On Time
Summary: Harry Potter gets a pen pal who goes under the alias of Fawkes. With every letter, the ethereal creature's heart is left frozen with the pain of being chanceless. Androgynous and a creature, Fawkes falls into an unconditional and hell borne love and the shattered spikes of a slowly breaking Harry definitely won't soften his fall.
…
As time passed, I lost track.
Reborn and more, what a terrible curse
Of a phoenix
And every dot
Is a tear
You are so beautiful, dear Harry
Your mind
Must be a terrifying place.
…
'Dear Fawkes,
I'm sorry I haven't had the time to meet you in person yet, but perhaps a week from now on? My schedule is getting rather tight with all the...things going on in here, Hogwarts. Perhaps I am being paranoid, but I don't know who to trust anymore and even Hermione and Ron seems to be acting up. They are my best friends and I love with all my heart and I know that they do the same.
That said, I'm sorry - yet again - for ignoring your letters. I'll try to be honest, but it's hard...however I can express myself more freely by pen and paper then I ever could with a voice and a face. Fawkes...I like you, I really do.
But it hurts every time I see your words. It's like a pang in my heart, I guess. Like a foreboding feeling of something terrible. And my escapism was acting up and all I wanted to do was to run. Rereading your letters, I have never felt so bitter sweet. Those beautiful words on parchment have me hurting, more so for the yearning I have more than anything. I wish you were here, and I wish I wasn't so cowardly. Once again, you are a great friend.
From, Harry.
…
Fawkes walked silently in his vessel. He had been vain, yes, as he chose one with orange hair natural highlights. He felt giddy inside; the excitement welling up. He had wanted to meet Harry as ... himself, for once. Not in phoenix form but perhaps a human vessel where he wouldn't be judged. He sighed. Humans were such judgemental creatures.
Hypocritical. Like all life forms, they vary with an incredible spectrum of views and opinions, each one of them being unique and by being that, so had made them ordinary.
..
So what had he seen in Harry Potter? Of course, it had all started when he saw the frail frame in the chamber of secrets.
The sweat matted hair and unearthly green eyes.
So beautiful.
So tragic.
…
He caught sight of a daily newspaper. Voldemort had been defeated, the death eaters scattered. He frowned. Had he missed such an important occurrence in history? Although he couldn't bring himself to care too much. His life was too long, and sooner or later ignorance and boredom had taken its hold on him. He hums a simple, melodic tune. A habit he couldn't shake off as it was almost a force of habit and no harm was done to him or the world. He supposed that through the boredom, he had clung to whatever he could; whatever that interested him.
And Harry surely had. He hadn't wanted to make contact or appraise the interest. However, when he did, it was unexpected -for mere ink on paper to evoke such an emotional uproar. Fawkes knew there had been a reason to forget about company.
It hurts to lose someone, something. And after centuries of pain, it was emotion that he had learned to shrug off.
So why, had it all rushed back to him; the feelings evoked when he had met Harry, and when he had spoken through paper?
Well, it would all be resolved soon, Fawkes reasoned.
He opened the door, to find dead body on the ground.
A dead human body.
A dead Harry.
…
The phoenix froze.
He ...hadn't known what to feel about that.
When his mind was in shock and his body had gone into denial.
He looked upon the pallid beauty and such fragility. There were no pulse, no beat. The body was cold; extremely so.
It seemed as if his Harry had finally given up on the depression and let the darkness consume him.
…
Fawkes should have known. Harry always had a dark tinges to his soul and without intervention, the only reason for his staying alive was the responsibility an necessity to defeat the dark lord. Once that matter had been taken care of, his presence was no longer necessary and the war torn boy had finally had the chance to meet and join his best friends and family in the afterlife. He looked sadly at the body, feeling oddly detached to the world as he ran his fingers through the others' hair. He didn't feel a thing, He couldn't afford to.
As if his body was just an empty lull, and his mind unresponsive, he thanked his low levels of emotional understanding.
Fawkes felt thankful, really. For his lack of empathy towards another race. And when the bridge that had been built between him and Harry threatened to break.
Thousands of years and he felt
No.
Greater.
Pain.
He looked at the letter.
He read it. It was like a normal one, with Harry describing the occurrences of his life and how he was feeling. It was going fine, until the end. The ink was still reasonably dark, meaning it had been written approximately a few hours ago; it was a messy scrawl, as if written in a rush and in disorientation, however, to Fawkes it still held elegancy he had seen no other human hold.
Underneath the neat letters Harry had written before, he saw the rushed words;
"I saw them again. Hermione and Ron.
I'm sorry Fawkes, that I couldn't wait.
With love,
Harry."
…
So another anxiety attack, Fawkes deemed. This time, he was too late, and the comforts through the pages were too little.
...
Losing track of time from the ancient of his age, Fawkes always found himself late to occasions.
And every dot, is a tear drop.