When I opened my eyes the next morning, Fawkes was already awake, standing by my bed. I reached down and stroked his head, Fawkes pecking my hand playfully. Never having had a pet before, I wasn't completely sure how to take care of one. However, that turned out not to be a problem, as Fawkes would show me pretty clearly what was it that he wanted. The phoenix tapped the empty water bowl with his claw, meaning he was thirsty and possibly hungry. I got up, realizing that first and foremost I have to introduce Fawkes to my parents. Muggles could see phoenixes and I couldn't hide him from them forever. They used to come into my room every now and then for various reasons and it was better if they found out about him from me rather than running into an unexpected surprise.

I went downstairs to the kitchen where my parents were having breakfast. The kitchen was smelling of freshly brewed black coffee and bacon with eggs. My father's plate was half-empty and only dregs left into his cup. He was reading a newspaper and on the main page, I saw a big article about several families found dead in their own houses. Police had no clues or answers as to why these people had simply dropped dead for apparently no reason.

My mother was flicking through some glossy ladies' magazine, her hair was still wet from the recent shower, drying into the warm steam of the kitchen. I sat down at the table, worried as hell. I might only be able to touch breakfast after I got through with this.

" Good morning. "

" Morning, son, " my father abruptly answered without lifting his eyes.

I delayed some time by pouring myself a coffee and spreading butter on toast. Mother and father weren't very talkative, but it was normal as breakfast had always been a quiet meal in our house. We enjoyed the morning as a family and only spoke if we had to. Supper, on the other hand, was different. That's when my parents liked to share how their day went, gossip about their job colleagues, and bitch about their bosses.

" I'm going to show you something, but I don't want you to freak out, " I finally said, unable to eat.

My parents simultaneously looked up at me and in their faces, I saw that they were ready to freak out. Mother glanced at father who kept looking at me over the top of his newspaper. Their features went from bored and relaxed to cautious and pensive. They must have thought what I thought they were thinking – that I wasn't going to talk about ordinary problems and it had something to do with the place I went to a year ago.

" What are you talking about, Thomas? " my mother asked, putting away her magazine.

I led them upstairs to my room. My parents whispered among themselves and looked around warily as if we were walking through a funhouse and a creepy decoration could pop up at any moment. My skin felt itchy as if pricked by needles when I laid my hand on the door handle.

" Don't be afraid. He doesn't mean any harm. "

Despite the warning, my mother did scream silently when she saw Fawkes. The phoenix was sitting on top of my desk, looking as glorious as always, his black, wise eyes darting over my parents. He was chirping in a low voice and I wondered if this was his way of saying " hello ".

" What kind of a parrot is this? " father asked, deep lines engraving themselves in his forehead.

" It's not a parrot. It's a phoenix, a magical creature. His name is Fawkes. "

" A magical creature? " mother said in a troubled voice. " Is it starting again from the beginning? I thought we were through with all the magic and whatnot. "

" I thought that too, " I answered, filling Fawkes' empty bowl with fresh water. " He arrived last night. "

" Why did he arrive? " father asked, leaning against the closet, his arms crossed over his chest. Neither he nor my mother went near Fawkes. " He can't stay, Thomas. You know I'm allergic to all kinds of pets. "

" I don't think you're gonna be allergic to him, dad, " I said, only partly sure of that, " Fawkes used to belong to the headmaster of Hogwarts before...before he passed away. "

" Passed away? " my mother asked, now sounding somber. " That elderly, kind man who was here last year has died? "

Hearing someone else say it, was twice as bad as endure it on my own in silence. It felt like the wound that had just managed to skin over a little, was torn open again, blood gushing out of it. But at the same time, I was glad my mother remembered who Dumbledore was. Maybe it was only natural. You couldn't forget a man who literally saved your child's life.

