Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

°Parseltongue°

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 13: Side-effects

Harry slowly came to his senses, one by one. First came taste, a mix of dirt and a coppery taste that could only be blood. He registered this only distantly, his mind still too foggy to understand the information.

He took a deep breath, unconsciously trying to feed oxygen to his fuzzy brain. With that came the scent of damp leaves and rich soil. The forest… was his first distinguishable thought.

It was quickly whipped away when his sense of touch kicked in, bringing a wave of pain with it. It faded rapidly, leaving only the ache that usually followed an intense exercise session. He tried to assess his situation, but he was still too muddled to come up with answers. He was laying face first on the forest floor, that was easy to determine. It also explained the taste of dirt in his mouth.

Suddenly, memory flashed in his perplexed mind. He remembered the Loyalty Spell, and the intense sickness and the unbearable pain that had followed. Well that explained how he had ended up in this uncomfortable position.

However, there was more than just discomfort. His body just didn't feel right. No, scratch that. It felt right, but undoubtedly different. For example, even though he still didn't have the energy or the coordination to move, there was an unexplainable feeling of lightness to his limbs. His whole body felt lighter, with the exception of his shoulders. This weight, while disturbing, did not feel unnatural.

Before he could analyze this discovery any further, multiple sounds assaulted his ears, successfully drowning any and all thought processes. Confusion reigned as bribes of conversation flowed over him.

"Food, food, food…"

"Wake up!"

"Up, up and away!"

"Wait for me!"

"Is he alive?"

"Maybe, but it must hurt."

"He's not very interesting right now."

"Let's go play"

"Wake up, Bond-Wizard."

"Follow me…"

"…fly with me."

"Please wake up, Bond-Wizard."

This last voice was insistent and seemed to be addressing him. His confusion and curiosity feeding his will to move, he fought the last remnants of fog clogging his brain.

He blinked, the bright light of the morning blinding him. His vision gradually cleared and he slowly sat up and looked around. What he saw only added to his confusion: he was completely alone, the only human being in sight. No one to blame for the voices he was still hearing.

Not only that, but his sense of sight was very strange. Reaching towards his face, he realised he had lost his glasses sometime during his stumbling flight in the dark forest. He could see very clearly now. More than clearly. The contrast between what was close and what was far was exaggerated, and he knew instinctively the distance between any object and himself. Yet it wasn't disorienting at all, just disconcerting.

He could still hear all the bits and pieces of conversation. They did not feel menacing at all. In fact, most of them felt indifferent to him. He pushed them at the back of his mind for now and analyzed his surroundings.

Looking around the small part of the forest in which he had collapsed, he noticed far more details than he had ever thought existed. The lines in the tree bark, the veins on the leaves, the small insects all over the vegetation… It was quite overwhelming. Luckily, even if it looked quite different from what he remembered, he recognized more or less where he was. The clearing in which he had taken residence was fifteen minutes to his right.

Now that he had determined where he was and that he was not injured in any way, he relaxed and leaned back a little to find that something was in his way. Something that was attached to his body. He turned his head to look and what he saw almost made him faint again. It was big, black and feathery. And he had two!

He had wings!

In a panicked state he rose to his feet, turning around in circles trying to get a better look. Obviously, he didn't have all his wits back because it didn't help him much; it just made him look stupid.

He stopped suddenly, hearing laughter. Looking around he realised exactly what was producing the voices he was hearing. All around him in the branches were birds of all species and sizes, laughing at what could only be him. Among them he spotted Hedwig and somehow he recognized her "voice".

And that brought on a whole new set of questions. How could he understand birdspeech? Why was he suddenly some sort of hybrid bird creature? How could the Loyalty Spell have this effect on him? Nothing he ever read or heard had ever mentioned something like this!

A memory flashed in his mind:

"Well, there was the time of her induction in the Order, but I don't really understand that part. We overheard an argument between her and Snape about a potion on the Extendable Ears."

"Yes, I remember," George interrupted, "Something about blood based ingredients?"

