapped the strange, delicate silver instrument. The device immediately came to life, emitting a rhythmic ding-dong sound, and a small silver tube at the top released a wisp of pale green smoke that hung in the air... Dumbledore watched the smoke attentively, furrowing his brow.
After a few seconds, the wisps turned into a constant stream of smoke, growing thicker and swirling in the air... the top of the tube transformed into the head of a snake, its mouth wide open.
Upon seeing the snake, Harry immediately looked nervously and anxiously at Dumbledore, awaiting his response.
But Dumbledore did not look up; he continued to gaze at the smoke that had turned into a snake, muttering to himself, "Of course, our previous assumption was correct... but... are they truly separate?"
As he uttered those words, the snake of smoke immediately split into two, coiling and writhing in the faint air. With a stern and satisfied expression, Dumbledore struck the instrument again with his wand. The tinkling ceased, and the smoke snakes faded away, disappearing into invisible vapor.
"Are you alright, Harry?"
?ω?
Fish asked before Harry could inquire, and Professor McGonagall redirected her attention to Dumbledore.
Both Harry and Ron were a little confused. Mr. Weasley could be the one injured, so why did Fish ask about Harry?
Dumbledore nodded, then shook his head, and just as he was about to speak, the wizard named Everard returned to the frame panting.
He confirmed that Harry's dream was not just a dream but a reality.
Ron's face grew even paler.
But soon Dilys returned with the good news that Mr. Weasley had been transported to St. Mungo's Hospital in what seemed like a terrible state, but at least he was not dead. With the medical knowledge at St. Mungo's, the chances of survival were high, and if Fish went there, he would be alright.
"Don't worry, Ron, Fish can heal Arthur, nya."
?(ΦωΦ)?
Fish patted Ron's shoulder, reassuring him.
Knowing Fish's abilities, Ron felt relieved and gave him a thankful look.
"Minerva, I need you to go wake up the rest of the Weasley children," Dumbledore ordered.
He then asked Phineas in the portrait to inform Sirius that Harry and the others would soon be heading to the ancestral Black house.
Phineas grumbled but reluctantly rushed off to deliver the message.
Once that was done, Dumbledore rummaged through a cupboard behind Fish and the others and found an old, blackened teapot, which he carefully placed on the table. He raised his wand and said, "Mentos!" The teapot shuddered for a moment, glowing with a strange blue light, and then dimmed again.
Just then, the office door swung open once more, and Professor McGonagall ushered in George, Fred, and Ginny, all still in their pajamas, with disheveled hair and terrified expressions.
"Harry... What's happening?" Ginny asked fearfully as she rushed to Harry's side, grabbing his arm. "Professor McGonagall said you saw Dad injured..."
"Your father was injured while working for the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore answered without waiting for Harry to say anything. "He has been taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I will take you to Sirius's home; it's easier to reach the hospital from there, and you will meet your mother there."
"How are we going to get there?" Fred asked worriedly. "Using Floo Powder?"
"No," Dumbledore replied, "It's not safe to use Floo Powder at the moment; the network is being monitored. We'll have to use a Portkey."
He pointed to the old, simple-looking teapot on the table. "Now, wait for Phineas to return... I want to make sure there's no danger before sending you there..."
"You clearly said before that you couldn't use the Portkey either, nya!"
∑(ΦДΦ)
Fish interrupted Dumbledore, interrogating him angrily, "I thought you had to register with the Ministry of Magic to use a Portkey!"
"Uh..." Dumbledore blinked, "Yes, I am doing this illegally, and if the Ministry finds out, they will have to take me to Azkaban... that's why it's so urgent today, otherwise I wouldn't be doing it."
Staring--
(`н´)
Fish clasped his hands and puffed up his cheeks, staring at Dumbledore for a long moment before reluctantly accepting the explanation.
"He said 'welcome'," Phineas lazily remarked upon his return. "My grandson has a strange fetish for leaving people behind... of course, Fish is welcome in our entire family."
"Let's go," Dumbledore greeted Fish, Harry, and the others, then turned to Professor McGonagall, "Minerva, you stay here. If Umbridge detects that something is wrong, Fawkes will alert you. When that happens, try to distract her... with any pretext."
Professor McGonagall nodded, then approached and took the Sorting Hat off Fish's head.
Fish pursed his lips, glancing sadly at the Sorting Hat that Professor McGonagall had taken away, and then, along with the others, placed his hand on the black teapot.
"Alright. On the count of three, one... two..."
Upon hearing Dumbledore's voice, Fish suddenly felt an unpleasant chill, his cat ears instinctively flattened, and the fur on his tail bristled behind him.
"Nya!"
∑(ΦДΦ)
Fish abruptly turned his head, only to see Harry staring at him with a familiar and hostile gaze...
It was the gaze of a predator.