~ A/N: I've been holed up in my Seattle condo this week (…I never thought I'd be in a US hot zone of a pandemic, but here you go). Everything is cancelled/closed, I've gotten a bunch of work done, I haven't gotten sick, my fridge is overflowing, AND I've finally had the time to sit down and write. So! For those like me who're stuck at home, I hope you enjoy my ridiculous fanfics. Though, lemme tell you, it was weird to write the scenes that take place in a hospital.

Please stay safe everyone! I hope you're all feeling well.

'"I DON'T CARE!" Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE!" […]

"You do care," said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it."'

—Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

The hospital room was stark white. Harry was already sick of the monotony. It was better than where he'd been, but that was a very low bar to hit. Luckily, the company was much better here.

"Let's not talk." Harry tugged Ginny to him. "What's the point? You're here and I'm feeling okay. We could catch up on lost time."

She hesitated. Laying nearly on top of him, he couldn't believe how wonderful and soft she felt. Her hands cupped his face and he could almost ignore the sterile feeling of the room. "We should probably talk. You don't discuss the cave—mmph."

Harry wrapped her in a kiss and her hands tightened, lips pressing back against his. He edged his touch to the hem of her dress.

"No, okay," Ginny pulled back, "we really should talk."

His touch trailed up her legs, the dress following along. "Please," he murmured in her ear, eliciting a small moan from her, "please Ginny. We don't have to do anything. But I can't talk about it."

"Not as peaky today, eh?"

"DADDY! Dada dada dada, lookie!"

"That's, that's nice Al." Harry took a deep breath, steading himself and shaking off the fire. Again and again and again. He refocused, squinting down. "Really great! It's a, ah, broomstick?"

"Ye'h ye'h," Al mumbled, happily drawing while held in his father's arms.

Ginny smiled at them. Harry tried to grin back, but thought he'd messed up. Overcompensated and made it too wide. Too toothy.

She beamed in response. He felt a shallow hint of relief.

Harry had noticed something breaking right from the start.

There had been a brief pause. A small relief after the transformation (where fire and smoke had crawled under his skin, distorting him, cracked and crinkled him) when Lestrange hadn't known how to proceed. None of the Sweenies had expected him to survive, so they hadn't the faintest what to do with a crying baby phoenix.

They'd tossed him back in a cell, flinging up every protection possible. They needn't have bothered. He'd spent that first night laying in the dirt, shaking. There was too much pain to figure out what had happened, let alone consider escape.

When he woke up again, it was better. He'd taken one look down at himself (the feathers, the talons, and dear Merlin why was he so small?) before the heat hit him. The flames, the fire. He blearily thought it was boiling his mind.

Ignoring the healing tears falling from his eyes (only for physical injuries: so useless), he tried to keep his thoughts focussed. He no longer thought of such stupid things as the gala or security. His fears for Ginny came back: was he the only one who'd been captured?

But, he'd get home. He'd be fine. He was human and they were searching for him. He wasn't being burnt alive. He'd hug his family again. He'd be fine. He'd be fine. He'd be fine…

"How're you feeling?"

"Good. I'm good." Harry wished his voice sounded like his own. Angelina didn't seem to notice anything amiss. He wondered if something was wrong with his ears.

He nodded as she chatted about Quidditch, not hearing the words.

It was the sky. It was the big, blue sky. He couldn't reach it, no, but it was right there! Right there! Why couldn't he touch it? What was wrong with his wings?

Someone took hold of him. It smelled like human (nice human, nasty human?), making his body jerk in remembrance. But the grip was gentle. It didn't hurt or cut him. He didn't relax, but didn't protest liquid being poured down his throat. He pressed up as close as he could to the clouds, not listening to murmuring words in his ear. It was a human's voice, a deep one. It wasn't threatening, he could tell, even though sometimes the words became tearful shouts that bit into him.

