Rinascita
I fall to the ground from exhaustion, watching as though I'm an outsider as his body burns. I didn't realize I was holding my breath, but I'm letting it out as the flames vanish, his body reduced to ashes. And suddenly something is rising from them. I panic, certain he is not dead, that I have failed. For a moment, I hope that he will kill me and I will be free of all of this. But then I see it is not a man. It is a bird.
A phoenix.
I blink. Voldemort has turned into a phoenix. I would laugh, if I had the energy. I can hardly hold my torso up to watch as the green and black immortal spreads its wings. Phoenixes should be featherless when they're born from the ashes, like Fawkes was. But this one is not. It's flying at me, but I can't be bothered to care. Belatedly I realize it is hovering in front of me.
I forget, for a moment, that it is Tom Riddle. He stares at me, his black eyes curious, as though not sure what to make of me. I wonder if maybe he does not remember his life as Riddle or Voldemort. Is this how phoenixes are born? When a man goes to so many measures to let him live forever, when he has made himself something other than human but immortal by no standards, when he dies, does he burn like Voldemort so unexpectedly did? From his ashes, does a magnificent phoenix rise? If so, than I wonder who Fawkes once was. Then I realize how ridiculous that is.
But phoenixes are supposed to be the embodiment of good. And the creature before me seems to hold no evil. I would not know it was Voldemort, had I not seen it. What is happening? The desperation is eating at me. I need to understand what has happened. How can the evilest wizard I have ever known become a phoenix? What of all his deeds, what of all his warped beliefs and bitter resentments?
I can ponder no more, as my final strength falters and I fall to the ground, the phoenix flapping out of my way. My world is reduced to darkness.
The only sound I hear is footsteps. I must have fainted. I must be on the ground because the grass is tickling my nose. I groan when a pounding pain spreads through my head as I lift it. The world is in shaky focus as I open my eyes. If my throat were not raw, I would have screamed with surprise as suddenly there is a black bird in front of me. I wonder where the phoenix has come from before I remember that it is Voldemort. Or was Voldemort.
"Padma, quick!" The shouting is not far away. I try to think of who that voice belongs to. "It's Snape. He's a Death Eater, but he's alive." It's Hannah Abott.
I shakily set my hands on the ground and push up. They're likely to kill Snape unless I tell them about his spying. The deep slash on my left arm causes me to slam back into the ground with a sharp moan of pain.
"Who was that?" Padma Patil. Parvati died. I remember that.
"It came from over there." Good god, Dennis Creevey made it. What will happen when he finds Collin's body, his legs twisted in unnatural ways? "By the lake."
"Harry! Sweet Merlin. Forget about Snape for a moment, Harry's alive!" I can feel Fred's fingers pressed to the pulse on my neck. I want to tell him to bugger off, because he pressing so hard it's going to bruise.
"Mnffopff."
"What was that, Harry? Didn't quite catch it." I can't help but want to cry when I hear George's voice. They're both fine. Thank Merlin. But I wonder, desperately, is Ron? Hermione? Please be alive. Please.
"Ron? Herm?" I struggle to say their names, but I need to know.
"We found Hermione." Dennis is here now too. "She's alive."
"We don't know where Ron is," Fred says, his voice breaking.
"Harry, we need to get you to the castle, and then we've got to take care of Snape," Hannah says urgently. "We're looking for survivors, those of us who are able."
"Snape," I rasp, clawing at where Fred and George are.
"He's a spy, Hannah."
"For us, on Voldemort."
"Oh." Hannah's voce is small, as though she's guilty for thinking that Snape was evil when he was really sacrificing so much. I'm interrupted by a sharp squawk.
"Bloody fuck!" Ron clearly got his lingual skills from the twins.
"Harry, where the hell did the phoenix come from? It's beautiful."
"Nnt mportnt." The world is slipping away again. I feel the phoenix nuzzle my cheek as I let my eyes fall shut.
"Snape, take the potion and make her shut the hell up."
"Weasley, astounding as it may be, I do believe that my knowledge on medical care may outstrip your little sister's."
"Listen here, you great bat, take the bloody potion before I stun you." Ginny's alive. I take a moment to relish in that before I try to open my eyes. My throat feels better, as though someone healed it.
"Take it, you prick." Silence follows my words.
"Oh, give it here." I smirk with self-satisfaction as Snape accepts. Ginny huffs before I hear her feet approach me. Reluctantly I pry open my eyes to see her staring critically at me.
"You're a fast healer."
