The sun rises to another day
My constitution keeps changing
'Til it slips away
So I lie awake and stare
My mind thinking, just wandering
Does anybody care?
Should I stay or go
Illusion, by Creed
Chapter II
Harry scowled darkly. His scowl only deepened when a drop of sweat fell gracefully onto the fence in front of him. That same drop of sweat just managed to smudge the paint he had just applied to the fence, and now that particular section looked completely off compared to the rest of the fence. And it was actually noticeable. If possible, Harry scowl deepened even more before he gently brushed the spot over again with the bright tan paint. He then sighed when the spot was almost now impossible to see.
Harry's dislike for his so-called relatives deepened as the morning wore on. He was at first looking forward to almost a whole day Dursley-free, but his hopes were shattered as simply as a third-year student crushing beetle eyes to add to a potion. The list of chores took longer to complete than anticipated. He was made to do all of the laundry, including his own, paint the fence (as he had just now finished), and mow the lawn (if that lawn could be mowed any longer, it would be a sandbox). Frankly it was getting on his nerves. But then he happened to let the paper flutter down into the trash can, where he saw a new side of even more chores. Harry now had to weed the garden (but there were no weeds to weed), wash the dishes (what dishes?), change the bedsheets (again?), prepare dinner (which was fit to feed an army), and water the garden. Said garden wouldn't need his help in being watered because the sky was swiftly darkening with clouds for the first time in several years. If it rained, that would just be one less chore for him to complete.
By noon, Harry was seriously considering taking the butter knife he was using to smear mayonnaise on his sandwich and slitting his uncle's throat in his sleep. The simple black trousers and green shirt he had worn in the morning were currently clinging to his skin uncomfortably, courtesy of a thick layer of sweat happily coating itself to Harry's body. His unruly hair was even more ruffled than usual, an amazing feat, and was clinging to his forehead and the back of his neck. His arms and legs were sore and stiff as the seventh hell when Harry finally managed to trudge over to the table to sit down and eat his roast beef sandwich, and he swore he heard a faint 'pop' when he turned his head toward the ceiling. His back was not exactly being kind to him, either.
As he chewed tastelessly on the wheat bread in his hand, Harry considered what had happened in the vision this morning. He had craved the pain that Voldemort unwittingly cast upon him in the vision. Silently, he was disgusted, but he also came to accept the fact. What he still did not know was why he craved that pain. Had he finally achieved what Voldemort had long ago and gone insane? If he was insane, why was he actually forming coherent thoughts, unlike Frank and Alice Longbottom? Secretly, he also enjoyed seeing young Malfoy in pain, but was also curious as to what had happened to him. The Dark Lord had no doubt killed him, but a strange, uneasy feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach told him otherwise.
He wondered if he should tell anyone about the vision. Unlike in other visions, he remembered every detail vividly, as though a sketch pad had been acting of its own accord at the time and recorded everything going on in Harry's head. Who would he tell? Sirius obviously was not an option, he thought wryly as his stomach twisted painfully at the thought of his deceased godfather. Clearly, he couldn't exactly write a letter to Dumbledore, either. That thought caused an iron hand, similar in comparison to Peter Pettigrew's, to squeeze his chest tightly and painfully. The cut was still fresh, and it could very well be a while before it ever healed. If it ever did heal, it would certainly leave a scar. Harry winced, his appetite swiftly fading.
He got up slowly and disposed of the half-eaten sandwich. He then leaned against the counter for support as he continued thinking about current events. A composed letter wasn't an option anyway, for there was too much chance of it being intercepted, or, worse, returned. He could always spend a few hours transforming a painfully blatant letter into a coded note consisting of "Hello" and not much else. God knows he would choose that over chores any day. Hell, he would choose just about anything over chores any day. Barring anything associated with Voldemort, of course.