" So what are we now going to do with this bird? " father seemed to be dissatisfied and that was so much like him. He didn't like animals because animals didn't like him. Their hair made his eyes water and nose run. " Doesn't look like he has a lot of space here in your room. "

" I don't know why Fawkes is here, but eventually I'll learn, I guess. I will take care of him myself, that won't be your burden," I said, though I was sure Fawkes didn't need humans to survive. " I just showed him to you so that you wouldn't have a heart attack or something by seeing him randomly. And it's a secret, of course. You cannot speak about him to anybody. "

And so Fawkes started to live with me. He was immensely faithful, modest, quiet, and very exciting to be around. I couldn't live in the magical world but now I had a small piece of it in my life that I longed to come home to every day. Being a hard believer that those who nature had endowed with wings must be allowed to use them, I often left the door of my room open so that Fawkes could fly around the house if he wanted to. But he only did so if I was out too. My father built a simple, but sturdy perch for Fawkes in the living room where the phoenix would sit while we watched TV or drank chamomile tea in the evenings.

Magic was scaring my mother, nonetheless, she brought herself to feed Fawkes and give him clean water when I wasn't around. The phoenix was eating everything we offered, from store-bought bird food to berries, fruit, and eggs. He wasn't picky, at all. Sometimes, Fawkes would sit at the back of my chair during breakfast, pecking on the bread crumbs left by toasts and once even dipped his beak into coffee for the first and last time. The bitter, sugar-less drink was clearly not his taste.

Just as I thought, my father wasn't allergic to Fawkes. The assumption I made based on the fact that Fawkes was no ordinary bird, turned out to be true. Around us, he pretended like he couldn't care less and ignored Fawkes, but I found him several times trying to communicate with the phoenix when he thought no one was present. Seeing me, father made excuses he only came to talk to me, embarrassed of being caught showing interest in Fawkes. I smiled as I nodded, pretending to believe. Father had denied animals his whole life and now was ashamed of admitting he had grown fond of one.

At this point in time, my friends happened to be a problem. They wanted to see me just as I wanted to see them and figured out that since I don't go out anymore, they would come to my house. This gave me another challenge when I had to make up a reason as to why they couldn't visit me in my house, my room like they had done many times prior. But I couldn't show them Fawkes. I couldn't expose magic to more Muggles than absolutely necessary. Fortunately, my mother helped me to get out of this one. On her behalf, I told Alex and the others that my parents are getting older and no longer desire a gang of young, loud people in the house. That was enough. There were borders that even my crazy friends didn't cross.

However, the greatest ordeal of protecting the magical secret came the next day after Fawkes arrived. It was afternoon and after having studied for a couple of hours, I decided to air my head and walk around the neighborhood a little. On my way, I took out the trash and lighted a cigarette when I was sure I was far enough from home. The day was exceptionally clear, the weather forecast promised no rainfall for the following 48 hours, and to waste that would be a sin. Considering the month, it should be snowing by now but instead, we got rain. That's Muggle England to you.

After wandering for an hour or so, I returned home and already in the distance saw Ms. Haigh walking in her front yard. It had been a long time since I saw my neighbor outside of her house and hopefully, she had come to her senses...for a while. I knew she would talk to me when I go by, she always did. Sometimes she asked how my parents and I are doing, sometimes she talked about herself. I didn't mind chatting for a while if she wasn't too drunk. However, she did ask me once to fetch her a bottle of vodka from the store because she was too unkempt to do it herself. It took a lot of explaining that it wouldn't be sold to me as I was only 15 years old at the time.

I waved at her as I walked past. Normally she would wave back or come up to the fence to meet me. This time Ms. Haigh came running from the opposite side of her front yard the moment she saw me. She staggered slightly, and I could only guess if it was because the intoxication hadn't completely left her body or because she had already managed to load herself with a new dose of booze. She was wearing worn-down slippers and a leopard pattern housecoat that was tied over grey sweatpants. All the garments looked like they hadn't seen a washing machine in ages.

" Good afternoon, " I greeted her, ready to move forward. Today, the neighbor didn't seem to be reasonable enough for talking.

Ms. Haigh opened the gate and grabbed me by the sleeve of my jacket, pulling me into her front yard. She seemed anxious and frightened as if she had seen a ghost.