"Er... thanks?" She runs a once-over before declaring me in perfect health. The slash on my arm was poisoned, she explains, so it will ach for about a week and there will be a twinge every now and then for as long as I live. I have a few new scars, apparently, but I know I'm lucky. I can see a mark on Ginny's throat as she talks, wondering which Death Eater gave it to her. Malfoy? McNair? Bellatrix?
There's a flutter of wings and I blink upon seeing the phoenix. "It followed you." It takes a moment for me to realize that's coming from Snape, who's in the bed on my left. We're in the infirmary, which survived the attack. I allow the bird to settle on my lap and stroke it absently, thinking over all the things I want to ask but am far too afraid of their answers to voice.
I look around, desperate to spot familiar people. Some sleeping, some yet to awake, and others sitting up like myself and Snape. There's Seamus and Viktor, who are watching me. They're the only ones awake and the rest I cannot make out. I grope for my glasses and put them on.
"Ron?"
"We found him," Fred says. He's checking over the patients with the rest of those Ginny has deemed fit to leave their beds.
"Aragog did, actually," Ginny corrects. "George, get a Fever Reducer. He brought Ron and Malfoy out. They dueled well into the forest."
"Dead?"
"Yeah, Malfoy was killed by a stray centaur arrow just before Ron stabbed him." We all wish we weren't so casual about it, but we've all seen our share of fighting. "He's blind in his left eye."
"He awake?"
"Not yet. Madame Pomfrey has all of the urgent care patients in her personal rooms. You were there until two hours ago." George has brought Ginny the potion and I watch her administer it to an unconscious Blaise Zabini. "She's going to see if Ron wants a magical eye like Moody had."
"Had?"
"He's dead," Snape says softly, when no one else speaks. I knew that though, when George said it.
"Who else?" I close my eyes as I say it.
"All the professors, except Snape here and Sinistra." I swallow hard. I saw McGonagall go down to Voldemort's own hands. And Dumbledore too. Right before I- Sprout was speared by a shard of glass from greenhouse four.
"Mum and Dad," Ginny says. I feel a retched tear fall down my face. Ginny's hands are tight on the bed. "Malfoy Senior got them. I was getting brought in for my neck. I had to stay here then, to help with the wounded." My head is throbbing suddenly and my hands are shaking. Dimly, I hear Ginny say something. There's a vial pushed into my hands. Without thinking, I drink it. I realize it's a Calming Drought as my vision focuses again.
"We lost Percy," Fred begins a moment later. "But the rest of us Weasleys pulled through. Bill's right hand will be twitchy, the nerves are damaged. He's going to have to switch his wand to his left. CHarlie was bitten by a werewolf before we found him."
"Hagrid?"
"Harry." The simple sadness in my name lets me know he didn't make it. I should have realized when they said that the only teachers left were Snape and Sinistra.
"Hermione? Is she all right? I know she's alive-" Ginny lays a hand on my shoulder.
"She's poisoned as well, but it should be flushed out soon. She was a bit roughed up, a few slashes and scrapes and a redirected arrow in her left arm, but she'll just have a few scars." I relax with the news.
"More." Fred and George shoo Ginny away to tend to the patients and saddle themselves with the job of telling me who has died. Snape and Viktor and Seamus are now gazing blankly in different directions and I know they must have heard the list already.
"We lost Dean and Neville." I take a shaky breath and see Seamus shudder. He was in their group. He must have seen it.
"Parvati and Lavender." I swallow.
"Collin, Michael Corner, Justin Finch-Fletchly, and Susan Bones."
"Fleur." I meet their eyes. "We don't know what to tell Bill."
"Cho." I saw that. It was Pansy Parkinson that killed her.
"Dung and Tonks." Saw them too. By the greenhouses, trying to save the students who'd been caught in there. Dolohov and his giants got them.
They go on for a while, before getting to those whose bodies are missing. And then they list some survivors. I almost demand to see him when I hear Remus made it. But then they tell me that he's out in Hogsmeade going through the rubble. When they are finished, I ask who was arranging the rescues and everything.
"Ginny, Remus, and Madame Pomfrey. Most of the adults are injured, so Ginny was taking charge. We got hit with – what did they call it, Fred?"
"Gin said it was like muggle mine. We don't know what that means, but I'm sure you do. We were out of commission for the rest of the day, stunned really bad."
"Yeah, it was like a planted curse that activated when we touched a wand that we found lying next to you."
"McNair's," I say instantly.