He only vaguely noticed he was being held against someone, their strong embrace soothing his flinching limbs. Fingers circled his neck and arms, calm like the voice. His throat was filled with cotton, head filled with buzzing, and chest filled with waggling fire.

The sky looked so empty and free.

"Shouldn't I have had some potions this morning?"

"Don't worry about it."

Harry watched Ron, concerned. He'd overslept and woken to his brother-in-law waiting by the bed. Ron's eyes had been red but he'd glossed over any questions.

Harry scratched his head. "It's not that I like them, but I'm pretty sure I'm overdue."

"You had them."

"What?"

"I…" there was a shadow in Ron's expression, "you drank the medicine, it's fine. Don't worry about it."

"This morning? I was asleep."

Ron couldn't meet his gaze, fingers playing with the blankets. "Sure. Look, I gave them to you. Everything's fine."

The Sweenies had figured out what to do with him soon enough. They realised that phoenix heads would get them a pretty sickle. With an ageing potion they'd be rolling in galleons. Then, if the cutting was automated? They wouldn't have to lift a finger. They could leave him to rot.

Harry wasn't sure what was doing it, the pain or the rebirths, but with each blade chop his mind crinkled. Ruptured. He'd forget stupid things, little things. None were too bad by themselves, but he'd wonder how much had already disappeared. Gone far beyond the snatches he scrambled back. Put to the side was the silly, pointless attempt to remember how long he'd been there.

The first time he'd truly, absolutely panicked was when he spent seven lifetimes (however brief) pondering what his old hair colour used to be. It didn't matter, he knew it didn't. But it did. Would it all vanish without a trace?

He held the memories tighter still. His first sight of Hogwarts. Dudley's sneer and ducking his Aunt's blow. Sharing candies on the train with Ron. Revising with Hermione for OWLs and job interviews. Being woken by James's howls and rocking him to sleep with a lullaby. Kneeling before the Mirror of Erised, hands and nose pressed against the glass. Being an awful date to Parvati at the Yule Ball. Batting away Colin's camera as a flash blinded him. Massaging Ginny's fingers as a wild Burrow dinner erupted around them. Murmuring sorry as he stepped over Neville's frozen form. Wishing he could hear Albus's first sentence. Wishing he'd looked up a single thing about phoenixes. Wishing he knew a damned thing about animagi. Wishing he hadn't gotten so mad, so pointlessly annoyed at his brother over some pranks. Wishing he'd searched for Fawkes after Dumbledore's death. Wishing he could tell Teddy that not everyone disappeared.

Wishing the last thing he'd told Ginny was that he loved her; whispered it, curled it around her hair, breathed it over and over again. Wishing he'd had something to say to her at Fred's funeral, where he could only wrap her close as she sobbed on his jacket. Wishing he'd been a better friend, a better husband, a better father…no, a better daddy. Wishing he could have met his daughter—hoping she took after her mum—knowing she'd be beautiful.

Harry worried he was going to drop her. It's not like he hadn't held babies before, but he was out of practice. And it was her.

Ginny had fallen asleep nestled beside him and the boys were at their grandparents. So it was him and Lily. Lily, with her yawning mouth and chubby cheeks. Lily, who wasn't currently howling.

He adjusted her gently, so carefully. "You're beautiful," he murmured, rubbing her little fingers.

It was hard to speak. It'd been like this with all of his kids, though for James and Albus he'd been speechless when they were tiny, crying, and the Healer had handed the newborns to his shaking hands. For Lily, she was bigger. Still a baby but nearly a toddler. She was about the age he'd been when he'd lost his parents. She was almost ready to make semi-permanent memories.

Harry held back a choke, clutching her closer to him. They kept saying he hadn't missed that much. It'd only been a year.

With every blade swipe his thoughts crackled. He'd long ago stopped trying to hold onto them all. Instead, a mantra had begun. A silent prayer, unheard in the dark.

Of being Harry Potter, human. He had a wife and three kids (Or was it four? Would it be four?). He had a large and loving family, like he'd always dreamed. He had a home. He had a life. He wasn't a phoenix. Ron and Hermione were searching for him, they all were. They'd find him.

