Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter related. It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Bros., and any other entities involved.
A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, I do appreciate them. Also, my thanks go to Shivani for all her help and advice with this story. If you enjoy good, quality work, masterfully written, do check out her profile on here. It's another short chapter I'm afraid, but I'm moving house at the moment so things are rather...chaotic – to say the least!
Chapter Four: Coegi Per Postulo (Driven By Need)
"Insanity in individuals is something rare - but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule."
Friedrich Nietzsche
Leave-taking, as many of us know to our cost, is rarely joyful and generally sorrowful. (That is of course, unless you are saying goodbye to your mother in law, in which case, many married men would recall it as one of the more cheerful moments in their lives – but that has no relevance to our story).
So it was with Harry and Salazar Slytherin, not to mention the rest of the founders, whom our young friend had become acquainted with during his long stay. It was not a parting forever, Harry could visit whenever he wished to of course. But he would not be living in Salazar's apartments, (as he had been throughout his apprenticeship), would not wake up to breakfast with the man, during which they would plan their day together.
Fawkes was everything to Harry, this was true. Mentor, friend, father and protector. But Harry's heart was boundless, thus each person he had met in his short life laid claim to some affection from him. Salazar was no exception to the rule. Though the man could be gruff and defensive at times, he had an unexpectedly charming, lopsided half-smile. It wasn't often that he did smile, but as he spent more time with his young apprentice his smiles, and by consequence his good moods, became more frequent.
Now though, it was time for Harry to move on. He must return to his own time. Much debate had erupted when he declared his resolution to return. The inevitable question of whether he should reveal himself, as Harry Potter, to those in his birth time, arose. The prospect had both advantages and disadvantages, though Fawkes, who knew his human companion and could be honest about his failings, gave the sagest advice.
Albus was a born meddler, he said, and the only outcome they could be sure of, were Harry to reveal himself, would be that Albus would try and interfere in his life. The man wouldn't be able to help himself, apparently.
It was at this time in the discussions that Fawkes also revealed something which had been troubling him for a while.
The night Voldemort attacked the Potters, the family themselves had been destroyed, however, the Dark Lord had not. He was still out there, though bodiless, consumed with nothing but the idea of returning himself to corporeal form. Whatever plans Tom Riddle had remained unknown, and it was unlikely they would be discovered before he acted on them. Neither was it clear if he believed Harry alive or dead. The world at large believed that their 'saviour' died with his parents.
Possible futures revealed themselves to Fawkes, most of which involved the other potential child of the prophecy – Neville Longbottom.
Depending on your point of view, you could argue that Neville's lot in life was worse than Harry's. Harry had lost his parents, yes, but gained a family with his phoenix sire. Neville's parents were still alive, but trapped in their own minds, they did not know him. Could not recognise him and so did not acknowledge him. They were essentially strangers to their son.
He lived with his father's mother, who still, even after all this time, was wracked by grief, and did not give her grandson the care he needed.
The child grew up isolated, alone, and being told stories of how wonderful his father was, how strong, how powerful, how brave. No matter what he did, the son was always found wanting, he could never quite measure up. 'Your father was faster, your father was better', these were the messages he was given.
To add to all this, his magic, which had actually driven itself inwards due to the trauma he experienced the night of the attack on his family, was not manifesting itself in a noticeable way. The truth of the matter was, careful nurturing would have brought it out. Neville only needed reassurance and comfort, all of which he had not received from his remaining relatives, and things would have taken their natural progression.
However, as with most things, Neville was once more compared to his father. Phrases such as, 'Frank was displaying accidental magic by two years old!', and 'I just don't know what's wrong with the lad – maybe he's a you-know-what!'. These and other criticisms did not serve to boost the poor child's confidence, rather the opposite. And, with magic belief and confidence is everything. Usually, if you don't believe your magic will work, it won't. And every failure leads to more depression and a stronger lack of faith in oneself. For Neville, as it had sadly been for other children, showing, or not showing in this case, magic became a vicious circle.
It was to this child that Harry would go.
"You see my child, why he needs you? It will be some years before he is amongst other younglings, and even then, there is no guarantee that he will find what he needs with them." Fawkes, like many parents before him and many parents after him, could not help going over his child's plans with him one more time before any irrevocable action was taken.
"Yes, I see. Do not worry Father; I know this is the right path. You and the others were right. I am no longer human, and I have no idea how to play the part which would be forced on me, were I to re-enter this world as the boy Harry Potter. Yet if I do not, this boy will have the responsibility thrust on him. It is not right, but we can't change it. I must do everything I can to help. I must rid the world of the plague which infected it when that abomination split his soul. And, I must heal this little boy's heart the way you healed mine." Harry nuzzled into the warm feathers around Fawkes neck and let out a tweet when his sire gave him an affectionate nip in return.
"You are everything I could ever have wished for in a child, and more. Now, go, my son!" Fawkes flashed out of sight, but Harry had a feeling he was still nearby, watching. It was understandable, if he was, since this was the day Harry would bond with his chosen companion.
From his place in the rafters of Longbottom Hall, Harry had a clear view of his soon-to-be-companion, who was currently being scolded quite vehemently by his distinguished grandmother.
He could see the slump in the boy's shoulders, the defeat, the despair and the dejection.
It was time.
"I just don't know what to do with you anymore, Neville! Why can't you do something – anything – right for once...?" Augusta Longbottom's voice trailed off, her exasperation seemingly to have grown beyond a point where she could give it voice.
Neville wondered, as he sometimes did at times like this, whether it would have been better if he'd died or ended up like his parents. He wasn't suicidal, he hadn't made any attempts to take his own life, nor had he even made any plans. It was just, what use was he really? All his family seemed to think he was a squib, and it was possible they were right.
He hadn't manifested any magic at all. Not even summoned a favourite toy, or levitated something he wanted to see, as a lot of wizarding children did. Everyone in his family had a theory about why this could be. It all went back to the night he and his parents were attacked, so they assumed.
Death Eaters had come to their home, intent on interrogating Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom for information on the whereabouts of Lord Voldemort. They couldn't accept that their beloved master had been killed and because the Longbottoms and the Potters had always been closely allied, this generation particularly so, they decided that if anyone knew the truth – it would be them. It was irrational, and illogical, but such was the mental state of the Lestranges – the Death Eaters in question. They were mad, they were in denial and they hadn't had even a miniscule drop of mercy in them.
Neville too, had been attacked, though not to the extent of his parents. This attack was his family's leading theory on why Neville appeared to have no magic. Some might say it was tragic that both Neville and his family were unaware that a little more openness and communication could have solved the 'problem' entirely.
But they did not see. Would not see, perhaps. They were so ashamed of the possibility that their line had bred a squib, that they did not take the trouble to look further. They just muttered in hallways about how terrible it all was, and how devastating for Augusta, who had already lost her son. Of course, such discussions had been held out of earshot of the boy in question, or so they thought. But Neville had heard – every word.
And that was why, now, standing in the front hall and on the receiving end of yet another of his Gran's disappointed rants, Neville had swung back to the idea that his survival the night of the attack had not been the blessing it first appeared to be. Nothing in his short life ever was, he reckoned.
Both Neville and his Gran were shocked out of their uncomfortable silence by an intense flash of flame. The brilliance of it almost burned their eyes, it was so bright. But it was over in seconds, and when the light had faded, they were treated to a truly awesome sight.
A phoenix, beautiful and proud, was sitting on young Neville's shoulder, its song filling the boy's heart like nothing ever had before.
And Neville knew, at that moment, looking into the dark avian eyes which gazed at him steadily, confidently, that he would never be alone, ever again.