"We already burned his body."
"Good," Snape breaks in. We glance at him and I give him a smile. He rolls his eyes, but I can tell that the ending of the war has changed him. He seems too… happy to be anything more than sadistically sarcastic.
"Do you have mine?" They nod and bring me a bundle of cloth.
"Whenever we tried to touch it, we went flying. So we grabbed yours and Voldemort's in this," Fred explains as he hands it to me. I open it up and touch first my wand, scratched in one spot and burned over most of it, Fawkes's feather sticking out the end. Then I pick up Voldemort's. It's almost completely snapped in half, his feather stuck in only one end. I sigh, knowing I'll need a new wand but not wanting one at all. Maybe Ollivander could repair mine?
The phoenix is nudging the wands on my lap. I watch carefully and nothing happens to Voldemort's wand when the phoenix touches it. I realize belatedly that I have begun to separate them. I no longer see the phoenix as Voldemort. Snape's eyes are on me and I know he wants to know about the phoenix.
"It doesn't matter," I say, turning to look at him, unblinking. He narrows his eyes in true Snape fashion. "He's here now. Where he came from is irrelevant."
"Of course it is, Potter," Snape says. I can't help but gape as Snape, whose bed is really quite close, reaches one long arm over and gently strokes the phoenix. "I simply like birds."
I hold my breath as Ollivander hands me a thin black case. It's been three weeks since I woke up in the infirmary and a day less since I've been allowed to help with the repairs. Minister Bones has asked for my help in running the Auror division until Hogwarts opens up again, where I will be teaching on the wishes of Headmaster Snape. When I'm not trying to round up the few renegade Death Eaters or helping to rebuild and reward the ministry, I'm working on repairing Hogwarts or Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley or St. Mungo's or one of the other numerous wizarding areas that the war destroyed.
I, in fact, have just finished with helping put all of the books on the shelves in Flourish and Blotts. Because of the new wards, we have to do everything manually. My first chore after being released was to transport all of Ollivander's things from where he had been staying in the dungeons back to Diagon Alley so he could fix wands that had been damaged and replace the numerous lost ones and sort the hundreds of found ones.
Ron is quite pleased with his new magical eye, while Hermione keeps saying she's sure Ron's abusing it. Ginny and I just roll our eyes. The poison was more than we thought, and Hermione is still in the infirmary. She's doing research until they can find a way to allow her to move her legs again. Severus is doing his best, leaving his deputy, Aislinn Sinistra, in charge of Hogwarts repairs.
The twins are the most prominent help force. They say that they're going to rebuild their shop themselves and they can wait. For now, they're working constantly on helping make Hogwarts ready to open next fall. Those who were in school last September (it's November now) will take up the same year they left off in, consequently being there a year longer than most. The first years will be doubled in size and range from eleven to thirteen. In seven years, things should be back to normal.
Hogwarts wasn't hurt that badly. It could have been worse. A large part of the Great Hall's east wall, next to the Hufflepuff table, was missing, held up by magical support beams. A few towers had fallen, including Trelawney's, but Gryffindor Tower was unscathed. The Hufflepuff dorms were destroyed as well as a good chunk of the library. Luckily, Dumbledore had the entire contents of the library moved to a vault in Gringotts, as well as nearly all of Snape's potions supplies and other valuable items in the school.
Hogsmeade bore the brunt of the final attack, stomped down to twigs and pebbles.
But all of this isn't important at the moment. I'm here at the new Ollivander's to receive my new wand. He had informed me, upon my crossing him in the halls that my wand needed to be remade. Fawkes was nowhere to be found so Ollivander took the wand and went to work. I relied on wandless magic, which wasn't too much of a struggle anymore. Fawkes appeared a few days later, attaching himself to Snape, following the man wherever he went until Snape accepted him as his familiar. But it was too late by then.
"Now, my boy, this wand is my greatest work," Ollivander tells me. "It's made to be able to handle your immense power." I blush at that. I hate it when I blush. "Open it."
I do. And I can't help but breathe in sharply. The wood is a Gryffindor red, its grip a striking black, and it is covered in a coat of gloss. I've never seen a wand quite so smooth. It's eleven inches, just like my old wand. I don't touch it.
"What's it made of?"