His name was Harry Potter, human, not phoenix. He had a wife, Ginny. They had children…

"Something's been bugging me."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing serious, there's an old story I can't remember the name of. You know when something's on the tip of your tongue?"

Hermione laughed understandingly, closing her book. "That sort of thing drives me mad. Go on then, what's it about?"

"It's a myth where this bloke has to push a boulder up a hill. Every time he gets to the top, the rock rolls down to the bottom and he has to start again."

A flicker of something crossed her face. The laughter vanished into a strained smile. "You mean Sisyphus. Why are you thinking of that story?"

"A nurse mentioned it. She was, ah, complaining about her endless shifts."

This seemed to appease Hermione. At least, her smile became more genuine. "Yes, it's a myth. Sisyphus was sent to hell and ordered to spend eternity pushing the same boulder up a mountain, like you said. It's an interesting idea. That endless pattern and monotony can be the worst punishment there is."

"Yeah," Harry said faintly, whimpers of darkness and a slashing blade in his ears. He knew she was wrong. The pattern wasn't the punishment, the helplessness was. "Interesting. Sisyphus, huh?"

It was a good day. Ron and Hermione were here, plus they'd brought their kids. Rose had squealed and given him a hug that matched the intensity of his own. Harry then agreed with Ron that Hugo was an adorable potato. Hermione was less than pleased.

"I didn't say he was a cute rhubarb, that's something." Harry pointed out, tickling Hugo's belly while he held him. The baby squealed. "Y'hear that Hugo? I'm with your dad: you're an incredibly cute potato."

"Thank you!" Ron said with sheer validation in his voice. "How no one else can see it is beyond me."

Hermione clicked her tongue. "I'm not in the practice of comparing my offspring to vegetables, thank you very much." She turned to Harry with a slight smile. "You keep this up, I might renege on the godfather offer."

Harry blinked. It took a moment, but vague panic rose in his chest. He'd been joking, surely she wouldn't do that? "I'm sorry," he said quickly, with a nervousness that made his friends confused, "I didn't mean anything by it! I was kidding."

Ron scratched the back of his neck. "We know mate. It's cool. Though uh…Hermione, I hadn't mentioned the you-know-what yet."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh! Oh Harry, I'm sorry, the godfather comment slipped out. Of course you can say no, I don't mean to be presumptuous about you accepting."

Harry was firmly panicking. Presumptuous? Oh no, no no no. She was going to take it away from him. "I was joking!" he said rapidly, holding Hugo tighter while the baby yawned. "I didn't mean anything by it. I love being Rose's godfather, please don't take it away!"

"Wha'?" Came Rose's cry. Ron and Hermione exchanged a flummoxed look. "Daddy, mumma, no! I wuv Unca Harry!"

"I know sweetheart, we weren't going to…damn it." Ron kneaded his forehead. "Alright, we've bolloxed this up. We weren't talking about Harry not being Rose's godfather. Like, at all. Wow."

"I am so sorry," Hermione continued in a meek voice. "Harry, we'd just wondered if you'd be Hugo's godfather as well. But then I strode ahead and was presumptuous. I feel like I'm saying all the wrong things."

Rose had made a pleased noise the moment her dad had finished and had returned to her drawings. The panic faded in Harry's chest and was replaced by embarrassment. No, Hermione wasn't the one saying the wrong things.

"So," Ron spoke up, a dabble of cheer in his voice, "will ya end this awkward stuff and say yes?"

Harry looked down at the baby in his arms. He didn't look like a potato, truly. Hugo didn't hugely resemble either parent, though he was a mix-match of both. He was cute, precious. Hugo was Hugo. Hugo wasn't a mess and he didn't deserve one. Neither did Rose. Maybe…maybe there was a way to renege on being her godfather.

