Phoenixes make majestic pets. I would know - I am one. Well, to say I'm a Phoenix would be a bit of a lie... I'm an Augurey - an Irish Phoenix. People say there's not much difference, but there is. Or at least, I used to think there was anyway.
You see, when I saw a duel occuring in an alleyway in Dublin, I had cried out for help. Naturally, one of the wizards dueling turned around to see what had made the noise, and in that moment, a crackle of emerald erupted from the witches wand, surging into the wizard's chest. The woman skipped away merrily with a malicious cackle drenched in malice for her kill. Ever since then, us Augureys have been associated with death.
Of course, this made it very difficult to keep us pets - every time we squawked, one would whip their wand out, darting their eyes around the house for fear of a Dark Wizard there. In the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, it seemed we just made life more stressful.
One particular instance was when I was living with a family called the Harts, in Wales. I had never much be one for domesticity, and preferred soaring high over the trees, searching for... well, anything. Anything at all. Perhaps someone to serve, call my master and aid...
Alas, there's another story for another time.
The Harts were a small family living in a small, obscure village outside Cardiff. Only one daughter, a younger brother and a mother who worked long and hard all day, sewing together their school robes. I would often perch on the chair beside her, watching her drearily mend a set of azure robes.
A thought drifted into my mind, and I found myself wondering if this was all life was going to be - was I just going to watch a woman sew all day? She was, for lack of a more polite term, a squib. Sadly, that meant while her daughter, Gwen, was gallivanting around with her wand, the mother sat in the chair, sewing almost every day.
I suppose I felt sorry for her - it must've been like a Jackdaw watching myself engulf in my scarlet flames, only to emerge from my own ashes. However, she'd never get angry or frustrated with my 'routine' of re-birthing - she'd simply smile, dust the ash off of the robes, smile at me, then continue sewing.
She'd refer to me often as Aiden the Augurey, though Gwen hated the name. I'd never cared much for Gwen personally - far too snooty for my liking. I'd occasionally look at the mother, Michelle, as if to say 'Just snap her wand... you can blame it on me!' More often than not, actually, I'd find myself staring at the wand as she conjured a flock of canaries, thinking how easy it would be... technically, my tail feather was in the wand - I must have had some right to it?
Of course, I never did punish the girl. Michelle had been kind to me, taking me in after I had injured my talon, and nursing me back to health. Although it didn't stop me from burning up in her room. Ironic really - out of the two of us, she was the hothead, and I was the one who burst into flames.
After Michelle had finished with the robes, checking her handiwork, I stretched out my wings, allowing her infant son, Elliot, to see the majestic sight that was I. His mouth was open in awe as he reached out a pudgy arm to touch me. Michelle smiled fondly at her son before muttering to me.
"Stop showing off Aiden." I kept my wings outstretched for a moment, eyeing her carefully. She just continued to smile at me as I slowly brought my wings in. "You better get on with it. Outside please." She instructed me as she picked up her son in her arms, carrying the robes into another room. "I don't want to catch you doing your business in Gwen's room again! I'm the one who has to clear it up." She called back to me as I stretched out my wings to fly into the girl's room. I narrowed my eyes at Michelle - she definitely knew what I was thinking.
I fluttered my wings and made my way to the open window, where I dropped down onto the grass, squawking from restlessness. I eventually found a nice, sturdy stump to perch on, and waited to re-begin my cycle. I sighed contently, watching the sun rise in the distance. A part of me much wanted to fly off into the orange-burnt sky, just feeling the wind whoosh against my wings, feel the warmth of the bright sun kiss upon my feathers. It would be beautiful.
However, I had begun a life here. It may have been in Wales, but it was a home. Not many people accepted Augureys into their homes, and not many Augureys wanted to be in homes - I knew I had never relished the role of a pet. However, as much as I disliked a certain member of the family, they were just that - a family. My family.
Screeches suddenly echoed from the house, as did bursts of green. I shot up from the stump, soaring in through the window. Inside, was a woman with crazed hair, streaks of white and a thin, jutting jaw. I squawked out at her in anger as I saw the small infant begin to cry. Another burst of green light, and the house was silent.
I bulleted through the air, intent on attacking the woman - the killer! A flash of green with a mad, inane laugh, and I felt myself burn, the feathers on my wings turn to cinders as I tried to cry out for help. Then, I was in a pile of ashes, squawking weakly at her. She left the house with a spring in her step and in the next moment - gone.
I weakly crawled over to the bodies on the floor, nudging them. They did not move - they were just... still.
I leant beside the baby, Elliot, tears dropping onto his small, round face. He did not awake. But I wasn't crying in an attempt to heal him. I was crying because I knew he was dead. I had been there at his birth, his first steps, his word... his first word was 'fork'. I buried my head low on him, then felt ash dust down upon my beak. I looked down to see it had fallen beside Michelle - on the oceanic robes she had been mending. I let out a small, grieving crow, watching the one woman who had ever shown me love down upon the floor, her arms around her son in an attempt to protect him.
In the last moments of her life, Michelle had tried to protect him. I dusted the ash off my wings, stretching them out. Gwen had often thought herself above Michelle, in what I had gathered from their arguments, but looking at them both on the floor, Michelle was not a lesser being than Gwen, or any other wizard I had seen. She was one of the most hopeful, loving individuals I had ever had the fortune to meet, if only for a few years.
There was no difference between a witch and a muggle. Just like there was no difference between a Phoenix and an Augurey. We were all, in a sense, Augureys. And we were all Phoenixes.
The last squawk of the Augurey was a calling of a foreboding death - my own. Aiden the Augurey was the Hart household's pet. Now, I was no more. I was a Phoenix now. Elliot's first word echoed in my mind as I weakly squawked, thinking of his first word, which would forever define myself.
Fawkes.