Chapter 4
He'd been a bit embarrassed, of course. He hadn't wanted to look like he was hinting, although he was very grateful. He looked at the phoenix – the woman had explained that it was male, and only a few years old. It gave him a look as if to say that it had planned things this way.
"What are you going to call him?" Flamel asked, as they walked back to the inn to eat.
Names… names. Something to do with fire maybe? He got the impression that the bird didn't really mind what he was called. Perhaps he had some sort of phoenix name that Albus could only guess at. He chuckled. "What about Fawkes?"
Flamel laughed. "Why not?"
Back in the inn, Flamel ordered them dinner, and Albus couldn't resist peering at his new pet. Fawkes looked at him with such… well… it was silly. Such understanding. It was uncanny.
He became gradually aware that on another table, a small girl about his age was staring at him. Or was it at the bird? He became a little uncomfortable, having his quiet unspoken communion disturbed by prying eyes. Eventually, she approached.
"Excuse me," she said, a little haltingly. "May I have a look at your phoenix?"
He nodded, silently. Very quietly she leaned down to observe. Fawkes did not seem disturbed. He cooed and sang. It was an eerily beautiful sound…
The girl was coy, rather scruffy in a leafy-green dress, and with flecked brown hair. She stared at Fawkes with obvious awe.
They sat this way in complete silence until the girl's parents came up behind, a cosily middle-aged couple who looked like they had been living comfortable, average lives.
"Come along Elise, it's time to go," her mother said, in an exasperated, yet affectionate voice. The girl got up regretfully, and nodded to Albus in acknowledgement.
"Say thank you to – what's your name, lad?" The father addressed him – he stood up.
"I'm Allie – Albus."
"Thank you Albus, for letting my daughter look at your lovely phoenix." He chuckled. "Of course, they look rather ugly when they're young."
"I think he's lovely," the girl mumbled. "Thank you – Allie." She smiled earnestly. He met her gaze. She looked away.
"Now Elise, we promised you a familiar, too…" They led her away. She glanced back, and took one last lingering look at Fawkes.
*
"She looked liked a Higgins," said Flamel, who had been watching her with interest. "Grantham Higgins was a writer on herbology and magical fauna – his family tended to be mainly country-dwelling. She looked like she'd seen all the magical creatures in the world but hardly any other children."
Albus watched her back as she finally left. She clung to both her parents, hand in hand with both, looking rather vulnerable. He wondered how she'd cope when she went to Hogwarts.
That brought his thoughts lurching nauseatingly back home. For a moment, he'd been excited by the magic within him; forgotten about his mother and about the small children who counted him as their friend, and about where he'd come from. Granted, not everything he'd forgotten was worth remembering, far from it, but he still felt somewhat treacherous. He had a deep, aching desire inside him for life to be different to how it had been so far. To be accepted. To be recognised – to be understood? But did that have to mean leaving Mama? He berated himself for somehow betraying himself – he was not standing by his proud statements of earlier, he was letting himself be persuaded.
He fixed Fawkes with a doleful expression, as if to ask him why he had tricked him into this. Of course, the phoenix was a sign that he could never go back. Fawkes was a symbol of the rich, magical world, and even though he wanted to stay with his mother, he wasn't sure he could give up Fawkes, or even that peculiar exhilaration he'd felt when he had found his wand, just to stay with her. The magical part of him was pushing its way out relentlessly, assuring him that he would indeed cast spells… After seeing so many witches and wizards at work, he actually wanted to learn magic but – but….
He was lost. So where did he belong? He looked to Flamel, who was seemingly oblivious to his dilemma, munching happily on some chicken. He looked at Fawkes, and mentally implored him to answer. Where do I belong?
With me, said Fawkes's complacent expression.
*
As soon as she saw it, Isabelle disliked the phoenix. Or perhaps that wasn't strictly true. She disliked the idea of the phoenix. It was an extravagant present from Aurelius's good friend, it looked like a bribe to win Albus to their side. She disliked it all the more for the fact that Allie obviously adored it. Horrible little creature… and, of course, it was magical. She wouldn't have liked one of those hyper-intelligent cats either, but a cat would not have been so exotic – so plainly not Muggle.
She had been pleased to discover that her son was a wizard… Yes, she had been pleased. She still wanted the best for him, all her best motherly instincts (and, indeed, a certain desire for revenge) demanded that she let Nicolas lavish his excessive wealth on him.
But he wasn't hers anymore. They were changing him, bit by bit, into another one of them. Another one of those who had shattered her personal world with their smug assumed superiority. Was it selfishness? When he was neglected, he was all hers; loyal, humble, and delighted when she could lavish her meagre wealth on him. Her son. Her own. She could conveniently pretend she was a figure of great compassion, but now the pretence was over – now she needed him much more than he needed her.
She was, she realised, desperately lonely. Had it always been like this? She could remember one dim time where contentment had filled her life, but it vanished so quickly she wondered if it had been merely an illusion. Albus had shown her his uniform, and she had cried. Not the gentle proud tears of a mother, but the lost tears that came of losing the only person who loved her.
Gritting her teeth, Isabelle illogically scolded herself for being melodramatic (another part of her protested at having the soul-wrenching concerns trivialised as melodrama – but with affected stoicism she ignored it). She wanted the best for Allie. And no matter how much it pained her, that was what she would give to him.
