Chapter 6: Phoenix Tale
Fawkes fluttered feebly in the pile of ashes. Harry stooped closer, transfixed. Harry was sure that there was more than one phoenix in the world, but instinctively he knew that this was Dumbledore's old pet Fawkes. He wondered how Fawkes had gotten into the Department of Mysteries.
Harry attempted to connect with his Aura that possessed the bird. The only thing he felt was gnawing hunger.
Oh. He's hungry, thought Harry.
"What do you eat?" asked Harry.
Harry felt the bird's own aura reach towards him confidently, and Harry received a very clear picture of…a plant which he could not identify. Because he'd never seen the plant before, he knew he wouldn't be able to successfully conjure it.
"Ok, easy enough," said Harry, sarcastically. The small and grimy looking bird before him appeared to sigh. Then, it burst into flames and disappeared. Fawkes reappeared a moment later with a smoking branch with red seeds in his beak.
"You want more of those?" asked Harry, a little alarmed at the small bird's disappearance. Fawkes kept staring at him. Harry concentrated, and then made a large pile of branches appear smoking and glowing on the table next to the baby Phoenix. The Phoenix cooed appreciatively, and tried to take a step towards them, but it tripped over a particularly large clump of ashes. Harry reached out to move a branch towards Fawkes, but, in another burst of flame, Fawkes disappeared and reappeared next to the pile of branches, and yawned towards them with his absurdly large beak.
"Showoff," chuckled Harry appreciatively.
As Fawkes ate, his feathers shone brighter, and his body became longer and more graceful. By the time he was finished, his beak didn't look nearly as absurdly large. He looked at Harry expectantly.
"Seriously? That was like…five pounds of plant." But Fawkes's look persisted. Harry made another pile of branches appear, this time he conjured enough that he was sure that Fawkes wouldn't finish them all. The table was covered in smoking branches and crackling seeds heaped a half yard high. Fawkes went to work, scooping them up and munching them happily. The occasional stream of smoke escaped through his beak. Before Harry's eyes, Fawkes's neck elongated, and his tail feathers grew several feet behind him. He acquired a luscious gold and red plume on his head. He stopped when only a third of the branches were left on the table. Fawkes was fully grown, and his stomach was slightly distended.
"Eyes bigger than your stomach," teased Harry, looking pointedly at the leftover branches still on the table.
The rest of the pile of branches went up in flame, and Harry jumped back in alarm. Fawkes whistled in amusement, and Harry's heart filled up with his song.
"I guess they don't keep anyway, do they," said Harry, smiling.
Harry tried again to connect with the aura that resided within the bird, but only felt pieces of intense emotion and flashes of Fawkes's consciousness. He could tell that in order to leave Fawkes with his free will, he would have to access his soul at Fawkes's convenience, rather than try to break through his barriers. He wasn't even sure that he could break through; phoenixes were powerful creatures.
Harry realized that Fawkes needed a perch. He immediately pictured the cage that Headwig had occupied, but the idea of caging such a free spirited bird repulsed him. Fawkes continued gazing at him, curiously cocking his head.
"Where would you like to live, Fawkes?" Harry asked.
Fawkes continued staring at Harry, but an image floated into Harry's head. It was over saturated with fiery colors, but Harry could make out a perch before the image vanished. It looked exactly like the one that used to sit in Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore. Back when Harry was in school, he had once wondered how Dumbledore acquired Fawkes. Now his mind was racing through all the possible situations that could lead to Harry's separation with the Bird, part of his soul. Harry still didn't know what role Fawkes played in his soul, but Harry couldn't imagine how Fawkes would eventually come to be Dumbledore's faithful pet and no longer an intimate part of Harry.
Fawkes cooed, bringing Harry out of his thoughts. He remembered the perch. He focused on the image Fawkes had sent him, and conjured the stand. It appeared where the branches had been. It was about a half of a meter high, and was made of elegant, dark wood. Satisfied, Harry gestured "here you go," to the bird.
The perch burst into flames.
"Picky, picky," said Harry, torn between irritation and amusement.