"That's the interesting thing, Mr. Potter. Very curious, in fact." I remember vividly my first time in the shop. "You see, the phoenix feather in your wand, Fawkes's feather, was quite right for you. A perfect combination if I've ever seen one. But how to use the same core from your ruined wand and let you be able to use all your power? That was when I decided to use two phoenix feathers. Yours, of course – and Voldemort's. And I was about to do that, still knowing your power would exceed your wand, when an owl arrived. You'll never guess what it brought me. A feather from Fawkes! Dear young Severus Snape sent it along for you. I thought, why not use all three! And so I took your feather, dipped it in unicorn tears, and Voldemort's, whose was covered in what I believe were ashes (I dared not do anything with it) and then the brand new one and put them all into the eleven inches of holly."
"But this isn't holly."
"Oh, no, of course it isn't. You see, the most extraordinary thing happened. As soon as I placed them all together in your wand, it started glowing. Now when a wand starts glowing and it's not yours, you back away. Quite a lovely sight, all those pretty colors flashing, a golden glow around it the whole time. Then quick as a flash, ZAM, the wand threw me back into the wall, from twenty feet away! Then calm as day, your new red wand sat there. So very curious. I suppose we'll be seeing more out of you, Mr. Potter."
I stare in bewilderment at my wand, rather in awe. I'm afraid to touch it and find I'm much too weak for its power. But my curiosity wins and gently I pick it up. A wind picks up in the shop and a bolt of lightning strikes down between me and Ollivander. I look up at the man and smile slightly. I think, after eight years, I've come to like Mr. Ollivander. He loves his fairy tales, but then, he knows they're the best of stories.
I pay him seven gold galleons for my wand, he'll take no more. And then he bows me from his shop.
Ron and I sit with Hermione every night for supper. We take away her books and talk. Sometimes we play chess; Ron likes to watch Hermione and me the most, because he knows exactly what we're doing wrong. Ron and Hermione are playing and I'm waiting for the right time to tell them about my wand. When Ron declares checkmate I know it's now. The story unfolds and Hermione gets the look on her face where she wants nothing more than to run to the library, and Ron looks ready to help me downplay it. They're just how they should be. Hermione to help me understand what's happening and Ron to make me feel a bit normal about my odd situations. I don't know what I would have done if they had died.
"Let's see it then," Ron says. I blink and set it on chessboard on Hermione's bed tray. "Bloody brilliant."
"Ronald! You are nearly nineteen," Hermione screeches.
"You hear something Harry?" Ron and Hermione are going at it but I can't find myself bothered. I feel something poking my shoulder and turn to see the phoenix. I barely notice the arguing stopping. The phoenix has been following me around the last three weeks. Slowly, it's feathers changed form black tipped with green to a beautiful red and black.
"Where did he come from?" I know how much restraint it took for them to keep form asking. I know I can tell them, because I've always told them. They're Ron and Hermione, my best mates. So I do tell them.
"Bugger." Ron looks mistrustingly at the phoenix.
"It's not Voldemort though," I say, unsure of why I want to defend the phoenix. Maybe because he seems to want to be with me. "It was so confused at first, but now it seems to know the ways of the world, like Fawkes." My theory pills forth, on how Voldemort's measures to become immortal led, ultimately, to this. And I decide, in an instant, that the phoenix isn't Voldemort. It's everything he suppressed, and as such more pure than we are, as it was so untouched. It's all the good that never lived. It's Tom Riddle, had his father never left and his mother never died.
"That's utterly fascinating," Hermione says. Ron doesn't notice that he's stroking the bird. "And Fawkes!" Hermione's eyes grow huge. "Ron, you trust Fawkes, right?" He nods, as though Hermione's being stupid. "What if Fawkes is Grindelwald's suppressed good?" We all ponder this for a while. It's funny, I note, that even after Voldemort's dead, we have mysteries to solve.
We sit talking well into the night. No longer about the phoenix, but about Zacharias Smith, who awoke that morning after severe injuries healed. Ron and I are getting ready to leave when Hermione asks me something.
"What will you name him?"
I pause and think of everyone we lost in the war. I could name him Hagrid, or Albus, or even Nymphador. But no.
"Apollo."
A/N This was an idea I liked, the whole suppressed good side being so pure that it survives death, the one thing Voldemort never thought of, and it becomes a phoenix. Feh. I may write a story of this universe someday, after LoT is finished. A romance for Harry with sub Ron/Herm. Dunno. Oh and if someone wasn't mentioned and you want to know what happened to them (dead alive missing) just ask, because I have a complete list.
And does anyone else get the feeling that the fact Neville's been using his father's wand all this is time may be significant? It was said that you'll never get quite the right results with another wizard's wand.