*
Albus was surprised how used he had become to the extensive wealth by which he was surrounded. Obviously, he hadn't completely lost all habits – but it faintly depressed him to realise that he was actually becoming accustomed to too-comfortable luxury. It was somewhat stifling.
He had never seen his mother like this. Not on the poorest days had she ever displayed such apathy. She seemed – inconsolable. It seemed like his own inner instincts were pulling him away from her. And whatever pain it was, he wanted to help her.
In simpler, non-magical days, his dreams had been straightforward. He would become an apprentice, learn until he was master, then take care of his mother and live comfortably. Flamel had, in an attempt to arouse his interest, told him of the various occupations a wizard might take up, but they were all strange and alien to him.
"What did you want to be, when you were at Hogwarts?" he asked suddenly.
Flamel smirked. And then he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Richer than Solomon and older than Methuselah."
"I thought you said riches were worth very little," Albus commented.
"I know that now. Even so, a mind needs to be occupied, and as time goes on, young Albus, you will discover that there is very little you can do to better the world."
As his cynical tone, Albus gave him a surprised look. "You could better the world," he said, earnestly.
"No Albus. All I could do is change it."
*
He would never forget the last time. The procession. His belongings packed. He had more belongings than he'd ever had: the stack of books, a bundle of Hogwarts' robes, a cauldron – a broomstick, Flamel had insisted, although he was too afraid to use it – his wand, and of course, Fawkes. His mother was stony faced, not even crying, not now. He was being packed away like a rich boy to a private school, and he wondered if he would ever be the same again. Perhaps not.
They did not travel by Floo. They travelled more as the rich than the magical, Flamel loaded his possessions onto a carriage drawn by two horses; silky, docile, chestnut creatures. Albus sat between Flamel and his mother. She absent-mindedly drew her hands across her dress to straighten it, Albus looked to her and she did not meet his gaze. Flamel was silent too – not sad, but serious, and lost in his own thoughts. Even Fawkes made no sound – he was asleep in his cage. Albus's stomach shifted around inside him, as the future, an entirely unknown world, came rushing towards him. He watched the countryside go past with a bleak sense of the inevitable.
They stopped in the middle of a great field, lined at the edges with satin-like morning mist. Flamel stepped out with his usual ease, and his mother concealed her stiffness with a stately manner as she, too, stepped out of the carriage. Albus followed her, warily, only to hear the screech of some kind of animal, so loud and piercing that he felt that his very bones had shaken within him. A deep-seated panic rising up inside him, he at last steppd out, and looked up.
Dragons. He had been half-incredulous at Ollivander, but here they were, scales and wings. Instinctively he went for his mother's hand, and noticed that she had turned pale as ice. The awesome site of them one hundred feet high, flaming and snorting and beating their great wings, sent shivers through him, shot pure terror through his heart. He forced himself to look up, to confront these terrible creatures.
"Common Welsh Greens," said Flamel lightly. "Dragon breeding is now incredibly restricted, but these come from old stock. And besides, the dragon flight to Hogwarts is traditional."
Dragon flight?
"You're not going to let Allie near one of them?" His mother had lost her stoniness, she was breathing fast – he was surprised she didn't faint.
"Isabelle." Flamel's voice was unexpectedly tender. It was rarely tender, when he spoke to her. It was usually a tone that suggested he suffered her because he had to. "No one has ever been hurt from one of these dragons."
Albus's luggage was brought out, and his mother caught him fast, holding him tight and allowing a few tears to wet his face. He kissed her. No words were said. Flamel led him away, towards the beast.
One of the dragon handlers noted his appearance.
"First year, is it?"
Albus did not respond, struck dumb by the feeling of everything at once. "That's right," Flamel told him, and some more men took Albus's luggage, and he, carrying Fawkes in his cage, was led up a wooden staircase into a large compartment, attached to the back of the dragon. More children his age were there, some at ease, some apprehensive. He looked behind him.
"Good luck!" Flamel called up. A transitory smile passed his face. He swallowed, and then went inside.
Inside it was lined with seats, comfortably cushioned. A shudder underneath caused him to hastily sit, feeling lost and out of place. He dug into his pocket, and pulled out another sherbet lemon.
***
A/N – Whoo, I need to update Confessions of an Attention Seeking Hufflepuff and then I'm all up to date. Well, nearly :-)
A/N2 – Thank you to my reviewers –
AgiVega – Of course you and I know the real reason why Albus got the phoenix *winks* :-) It troubles me that no one at Hogwarts ever seems homesick.
You-Know-Who – Thanks a lot!
Gina Starr – Heh, Ollivander is scary… I'm trying to write this with the understandable sense of astonishment as well as trying not to rewrite Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. For some reason I was seized with a sudden desire to write Ollivander as a teenager, probably just so I could get him to say "I remember every wand I've ever sold."
Slytherin's Silver Snake - *Smile* glad you like it. I started searching fanatically for grammatical errors after your message and you're right, there are a few :-) I'll have to correct them.
figgiesblazin – Thanks :-)
A/N3 – Nicolas is quite negative in this chapter, but I wrote a story called 'A little chat with Nicolas' which I'll be uploading soon which should hopefully resolve a couple of things.
A/N4 – Shameless plug, I know, but I don't suppose I could prod you into taking a look at my other fics? Not many people have reviewed Children's Songs for Dark Wizards lately :-)