HARRY POTTER AND THE PHOENIX'S SONG
Last Request

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-

There were some things he had once thought hard to face. His Uncle Vernon surely counted as one of them when he'd been a mere boy, but now when Harry looked at the fat cheeks and paunchy stomach—there was nothing. Well, maybe there was a little disgust, but no resentment or anger or fear. What was Vernon to Voldemort?

"What are you doing here?" blustered Vernon, the jowls under his chin shaking. "You should be at that school of yours!"

"The Headmaster died," said Harry, clutching his knapsack close to his thigh. "I'll only be staying for a little while until I can leave."

"Who's at the door?" called Petunia. Her eyes widened when she came to stand besides her husband, her face peering easily over his shoulder. "Harry? What are you doing here?" Her voice was a tad less severe, but not exactly welcoming.

"I am here to reset the wards," he answered, figuring she'd understand the significance far more than Vernon. "I don't know how to do it, but Dumbledore made me promise to come here. I think… I think it's for your protection as much as mine."

He'd been thinking about it a lot in the last few days, wondering why Dumbledore had been so adamant about him returning to the Dursley's to reinforce the blood protection. The only reason he could think of, since it really didn't do him much good when he wasn't in the house or near the grounds, was if it would also shield them from Voldemort. He didn't really care much about them, but they were his family, and he didn't want to see them die because of him. Cedric, so many others, and Dumbledore... that was enough death on his name.

"You've sent those—those menaces after us by being here!" exclaimed Vernon, trembling quite a bit. "You'd better leave now, boy!"

Petunia placed her hand on Vernon's shoulder, steadying him before she declared, "Harry, you'll sleep in the spare room while you're here, and you'll also help with the chores. Now go up the stairs. I'll talk with Vernon."

Harry blinked and nodded. He pushed his way past Vernon and climbed up the stairs to the second floor. Something was different about his Aunt, kinder and more understanding. He didn't know if he liked it. It was unlike her and he didn't know what to make of it.

He opened the door to the surprisingly empty room and threw himself on the made bed. Burying his face into the clean pillows, he shut his eyes and wondered if sleep would take him to an almost kind place.

-

In the middle of the night, a terrible sound woke him up. It was sharp, piercing and when Harry opened his eyes, he was as awake as if he had never fallen asleep in the first place. His green eyes whirled around the room trying to find the source of the disturbance when he saw Fawkes.

Dumbledore's phoenix. He hadn't seen Fawkes since Dumbledore's funeral. It had never occurred to him to wonder what had happened to him. Fawkes did not look good. He looked even more pitiful than he did right before he burned and was renewed.

It was only when the phoenix landed on his stomach and thrust his leg out to Harry, that he saw that Fawkes was carrying a scroll for him. Harry untied the scroll, wondering what it said when a small box fell out of it. He picked up the box curiously, but set it aside. The letter was more important.

Harry smoothed the parchment out and read the scrawl of Dumbledore's handwriting:

My dear boy,

I knew before I wrote this; indeed, I have known for months that I would not survive long. I do hope I have managed to live long enough to impart some of my knowledge and understanding to you. But I fear if I haven't, then my pensieve will fulfill any gaps I may have left.

No matter what did happen, I would hope that I have taught you to be open to what may not seem at first what it truly is. I may have failed you in some ways, Harry, but I have not failed in other regards. You must trust me, and you must trust Snape.

I know that it will be hard and that the two of you have never seen eye-to-eye, but trust that even though he may not seem a good man, he is. I will tell you this, Snape is not an easy person to be friends with—or even acquainted—with, but once you have his trust, he will prove himself trustworthy.

But if my words have failed to convince you, be assured that the pensieve will show you with full clarity all that you might wish to denounce. And please Harry, look and see. That is my dying request, and my parting gift is my phoenix, now yours. Take care of him… whoever he will be.

Yours,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry eyed the exhausted looking Fawkes before looking at the small package. "I suppose the pensieve is in there?"