"Can I get back to you on that?" Harry forced out, not able to look at either of the children anymore. "I'm deeply honoured, thank you. Though this…yeah, I'll get back to you."

Ron and Hermione stilled. Harry supposed they knew a 'no' when they heard it.

"Or, y'know," Harry figured he might as well finish it, "didn't you make Rubeus his middle name? I expect Hagrid would love to be his godfather."

There, done. His friends seemed baffled but it was for the best.

It smelled like a human. For a moment, he was deliriously happy. He hadn't seen one in ages! Would they speak? Maybe they'd speak. Maybe they'd…

Another whiff. His excitement settled back into stagnation. It was just Him.

"How are you today, Mr. Potter?" The man padded in. Eyeing the phoenix, he easily stopped the blade (envy bubbled). "I hope you're comfortable."

He didn't respond. He wasn't sure he could, if he'd wanted to. This man always said the same thing, repeated en tedium until the prisoner would almost prefer the blade.

"I hope you're well. Wouldn't do for you to fall ill."

He wondered who the human was, the one who smiled like he wanted to eat him up. To snap that toothy grin around his wings. He also wondered if 'Mister Potter' was a name. It was odd. Another thing on the tip of his mind, close but beyond touch.

"Such a pretty bird. My golden goose." Fingers swept across his feathers, barely touching him.

He wondered if he was a goose. He didn't think he was. Were gooses golden? No, that was wrong. Geese? Were they gold? Was he? There had been something, once, about a golden boy. But that wasn't a goose.

"Hello, Mr. Potter! How are you today? Are you comfortable?"

Harry whipped around in a panic. "What!"

"Pardon?" the Healer stared at him, notepad in hand.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY."

She was taken aback. Unsurprising, seeing as how a Wizarding Saviour was screaming at her, a terrified look in his eyes. "I, I asked how you were?"

"OH…oh," his heartbeat raced. He shook his head, blinking away the cave. He wasn't sure how long it was until he'd found the words. "I'm fine. Sorry, I'm fine. I'm really sorry."

"Are, are you sure you're alright?" she was now the one sounding panicked.

"I didn't mean to scare you, I'm fine."

"But you—"

"I'm fine."

Hermione was tired of solving mysteries. She never thought she'd see the day! But why couldn't someone else deal with this? Yes, they wouldn't be as thorough. And yes, she wouldn't trust their answers. And yes, yes, she'd double-check everything. The point? She needed a break.

"Attention!" She called out, bringing the room filled with Senior Aurors and Hit-Wizards to order. She glanced at her itinerary. "This is a special meeting on Sweeney updates. I'm assuming you're all here for that?"

There were a few chuckles. As many other cases as there were, the Sweenies (more than ever) seemed to hover over everyone.

Hermione clicked her tongue. "Interrogation is continuing on Lestrange, Flint, and the others. The search is continuing for Rowle, though there is a possibility that she's dead. We have a partial witness in Harry Potter, though he didn't see any direct proof himself. It's hearsay. All of this is ongoing and—at the moment—uncertain."

"There is some news." She frowned at her notes. "While investigations haven't finished on the 'magimagus potion', there are preliminary results. The mixture is volatile and the specific ingredients are classified, for obvious reasons. Yet, there are actually two potions. The first potion had nearly a hundred percent fatality rate. From our samples and from their notes, it seems that the Sweenies created and switched to the second potion shortly after Halloween last year. The difference between the versions, is that the second one is stuffed full of phoenix tears."

"I don't need to remind any of you what happened that Halloween. Nor do I have to remind you how potent healing phoenix tears can be. Whatever the case, this second potion had around a 90% fatality rate." She shook her head. "It seems the inclusion of the tears made it so that immortal or semi immortal animal forms would live."

"Blimey." Hit-Wizard Stone whistled. "I wondered why there were a bunch of survivors after Potter!"

