"I see…"
Dumbledore's soft voice filled the headmaster's office.
Rock quietly moved toward the perch where a brilliant red bird was preening its feathers.
Fawkes.
Rock couldn't help reaching out.
The phoenix paused mid-preen and studied him with bright eyes. After a moment it stretched its neck and pressed its head into Rock's palm.
Rock smiled faintly and stroked the warm, soft feathers.
"Little guy," he murmured, "got any tears you can spare?"
Fawkes went still, then gave Rock's palm a gentle peck and let out a soft, clear note.
Rock raised an eyebrow. The phoenix was refusing—politely, but still refusing. And it felt like the bird was very aware of Dumbledore standing nearby.
"It seems Fawkes likes you," Dumbledore said from behind him.
Rock quickly dropped his hand and turned around. "I was just saying hello, Headmaster."
Dumbledore didn't comment. Fawkes spread his wings and landed on the old wizard's shoulder, though his eyes kept drifting back to Rock.
"Would you show me that compound spell again?"
Dumbledore patted Rock's shoulder, eyes twinkling.
"Of course, Headmaster."
Rock raised his wand and pointed it at the office door. "Cantus Purificus."
The white light that bloomed this time was softer—more demonstration than weapon.
Dumbledore extended his hand into the glow. "Warm," he murmured after a moment. "Though I imagine it feels very different to certain creatures."
Fawkes circled the pillar of light with obvious pleasure.
"Little Rock," Dumbledore said, turning to him with open admiration, "you're only a first-year and you've already—"
He stopped, remembering Flitwick mentioning Rock had created a compound charm last term.
"Could you explain how you built it? Which three spells did you combine?"
Dumbledore gestured toward the chairs and set a box of sweets on the desk between them.
"Try one. It might help you relax."
Rock took a lemon drop without protest. It was sweeter than he expected.
"It's three spells layered together," he said around the candy. "A modified Lumos, the altered version of Lingering Whispers, and the enchantment you had placed on the pendant you gave me at Christmas."
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. That explained why his own attempts had felt incomplete.
"You even worked the pendant's runes into the wand movement?"
He raised his own wand and cast without hesitation. "Cantus Purificus."
A clean pillar of white light appeared. Dumbledore closed his eyes, feeling it.
When he opened them again he looked genuinely impressed. "An excellent piece of magic. The first triple-compound charm I've encountered."
Rock stayed quiet.
Dumbledore's voice softened. "Why did you try to save Quirrell? His condition wasn't good."
"I wasn't trying to save anyone," Rock answered evenly. "Voldemort can only be destroyed by the magic of love that lives in Harry. Quirrell was a living Horcrux—contaminated. Ordinary spells barely touch him. But something like the Killing Curse…" He shook his head. "It feeds on hate. It corrupts the caster. I didn't want to touch that kind of magic."
Not when it would worry the people who cared about him.
The office door slammed open.
Snape swept inside, face thunderous. "Headmaster, I need to check on Rock first."
Before Dumbledore could speak, Snape raised his wand and cast a diagnostic spell over Rock. After a long moment he lowered it and handed Rock a vial.
"Mental strain. Drink it."
Rock took the potion with a wary look. The moment Snape's brow started to furrow, he downed it in one go.
It went down smooth. Nothing like Madam Pomfrey's usual brews.
"Quirrell and the Boy Who Lived are in the hospital wing," Snape said. "Madam Pomfrey wants to see you."
He glanced at Rock, mouth twitching. "Well? Are you planning to stand there all night?"
Rock blinked, then stood. He left the Philosopher's Stone where Dumbledore had returned it to him.
Snape dropped into the chair Rock had vacated. "Did the magic work?"
Dumbledore popped another sweet into his mouth. "It did. Though tonight went in several directions I hadn't planned for."
Snape gave a short, humorless laugh.
Of course it had. The great Dumbledore, always arranging things from the shadows, finally admitting something had slipped his control.
Snape leaned forward slightly. "And him?"
"Voldemort?" Dumbledore's fingers stilled on the sweet. "He isn't truly alive. But he escaped." He paused. "Before he left, he spoke of immortality."
Snape went rigid. "Isn't that supposed to be a joke?"
His voice was tight. Every Death Eater had known how obsessed Voldemort was with eternal life. The ones rotting in Azkaban still clung to the belief.
"Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, stroking Fawkes's feathers, "he has no body of his own. He is neither truly alive nor truly dead. But the way he spoke of immortality tonight… it reminded me of something I should have paid more attention to long ago."