Chapters 161-170

No Roast for Luncheon; Poor Winky

Severus’ footsteps pounded the rickety stairs that went up to the attic before Hermione had a chance to blink.

‘Bloody hell,’ she swore, grabbed her wand and rolled from the bed. Barefoot, she sprinted up the creaking stairs, rushed through the door and bowled straight into Severus’ back.

‘I told you to stay where you are,’ he ground out. ‘At least keep back, for Merlin’s sake.’

Severus was pointing his wand at a large wooden crate in the middle of the floor. It had the Hogwarts seal attached to it. A smoky scent of myrrh and cinnamon wafted through the air. The box wobbled. Sounds of frantic scratching issued from within, followed by an indignant squawk.

Hermione remained behind Severus but did her best to bend far enough around him to peer at the mysterious box. The writing that adorned the top was strangely familiar. She felt the overwhelming urge to rub her eyes in disbelief.

‘Severus—the writing on the box…am I seeing things, or is that Dumbledore’s handwriting?’

Her words had a profound effect on her husband. The tension drained from him with a gasp, and his wand-hand started shaking. Hermione bit down on her lips and stepped around him, her eyes focused on the crate, her wand aimed and at the ready. Just because she thought that she recognised the writing on the box as Dumbledore’s didn’t mean that the box or its contents were harmless.

‘I take it that this box wasn’t here when you came up here the last time?’ she asked calmly.

‘You have an amazing talent for stating the obvious.’ He inhaled deeply. ‘Winky!’ he called out.

An eager little POP! heralded the prompt arrival of the house-elf.

‘Master Professor Sir?’

‘Can you—can you tell me anything about this box over there?’

‘Yes, Master Professor Sir. Of course, Master Professor Sir. Box of birch wood is made. Is long exactly one foot and eleven inches. Is wide same as long. Is high two feet and six point four inches. Is weighing—’

‘Do you know anything about how it got here? Or what’s in it?’ Severus interrupted the house-elf’s monologue.

‘Master Professor Sir, Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Professor McGonagall, is asking house-elves to take care of Master Professor Sir’s house. Professor McGonagall is asking Winky to take box to house. And to keep box safe for Master Professor Sir. Attic is being full of boxes. So Winky is putting box in attic. So it has company of other boxes, Master Professor Sir.’

The house-elf screwed up her small, wrinkly face. ‘But Winky is not sure if attic is safe for box now, Master Professor Sir. Winky has already needed to put out fire in box three times.’ She scowled at the crate. Then she turned her large eyes up to Severus. ‘Is bad bird in box, Master Professor Sir. Very bad bird. Making nice box burn, Master. Maybe Winky could roast bird? Make nice luncheon. Then box would be safe.’

Hermione’s thoughts raced. A mysterious box? With Dumbledore’s writing on it? And Winky wanted to serve a bad bird as a roast for luncheon because it was setting fire to the nice box?

‘But that’s impossible,’ she gasped. ‘Fawkes is gone! He disappeared at the burial. Minerva said that he wouldn’t come back—’

‘Stand back,’ Severus said. ‘I’ll open it.’

‘Just like that?’

He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Yes, just like that. No, of course not, silly. Wand ready?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she replied promptly and moved into the proper duelling stance, feet firmly planted, her wand pointed at the box.

She never heard the spell he used to open the box.

The box split at the seams and the front cover fell down with a solid thump. A cloud of grey smoke that smelled intensely of myrrh and cinnamon billowed from the inside, obscuring her sight. Her fingers tightened around her wand.

Severus must have used another silent spell to get rid of the smoke because from one moment to the next, the smoke was gone, leaving the air clear and fresh, and their sight of the box unobscured.

On a nest that, as Hermione dimly recognised, was made up of cinnamon bark, spikenard and myrrh twigs, in the middle of the broken remains of a resinous looking, yellowish egg, sat a young bird of exquisite purple plumage. Its golden beak was rather too large for the size of its body. And it looked rather disgruntled, the feathers distinctly ruffled.

Now it cocked its head to the side and gazed at them with luminous golden eyes.

‘Cheep?’

‘That’s not Fawkes,’ Hermione managed.

‘But it certainly looks like a phoenix,’ she added.

‘I can see that myself,’ Severus snapped and stowed his wand in the wand-pocket of his pyjama bottoms. ‘Winky, I need a bowl with fresh herbs in the living room. Rosemary, thyme, parsley, and such.’

‘Yes, Master Professor Sir.’ With a soft pop, the house-elf vanished.

Severus knelt down in front of the bird. ‘I’m sorry that I wasn’t here when you broke the shell, little one,’ he murmured. His voice was curiously gentle, and for a second Hermione experienced a wholly irrational stab of jealousy.

‘Cheep,’ the bird repeated and fluttered its wings.

Severus bent down and offered his forearm to the nestling. ‘Would you like to leave your nest?’

The young phoenix appeared to consider the question. Finally it fluffed up its feathers and awkwardly hopped forward onto Severus’ arm. With slow, careful movements, so he wouldn’t unbalance the bird, Severus rocked back on his heels and rose to his feet. An expression of stunned disbelief on his face, he turned to Hermione. ‘Could you…search the box? If there’s a note, a letter—something? I should take—’ He narrowed his eyes at the plumage of the bird and the tell-tale blue feathers in its tail. ‘—her down to the living room. She has to be very hungry.’