The phoenix chirped softly, and rested himself onto Harry's chest. Fawkes closed his eyes, probably soon about to burn. Harry reached with his hand to gently stroke Fawkes' soft feathers and smiled when the phoenix crooned in a deceptively lulling way.

The last thing he remembered was the phoenix closing his sad eyes.

-

It was the crooning that woke Harry to a weak sunlight pouring into the room and flooding over Fawkes' dull red and gold plumage. The soft music vibrated through his entire being before the phoenix started to burn. Alarm shot through Harry's body, but the grip of Fawkes' claws dug in so deeply that he could not remove the phoenix even if he had dared. The fire blazing atop of him should have burned, but instead there was nothing except a gentle heat like a woolen blanket.

Harry's eyes blurred watching the dance of red-gold fly up in the air, and then slowly collapsing inward, fading into nothing but a glistening gold egg. For a moment, Harry didn't know why, but he thought that maybe this was Fawkes' last act. But that didn't seem right with the little he'd learned in Hagrid's class about phoenixes. After all, they were eternally alive through rebirth. They would die, but they were never blotted from existence. They always came back.

Unlike man, unlike Dumbledore.

His throat tightened and his eyes watered, but he did not cry. Tears were of no use now. All he needed was to figure out a way to defeat Voldemort and hopefully… the pensieve would have something useful. But if it consisted of only memories of—Harry's lip curled up in disgust—Snape and his supposed trustworthiness, then this possible godsend would be worthless.

Harry turned to the small package and ripped it open. As soon as he did, the Shrinking Charm placed on it was disabled and the pensieve grew to its original size, with swirling silver liquid that held unknowable depths. Harry swallowed and looked at the clock. It was early, early enough that even his aunt wouldn't be up. Early enough that he might have a first look at what… deluded proof Dumbledore thought he had.

Taking a breath, he sunk his hand in first.

"Do you trust me?" asked Dumbledore.

The Headmaster's Office looked different, some objects were arranged differently, but Harry knew he only knew this because he'd spent quite a bit of time in Dumbledore's office to know that this wasn't what it looked like now. This was a then—a then that was only dreadfully confirmed by Snape's shorter hair and sallow youth. No grim lines carved into his skin, just smooth skin on a less than attractive face. It was ugly. Ugly. Ugly.

Snape crossed his arms over his chest deliberately and quickly. "It is not a matter of me trusting you, but you trusting me."

"True," conceded Dumbledore. "But it would be nice if you trusted me, considering what I am asking of you."

Snape's eye twitched. "If you had not asked me this, I would consider you a foolish old man."

"It is a perception most people have me, do they not?"

A crease formed in Snape's forehead, digging deeply as it found its home again. "You wish for them to underestimate you. That is your strength."

Dumbledore pushed a small container toward Snape. "Lemon drop?"

"No."

The lid snapped open and Dumbledore popped one into his mouth. "Well then, if I cannot be granted your trust, at least I will have—"

Stubby fingers and dull nails dragged him out of the memory. Harry threw his arms out, trying to thrash his way free and he hit the solid bulk of his Uncle Vernon, who was sporting the most unpleasant expression. Over Vernon's shoulder, he saw his Aunt Petunia's startlingly pale face.

"What—" began Harry.

"You stupid boy," snapped Vernon, shaking his meaty fist in Harry's face. "You were doing that magic in my house! I told you I didn't want any of that sort of thing happening! If I take you in, I expect you not to perform any of that outlandish stuff! Do you understand—"

"That's enough," said Petunia, placing her hand on her husband's arm. "Let him go."

Vernon whirled around and his blubbery face resembled a pulled grenade waiting to explode. He opened his mouth, but Petunia narrowed her eyes and to Harry's surprise, Vernon again backed down. His uncle turned back to him and muttered something being the devil's spawn before he released Harry and left.

After the door slammed shut, rattling the framework, Petunia pointed to the pensieve and asked, "What is that?"

