Phoenix Reborn
Prologue
He was warm.
Look at me…
His eyes had fallen shut. At first, there had been fire in his veins, fire in his bones. His heart, hammering at first as all of his systems collapsed. Even as he knew it was futile, he was fighting. His body rebelled against the chains of mortality, even as his mind accepted—it was out of his hands now. He had done his best. He had given everything he had in him, more than he thought he had left.
He thought the pain might have faded because he was unconscious, but that was not it, really. A cold had simply settled, quiet and still. His heart slowed. His blood cooled. Shadows around him, and no sign of the sun.
He would not see the sun rise.
But now he was warm, and an alien energy, a foreign strength, seemed to grow inside him. There was a light, dim at first, but all around him and growing steadily stronger. Blues and purples and greens and silvers, like the auroras of the north. They flickered and swirled, like tongues of a fire.
They were tongues of a fire.
Severus opened his eyes. The flames were dying down even as he looked, the ground hot and glowing with embers. His head felt odd as he turned, and when he expelled air to cough, a bizarre chirp escaped, absurdly loud in the night.
Feeling calm due to grogginess, Severus managed to take stock without moving. The grains of dirt were much bigger than he thought they should be. As the wind blew, he felt it course over him, but the effect was filtered, as if he had a blanket on. He coughed again, expelling another squeak, and saw something glimmer in front of him as it moved. A beak.
The beak that was attached to his face.
He managed to sit up, dazed. Above, the moon was shining. Low creaks of wood, and the rustling of leaves. He wanted to hold his head, but his hand was missing. His arm was not moving the way it should.
It was a wing, but not even feathered. It was covered with down.
Severus blinked, and sat there for a while, mind blank. When his thoughts cleared, the embers had all died out, but the smell of smoke was still in the air.
What happened?
He wiggled to stand upright, finding his new body difficult to coordinate. His legs were so short. His wings were so awkward.
He was so weak and tired.
An owl hooted, somewhere in the forest.
Exhausted, Severus sat down again, curling his taloned feet into his belly. He must be dreaming. An odd dream to have, before one died, but he was so tired he hardly cared. His thoughts were heavy again, like a heavy blanket had covered his mind, and all of the sudden thinking and feeling took more effort than anything he had ever done.
He closed his eyes.
It was hunger that woke him.
Daylight streamed over him, bathing him with the sun's radiance. He was warm, and strangely content, despite the pangs in his belly.
Severus looked up. Birds were singing. Wood was creaking. The Shrieking Shack.
It was hard to walk. He wondered if someone had turned him into a chicken. It would actually be just his luck, really. How was he supposed to turn back?
The forest was alive with life. He emerged from the shade into the morning sunlight. The air smelled fresh and sweet.
He looked around, wondering if it was really safe for him to come out.
You faced the Dark Lord. Are you really afraid of predators?
Strangely, his heart harbored no instinct that suggested he was afraid. It was actually the first time he had felt so completely devoid of fear. He had been frightened for almost as long as he could remember, dreading his unhappy home, dreading his future, dreading his past, and dreading the lives of others. He had learned to clamp it all down, to turn it into rage, to hate, to resignation. At the time, he thought that was what being fearless meant—to simply stop caring, that blunting numbness that deadened his heart to all hope and joy. Even when his terror spiked, he hardly registered it. It was hardly a dramatic change from the baseline he always bore.
Now, however, he felt so calm, he was almost tired again. Only the hunger pangs and the growing sense of thirst kept him from simply going back to sleep. How long had it been, since he truly slept? Had he ever really slept at all?
His ears picked up a splash. Water. He turned his head to locate the sound. Water first, for the thirst was growing, and he really wanted to drink. His head bobbed as he struggled forward. It was so awkward to move. At one point, he tripped, falling on his face. Luckily, the height was not large, and his neck was strong, probably stronger in proportion to his body than in a human.
The grass still had dew on them. He stopped and nibbled at the blades with his beak. The droplets were large, almost like swallowing whole glassfuls. He drank a few drops, feeling a bit stronger. His head cleared.
What kind of bird did they turn me into?
Odd that he seemed to be a baby, if the lack of real feathers was any indication. Severus trudged forward. He might as well take a look at his reflection. That might give him some idea. Severus was not as well-versed in animals as he was in potions, but there might be some hints.