Hermione made a note to tell Harry all of this. Though, maybe when he was feeling healthier. It was a good thing, though he could take it the wrong way. "There is also the matter of the Sweenies' trials. It's become…tricky…as none of them will confess fully. Flint and the others have all freely admitted to their crimes. But they each insist that Serena Rowle was the instigator and that Rodolphus Lestrange wasn't the leader."

Dmitri frowned. "I understand we think they're terrified of Lestrange. But, what if they're telling the truth? What if Rowle was the instigator? The survivors said both of them were around."

A Hit-Wizard snorted. "You never met the Lestranges, I see. There were rumours that ol' Bellatrix was so fond of the cruciatus that she used it on herself!"

"Which was his wife, not Rodolphus." Though Dmitri didn't seem convinced by his own argument. "I'm not saying they weren't insane. Their war crimes alone were heinous and mental! But Rowle isn't exactly an upstanding citizen."

Lisa rubbed her eyes. "Harry said she'd been dead for awhile."

"Harry was told by the Sweenies that she'd died," Sue Li pointed out. "That isn't a reliable source on either side. Pardon, Director."

"It's fine." Hermione sighed, because heavens did she know that Harry had a few screws loose these days. "The trial won't be for some time, but I can't emphasis enough how important it is that we carefully catalogue every detail. Whoever was in charge will become clear in time. Until then, I want every inch of the Sweenies' notes and their cave investigated."

"Granger?" Came a voice as people began to get up. Hermione suppressed a groan in spotting Cormac McLaggen's grin. "About that potion. Any word on if we can predict someone's animal? 'Cause between you and me," he nudged the unamused Hit-Wizard sitting beside him, "if I could be a dragon, imma sneak into evidence and grab a bit!"

She hadn't thought the man could get any dumber. The disgusted groans and flung swears from the others made everyone's view clear.

"No, McLaggen." Hermione said over the voices. "We can't 'predict' the animals. In case anyone thinks it's a good idea to injest a painful and very much fatal potion, let me make something clear!" She paused to glare around the room. "If anyone dares to steal a drop of that potion, you'd best hope it kills you. Because it will be a hell of a lot better than what I'll do to you!" She pounded the table, voice lowering to a hiss. "Let me put it this way. When I was a child I set people on fire, obliviated my own parents, and took down a Dark Lord. Now? I've made my career studying the dark arts and know all the ways to hide a body. You will not test me."

With that she picked up her notes and swept out of the room. She wasn't sure if the frozen crowd was more shocked by her swearing or by her threat, but at least they's seemed suitably terrified. The smirk had also been wiped off of McLaggen's lips.

It had stopped hurting. He wasn't sure when that had happened, but it had. How odd was it that he wasn't bothered by the blade ripping through his neck? He'd laugh, if he could. Chirp in song.

He remembered…or had it happened in someone else's life?…the pain of thousands of knives diving into him. It had been from a curse, he thought. A bad one. Something he'd once hated (how long ago?), feeling that nothing could be worse. Nothing more painful.

Oh, he'd laugh. What was the name of it? Something unforgivable, he recalled that much. Why would he think that? A curse. A swear? No no. Magic, maybe. A spell, like humans cast with their pointy sticks. Weird sticks, though. From yew and holly; from feathers, too. A feathered stick?

He didn't remember much, only a handful of words. A beat. A song without a melody. Harry, Ginny, Teddy, Jamie, Albie, baby. Harry, Ginny, Teddy, Jamie, Albie, baby. Harry, Ginny, Teddy, Jamie, Albie, baby…

He wondered what it meant. He liked that it rhymed. A circle, an endless circle. It was comforting.

"The Healers don't know what they're doing." Harry didn't say this as a question. Nor as an accusation. It was a sigh.

Ginny squeezed his hand in hers. "Don't be silly, love. You're getting so much better."

"Sure. Sure."

Kingsley Shacklebolt visited.

