A/N: Took me long,
I know. I have another project, and this story is just… on the
side, I suppose. I still don't want to abandon it, but the updates
will be far between so please, bear with me. Thanks a lot, and
especially to these who did and those who will
review.
Brynn
Chapter 16: Hogwarts
On Monday Harry awoke on edge. By the time of lunch he was fighting depression. Quite like in the beginning of the holiday the castle felt wrong when it was empty, now it felt wrong because the house-elves, ghosts and members of staff frequented the hallways. There was even a meal in the Great Hall.
Harry fought himself, but in the end lost and decided to rather ask Dobby to bring him some food to the common room. He busied himself with Potions and some related Herbology, because the library was now supervised and he couldn't quite well check out a book on Dark Arts. It didn't add to his better mood, but at least the interesting topic calmed him.
He was already completing the third essay of the day – he was getting faster at writing them – when Fawkes zoomed in, uncharacteristically through the window.
"Morning," he said dutifully, though with far less attention paid to the visit than would be appropriate. Fawkes didn't express any kind of displeasure, though Harry could virtually feel the growing concern.
'It is already afternoon – how are you doing?'
Harry shrugged and put his name in the upper corner of the parchment.
"Not sure. I've been keeping myself busy to avoid thinking."
Fawkes hopped across the low tea-table, considerately avoiding stepping on the essay. Harry rolled it and packed it away with the others. The number of his finished not-yet-assigned tasks was steadily rising, and he was looking forward to the evenings he could spend playing Quidditch or doing anything fun, rather than fighting homework.
'You've been working yourself too hard, Harry. This was supposed to be holiday-'
'It was the best holiday I've had, trust me.' Even in his negative vein he considered the past two months the ideal break. As long as it featured no Dursleys… and no Voldemort.
'That does not make me feel better about it. Worse, if anything…'
Harry stood up from the work. With a series of muttered charms he tidied the mess and levitated all his things upstairs to the bedroom. He dumped it on his bed and closed the curtains, not exactly eager to try and explain to Ron why he found Potions interesting enough to work on without having to.
'You've come to persuade me to go to the Great Hall, have you.'
'Not necessarily. I'd like you to, and to make a first impression – things have changed, and I'd like the staff to notice that time will come when they would have to learn to listen to you. But for now-'
Harry rubbed the root of his nose to suppress the threatening headache and opened the curtains again. This seemed to be the prelude to a longer conversation; he could do something useful while pointlessly trying to argue with the phoenix. Tidying up was less tedious than ever before, because he could do a lot of things easier and faster using magic, and he cleaned often (every time he had five spare minutes with nothing better to do).
'Did I do something wrong?' he asked directly. Fawkes gave him a searching, quizzical glance from his spot on Dean's desk.
'Did you?'
Harry rubbed his forehead, but the headache lingered too far for him to reach. He could have tried to deny it. Fawkes would take his word. He could have even tried to deny it to himself, but… denial was futile.
He looked into those black eyes gazing at him, unsure about what to do. Fawkes could very easily punish him, or take away some of his privileges, or, in the worst case, refuse to help him, once he found out about what he did with Lucretia's Vengeance. On the other hand, Fawkes never abandoned Dumbledore, despite all the 'stunts', all the wrong-doings and crimes the old wizard committed… Harry certainly could hope for forgiveness.
'Yes.'
He sank on his bed, glad that he had made space for himself. The pile of rolls from his bedside mocked him – Harry Potter, The Swot. Fawkes glid across the room and landed on his lap.
'Tell me.'
Warmth engulfed Harry and he felt easier, not the Imperius-kind easy – he didn't forget the consequences of his actions, he also didn't feel like nothing mattered or that everything was alright – but a reassurance that no matter what happened, they would work it out. The kind of reassurance he always pictured his parents might have given him if they hadn't died.
"I used the potion. I destroyed Nigellus's portait."
'Ah, so that's what happened to it.' Fawkes gave the startled boy he was using as a perch a mental eqivalent of a smile. 'I must admit that you have executed it smoothly. Not even Albus suspects it was you. Needless to say his lack of knowledge about this case drives him crazy…'
Harry smiled back, entangling his fingers in Fawkes's feather. It was a strange feeling – silky, warm, and so… alive. How could such a powerful, such a perfect creature be so fragile? So normal? So… natural?
