*  *  *

THE HOGWARTS HALLS were deafeningly silent by the early evening hour, save for the somewhat distressed footsteps of one troubled Valerie Grindelwald.

Her usually cold eyes darted around in alarm as she quickened her pace. Hearing the feint clanging of pipes from behind, she looked over her shoulder, only to be met with the unoccupied corridor. A quick sigh of relief escaped her lips, but it was cut short as she collided with another inattentive passerby.

"Sorry," the boy mumbled rather bitterly, the book in his hands dropping to the ground. But, his demeanour changed entirely as he met her face."Valerie- I'm sorry, I-I wasn't looking where I was-"

"It's fine, Harry." Valerie crouched down to pick his book up for him, before hastily shoving it in his hands and walking off. The Potter boy watched her retreating figure, his eyebrows furrowed in stupefaction as he wondered why she was out in the halls at this time.

Just as Harry was about to call after her, the same odious whisper only he could hear rang through his ears once more. It was happening again.

Valerie Grindelwald stood before the unmoving brass eagle, recalling what Professor Dumbledore had told her. "Lemon drops," she spoke out.

The base of the statue disjointed itself from the stone floor, and Valerie watched as it rose up to reveal a spiralling staircase. She strode into the narrow passage, letting the flight of steps lift her until she came face to face with two oak doors. Hesitating slightly, she knocked on the uncannily polished wood. "Headmaster?"

"Ah, Valerie." The familiar wistful voice acknowledged her. "I was wondering when you'd arrive."

'Not even going to ask,' Valerie thought. By now, she was more than acquainted with the man's knowledge of absolutely everything.

"I'm sorry to bother you at this hour, Professor. It's just-I can't take it anymore," she expressed. "The dreams-nightmares, if you will. They get worse every night."

The look on Dumbledore's face told her to elaborate more on the subject.

"I don't give a damn about a book, a snake, or a sword! I just want a good night's rest. As if condoning my pretentious housemates isn't tiring enough- Professor, is it against the rules to clock a student in the face if they're being so utterly insufferable?"

Valerie stopped herself from going any further, clearing her throat before continuing, "Sorry. I tend to ramble when sleep-deprived."

"It's quite alright, Valerie." Dumbledore reassured her, an small smile of amusement on his face. "Come, perhaps something in my library can ease your mind."

The headmaster led her up and into his office balcony where several books on all subjects imaginable stood proudly on their shelves. Valerie slowly looked around, her eyes skimming over the various titles, stopping on those that interested her before moving on.

It seemed that Dumbledore was occupied with his own search, as he headed straight for one particular book. Picking it off the shelf, he moved to show her, when he paused for a moment, as if he had remembered something. Just like that, he placed the book back from where he had gotten it, pushing it to the far end of the shelf, where it was now concealed behind the rest.

"Find anything, child?" he asked.

Valerie shook her head. "Is there really nothing that might help me, Professor?"

The desperation in her words was clear as day, a near-impossible occurrence when it came to her. The girl hardly spoke with even a dose of emotion, more so that of a request.

Dumbledore hummed in deep thought, opening his cabinet of vials and elixirs. "Have you heard of the Memoria Lapsus?"

"That's latin, sir," Valerie answered. "Lapse in memory, if I'm correct."

"Excellent," Dumbledore remarked, eyeing the small vial curiously. "There isn't a potion today that can stop your night terrors, but this will have to do for now. It is weaker than a forgetfulness potion, but powerful nonetheless."

"One drop when you wake up," The headmaster instructed as he handed it over to Valerie. "No more, no less."

Just as the vial touched the palm of her hand, the clicking of footsteps resounded from the first floor of Dumbledore's office. Valerie edged closer towards the balcony, looking over just in time for Fawkes the Phoenix to burst into flames. The ashes settled to reveal a mortified Harry Potter, who was probably thinking he had only himself to blame.

"Professor," Harry breathed out. "Your bird- there was nothing I could do- he just caught fire-"

"Oh and about time too. He'd been looking dreadful for days," Dumbledore spoke nonchalantly. "Pity you had to see him on a burning day."

The headmaster then realized he was only confusing the boy further. "Fawkes is a Phoenix, Harry," he explained. "They burst into flames when it is time for them to die, and then they are reborn from the ashes."

Valerie leaned over the balcony, her elbows propped up on the railing as Dumbledore walked down to meet the boy. They all watched as Fawkes emerged from the pile of grey ash, chirping softly as it was now not even a quarter of its former size.

"Fascinating creatures, Phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, and their tears have healing powers."

"Professor Dumbledore, sir- wait- listen!"

Their conversation was interrupted as Rubeus Hagrid barged inside the room, all panicked and disheveled. "Professor Dumbledore, sir- t'wasn't Harry."

The headmaster held out his hand to stop the half-giant. "Hagrid-"

"In fact, I'd be prepared ter swear it in front of the Ministry o' Magic-"

"Hagrid," Dumbledore stopped him sternly. "I do not believe that Harry attacked anyone."

Valerie furrowed her eyebrows at the scene, remaining unnoticed as she watched from the balcony above. Another attack?

"Of course ye don't-" Hagrid resumed instinctively, before realising what the headmaster had said. "Oh."

"Right- well er- I'll just wait outside then." Hagrid turned around to leave. Dumbledore nodded in response, and Harry looked up at the professor, bewildered.

"You don't think it was me, professor?"

"No, Harry. I do not think it was you." Dumbledore then let his gaze fall to the girl. "I think Valerie can attest to this as well, yes?"

Harry glanced around the room in confusion, only then realizing he and Dumbledore were not alone. His eyes met Valerie's, who let a few seconds pass before giving the headmaster her answer.

"Of course, sir," she said surely. "Harry wouldn't hurt a fly."

The Potter boy smiled slightly at her, a thankful gleam in his eyes.

Dumbledore then looked back at Harry, his tone slightly graver then before. "But I must ask you, is there... something you wish to tell me?

Harry paused, opening and closing his mouth before finally finding the courage to talk. "No, sir. Nothing."

He denied Dumbledore's question, but Valerie knew better. His nervous gulp before speaking out and his eyes all over the place were never signs of a truthful answer.

"Very well, then." The headmaster motioned for Valerie to join them. "Off you two go."

Harry waited until Valerie caught up to him, and the two strolled out of the office, into the quiet corridors of Hogwarts.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Valerie turned to Harry as they walked.

A small smirk played at her lips. "So, why'd you lie?"

Harry was caught off guard. "What?"

"When Dumbledore asked if there was anything you wanted to tell him- you lied."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry simply shrugged.

Valerie rolled her eyes jokingly, cracking a grin as they reached the hallways where they would part to get to their common rooms.

"You're hiding something, Potter." Valerie raised her eyebrows at him, turning on her heel and heading for the dungeons, but not before calling out over her shoulder. "I'm going to find out what it is."

Harry had a hand on his neck, a nervous smile on his face. He knew she was only joking, but he also knew she was right.

"Yeah," he said after her. "Good luck with that, Grindelwald."

*  *  *

Albus Dumbledore hummed quietly to himself, as he always did when he was deep in thought. He was alone in his office once again, climbing up the stairs that led to his personal library.

Glancing at the book he had hidden away earlier, he then referred back to the letter in his hands. Near-perfect handwriting barely filled up the half-portion of the parchment. He never did like to beat around the bush, only ever saying what needed to be said.

'Tell her nothing of her abilities, Albus,' the letter read. 'She must figure it all out herself.'