Harry peered at him from the window seat, getting up. He felt like he hadn't used his muscles in eons. Kingsley was smiling but had aged more than the others this past year: more grey hair in his beard, more lines. Harry had aged as well, but what he saw in the mirror was gaunt cheekbones and a worn gaze, rather than new wisdom or strength.

"By the stars!" Kingsley shook Harry's hand warmly. He'd wondered why his family hadn't been in this morning. He doubted it was coincidence. He'd bet his wife and best friends were behind the door, ready to burst in at the first sign of trouble. "I hate to admit it, but I doubted I'd see the day."

"You and me both, Minister." Harry paused, having ended the handshake. "Minister?"

Kingsley shrugged good-naturedly, taking a seat as Harry did. "Yes, still. I haven't the faintest why they voted me back in."

The older man seemed nervous at this topic. Harry searched back through his memories, trying to recall why. Something about an argument, an odd election? Ah well. If Kingsley didn't mention it, he had no interest. "It's good to see you."

Yes, he hadn't been imagining it: Kingsley relaxed at this statement. "You as well. I can hardly tell you what a relief this has been." He gave a shaky laugh, lines accentuated. "The crime spree ending aside, to have an old friend come back from the grave. It's been mad."

Harry's brow hunched, the specific thought not having occurred to him. "Was there a grave?"

Any relief in the Minister's expression was swept away. Harry kicked himself, finding that he was doing this to an awful lot of people these days.

"Not that it matters," Harry hurried on, praying for normalcy. "Uh, is this a social visit? Reconnecting? I don't have much to tell you about my trip. It was an awful bore. Horrid room service."

Kingsley gave a low, nervous chuckle. "I see your humour hasn't changed."

"Hermione spent a good hour or two bemoaning that." Harry stretched, frowning down at his body. He couldn't wait until it felt familiar again. "Come on, I'm not daft. I know when someone's avoiding a topic."

The Minister stared at him for a long moment before nodding, looking older still. "Has your family caught you up on the recent events concerning the Sweenies and those who were rescued?"

The Sweenies. Harry coughed, hoping this covered his jump at the word. "It's, it's been taboo." No wonder, if he couldn't get ahold of himself at the mere mention of them. He clasped his hands together. "What's going on?"

"Rodolphus Lestrange has been taken into custody." Harry held back a wince. He could hear the man's voice as he swayed his fingers through his feathers… "He and his co-conspirators are being held in Azkaban until the trials take place. You'll certainly be asked to be a witness, but that won't be for some time."

"They're still gathering the evidence," Harry muttered to himself, snippets of MLE protocol returning. They would need Pensieve memories as well as everything that had been in the cave. Was there footage as well? Or notes that the monster had kept, daily logs on how many phoenix heads were being produced? Did Hermione know the numbers? Did Ron? Not Ginny, surely.

"Quite." Kingsley nodded solemnly, not privy to the other man's grimmer thoughts. "The media is being kept away from St. Mungo's, but some information about you and the other survivors has slipped out. Stories are abounding and they've been quick to come up with a name."

Harry returned to the present. "If the papers have invented another title for me, I'm slipping back into a coma."

Kingsley gawked before a chuckle escaped him. "No need for that, I'm glad to say. I meant a name for the, ah…"

Harry stared as the older man fidgeted, not following. "For the what?"

The Minister seemed sheepish. "It's not important, I should have begun with that. Nor is it official, though the vernacular itself may be adopted. But that would only be with all of your support, of course."

"What did they come up with a name for?" Harry repeated, even more confused. He searched around for an idea. "You mean, for what we are? It's a variation of being an animagus, it's not that different."

"Actually, it is." Kingsley sighed. "In the method of becoming one, in the matter of creature that one turns into…you aren't an animagus in any sense. The press has been pushing a new term: magimagus. Redundant, I know. Though ordinarily, it shouldn't be an issue at all."

The words again fell away. Harry's confusion hadn't abated, not understanding where Kingsley's nervousness came from. "You're right, it isn't an issue. It's a word. A label. Who cares?"

"The problem is the legal ramifications and the classification of it."

