Harry Potter and the Return of the Phoenix

A little bird tells Harry that just maybe things are not as bad as they seem.

Chapter 1: The Bird Who Spoke

Harry Potter sat alone in his room, staring forlornly out his window into the darkness. As required by the protection charm, he was back at the Dursleys', for what he hoped would be the very last time ever

With a smoldering rage, he remembered the final blow that was dealt him as the Hogwarts Express pulled into London. Harry had been sitting in his train compartment, staring out at the passing scenery and listening to his snoring friends, when his sulking was interrupted by the bumbling forms of Crabbe and Goyleas they flung open the door and, bouncing clumsily off of the doorframe, charged right in.

"Levicorpus!", Crabbe shouted. And before Harry could react, he was hanging by his heel in midair. Goyle grabbed Hedwig, still in his cage, and out they went, laughing with that dumb-ox "huhhuhhuh" laugh like the mindless thugs they were. And by the time Harry hit the floor, Crabbe, Goyle, and Hedwig were gone. They were nowhere to be found, either, as the train was unloading.

What they planned on doing with Hedwig, Harry had yet to find out, and he cringed at the depravities he imagined them committing upon the innocent owl. The most surprising thing was that those two galoots had actually managed to pull off such a stunt, even if it was a simple one.

Without Hedwig, Harry wouldn't be able to send any owl post. And he doubted that his skill in apparating could get him safely all the way to the Weasley's. But Ron had promised to send for him as soon as transportation could be arranged. And then, Harry Potter would be able to get out of his insufferable Aunt and Uncle's house for good.

But a week had passed, and Harry was left alone with his darkening thoughts: What if something had happened? What if the Death Eaters had struck, what if his friends were dead?His head swam nauseously with images of his dismal future, alone, fated to hunt the Dark Lord until one finally finished the other. Was that all he had left to live for? A tear escaped his eye at the sheer bleakness of it all.

And then in the starry sky he saw something. It was a bird. Harry's despair turned to renewed hope as the bird soared silhoutetted against the rising full moon, and turned towards his open window.

But something was just not right. This wasn't one of the Weasley's owls. In fact, it didn't look like an owl at all. Still, it was heading straight for his window. Harry's stomach knotted at a thousand possibilities. Maybe it was post, but from whom? Or maybe the bird was an assasin sent by Voldemort. Or maybe Hermione had become an animagus?

Wait a minute! It was Fawkes!

Before Harry could even begin to wonder what had brought the Headmaster's phoenix to his windowsill, the bird opened its beak, and to Harry's amazement, began to speak.

"Ah.", squawked the bird, "I see you have bothered to pack this time." Harry blinked unbelievingly. Apparently, Fawkes was there to escort him, just as Dumbledore had been a year earlier.

Had Dumbledore left instructions for his phoenix, or did Fawkes have deeper concerns? Harry would have asked, but somehow, it seemed rude to ask, and so he just stood there, looking at the phoenix which was now standing atop his fully-packed trunk. Fawkes held out his left leg. "Grab on; your friends await." And Harry did.

And straight away, Harry, Fawkes, and the trunk were all being pushed through the now-familiar airless tight rubber tube of apparation. They landed with a loud "crack", right in front of Ron, who, in his surprise, almost dropped the plate of mashed potatoes he was carrying.

"Harry!", shouted a beaming Hermione. "'Ay mate!" muffled Ron, talking with his mouth full of mashed potatoes. And then Harry heard the clomping as Ginny ran towards him. She gave him a big hug, but stopped short of snogging him.

All eyes then turned to the one they hadn't expected; the bird that was sitting atop Harry's trunk, patiently waiting to be noticed.

Ron seemed unsure of whether he recognized the bird. Or maybe he just couldn't believe it was there. "Is that... Fawkes?"

"Yeah, he came and got me", marvelled Harry, making a swooping gesture as though to indicate Fawkes' flight path. "He must've had instructions from Dum..." Harry stopped short, and turned several shades of embarrased. It hadn't been two weeks since Dumbledore's death, and Harry didn't mean to mention him in front of Fawkes.

Ron seemed oblivious to Harry's discomfort, and quickly broke the awkward silence. "You mean that bird apparated you over here?"

"He has a name, Ron", scolded Hermione. But her tone was not angry; it was sad. She was looking at Fawkes with an expression that clearly read pity. "Poor thing", she gushed with a tear in her eye as she remembered his haunting, melodic mouning song. "His master is gone. He must be so lost."

And then Fawkes spoke up, shocking nearly everyone. "Not entirely lost, mind you, as he is not entirely gone. I believe I have some idea of what needs to be done next; we shall need a pensieve, for there are some rather important things that you four will need to know about."

Harry smiled semi-knowingly as Hermione and nearly the entire Weasley family gawked jaw-drop-googley-eyed at the talking bird, although it didn't seem to have registered yet with Mrs. Weasley that Fawkes was the one who had spoken. Or maybe it seemed to her a perfectly ordinary thing that a bird should be conversing in plain english. "We don't have any pensieves, but I have a big mixing bowl here." She set the bowl on the dining room table, and Fawkes landed beside it. And raising his talon to his head like a dog about to scratch for fleas, he pulled from his mind a silver thread of memory, depositing it into the big mixing bowl. "Join me in a trip down Memory Lane?"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Fawkes all spaced themselves evenly around the table, and stuck their faces down into the shimmering silver mist (like I said, it was a big mixing bowl.)

Chapter 2 is to be, of course, a pensieve trip.