The splash ended up being from a large puddle, but Severus' attention was caught by the bush growing next to it. Normally, he would avoid the berries on the tree, but right now the red jewels looked irresistible. He only spared a moment's thought to the consideration that they might poison him. He already felt poison once. It was excruciating, and yet here he was. Besides, what was poisonous to humans might not be poisonous to him.
If it did kill him, well, it was merely finishing a job that had started long ago.
Eating the berries proved to be a bit challenging at first. He kept missing with his beak, misjudging the distance, and the fact that he could not move his mouth from side to side also hindered things. The berries were larger than he could swallow, so he had to bite them down. The act of tossing the pieces up a little so he could swallow them also took practice.
Still, it was quick learning, especially since his neck was very flexible and strong. The berries tasted wonderful, better than anything he had ever tried. His stomach full, his mind felt a little heavy again. It seemed like whatever he had turned into had very low stamina.
He did come to the puddle to look at himself, though, and decide what must be done. Turning, he stepped to the edge.
It was very unnerving to see himself.
Grey down, white beak that looked a little hooked. Black eyes, large on an even larger head. A rather ambiguous look. Severus had no idea what he was.
Not like I've seen many birds," Severus thought. The only chick he had seen was Fawkes, in his baby form whenever he…
He retreated back, feeling a little discomfited. He remembered flames, though they had been green and blue and purple. He remembered glowing embers when the fire itself died away. He had been so out of it, he hardly registered his surroundings, and it was dark and he had been dying and he had not anticipated this.
He was supposed to be dead.
Is this some kind of curse?
Honestly, Severus would hardly count being transformed into this shape punishment of any kind. For the first time in a long time, his body was without pain and aches. The life of Severus Snape had been miserable. He had often wanted to be anything other than what he was, even a slug. He often looked out from the dungeons and wished that he had been one of the birds, one of the owls, perhaps. Even the vilest of wizards seemed to treat their owls better than anyone had treated Severus, except Lily…but Lily was gone, and the friendship between them had dissolved long before. Being human had earned him a life of strife and loneliness.
Being a bird, even a baby one, was not even the worst alternative.
And a baby phoenix?
He shook his head and laughed, except it came out as a small chirp. A phoenix! Severus Snape! That was laughable. He was a powerful wizard, true, but he was no animagus, and the phoenix was the embodiment of all that is pure and good, much like a unicorn. He had about as much chance of becoming a phoenix as Voldemort had of falling in love with a muggle.
Still, the thought was amusing, and he stepped closer to the berry bush in high spirits. Ha! A phoenix! Keep dreaming. Hmph.
He was tired. He needed to digest the berries. Shutting his eyes, he released his awareness of his surroundings. It was probably not safe, but Severus had never felt as safe as he did now, and there was no use rationalizing through an irrational situation.
It took about three days for Severus to retract his earlier conclusion.
He grew at a pace that could only be magical. At first he did not notice. He merely followed his body's instructions: eat, drink, sleep. It was not until the third day when he saw that he had grown actual feathers that he considered he might not be a regular bird. Not even messenger owls grew this fast.
He still had down, and the interlacing feathers made him look rather ragged. He could tell that the plumage vaguely resembled Fawkes', though. The feathers were colored differently; emerald, turquoise, azure, white, and violet. There were distinctly intricate patterns on his crest starting to form. They formed swirls along his wings and back, and his growing tail was patterned a little like a peacock's, as if someone had embroidered on him.
He would have felt alarmed, if his new body had been capable of feeling fear. As it was, he was only puzzled.
What happened?
The last thing he remembered was Potter. Potter, hurrying, all those memories of Lily. He had needed someone to know…to understand. He never suffered any delusion that understanding would make anyone feel compelled to like him. Severus had never been likeable; no one had liked him except Lily, and even that did not last. But he had wished someone would know that he tried, he tried so hard. He had wished that after he died, people would at least know that much. That he was not just another Death Eater. That he really did give everything he had, even if it was inadequate. That at least, her son would know, whatever conclusions he might draw.
And then he remembered being…alone, when the children left him to see to the desperate world, and he was on fire, he was cold, the shadows obscuring him from the heavens. No one to miss him.