'I merely couldn't figure out what might have motivated you.'
It seemed easy to answer. Harry knew it probably would be looked upon as infelicitous, but right now, sitting together in his bedroom and discusing his scheming of a crime, they were conspirators rather than a tutor and a charge.
'Nigellus contacted me and offered a bargain. I was to destroy the painting so he would be free od serving the current Headmaster…'
'That worked. I dare say Phineas won't ever be 'bothered' again. It is a pity, though. He used to have very rational opinions.'
'I suppose. At least it seemed so when I was handling with him. A bit rude- er, straightforward… but definitely rational.' He, of all people, was complimenting a Slytherin, moreover one who disliked him greatly. At the same time as he was criticising him for the few traits they had in common…
'So? What did you get in return? Was it worth it? Knowing you, I guess it was…'
'It seemed so before. Now… I'm no sure anymore…'
'Are you having compunctions?' asked the bird and Harry realised it really did know him. It wasn't a surprise, it had been teaching him Occlumency after all, but it still felt unfamiliar.
'N-not exactly. Not consciously, anyway.' He paused, searching for words to describe what it was he felt. Fawkes shifted his weight, leaning against Harry's chest. He was heavier than Harry recalled – persumably capable of changing some of his physical attributes at will.
'You… good spirits… Harry, let me inside your mind for a bit.'
He took about two seconds to bethink it, but there really wasn't anything he felt he should hide from Fawkes. He lowered his shields one by one, careful not to swarm the phoenix in his personality as a shock. He had done that once before – though not delibarately – and watching Fawkes recover wasn't nice.
'Oh…' exclaimed the phoenix, touching the threads that wrapped Harry's consciousness. It surprised the boy, but Fawkes didn't delve deeper, although he most certainly could, and Harry wouldn't have minded. He treasured the fairness as well as the faith. Then Fawkes's mental presence retreated and he was 'gestured' to rebuild the shields that had already become an inseparable part of his daily routine.
'This is a natural reaction to the potion you have used, fledgeling.'
'But… I kept my hands gloved all the time… It shouldn't have effected me…' Harry objected, worried that he had done something stupid while working with an extremely dangerous concontion.
'You couldn't have prevented this. It is a… an allergy, so to say. Don't try to brew or use the potion again. There are many supplements for it, not quite as effective, but far less damaging to the creator.' The tip of Fawkes's wing brushed Harry's face and he felt the headache recede considerably. 'It will yet take some time before it goes away completely, but it will heal. Don't worry –in fact, the more you worry, the slower this will mend… so, what is it you got in return for Phineas's freedom?'
Harry, baffled by the sudden change of topic, forwent questioning Fawkes about 'magical allergies' in favour of answering.
'Access to a Dark Arts library… I can't quite well study that under Pince's nose and there isn't Dumbledore to allow me an exception anymore… and I can't picture McGonagal conceding to something of the sort-'
'You don't have to apologise for that, fledgling,' the phoenix cut off his rant, 'Now, since you're feeling better, put on some better clothes of yours – not a uniform yet, until today evening you are a free person – and get your butt down to the Great Hall. You've got an appearance to keep. See you.'
In a flash it was gone and Harry sorely missed the weight lifted from his legs. In a half-awake state of mind he walked around the room and collected the few pieces of clothing that escaped him before. There wasn't much to choose from, and in the end he had to Scourgify one of those transigured outfits. He felt tempted to wear the Weird Sisters T-shirt, but the reason won in the end. He would yet find use for it in the future.
popopopopo
The lunch was far worse than Harry expected and he had retreated soon after it, sulking, wishing he hadn't gone at all. It did him no good – he didn't even find out who the two new teachers were, as neither of them was present. The only information he acquired during the tedious hour was McGonagall's motivation to fight for the re-opening of the school – "Albus wouldn't have wished for Hogwarts to close…" – and that only because the conversation was left to her.
He heard the whoosh of Fawkes's arrival behind himself, and mentally acknowledged the phoenix, though without reducing his concentration on the writing.
'I have just had the most curious experience: I saw McGonagall berating her colleagues about how they treated you.'