"No, it was human based ingredients, I think. In the end Dumbledore had her go through an alternate procedure, though that wasn't clear. That's all we know, really," Fred said, shrugging his shoulders apologetically to Harry.

Blood based ingredients! The potion had been blood-based! Phoenix blood to be exact! And now some phoenix genes or whatever had fused with his own DNA and had transformed him in some sort of bird thing. It was awful!

And, at the same time, kind of cool. Already, he could see how his vision could be advantageous in a fight, and there were definitely uses for flying without a broom. As the though of flying under his own power crossed his mind he became awfully excited.

And as far as he could see, or feel, there wasn't any other outside sign of his transformation than his wings, so it wasn't bad at all. After all, he could have ended up with a beak or something!

Experimentally, he spread his wings. They were black, with golden feathers on the tips, and huge, easily two meters on each side. Well, he was a heavy bird. He snorted at the thought.

When he looked up, he saw a very small bird hovering near him. He could easily make out his squeaky and overly excited voice amongst the others.

"Come fly with us, man-bird! Come, come, up in the air!"

Well, it wasn't as if he didn't want to. He flapped his wings a few times, felt them catch in the air. He jumped and had a moment of elation as he hovered a moment… then glided head-first into the tree.

Luckily he didn't break anything except his pride. As most of the birds laughed at his expense, Hedwig landed beside him.

"You stopped flapping your wings, Bond-Wizard. You must not concentrate on them too much, just like you don't concentrate on your feet when you walk. Will it, Bond-Wizard, and you will fly," she explained in a pleasant voice.

Bond-Wizard… well that confirmed the fact that she was his familiar. His trust in her only amplified and he decided to follow her advice. It sounded good at least.

However, hearing it and doing it were two different things.

At the end of the day, after many, many bruises and even more bird laughing, he caught on and could be seen flying with his new companions. Not that there was anyone to see him. He was too far from the village and Voldemort had already left Riddle Mansion when Harry didn't show up at noon. But Harry didn't care at all. He totally forgot about it as he did the thing he loved most: flying.

After a half-hour's work, Harry had figured out a way to use his Metamorphmagi abilities to retract his wings. They were presently non-existent, the skin on his back as smooth as before, if only a little more muscled. It was a useful trick, since sleeping with wings wasn't the most comfortable thing to do.

°°°

Harry was now ascending the stairs to the second floor of Riddle Mansion. He had missed yesterday's meeting, so to speak, but probably Voldie was waiting anyway. He wouldn't give up now.

As he climbed the stairs, a foreboding shiver went through Harry's body. Danger.

Obviously, Voldie had another trick up his sleeve. Well, Harry would've been disappointed if he hadn't. After all, Voldemort was the most powerful Dark Lord of the century.

Harry stopped in the doorway of the usual room, wary of his surroundings.

"I thought I told you to come yesterday, Potter," said an annoyed Voldemort, his voice resonating through the old house.

Harry felt a surge of fury swell inside him at these words.

"I am not your servant, Tom," he replied menacingly, stepping into the room. "I am not come at your beck and call." With that he flicked his right wrist, unsheathing the wand hidden there. He couldn't harm Voldemort physically, but the Loyalty Spell had never said anything about hurting his pride. With a mischievous smile, he whispered an incantation and a bucket full of water appeared over Voldemort's head, spilling all over him.

Harry smiled at the sight of a dripping wet Voldemort. However, in doing so, he dropped his guard.

Grave mistake.

Never one to let an opportunity slip by, Rodolphus Lestrange used Harry's moment of distraction to cast the killing curse.

Harry only barely registered the presence of the Death Eater hidden on his left side. The powerful green light of the Killing Curse slammed into him and he crashed in the wall on his right. He dropped to the floor in a tumbled heap, looking very dead.

(A/N: I'm tempted to leave it there, but that would be exceedingly cruel.)

But he was not. He had the breath knocked out of him, all his joints ached and his heart was throbbing painfully, but he was still alive. He felt the curse trying to stop his vital functions and rip his soul away, but something had stopped it, leaving him weak but alive.