" What's the matter, ma'am? " I asked, freeing my hand from her grip. " How can I help you? "

" Hello, Thomas, " she said in a quiet, shaky voice. " Come in for a cup of tea, will you? "

In close, the neighbor looked even worse. Yellowish-green stains of what could be vomit were speckled over the front of her housecoat and smudges of maybe ketchup and ranch were smeared on the sweatpants. Her sand-blonde hair was greasy and uncombed. I felt repulsed, yet pitied her at the same time. Ms. Haigh looked like an ordinary homeless person.

" No, thanks. Promised my parents to be home early. They're doing good, by the way, " I said before she could ask.

" Thomas, what happened last night? " she leaned closer and I held my breath to avoid the revolting stench of alcohol coming from her mouth. " That enormous bird? What was that? "

" Excuse me, what? "

Ms. Haigh's eyes widened and she began to gesture expressively, pointing her finger towards my house. I wondered if she was standing in her front yard all day long, waiting for someone from my family to walk by and explain the miracles she had witnessed.

" Last night I saw a huge bird outside your window. It was giant and red with a tail like a peacock's. And it was sitting there for a long time, pecking at the glass! And then you opened the window and it flew inside. What was that? "

Panic seized my brain. From Ms. Haigh's kitchen, it was possible to partly see my bedroom's window. Last night, stunned by Fawke's visit, I hurried too much when I scanned the streets. Somebody did see the phoenix. Ms. Haigh wasn't asleep in the dead of night and from her window she had caught the sight of Fawkes.

" What are you talking about, ma'am? " I asked, forcing out a smile. " I was sleeping and there were no peacock-like birds by my window. "

" I saw it, Thomas! " Ms. Haigh traced my face with her bloodshot eyes. " Don't try to fool me! I saw it with my own eyes. "

For a moment, my mind was going wild, trying to think of some plausible, false answer I could give her. Then I calmed down. Had Fawkes been noticed by Alex, Oliver, or anyone else whose head was clear and worked properly, it would be much harder to make up a credible lie. But my neighbor was an alcoholic. Her common sense was questionable, even if she didn't want to admit it. All I had to do was make her think she didn't actually see what she saw.

" Alright, ma'am, " I said, " I'll be honest with you but only after you have been honest with me. How much did you have to drink last night? "

Ms. Haigh hesitated. Seemingly she didn't expect this question and judging by her thoughtful facial expression, she was about to lie to me. I knew she hated to discuss her drinking quantities, as she didn't consider herself a boozer.

" Well, maybe some wine. "

" How much is " some wine "? "

Ms. Haigh waved her hand impatiently and snorted. " I don't know, maybe three or four bottles. I didn't count! "

Oh wow, I thought. To me, " some wine " would be a few glasses, but Ms. Haigh's party didn't even start until the third bottle. Besides, she was already lying. To her, the wine was a thing of the past. I knew she was into hard liquor for several years now.

The neighbor looked at me almost timidly, like a child that's been caught doing something forbidden. " Is that bad? "

" Well, I can't imagine it's good if you're seeing things, ma'am. You do realize that what you're saying is unreal, don't you? "

" I'm not blind, young man, " she argued with me, " do you mean to tell me I'm blind? I saw that bird! "

" No, I mean that you think you saw something after several bottles of liquor. You weren't sober, were you, Ms. Haigh? Just think about it for a second. Why would big, red birds fly around in here, a borough of a city? We're not living in the tropics, are we? "

Ms. Haigh fell silent for a while. Her lowered gaze wandered over the wet leaves, rotting on the path walk to her house. She couldn't stop her hands from shaking and in general, the neighbor was such a sad sight I felt bad I had to mix up her already uncertain thoughts even more. But I was determined to protect the secret of magic with all I had. I felt bound to defend it, an unprecedented sensation of commitment as if I myself was a wizard.