Okay, so he may not be unable to tell anybody about the vision. Still, he couldn't just stand here and do nothing! With Dumbledore gone (his stomach flipped over painfully), the Order was likely to fall into shambles, as was the wizard populace as a whole, and all Voldemort would have to do is take one strike at the world and it would be his to command. Harry couldn't just stand by and watch anymore. How could he just be an innocent bystander after learning about Voldemort's Horcuruxes? There might actually be a chance to defeat him, and Harry wasn't ready to give up just yet. Without a main figurehead for the Light side, who would be there to help them? Hogwarts was likely to close after last year's events, the teachers would scatter, and McGonagall would likely take Dumbledore's place (another lurch of the stomach) as the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. However, with the Light downhearted with the Dark's recent victory, Harry could see the end of the war looming on the horizon.
But then again, what could he do? He was just a boy. A schoolboy, no less. No, Harry argued with himself, absently wondering if he would be considered insane for doing so. I haven't been a boy since Voldemort attacked my parents and I at Godric's Hollow on that Halloween night. Actually, I have never been a boy. From the point the prophecy was made I was a killer, raving on a path of revenge. I want to take part in this war. I need to take part in this war. I'll find the Horcruxes and destroy, them, and then I'll give Voldemort what he deserves. Snape, Bellatrix, and Wormtail, too. I need to fight, if not for the good of the people, then to avenge my family. First my parents, then Sirius, and now Dumbledore. I cannot stand by any longer.
Despite the dark conviction in his thoughts, Harry was feeling quite the opposite. He told Dumbledore that he would stay with his relatives until his seventeenth birthday, which was still days away. Would it be too late then? He gave Dumbledore his word, but what use is a promise to a dead man? Harry knew the words were low: his heart clenched painfully at the thought. Yet it was true. Still, Harry maintained a sense of respect for the man, even as he knew he rested in his grave back at Hogwarts. No, he wouldn't break his word. However, the real question was, who will step up and take leadership of the Light now that Dumbledore couldn't?
Harry managed to rush through the rest of his chores and was able to collapse on his bed by four o'clock that evening. Here he lay still lost in thought, wondering, planning, and speculating. It was strange, really. Exactly two years ago from this day, he probably couldn't lie still long enough to think about anything on the bed. He had been too tense, waiting for any sign of news from his friends that might tell him what was going on. Voldemort hadn't made a move yet, and the Ministry was calling him an attention-seeking lunatic, one that should be approached with caution and hopefully captured by the Ministry before it was to late. Now he had too much to think about to be tense. All the news he could hear (or see) about Voldemort would have no meaning, for it would always be the same. There would be Death Eater raids on Muggle and wizard towns across the globe, where people would be dying, tortured, and raped. The innocent, those like Stan Shunpike, would be sent to Azkaban, the wizard prison that no longer securely held prisoners for its lack of dementors. Harry wondered what the world would be like if no one knew about Voldemort's return. He actually preferred being considered a raving lunatic than suddenly the "Chosen One," the one expected to save them all because of a prophecy that predicted as much.
He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice a flash of dark blue flame at the end of his bed. He did notice, however, when the calming trills of Phoenix Song could be heard in his room. Harry looked at the source and quickly looked away again. Great, Harry thought sarcastically. Just great. So I really am insane. First craving pain, then spending the whole day following the Dursley's orders even when they aren't here, then arguing with myself, and now I see a hallucination of a very strange phoenix at the foot of my bed. Will it ever end? Although, Harry had to admit, the hallucination was incredibly astounding. Phoenix Song trilled peacefully around the room while he turned to stare at the phoenix again, this time taking in the details.
The phoenix was pitch black in color with a dark, navy blue plumage and tail. Its feathers were outlined in an exotic and peculiar pattern of gold, silver, and bronze. To Harry, it looked like an artist's masterpiece put to life. Each feather seemed to have been dipped in molten gold, silver, or bronze, painted over with black or dark blue paint. The phoenix's claws resembled an eagle's because of its predatory look, but the difference was that one claw was shining bright silver, the other; gold. The beak was the same dark blue as the feathers on its tail. What really captivated him was its eyes. They looked like a pair of glistening emeralds stuck inside a ring of obsidian. They looked rather like a human's eyes, but without the whites. The pupil, instead of black, was bright, shimmering green, resembling the Unforgivable Killing Curse that Voldemort seemed to favor. The iris expanded throughout the rest of the eye and was pure, unadulterated black. Harry felt like he was staring into an abyss that only ended where the green light happened to be.