It was one of those moments when a surge of adrenaline makes everything crystal clear. Thought processes speed up impossibly and every detail is analyzed. It took only a fraction of a second for Harry to realize that he had just survived the Killing Curse for the second time. The question was why.

It could be another side effect of his transformation, but he doubted that. Phoenixes burned up and were reborn in their ashes when they died and this was not what was happening.

The second and more probable possibility was that this was linked to the Prophecy. The Prophecy was worded in a way that suggested that Voldemort was the only one who could kill him. Rodolphus had failed, so there could be something there.

Then again, maybe he was just immune to it. He didn't really want to think about how close to immortality he was.

His musings were cut short as Lestrange spoke up.

"That was too easy. Why didn't you do this before, my Lord?" he said, looking at Harry, who still hadn't breathed. Voldemort answered him after casting a drying charm on himself.

"I do not know all the contents of the Prophecy, Rodolphus. Potter has evaded me too many times for it to be mere luck. There was something else at work there and I preferred to be more cautious this time around, thus the Loyalty Spell to protect me from any backlash. He fell into the trap I set. Though, I must admit, I have never seen the Avada Kedavra act in such a way."

"Indeed, Master. I have never seen a victim being propelled like that. But he sure looks dead now," Lestrange replied, crouching beside Harry's body, dangerously close.

Harry saw, or rather felt his chance (his eyes were closed), and reacted like lightning. He snapped his eyes open and brought his arm around the Death Eater's neck, while his right arm grabbed the smallest of the Dark Daggers hidden in his lower back. He had never used that one and he sensed it was special.

Before anyone could blink, Harry was facing Voldemort on his feet, his dagger plunged between two ribs straight into Lestrange's heart. Power surged through the knife and up Harry's arm, replenishing the energy he had lost fighting the Killing Curse and more.

Voldemort, shocked by Harry's sudden resuscitation, was not shielding his mind quite enough. Any other Legilimens would still have had much difficulty, but Harry had a VIP link into Voldemort's head. Harry did not hesitate and using the power the knife was giving him, plunged into the half insane mind of the Dark Lord.

He took everything; every memory, every image, every scrap of knowledge and made it his. He put it in his own mind, using Occlumency to keep it separate from himself, at least for now. There would be time to assimilate later.

All this happened in less than an instant; Tom Riddle's whole mind was imprinted in Harry's. However, no matter how much power the knife provided, Harry couldn't harm Voldemort's mind because of the Loyalty Spell, only read it and copy it.

As soon as it was over, Harry retreated in his own head and brought up the strongest mind shields he could to prevent any retaliation.

It was unnecessary. Voldemort was in no state to strike back. He was obviously very disorientated, which was not surprising after having his mind raped. Unfortunately, Harry could not take advantage of his state of weakness, again because of the Loyalty Spell. It was quite all-encompassing.

The Dark Lord Dissaparated as soon as he could; but Harry wouldn't be surprised if he had splinched himself in the process.

Still holding Lestrange's now dead body, he wrenched the knife out. It flared with power and the Death Eater's corpse collapsed in ashes. The Dark Dagger had taken all his magical and life energy, not even leaving enough for the molecules to hold together.

Seeing no use to dawdle any longer, Harry hurried back to his temporary shelter in the forest. The information he had stolen from his enemy's mind was partially sentient and wanted to make itself known. It wanted to spread out in his mind, but Harry knew that if he let that happen, it would completely overwhelm him.

He needed to take care of it as soon as possible, and he wanted to be assured of his safety as he did it. He had no time to spare thinking about the Dark Lord's very predictable betrayal. So much for lessons, though he might not need them anymore.

After a hurried walk of a few minutes, Harry reached his goal. He lost no time undressing and crawled into his uncomfortable but strongly warded trunk. He locked himself in, making sure it was secure, before letting himself fall into a state between unconsciousness and meditation where he could safely analyze Voldemort's mind-copy.

TBC

A/N: I just had to drop a bucket on water on Voldie! I've that idea in my mind for weeks now. I challenge you other writers to fit it in your fic. Let me know if you do!

Hehehe.