Dumbledore released the note in his hand. Tiny sparks rose from the parchment as it drifted upward, and with a wisp of smoke, it swiftly burned to ash and scattered in the bitter wind.
Taking off his glasses, Dumbledore absently bent their silver arms as he gazed into the distance. His eyes seemed to pierce mountains and lakes, buildings and forests, and the wind that moaned through the ravines.
"Diagon Alley... Gringotts..."
Dumbledore stood up and suddenly gave a soft chuckle. Under Fawkes's puzzled gaze, he walked over and stroked the phoenix's slightly hot tail feathers.
"Perhaps this is why we always love the unknown and refuse to submit to fate. Life is like Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans-you never know what flavor comes next."
Fawkes blinked his golden eyes and gave a disdainful snort, then turned to look at the magical photographs in his nest, polished to a gleam from constant nuzzling.
Closing his eyes, he let out a contented croon and leaned over to rub his head against the photographs again.
Day 285 without that beautiful, noble, elegant lady. I miss her!
Dumbledore's hand paused. He discreetly withdrew it and gently wiped it on his clothes. This bird... has become tainted.
With his schoolbag on his back, Dudley stared dumbfounded at the Small Church standing in a corner of the school grounds. Bloody hell, that Edward had been telling the truth. A church really had sprung up overnight.
How had he done it?
There were more surprises in store for Dudley. While he was still fretting over how to explain to his teacher that he could only attend half a day of classes, the teacher approached him first and, in an unprecedentedly gentle tone, informed him that he was to volunteer at the church every afternoon.
*That