Fawkes sent him the image again, and Harry studied it frantically before it faded. It seemed like Fawkes showed him the image for an even shorter time to test him. Harry squinted his mind's eye at the perch, and then realized what had been wrong. He needed to make it out of metal so that it didn't burn.
He focused once more, and conjured the stand. This time, it was a rich gold. Fawkes crooned appreciatively, hopped into the hair, and landed gracefully on the perch. Harry was satisfied when it did not wobble or tip under his weight.
"Anything else?" Harry asked, stroking the bird's head. It leaned into the touch.
Fawkes turned his long neck and stared pointedly at the letter to Dumbledore on the table.
"Oh," said Harry, "do you, er, deliver?" Harry had been wondering if he should get an owl to deliver the letter to Dumbledore. He delivered all his business letters by magic, knowing that his correspondents would think owls had dropped them there, but he knew that Dumbledore was experienced in detecting magic. Harry didn't want to rouse suspicion through his talents. The protections around Hogwarts were strong and Dumbledore's office well guarded, and though Harry knew that he could send a letter through any of the obstacles, Dumbledore would surely investigate if he found a letter in his office without the memory of letting in the owl who delivered it. Phoenixes were rare, but Harry would take attention as the owner—or companion, as he thought was more appropriate—of a phoenix over suspicion for his powerful and potentially dark magic.
He thought briefly of Dumbledore detecting his aura and soul from within Fawkes, but the combination of his occlumancy and Fawkes's own forceful personality would, undoubtedly, mask all but a trace of Harry's magic. Harry wasn't unduly worried. He was only worried about degrading his new friend, Fawkes, by having him deliver messages like an owl.
Before he could voice these concerns, however, Fawkes swooped off the perch spreading his wings. He took a lap around the room and scooped up the letter.
"But it isn't addressed!" called Harry. He magically opened the window just before Fawkes crashed through it.
"Annnd there goes part of my soul," he muttered, as Fawkes swooped off into the distance, Harry's scroll clutched in his golden talons. Harry stared dumbly out the window for several minutes. It had all happened so fast.
He ran over the last few minutes—for it had only been about ten—in his mind. He tried to think back to what Dumbledore had said about Phoenixes. He distinctly remembered the occasion on which Fawkes had lifted Harry and an assortment of other people out of the chamber of secrets; phoenixes could carry immensely heavy loads. He knew their tears had healing powers which allowed them to regenerate, and that their tail feathers could be used in wands.
Harry strained his memory, but could think of nothing else. He decided he needed to find a book on phoenixes. He summoned his bag to him, disapparated though the protections on his flat, and appeared in front of Flourish and Blots in Diagon Alley with an intentional crack. In the book store, he found the section on magical creatures. He flipped through the titles (Dragons for Dummies, The Values of Veela, Having a Hippogriff, Fascinating Flobberworms, etc.). He found Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, but it only had a brief chapter on Phoenixes. Finally, he found a book called Philosophy of the Phoenix. He bought it.
Harry exited the shop, and, since it was a nice summer day, decided to find a place to sit outside and read. However, as he passed the entrance for Knockturn Alley, a troubling thought crossed his mind. If Fawkes had just been born about a half hour earlier, and had been mostly in Harry's presence, how did Voldemort ever get a wand with Fawkes's tail feathers for a core? Had Fawkes really just been born?
Harry found a bench and flipped open the book, its new spine crackling. He looked through the table of contents until he found a chapter that looked promising. Life Cycle…69. Harry flipped to page 69. He scanned the chapter until he found the information he wanted.
Phoenixes are able to regenerate after they die. For several days before they die, they wither; their feathers fall out, and their eyes dull. On their burning day, they burst into flame, and are reborn from the ashes. If the phoenix feels like it is in a threatening situation as it burns, it may choose to be reborn into an egg. This egg is gold, unlike the red eggs when Phoenixes are first born (see pg 14).
So Fawkes was able to regenerate himself into an egg, but had really just been born. Harry was struck with wonder as he remembered how wise the bird already was immediately after its birth.