And then he was warm.
This was too confusing. His memories were quite clear, but they provided no answers. There was also a strange feeling of detachment, like the sorrows of his past no longer pertain to him. It was as if the life of Severus Snape was another one altogether, even if he retained all the memories.
Maybe this is how phoenixes are made. From people's memories.
But my memories are hardly suitable for…
Giving up, Severus ate a few more berries, this time whole since he was big enough to swallow them. Clearly, contemplating his condition on his own was not going to reveal any answers. He was not that eager to find them, anyhow. The intensity he had pursued knowledge in his youth, and intelligence later as a spy, seemed to have been completely extinguished. He was rather content to just eat and drink and sleep as he had for the past few days.
It was two days later when Severus tried flying.
His feathers had all grown in now. Long lines of green, blue, and violet on a baseline white. He wore a tall crown and his tail swept, longer than even Fawkes'. His neck had grown longer, and arched like a swan.
He had no idea there were phoenixes with this kind of coloring, but if he was not a phoenix, he had no idea what he was. A phoenix he would call himself, then.
The first flight attempt was not too impressive. Severus realized this was because his feathers kept letting air through. He spent the next hour preening before trying again.
He always figured that birds needed to practice; that was what he gleaned from Hagrid whenever he spoke about flying. It made some sense, and he expected he might need to practice this the way he needed to practice eating.
But when he spread his wings, thrust out his tail, and flapped them hard as he kicked off with his feet, he felt himself lift off alarmingly quickly, and quickly landed, disoriented.
That was…
He tried again, determined to stay in the air this time. A few awkward flaps, and this time he landed because he was moving forward, not just up, and he had not anticipated that. He skidded to a rough landing, using his wings to brace the air, and stood there for a moment, collecting his bearings.
You've flown before.
That was a lifetime ago, and he had a different body, and he had magic…
But if he was a phoenix, he still had magic, right? Besides, he was a bird. Birds were meant to fly.
Drawing on his courage, Severus kicked off, determined to keep flapping his wings this time.
He sailed up at the first beat, reached up to flap down another pocket of air, and before he knew it he was over the trees.
Oh Merlin, I am flying!
He extended his tail, indulging in a bit of vanity, for he knew the streaming train would look impressive if anyone saw him. He did not care that there was no one around to actually see; it was enough that he knew, and that he was in this new form and it was wonderful. It was beautiful, it was elegant, everything he was not as a human, and he loved it.
He let out a whoop, and it came out as a trill, glorious and bright like the sun above him.
He glided around, intent on picking a random direction and just flying straight, but a structure caught his eye; the Shrieking Shack.
It was quite burnt, actually. He had not realized that it was all burnt up like that. Curious, Severus flew close to take a look.
"Oh my god…"
Familiar voices. A girl's voice. The Granger girl. In fact, several of his former students were there. They were not looking in his direction, instead staring straight at the building.
Severus flew to a tree and managed to land on it awkwardly. It swung a little under his weight, but stabilized. Clearly, he needed to work on this part of flying.
Clicking his beak, he glanced down at the wizards, who were starting to approach the shack.
"No," It was Potter, and his voice was cracking, like he was close to screaming. "No, this can't be right." He was running ahead of the group.
What were these children doing here?
"No, he's gone!" This time Potter did scream. "No! He's gone! Snape's—they've—no!"
"Harry!"
The others were running to him. Weasley's ginger hair, Longbottom's brown head. Severus tilted his head, considering the scene for a moment, as the children disappeared under the ruined roof of the shack. The shack might have been burned when Severus transformed, now that he thought of it.
What is upsetting them so much? Severus never figured Potter had any close attachments to the run-down building. Maybe because it was the place his father and godfather had transformed with Lupin? Or maybe he was actually upset that his least favorite professor's body had disappeared. Maybe they needed a body to prove Severus was dead in order to close the case, or something. Ministry paperwork was always so tedious like that.
Curious what these children would do now, Severus hopped off his branch and fluttered through one of the windows of the old building to join them. He had no intention of actually interacting with them. This phoenix form was infinitely better than his old one, and he had no intention of undoing whatever happy mishap caused his transformation.
He did want to see what happened to the area his body had been, though. One last look at things, before he left for good.
Certain motions needed going through, after all.