Harry's eyes followed her arm down to the finger and then to the whirling pensieve. "It's something that holds memories."

"Memories," repeated Petunia softly. She pursed her lips briefly before directing her attention toward the golden egg. "What's that?"

Harry licked his dry lips. "A phoenix egg."

The only hint that she'd heard him was the slight widening of her eyes. "Well, breakfast is about to be served. You might want to come down and set the table," she said. "Make yourself useful."

Her words echoed in Harry's head after she had gone, through breakfast, and for the rest of the day.

-

It was not until well after he'd cleaned up the dishes and Vernon had left for his job that Harry managed to disappear into his room again. As much as he wanted to finish the interrupted memory, he also wanted to escape the odd looks he kept getting from Aunt Petunia. While she might never have been as cruel to him as Vernon, she certainly had never helped him before. There was something just off about Petunia and it was with relief that he shut the door to the second bedroom.

He leaned momentarily against it before pushing off and heading toward the bed. The phoenix egg was still nestled on top of the pillow and the pensieve was lying slightly tilted on top of his rumpled covers. To compound the weirdness even further, Petunia had been so insistent that he get downstairs for breakfast that he hadn't even had time to make his bed.

Harry ran a hand through his messy hair and sat down carefully on the bed, not wanting to disturb the silvery liquid. He stared down and held his hand over it. There were some things he didn't really want to know, but he knew that he needed to know them. He couldn't afford any information to be left… unknown. Maybe he would understand why Dumbledore had been a fool and trusted Snape. After all, he wasn't blind to the git's treachery.

He slipped his hand into the liquid and sank his mind into the memory once more.

"Lemon drop?"

"No," said Snape curtly.

The lid snapped open and Dumbledore popped one into his mouth. "Well then, if I cannot be granted your trust, at least I will have your vow."

Snape nodded, grim lines etching into his sickly pale skin. "Shall we do it now?"

"Do you believe you are strong enough in Occlumency yet?" asked Dumbledore, continuing to suck on the candy in a languid manner. "I would not want your position to be ruined by rushing headlong into something this grave."

"You can try to penetrate my mind if you wish," offered Snape. "But you and I both know even if you can pierce through my barriers, it does not mean the Dark Lord can. He has never been as good of a Legilimens as you are."

Dumbledore nodded and smacked his lips together as his teeth crunched the lemon drop into smaller and smaller pieces. "Do be safe," he said after he had swallowed the rest of his candy. "I would be most upset if something happens to you."

The expression on Snape's face was strained and lined quite severely for someone of his age. "I am sure," said Snape dryly. "You have nothing to fear. You can be certain I have no inclination to die."

Dumbledore hummed a bit. "I have much faith in you, Severus."

Snape pursed his lips together and lowered his eyes, saying nothing.

What vow, was the first thought Harry had. What fucking vow?

He didn't realize how heavily he was breathing until the air went in the wrong way and he ended up choking. Harry gasped and slowly calmed himself down. The only way he'd find out was if he looked deeper into the memories. He knew what Dumbledore was doing. He was laying down the foundation, getting Harry interested before breaking the grand revelation. But it had to be a good one, something that would shatter all his illusions.

And could Snape even do that after what he'd already done?

Harry plunged his head back in.

"The boy is impossible!" said Snape, stalking into the Headmaster's Office. "He is arrogant and has the brain of a gnat, just like his father!"

Dumbledore looked up from the scroll he was reading, his glasses poised at the end of his nose. He placed a finger at the bridge and shoved his spectacles further up. "I am sure it is not that bad, Severus."

"He does not know where to find a bezoar! Or the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane!" he continued, his voice only gaining elevation. "How do you expect me to work with such an incompetent—"

"I do hope," said Dumbledore with his ever-twinkling eyes, "that you do not expect all your students to read their textbooks ahead of time. You are their professor and as such, you will teach them all that you wish them to know. Is that not right?"