But Harry's problem was still unsolved…unless…
Harry slammed the book shut and tucked it into his bag. He tore down Diagon Alley, and ducked into Knockturn alley. He raced along, and accidentally passed Borgin and Burkes. He stopped himself, nearly tripping over a hag, and turned around. He went into the shop. The door squeaked.
Harry immediately met Voldemort's gaze. Voldemort took a moment to recognize him, and then his face contorted in anger.
"It's you. Get out," he said, his voice too controlled.
"No," said Harry, trying to provoke him.
"I told you to get out, imbecile," said Voldemort, quietly, his eyes briefly turning red. Harry laughed at his use of the word "imbecile." He reminded himself that it was the fifties and that insults went in and out of style, but he had been under the impression that "imbecile" had been considered pompous for at least a hundred years.
"I'm a customer. Do you treat all of your customers this way, or is it just me? You know, they always say that boys pick on people they really like. Do you really like me, Tom Riddle?" asked Harry, flirting comfortably.
The flirting finally crossed the line, and Voldemort had had enough. He reached for his wand, but only managed to raise it to stomach level. Harry had, with inhuman speed and agility thanks to his body-aura, closed the distance between himself and the young Dark Lord. Voldemort was pinned against a shelf. Harry leaned in, and their chests touched. Harry's hand reached between them and grabbed Voldemort's half-raised wand.
"Don't do that," Harry whispered in Voldemort's ear.
As he touched Voldemort's wand, he knew immediately that it was not the Yew and Phoenix wand that he came to use in later life. He had done what he had come to do.
"I'm watching you, Tom," he whispered, trying not to laugh at himself. He pushed off of the Dark Lord and turned around to leave.
Just then, his strong and focused instincts kicked in, and he wordlessly cast a powerful shielding charm around himself before Voldemort's curse could reach him. It bounced off the shield and was absorbed into the ceiling. Harry snorted and said, "be careful, Tom. There are powerful wizards about."
As he left, he let down the occlumency barriers on his instinct aura to give Tom a dose of fight or flight as retaliation for the curse. He knew it was a little reckless to expose Voldemort to his powers, but after this close encounter, he was fairly certain that he was more powerful than the young Dark Lord. Voldemort's soul and aura was shattered while Harry's was seven times a normal soul.
Harry made sure that he bumped Voldemort with the right part of his aura before letting go of the door behind him. The door squeaked and slammed shut, and Lord Voldemort was horrified to find himself inexplicably afraid and aroused. He prayed on all of his horcruxes that Harry had not noticed.
Harry burst into a fit of laughter. He hadn't laughed this hard since his thirty seventh birthday when Luna had explained to him that the candles on the cake were bombs planted by Lartenfluff beasts to blow up his cake. Harry had grown used to Luna's ludicrous magical theories, but he couldn't contain his mirth when Dean had blown up the cake with his wand (somehow managing to ignite Seamus's eyebrows, even though he was standing behind several people who all remained unscathed).
Harry floated down from his high, and remembered his phoenix wand problem. If Voldemort wasn't yet using the Yew wand, then Harry's own wand probably hadn't been created either. He decided to check Olivander's.
The shop was just how he remembered it. The window held a single faded pillow with one wand upon it. He pushed inside the door. The shop gave him the same impression of a library as it had the first time he'd entered it. It was quiet, and dusty.
Only this time, with his own magical aura, he could feel all the wands sleeping in their boxes. He could feel their unused potential. He could feel their power and could compare them. He could even feel which ones would choose him.
He felt Olivander's presence hiding behind one of the shelves, waiting to spring out. (Harry had reinstated his occlumency so that he could browse the area with his auras as he pleased.) He tapped his foot in mock impatience, and Olivander swung out from behind a shelf dramatically.
"Ah, yes…you are a newcomer or did my father sell you your first wand?" he asked, with the air of someone who was trying to be creepy but hadn't quite gotten the knack yet.
"None of those, actually," I guess he doesn't remember every wand he's ever sold, thought Harry. Olivander looked slightly abashed, but did not interrupt. "Do you have any phoenix tail feather wands made of holly or yew? Can I see them?"