'Mhm,' Harry answered noncommitally. Adding to the Headmistress's stress and disrupting the inter-staff relationships before the term even started didn't make him proud of himself at all. He thought he had done quite well, but now he felt guilty about it – even though it wasn't entirely his fault. They had made him feel unwelcome. Still, he hadn't intended for McGonagall to suffer the retribution.
'Is something wrong, Harry? Has your headache returned?'
He shook his head and started copying the list of ingredients for the Muse Nectar, a potion that was supposed to make to the drinker talented – a potion that was number four on the curriculum (which he shouldn't have seen yet, but things happen in an abandoned castle…).
'Harry, you're scaring me.'
He looked up and belatedly realised that in his depression he had morphed… into something. It was a strange feeling. He was not completely human for a while… he shuddered and returned to his normal appearance. Fawkes ruffled his feather, but generally relaxed slightly.
"Sorry…" Harry mumbled and faced the essay. It was harder than Polyjuice, but he supposed that nowhere near Felix. And Hermione had managed to brew Felix…
"I'd like to look for some old students' books that remained in school."
'What happened down there?' Fawkes asked undeterred, refusing to change the topic. Harry sighed, leant back, and closed his eyes. He saw Albus Dumbledore's face when he had told him there was nothing he wanted to tell him… and his face when Galahad had told him that the Unspeakables didn't speak… It seemed perfectly unfair to compare himself to the wizard. The only thing they had in common was that they had stepped on Albus's toes.
'I don't… I hate lying.'
'You-'
'Have to lie to survive. I know. But it still doesn't mean I like it.'
'Severus didn't like it either…'
'That was a way to end conversation,' Harry replied dryly and wrote another word. The sentence was unwilling to be completed… He frowned, both at the parchment and at the bird. The world conspired against him.
Fawkes gave the mental equivalent of a very painful sigh and landed on Harry's desk next to the essay.
'Five hours until the train arrives. Go sleep, fledgling.'
'I-'
'Now.'
Not feeling strong enough to fight, Harry obediently arose, chucked his shirt into the corner of the case, and clad only in the trousers fell among the sheets. The sun shone right into his eyes, but he took care of it with a wave of his wand towards he curtains. They closed, albeit jerkily.
'I'll wake you up.'
Fawkes didn't baby him – with a flash he appeared above Harry inside the four-poster, landed on his side, and spread the wonderful shiny wings, cramped in the closed space. The world went dark almost immediately, wiped out by the hypnotic actuation of the phoenix's mind.
popopopopo
'Harry…'
He groaned and moved his hands, but stubbornly refused to open his eyes. Something wiry but strong dug into the side of his belly uncompromisingly and elicited a gasp from him. As consciousness claimed him, he realised the intimate closeness of another body and a strange, tickling, but very pleasant feeling of something soft and alive all over his bare chest…
'Get up this instant, fledgling!'
'Fawkes-'
Harry sat up sharply, flipping the phoenix off himself unintentionally. It flapped its wings once, and, even in the claustrophobic space of the four-poster, managed to regain balance as well as keep the position on Harry's half-bent knees.
'Merlin… that's one way to wake up…'
He rubbed his eyes and wearily looked into the pair of black eyes. Fawkes was looking back at him with expectation and another set of emotions that was sort of a visible sign of their bond. He would like to know whether his eyes reflected the same…
'Your friends have arrived in Hogsmeade. I suggest you make yourself-'
'Presentable for the feast. Thanks, Fawkes. I'm there in a bit…'
popopopopo
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table and watched the Great Hall fill wih students. Ron and Hermione entered quite unusually among the first ones, together with Ginny and a young witch that seemed a bit like a Ravenclaw, but didn't wear a uniform… she had black hair pulled into a tight bun and generally looked like a younger version of McGonagall. That were were the two reasons why he noticed her in the sea of students – she was chatting animatedly with his friends, and she was clad in a coat and skirt.
Few Ravenclaw third-years, who were the only to preceed the odd quartet, were giving him inquisitive looks, persumably curious how come he was in the Hall earlier than them when they were the first coming from the carriages and no one noticed him passing by. It didn't take long for them to start a fiery debate.
