Phoenix Down

A Harry Potter AU Fanfic

Harry and Ron peered nervously into Dumbledore's office. It was the old wizard's birthday, and they knew that he was off sharing a quiet celebratory dinner with Mad-Eye Moody, Mundungus Fletcher, and some more of the Old Crowd. Harry hoped Dumbledore's Pensieve might inspire him with an idea a present for the Wizard Who Has Everything.

'Phew!' said Ron. 'What's that smell? It's like a Genie smoking a cheap hookah!'

'…Or the incense in the fouler kind of curry-bar!'

The word 'fowl' was the clue. 'It's Fawkes!' Harry exclaimed.

'Merlin's Bladder! He niffs to high heaven—Harry! That's it!'

'What?'

'That's what we can do for Dumbledore! We'll WASH FAWKES!'

'Yeah! He's probably as sick of the stench as we are!'

'Sicker!'

In the Gryffindor Common Room, a vast metal wash-tub was overflowing with suds. 'Now, Fawkes, don't struggle!' bellowed Harry, lifting the bird, who was just coming out of Ron's Stupifacio and beginning to scratch and peck feebly at the two boys, out of the enveloping salamander-skin blanket, 'You'll feel all the better for it!'

'Raawwwkkk!'

'C'mon, then,' said Ron, 'One! Two! Three! HEAVE!'

'HARRY! RON! NOOOOO!' shrieked Hermione, entering the Common Room. But it was too late. With a huge Splash and HSSSSSSSHHHHHH! a billowing cloud of aromatic steam shot out of the tub, turning the Common Room into a passable imitation of a Turkish Bath. Somewhere in the hot, wet fog, they could hear Hermione shrilling:

'You Idiots! Haven't You Even Read Our Fiery Feathered Friends? Fawkes was Made Of Fire! Didn't you know that he couldn't even DRINK water! He'd have to live off Brandy, Whiskey, and FLAMING RUM PUNCH!'

Harry stared at the blackened drumsticks he held in his hand, then silently passed one to Ron.

'I don't know what YOU TWO are going to do about this fiasco, but I am NOT getting involved.' The voice moved away, then returned. 'I'm going off to write Viktor.' Another pause, then: 'I told you to get him SOCKS!'

Ron sighed. 'Oh, well. Might as well make the worst of a bad job,' said he, and began to eat the drumstick. 'Tastes like chicken.'

Harry too sighed, and bit into his drumstick.

'The worst of it is,' remarked Ron, miserably, 'he still STINKS!'

— From HARRY POTTER AND THE ODOUR OF THE PHOENIX