Olivander peered at Harry, his eyes narrowed. The effect was much more impressive when Olivander had acquired long grey eyebrows. Olivander sighed, looking contemplative, and summoned several boxes. Harry moved to open one, but Olivander smacked his hand away, clearly trying to gain some control over the situation.
He showed Harry the contents of each box, and Harry frowned and motioned for the next after each one. Soon, Olivander had run out of wands. A tangled heap of wands was now piled on the spindly chair as it had on the day Harry received his wand.
Clearly Mr. Olivander thought Harry looked disappointed, because Mr. Olivander cut through his thoughts, "Sir, it is the wand that chooses the wizard! One cannot be satisfied if he is choosing the wand himself! I urge you to try them out!"
"I'd agree, but I'm not here to buy anything."
Mr. Olivander looked offended, and was about to say something indignant when flames roared into being above the back of the spindly chair. When the flames faded, they could both see Fawkes perched on the chair looking rather pleased with himself.
Mr. Olivander forgot to be upset about the fire near his wands. "My word! A Phoenix! In my shop!" exclaimed Olivander.
"Hello, Fawkes" said Harry brightly.
"Is…is this your bird, sir?" stuttered Mr. Olivander.
"He's currently choosing my company," replied Harry, thinking that the ownership implied in Olivander's statement was a little inaccurate.
"He is quite a beautiful specimen," said Olivander in awe.
Fawkes was indignant about being called a specimen, but Harry could feel his pleasure at the complement.
"Quite intelligent too," replied Harry, "I'm pretty sure he can understand you."
"Indeed?" said the young Olivander, slightly taken spoke again, but this time addressing Fawkes directly.
"It is an honor, Fawkes," he said solemnly, bowing. Harry thought that bowing was a little over-dramatic, but Fawkes whistled, clearly satisfied with Olivander's new respect.
"I apologize, I have never had the pleasure of meeting a phoenix," continued Olivander. "We wandmakers" he said, his eyes going wide with practiced mystery, "use the tail feathers of phoenixes as the magical core for wands, but I knew not the true value of your species. I shall never again use feather of a phoenix, nor the hair of a unicorn without first acquainting myself with the giver."
"Might be good to make sure the phoenix has the right temperament, too," said Harry practically. Fawkes whacked Harry in the face with his tail. Harry thought he was being reprimanded for an insensitive comment, until Fawkes kept his tail in Harry's face. Then Harry was just confused.
Then, Harry's mind's eye was saturated in warm colors, once more, and Harry could see two long feathers drifting downwards, side by side. Harry understood.
Really? he thought. Fawkes swished his tail, and Harry could see that two of the feathers had already dislodged. Harry stroked the tail, and pulled out the two loose feathers. Feathers had already begun to re-grow in their place.
Olivander stood open mouthed.
"These are a gift from Fawkes," said Harry, keeping the sudden swell of emotion he felt for Fawkes off of his face. He silently conferred with Fawkes, for a moment and then amended, "You may have them on the condition that you make them into a holly wand and a yew wand."
"Will you be back to purchase them?" Olivander asked, his eyes wide.
Harry chuckled. "One will be bought soon, I'd wager. The other…you'll see. It might be good for you to remain…curious." He paused. "Do we have a deal?"
Mr. Olivander nodded vigorously. Harry blew gently on the feathers, and they floated gracefully, albeit more accurately than feathers normally fly without the aid of magic, to land in Mr. Olivander's palm.
With that, Harry swished out of the shop, Fawkes on his shoulder. Olivander stood behind the counter, his mouth hanging open. He glanced down at the feathers, and glanced back up to watch Harry walk down the alley, but he was gone.
A/N for Purists: Ok, ok, I know it's generally implied that Tom Riddle's first wand was the Yew and Phoenix (it may even be stated outright), but it didn't say so on the Lexicon so I decided it wasn't an important enough detail for me to mess with my whole plot. If there were two Fawkses in this time line, then Dumbledore could already have one and that's just messy. If it really bothers you, we can have a round of e-fisticuffs.