The phoenix squawked at him and Harry blinked. He had been staring into the phoenix's eyes for at least half an hour! There was no telling what the creature had done to him in that time! Phoenixes were considered incredibly Light magical animals, but Harry found this one very peculiar. He had never seen any phoenix quite like it. For all he knew, the phoenix could be a pet of Voldemort's, and the bird was reading his mind.
Your knowledge of phoenixes is extremely limited. A cheerful female voice echoed through his head. Harry leapt from the bed as if shocked by electricity and landed on the floor painfully. He swiftly rolled over onto his back and stood up shakily, staring at the phoenix. He made sure to avert his eyes so he wasn't looking straight into the phoenix's.
"Who are you?"
My name is Scorpio, Chaos Phoenix. And you, Harry, have a pitiful name. It is far too common, not to mention very well known. I think I will call you... Xanthus. Yes, that sounds a lot better, doesn't it?
Harry gaped openly. Who wouldn't? He began sputtering, "W-what? How – why – what – ?"
Where, when and why? The phoenix, Scorpio, seemed to snigger after her sarcastic offer.
"Huh?" Harry settled for that. He figured that it summed up all of the questions, not to mention vulgarities, that were swimming around his head faster than the Loch Ness monster could appear and reappear to Muggles.
Scorpio trilled softly again, and Harry's thoughts settled a little, but the feeling of immense confusion never left. Perhaps I should explain. First, sit down. Harry was scrupulous and unbelieving, not wishing to give be convinced that this bird was ordering him around in his own room. One loud squawk changed his mind, and he dropped down on the edge of the bed.
First of all, I apologize for barging into your room uninvited like this. Harry thought he sensed sarcasm in the apology, but shrugged it off as Scorpio continued in his head. Second, I shall inform you that you will be seeing a lot of me in times to come. However, Scorpio's sharp tone sliced through whatever protest Harry was going give. However, this does mean that I will be your constant companion. I'm like Fawkes was to Dumbledore, except I have two owners, not one. Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, but Scorpio continued. I was bonded to you, Xanthus, the day you were born. This proved to be a bit of problem for my other owner and I. I was also bonded to the Scorpion Warrior, which was how I earned my name, when he was born, and so when we discovered that I was bonded to a second, it was a shocking discovery.
The phoenix paused, and Harry stared. Again, he said the one word that would sum up all of his thoughts, "Huh?" Scorpio seemed to sigh before launching into an explanation that would describe the previous one.
Two thousand years ago, there were many more phoenixes then than there are now. That much Harry could guess, but it didn't explain a damn thing to him. There were three clans, or tribes, of phoenixes, the Light, the Dark, and the Chaos. Light and Dark, as you can imagine, were always fighting. This was one reason why our race began to die out. Chaos, however, was the balance between the two. The Chaos elder, Tetradran, was said to have had four heads: two to keep the Light phoenixes in check and two for the Dark. This is only a myth among wizard humans, but all phoenixes know it to be true. The heads were supposed to be able to separate from Tetradran completely and morph into a large dragon by mental command. These dragons would often restrain the Light phoenixes when they were on the edge of depression or even suicide. The wars were very bad during that time. There were very few of the Light left, but thousands of the Dark remained. If Chaos didn't do something soon, the Dark would win over the Light and balance would be entirely disrupted. So, Tetradran released all of his heads, thereby killing his phoenix body, along with twenty-two hundred thousand Chaos phoenixes to restore order. Together, they killed off more than three-fourths of the Dark population. This made equalization, and the wars were evenly balanced between the two. However, the Chaos were now torn between their ways and their lives. In order to keep balance perfect, they had to reduce themselves to what the Dark and Light was: a little over two thousand phoenixes total. Eventually, their ways on out and the more powerful phoenixes killed the lesser. This continued for several decades until everything was perfectly even.