Harry opened and closed his mouth, lost. What did a word matter? What legal issues? He knew he'd been declared dead, was that the problem? But no, Kingsley had said 'classification'…oh. His stomach sank, snatches of blood and werewolf prejudice filling his mind. His mouth worked by itself. "The legal definition. You're defining 'magimagus' as half-breeds. Or magical creatures."

"No! No, I'm not," Kingsley said hurriedly, hand waving, "and I extremely doubt it would come to that. I and many others will fight tooth and nail over it! But certain conservatives in the Wizengamot are…there are whispers, and with the public hearing that there will be dragons walking around them, unseen? Some people get nervous at shadows. It will blow over, you'll see. We're taking measures against it."

The air tasted like ash. The moisture on his tongue had disappeared, leaving a dry crust which made it difficult to speak. "They don't think we're human."

"A small minority!" Kingsley leaned forward, taking Harry's numb hands in a firm grip. "A very small, insignificant minority are jumping to conclusions. I hold the highest respect for you and wanted to inform you this was happening. The magimagus term might very well stick, but the stigmas certainly will not. We're working on getting the true stories out there and, once all of you are up to it, you can give interviews to show these people who you truly are. This is nothing, Harry. I swear."

He'd heard that before.

In hour after hour and day after day, he ached. Glimpses still bloomed of something aside from the silence and the dark, but they were faded at the edges. Whiffs of sound, from a bird who had long since lost the song.

The voices were what came back to him the most. Bunches of words sometimes, but mainly the rocking melody, lulling him away like the blade. Cries and coos of babies, a human man's roaring laugh, a female's amused sigh. There was also a gentle murmur, which smelled of fresh grass, crisp flowers, and cotton thick with sweat.

Around it all was the sky, big and blue and shiny. Or soft and orange and hazy. Or black and massive and dazzling. There was the slightest sense of wind rushing over his ears, though he could never recall the beat of his wings.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Then at the object on the table.

"This is a horrible idea." She swallowed nervously.

"Completely rubbish." He agreed. "We have to do it."

"It won't count as evidence."

Ron tapped his fingers. "Of course not. But we need to know, don't we? MACUSA's doing a giant manhunt and we don't know who to believe. This'd give us something over Lestrange."

Hermione didn't look convinced. "It won't necessarily tell the truth. We could take Harry's evidence and—"

"The Sweenies told Harry that 'evidence', and he heard it when he was a barmy phoenix. None of this is evidence." Ron grabbed the ring. "I'll just do it."

"Ron, don't–"

"Serena Rowle." Ron spoke clearly, spinning the Resurrection Stone three times. "Show me Serena Rowle!"

They waited.

No ghost appeared. Both of them wilted.

"So," he dropped the ring with a sigh, "she's still out there."

Hermione stared at the object warily. "Either the ring's lying to us, or Rodolphus Lestrange was in charge."

"He was in charge. I know that and you know that," Ron gruffed, "but barely anything concrete backs it up! Well, except for—"

"The survivors' testimony." Hermione sighed.

"He isn't testifying."

"He could—"

"Harry isn't testifying!"

A whisper cut through the slashing blade. Endless cuts, endless rhythm, endless pounding—

A shake. Vaguely frantic, but it slid off the rolls of flame and darkness—

"Harry. Harry!"

It was the human, the man who yearned to gobble him up. But it was still the flames, the heat, the blade—

"HARRY!" came the voice again, too high to be the hungry man's. There was a shove, his shoulders shaken. He reluctantly pried open his eyes.

A pale face. Red hair grazed his skin and worried chocolate brown eyes stared down into his own. 'Human', was his first thought, mentally shaking off the smoke. 'Mate', was the second. It took longer to attach a proper name to the woman straddling him.

"Ginny," Harry murmured. Yes, that felt right. "Ginny."

"Sweetie," she remained on top of him with a frighteningly reassuring expression, "I don't want you to panic. Can you stay calm?"