Snape's thin lips became more of a line when he pressed them tightly together. His dark eyes could have leapt out of the sockets with how fiercely he was gazing at the Headmaster. The fact that his face had gone pale with anger did not flatter his appearance one bit.

"Be patient with him," said Dumbledore as if Snape wasn't wearing an expression of deep fury. "I know it may be difficult when much is expected from him, but you must remember, he has grown up with Muggles for the last eleven years. He does not have the upbringing Purebloods would have."

When Snape opened his mouth, he said something unexpected, "And whose fault would that be?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I did what I thought was best."

"You were a foolish old man, coddling a delusion of proper childhood!" said Snape sharply. "But your hesitance to push him into reality has made him backwards when he cannot afford to be, especially when you think that the Dark Lord is still out there!"

"I wanted him to have a normal life," stated Dumbledore.

"Even if it gets him killed?"

Harry's hands were trembling as he pulled his head out of the swirling silver liquid. Why had Snape said that? His words could be misconstrued to mean that he actually cared about whether Harry died or not. That didn't make sense. Snape was the one who goaded him, who tried to get him to do something foolish so he would be in danger. This memory didn't make any sense, even when Dumbledore's words ran across his mind.

Look and see. You must trust me, and you must trust Snape. Look and see.

He had looked and he did not want to see. Harry turned away from the pensieve and shoved the bowl away from him, not caring if any of the precious liquid spilled out. He stared instead at golden egg cradled by his pillow. It seemed to be glowing a little now; certainly it wasn't as dull as it was before. He wondered how long it would take Fawkes to come out of this retreat.

Somehow the phoenix always managed to comfort him with his presence. Harry reached down to gently hold the egg in his hands. He felt a strange warmth suffuse his body and he smiled a little. Any bit of comfort helped and he would gladly take it.

Because who knew what tomorrow held?

-

Harry was woken up by loud knocking and his Aunt's shrilly voice. He jerked his head, surprised that he'd managed to fall asleep in the middle of the day. He rearranged his skewed glasses and said, "I'll be right down!"

Turning to his clock, he saw that it was past one. He frowned and wondered if he would get any lunch. His stomach rumbled a bit, obviously the same question lingering in its empty pit. Harry shrugged and was about to roll out of bed when he remembered that he'd been holding the phoenix's egg. Suddenly he froze and looked around frantically. Where was it?

Lying on a pillow like it had been before. Harry stared at the now brightly glowing egg, wondering how it'd gotten back to that position. He knew he was a strange sleeper, what with these Voldemort-induced dreams, but he'd never been known to do things in his sleep other than make horrible noises. Somehow he didn't think he was the one who'd managed to move the egg back onto the pillow and not crush it.

"You're one weird egg," muttered Harry before the pounding on the door drew his attention away from the phoenix egg. "I'm coming!" he exclaimed. "I was sleeping!"

There was something definitely wrong with his Aunt when she didn't even glare at him after he opened the door. Instead, Petunia started marching down the hall to the stairs. Harry was left with no choice but to follow her to the kitchen table, where to his surprise, he saw a sandwich made for him as well as a cup of steaming tea. He glanced up at Petunia just in time to see her disappear into the den.

He wanted to call after her and thank her, but then that would be unlike him and he was almost afraid that she would say something nasty to ruin this kind gesture. Harry sat down at the table and picked up the sandwich. He held it up and looked at the contents, not seeing anything wrong with it. Bringing it close to his nose, he sniffed at it suspiciously and the smell only made his mouth water. It had all the things he liked in a sandwich, fresh lettuce and tomatoes on roast beef slathered generously with a rich steak sauce. This was a good lunch and Petunia had made it for him.

How odd. Harry shrugged and took a bite. Whatever weird mood she was in, being nice to him and not letting Vernon pick on him, he'd take advantage of it. For once, it was nice not being ragged at, especially when life was beginning to seem awfully short.

Swallowing the food was easy, swallowing his sorrow was much harder.

TBC