Because there were so few phoenixes left, they created a truce of balance, known to phoenixes today as the Tregua de Equilibre. Tregua is Italian for "truce," de is Spanish for "of," and Equilibre can be translated in several languages, namely French, as "balance." After the truce was signed by all phoenixes of the time (using ink and the tip of their beak), no phoenix was able to attack another unless their bonded ordered them to do so. One section of the treaty described how bonding would work. In order to keep balance and preserve our species, we would need humans to help us. At this time, other humans were tearing down our habitats for their own usage, and we were forced to hide on an island called Avalon. Phoenix resources, such as food, water, and shelter, were severely limited on this island.
Tetradran's apprentice took his place and became the leader of our people; Tylon. Tylon was very wise. Wiser, perhaps, than Tetradran himself. He had many magical powers, and could even use human magic given the certain situation. He used his magic to send beacons around the world. These beacons were not visible, nor tangible. There would be one designated for each and every phoenix on Avalon, and they would enter a human's bloodstream. When the human turns eleven, the beacon is activated, alerting the phoenix that the beacon is magically connected to. It sounds as a very loud alarm going through a phoenix's head. If the phoenix does not go to their bonded within a decade, they will die. Until such time as they find their bonded, they experience excruciating pain for one hour every week. A reminder, of sorts.
Of course, the beacons don't just go to any human in the world. The human has to be magical, and extremely powerful. This was a precaution made by Tylon to ensure the safety of the phoenixes under his command and give the phoenix the immortality that you know phoenixes have today. Not every phoenix is immortal, Xanthus; only those that are bonded. The human in question must be expected to make great contributions to the world, either good or bad, and also be within a power level of 750 shots to 7000 shots. Shots are like Muggle electricity volts. Any higher than that and the phoenix would explode from the amount of power; any lower and the phoenix would simply die.
Harry blinked. Then blinked again. He then stared unblinkingly at the emerald and obsidian eyes in front of him. He averted his eyes and cleared his throat, which had suddenly gone dry. He tried to open his mouth, couldn't think of anything to say, and shut it again with a small snap. Harry closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind, only to find that there wasn't anything to clear. His mind was blank. He tried to swallow a lump the size of a dragon's egg that was in his throat and opened his mouth again. He snapped shut once more. If he was in his right state of mind, Harry would notice that Scorpion seemed to be quivering with high laughter. Harry blinked again, then rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses, experimenting to see if that would stop his erratic blinking problem. Instead, he accidentally poked himself in his right away, making them water painfully as he tried to blink away the pain. Scorpio now seemed to be doubled over in laughter. Harry couldn't even form the words to protest that that did not explain how the phoenix was bonded to two humans, and it certainly didn't explain who the Scorpion Warrior was. The lump in his throat got bigger, and he went into a coughing fit to get rid of it.
When gears began turning in his head again and Scorpio regained her composure (some fifteen minutes later) Harry managed to croak out, "Wow. I need some fresh air." Scorpio looked at him a little worriedly. He looked a little worse for wear right now, and the thundering storm that was brewing outside was not what he needed, in the Chaos phoenix's opinion. Harry ignored her and opened the door, trying to disregard the creaking pain in his arms as he did so. Today was definitely not his day.
A/N: Poor Harry! I haven't even finished writing out the day yet, and he's already having a really bad time of it! Mwahahaha!
I know, I know it's been a while since I've updated, and I'm sorry for that, but I've been forced to spend time away from my computer and with my grandparents, who came over to out house for Spring Break. Just so you know, I was half-asleep when I wrote this, because I had to do it at night when everybody was asleep. Don't kill me for any mistakes or errors please!
It is longer than the last chapter, but still short. It's only 6 pages on Microsoft Word! I'm hoping to get twenty into the next chapter, but my grandparents aren't leaving for another week or so.
Big thanx to:
Hunter64And
mysticdueler
For reviewing the last chapter.
Come on, people! Only two reviews last time! Even the first chapter got more than that! It doesn't take very long, you know. Just click a button, type some nonsense, and click another button. I know a two-year-old cousin of mine who can manage that much!
