2. Of owls and phoenix'

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Albus Dumbledore sighed tiredly and removed his glasses to rub his tired eyes.

He hadn't had a decent night of sleep in two days and now had to listen as two of his best order members squabbled like little children.

"I think," he finally interrupted the argument when it seemed Jonathan Merryton was about to blow steam out of his ears, "that is quite enough. There is no point worrying about it now, not until we know more."

"But headmaster...," Jonathan protested.

Albus raised his hand to stop him, "furthermore, I think that we all could do with some rest. A good night sleep is the best way to clear ones head."

There were relieved sighs from around him as the other order members started to gather their things and leave.

Suddenly there was a loud screeching sound as something came barreling through the chimney, landing with a thud in the ashes.

Albus immediately jumped up and gently picked up the once snowy-white owl, now covered in blood and ashes.

Next to him he heard Molly gasp, "Albus, is that...?"

He nodded grimly while carefully examining the dead owl. She had been hit with so many curses it was a miracle she had even managed to get through the chimney before collapsing. And somehow the brave owl had managed to keep her message save.

"You don't think Harry..." Molly asked worriedly, wringing her hands and looking sorrowfully at the bird.

"No, if Harry had been hurt the wards would have warned us. She must have been attacked on her way here."

He unfolded the scrap of parchment tied to the owl, it was small and barely readable.

been seeing things, visions, whatever, head hurts, no scar though, keeps getting worse HP

The way it was written alone was enough to worry Albus, he knew Harry wouldn't write something like this unless something was seriously wrong.

"What does it say, Albus? Is Harry alright?" Molly asked while trying to read along over his shoulder.

Albus sighed, how did that boy got himself into so much trouble all the time? He wished he wasn't so tired.

"I'm going to check up on Harry," he told Molly, "I'm sure he is fine."

He used his magic to call out for Fawkes, the beautiful phoenix tied to him. With his mind he showed Fawkes a picture of where he needed to go and let the flames engulf him.

Fawkes fire normally always gave him an energy boost, but this time Albus stumbled slightly when they landed in Harry's room. I'm getting too old for this.

The room was a right mess but Albus ignored it as he made his way to Harry who was lying on the bed. He seemed fine, Albus thought, peaceful even. Gently he caressed Harry across his brow, it was a shame to wake him really, especially considering Albus didn't exactly have good news. He winced slight, thinking of the dead bird back at Grimmauld place.

"I wish I could spare you all of this," he whispered.

Fawkes let out a soft thrill and flew over at Albus' shoulder, a single tear fell down at the old man's head.

"Silly bird," Albus murmured, "I'm not hurt, just..."

He never got to finish that though, as suddenly everything felt really heavy and he slumped forward. He was so tired...

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Harry woke to aunt Petunia's screeching and constant rapping on the door.

"Wake up boy! You are going to paint the shed today, wake up!"

Paint? Harry thought groggily, still half asleep, but than he remembered. Aunt Marge would be staying over for a week and the Dursley's wanted everything in tip-top shape.

Uncle Vernon had ordered Harry to paint the shed, he could have gotten out of it by owling the order but he hadn't want to bother them with something so childish. Besides, he didn't mind painting all that much anyway.

When he tried to get up he realized something heavy was lying on his chest. Blinking he stared at the head full of untidy gray-white hair lying on top of him.

"What the...!" Harry exclaimed, sitting up quickly and forcing the head, and the body attached to it, to tumble to the ground. He gaped as his headmaster sat blearily on the floor, his glasses crooked and his hair sticking to all sides.

"Did you hear me boy!" His aunt screeched again, "I said wake up!" She started to shake the door-handle.

"Alright! I'm up, I'm up!" Harry quickly shouted back, the last thing he needed was for aunt Petunia to get in.

"Professor Dumbledore?" He hesitantly asked, the headmaster's gaze settled on him.

"Harry?" He vaguely murmured, but than his eyes cleared as he finally seemed to come back to awareness.

"Ah, yes. Yes of course," he chuckled a bit, "I'm terribly sorry about this, dear boy. It seems I was more tired than I realized," he gave Harry a lopsided smile, "if you would be so kind as to help me up? It seems my old bones don't agree with sleeping on the ground."

Harry offered his hand to professor Dumbledore who got up with a groan and the sound of popping bones.

At that moment Harry's door slammed open and Uncle Vernon burst in.

"What the hell is taking you so long, boy! Petunia asked you to come down ages ago, don't think..."

But the rest of uncle Vernon's rant was lost in a roaring sound surrounding Harry as the room started to spin again, no not again, he thought desperately, but it was no use.

Singing

Happy singing

joyful singing

Green and red and red and green

"It looks so pretty with your eyes," the wolf told him

They sang of peace and blood, of love and pain

Blood-red tears under a tree of green

When he came back to himself he was somewhere else.

Harry had just enough time to register he was at Grimmauld place 12 before the pain started.

It was worse than ever before, like someone was ramming a stake through his head. He couldn't stop a whimper from escaping. It will be over soon, he thought desperately, clawing at his head, please, please let it be over soon.

Someone was holding him and murmuring nonsense in his ear. Harry let out a small sigh when something cold was gently pressed against his forehead. His hands were pulled down, away from his head in a strong but gentle grasp and slowly the pain dulled to a more bearable ache.

Around him people were talking rather loudly, he tried to focus on what they were saying but soon gave up and instead snuggled closer to whomever was holding him. It was nice to be hold like this, he thought sleepily. Much nicer than being cold.