" That had never happened to me before, " Ms. Haigh finally spoke, her voice full of shame, " it seemed so real. I can't believe it. Was it really a hallucination? "

" Of course. What else could it be? You really should kick the habit, ma'am. It's ruining you from the inside out. "

Usually, reacted very defensively whenever somebody hinted that she has a problem. This time she slowly turned around and walked towards her house, without even properly saying goodbye to me. I waited till she closed the door behind her, hoping that I hadn't offended the lady too much and feeling relieved at the same time. I had managed to at least sow a little bit of doubt in her. However, from now on I had to be very careful, as this explanation could only work once. If Ms. Haigh saw Fawkes again, without the influence of alcohol, I would be in a real pickle.

Inside my home, nothing was out of the ordinary. Mother was cooking supper, she stirred a boiling, steaming pot with a wooden spoon and I guessed we would either have a soup or a stew. My father was in the living room, watching TV. I wanted to go upstairs to my room and study a little till supper but something on the TV caught my attention.

" What's going on there, dad? " I asked, approaching the armchair where my father was sitting.

" The Millennium Bridge has been destroyed, " he answered without looking at me.

" What happened to it? "

" No idea, son. They're investigating right now. Could be a terrorist attack or something. "

On the TV screen, I saw the remains of what used to be an impressive pedestrian bridge. Between the right and left side of the bridge was a huge gaping hole. Pieces of snapped cables, broken piers, and crushed dampers were floating in the River Thames. The police rescue team was shown pulling survivors out of the river and black body bags of those who weren't fortunate enough were lying on the bank. The surrounding area was closed to keep unnecessary, nosy citizens away and a male journalist was talking about people witnessing " plumes of smoke coming from the sky " just before the disaster. The bridge was destroyed by multiple powerful blasts and so far the authorities had zero clues as to what could be the source of them or any other reasons behind this tragedy.

I turned and walked to my room, my head hung low. Maybe my father was right and that was nothing more than something from our world. Maybe some criminal activity was to blame or perhaps the bridge was crushed by a technical malfunction. I wasn't sure if lying to myself was making me feel better or not, because deep down I knew that's not true. It had to do with magic.

Fawkes chirped when I closed the door behind me. The phoenix was sitting on my bed, enjoying sunflower seeds from a little bowl. I sat down next to the bird and Fawkes looked at me, his eyes shining in the lamplight.

" You almost got discovered, my friend. Next time pay attention to Muggles' presence before showing yourself. "

Fawkes bowed in what seemed like a regretful way and now I wasn't worried about Ms. Haigh anymore anyway. I petted the feather crest on Fawkes' head and thought for a while. It wasn't good at all if Voldemort's minions had started to mess with the Muggle world. What were they even doing in the middle of London? From what I knew, Hogwarts and wizardkind in general was Voldemort's main target for now. In that case, it made no sense for him to go after Muggles.

" Those were Death Eaters on that bridge, right? " I asked Fawkes. " They caused the collapse, didn't they? "

Fawkes got up and jumped on my working desk. With one claw, the phoenix lightly tapped my computer. I moved from bed to the computer chair and opened the browser. The news about the bridge disaster was on the Internet as well, of course. The only difference was that the articles were a lot more detailed than the brief summary of information from the TV. I scrolled through a few pages, not really knowing what I was looking for. Fawkes was sitting on my knee, looking into the computer screen as well. Finally, I stumbled upon a column aside from the main newspapers. This article focused on eyewitnesses and people who were on the bridge and managed to survive the disaster. One of them was a man named Thomas Winters.

My heart stopped. This Thomas Winters was a young man, probably just slightly older than me. In the photo, he had caramel-colored hair with highlights and very brown, almost black eyes. I realized that Death Eaters obviously didn't know much about my physical looks, except the fact that I'm young. I sank back into the chair, dread gnawing at my insides.

The Death Eaters attacked the Millennium Bridge because they knew from somewhere that Thomas Winters would be crossing it at that particular time of day. Their objective wasn't to destroy the bridge itself or commit Muggle mass murder. The main goal was to kill me.

9