If his mind wasn't full of sleepy fire, this alone would have made him panic. "Okay," he said instead.

"It's fine," said Ginny soothingly. "You've partly transformed in your sleep. Only a bit, it isn't a problem." Her words filtered out as dread cascaded over him. Looking away from her parted lips he gazed down at himself. "It's okay! Hey, it's alright. It's just wings—"

"Just wings!?"

"I didn't mean it like—"

"Not again, not another thing! It's always something!" Harry swiped desperately at his arms, panic heightening as the feathers rippling his skin refused to disappear. He was jostling Ginny around and forced her to the side, but he couldn't focus on that when his chest and throat were clenching in dismay. "If not nightmares it's fire, or blades, or his voice, and god I can't stop hearing it, something's wrong with my ears, I know it is, or my brain—I'm pretty sure it's my brain, and maybe my eyes too because good lord, I can't see anything but fire—and now it's goddamn feathers, which won't bloody well vanish!"

"Harry, HARRY!" Ginny flung herself forward, catching his frantic arms in a tight hold. "Calm down, you're hurting yourself!"

"Hurting myself?" he repeated in disbelief, fear cutting through his voice. He wrenched his eyes shut, no longer able to look at Ginny's beseeching expression or at the feathers rising like gooseflesh. "They won't vanish! They aren't disappearing! I, I don't know what to, to do…"

"Shh," a gentle hand wove around his head, massaging the back of his neck. But he couldn't look, it was hard enough to capture his breath through the fear knotting his chest. "You're here with me, you're safe. You're in hospital. There's no fire. It's just you and me. Can you say that? You and me."

"You, you and me." The smallest of knots loosened. The words didn't help much, but the soft voice whispering in his ear did wonders. As did her weight as she shifted to lie beside him, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

"You're safe, I swear." Ginny murmured. He could feel her breath against his mouth, though he hadn't yet opened his eyes. "If you need to panic, that's okay. I'll be right here. I'll always be here." She drew her fingers along his back: no pattern, just to sooth the shaking.

And it was slow. It was long, hard-drawn breaths. It was leaked tears and gasped hiccoughs. But his chest and throat eventually unclenched, while his breathing evened to match the woman's beside him.

"There we go," she said coaxingly, close against him with her hands now in his hair. "Now, can you open your eyes?"

"No," his voice was ragged, hoarse. As though he'd been shouting. As though his throat had been scrapped bare. "No, god no."

"I need you to trust me right now. I know you're scared, but you have to open your eyes."

It took so much to wrench them open. When he did, everything was foggy: Ginny had taken off his glasses. Before he could ask for them she was lifting his arm and putting it in front of his gaze.

Skin. Flesh-toned skin with prickles of hair. Not a feather to be seen.

"When you relaxed," Ginny said quietly as Harry raced his fingers over his arm, "you transformed back. I think the feathers only appeared because you were panicked."

"Panicked?" As he looked at her knowing (albeit blurred) expression the dots connected. He'd had a nightmare. He wondered if she'd only noticed something was wrong when his arms had transformed. Or had he been shaking in his sleep? "Oh. I…yeah. It was only a dream."

Ginny hemmed, staring at him. One hand remained entangled in his hair. "Sounded like some dream."

Another wrench in his stomach. Had he cried out? Or whimpered, chirped? Desperately begged in English or squawks? He couldn't bring himself to ask.

~ A/N: I swear this is nearly the end of the focus on Harry's recovery in St. Mungo's. There'll be a bit more in the next chapter, but the story will from then on have many more scenes about: the other survivors, the wider wizarding world, Lestrange and Rowle (and Delphini?), as well as Everyone's recovery.

Oh! Also, I know I've taken forever in updating these stories. I can't apologise enough! Over the winter I got the idea for a new fanfic that I loved (…which is kinda yet another time travel story, don't judge me) and I made the mistake of writing that instead. I'll try to properly switch gears back to this!