"Welcome back!" Harry pronounced so dramatically – mocking his own (and Dumbledore's) Fawkes-supervised behaviour – that he put Ernie Macmillan to shame, and gestured his friends to sit next to him, pausing only for a split second it took him to finally recognise the third girl. His face split into a wide smirk – this was the first really enjoyable surprise in quite some time.
"Wotcher, Professor," he said grinning like a loony. Tonks grinned back.
"Good evening, Mr Potter. How do you like my 'professional look'?" She did a pirouette to present her new, forest-green attire. It featured a ridiculously wide skirt and Harry completely missed his friends reactions, because he was staring at her.
"Very professional, indeed."
Ginny behind his back snickered. Ron and Hermione didn't listen.
"You think so?" Tonks beamed; the irony in Harry's statement was probably noticable only to someone who knew him really well. He didn't have the nerve to appoint it; rather let her enjoy herself. After all, it was her first day – as well as obviously the first time she was out of her confinement in the Grimmauld Place. Harry pitied her a bit, as he watched her make her way across the room, beaming at students and Professors alike, virtually dancing between the house tables. She looked quite pretty… well, she looked anything but professional.
"It's good to see her happy for a change," Ginny muttered awfully near to him, and Harry momentarily forgot about Tonks, smiling without knowing why. Then he remembered who she was speaking about.
"Yeah. I'm glad that she got the job… for more reasons that I could count."
Ginny contemplatively nodded and Harry knew she thought the same as he did: they were going to have a nice, competent teacher, a friend, a member of the Order, a bright, talented, funny young witch whom they could trust… There was no fear she might be allied with Voldemort. They – McGonagall – had managed to prevent the Ministry from interferring at Hogwarts yet again. Tonks was allowed to come out of her prison and spend time among people.
There were only so many good things in life and he knew to cherish them.
"Harry…" Ginny started hesitantly. He forced himself to face her. Even in the plain student uniform robe she looked… like a Veela. Fortunately, she was thinking hard about something else, so she didn't notice the way he was staring at her.
"Ron and Mione are up to something," she whispered. Vain effort – those two were engaged in different activities than listening. He realised in retrospective how wise the decision not to go on the run with them was. They spent half of the time snogging – it would kill him before Voldemort could get anywhere close to him…
"D'you know what it is?" he asked, aware of the amount of damage the couple was capable of causing. She shrugged.
"Whatever it is, don't let them persuade you to participate-"
"Like I would."
"-says Fawkes," she added. That disappointed him; he had thought the phoenix knew him better than that. He was about to inquire about what else did it say, when the Hall fell silent. He looked up to the High Table, instinctively searching for Dumbledore.
McGonagall was standing in the middle, straight-backed, overlooking the room.
"Welcome back to Hogwarts." It seemed as though she had to struggle with the words, unused to the opening speech, even though she must have heard dozens of them. It sounded like she had rehearsed it, but even with Dumbledore to mimick she didn't quite manage to add to the unwelcoming atmosphere. Harry went as far as to be glad that the first-years weren't in the room yet.
"Now, if you are properly seated, we might proceed with the Sorting Ceremony."
The door burst open and a flock of eleven-year-olds was lead inside by Professor Flitwick. It took Harry a while until he noticed the tiny teacher among them at all – he fit easily, being smaller than the tallest of the children following him. There was painfully too few of them.
Now that Harry had time to look around, he noticed that the Hall was nowhere near as packed as usually. There was a lot of Slytherins missing, especially Malfoy's gang. No sign of Parkinson, Nott, Crabbe or Goyle (those two would be easily spotted anywhere), or Draco himself (predictably). On the other hand, Bulstrode and Davies sat right opposite Harry, watching the first-years with a chagrin that equalled his own.
"Ten?" Hermione asked disbelievingly. Harry noticed the badge on her robe. It was the same one she wore last year.
"Mione… you aren't the Head Girl? What happened?"
She shrugged, probably not even listening to him, gaping at the row of small scared kids.
"She had an argument with McGonagall," whispered Ginny, "I never knew she could be so… disrespectful. The hours she spent with Tonks are rubbing off on her… Point is, Hermione, of course, got the badge, but she refused to take it."
'She what!' Harry blinked a few times.
"Why?"
