A/N: This has been beta'd by God. Thank you, God. If God missed anything, it was meant to be. That, or he changed grammar. That, or he was too busy to actually edit this and he was fibbing when he beamed it back to me smiling and nodding like he does. (Dear God, if you exist and are reading this, please do not smite me for throwing your name about frivolously, writing trashy fanfiction, and eating way too many tater tots at breakfast last Saturday. Oh, and God? Please review).

Enjoy.

Chapter 54: Double, Double

Harry and Albus bade Nicolas and Penny goodbye ("Goodbye, Nicolas, goodbye Mrs. Claus") and Harry teleported himself and Albus back to Albus's office.

"So shall we get started, I—"

"Albus."

"Have the feathers and the tears and—"

"Albus."

"A few ideas to write down already and—"

"Albus."

"Yes, Harry? What is it?"

"I…just wanted to say thank you for…having a backup plan back there."

"Oh, Harry, you're welcome, though I thought you were angry with me for plotting behind your back and forcibly restraining you."

"Of course not," said Harry. "If Fawkes had gotten in control and somehow made it out of the house, it would have made both our lives more difficult. So. Thank you." He had to catch himself before he said, "you can forcibly restrain me any time you want."

They were both silent for a while, and the moment was getting a little too touching, so Harry interrupted.

"So. What's this potions idea you had?

It took them four hours, but Harry and Albus finally managed to assemble an ingredients list and rough procedure for the base of the potion. It took Harry's knowledge of Voldemort's rebirthing ritual, Albus's considerable knowledge in potions theory, a fire call to Slughorn and three fire calls to Nicolas before they had a sound potions structure.

It was an interesting experience for Harry, who had never invented a potion before, nor any magic. This particular potion drew not only on his knowledge of potions, but on transfiguration, charms, astronomy, and care of magical creatures. He wasn't sure if it was just spending time with Albus or if he actually liked inventing potions, but he had a fantastic time. He loved watching Albus's eyes light up when he solved a problem or had an idea. Harry found that he could keep up fairly well intellectually, and often found himself getting just as excited as Albus over figuring out a piece of the puzzle.

So after two hours, they had a recipe and a set of instructions—a very complex set of instructions with some very difficult ingredients.

1.) In gold cauldron (large enough to fit a man and a phoenix), heat phoenix tears on medium flame for ten minutes (or until potion turns golden brown).

2.) Add puree of mandrake root (one arm's worth from a baby mandrake) and stir counterclockwise seven times. (Potion should turn black).

3.) Tie two unicorn tail hairs in a circle, and drop evenly on the surface (potion should turn transparent).

4.) When the unicorn hair circle sinks to exactly half way down the potion, drop a beazor in the center of the circle. The beazor and hair should reach the bottom of the potion at the same time. When the beazor hits the bottom of the cauldron, remove it with a set of gold tongs smithed by Harry.

5.) Let stew on low flame until sunset.

6.) Under the light of the green flash at sunset, light the surface of the potion on fire and stir with Harry's phoenix feather until flames turn red. Allow to burn until sunrise.

7.) Twenty minutes before sunrise, feed Harry Flame Freezing draft and submerge him to the neck in (still lit) potion.

8.) At seven minutes until sunrise, start addition of main three ingredients.

And that's as far as they'd gotten. They'd gotten stuck around what the main three ingredients should be.

"When I saw the ritual," repeated Harry, "his servant used bones from his dead father 'unknowingly given,' blood from his enemy 'forcibly taken,' and flesh from the servant 'willingly sacrificed.'"

"Yes, Harry, but we do not know what comparable ingredients will work for our formula."

"Well, what about the tears and feathers?"

"The concept of those objects seems…solid, but…we cannot use the same ingredients in the base of the potion and in the ritual part at the end. They will cancel each other out."

"Well, what if we use a different phoenix's tears and feathers for the first part."

"Good idea, but I still think that would dilute the magic…but…It may just work. What about the third ingredient? Think about what makes Fawkes himself…"

"Well, his self sacrifice, for one," said Harry. "And his compassion."

"What else, Harry?"

Harry pictured Fawkes, and immediately it came to him—a song. Music filled his mind and his whole body, and he knew what the last ingredient had to be.

"His song," said Harry. "His spirit."

"Yes, but Harry, how are we supposed to put his song into a potion?"

"Memory," said Harry simply. "We add a memory."

"Oh. OH! That's brilliant! A memory is a powerful magical substance—I don't know why I didn't think of it before…Do you have memory of his song?"

"Of course," said Harry, remembering the first time he ever heard Fawkes sing: in the Chamber of Secrets when he'd lost all hope, and the phoenix song carried him to a place of bravery and strength.

"Excellent," said Albus.

"Well, should we get started on the potion?"

"We should look this over again tomorrow to make sure we didn't make any mistakes. We'll need to gather supplies, and time it so that we start a good amount of time before sunset."

Harry looked outside. The sun had long since set. It was hard to imagine that it was still the same day when Fawkes, in Harry's form, had dueled Albus. Most of the students and many professors had left during the day, so the castle was quieter.

"What time is it?" asked Harry.

"Ten-o-clock," said Albus. "Are you hungry?"

The second Albus asked, Harry realized that he was ravenous. "Yeah," he replied. "Fancy a walk to the kitchens?"

"Absolutely—I just don't fancy the walk back up," Albus smiled.

"I can take care of that," said Harry.

The two of them chatted all the way down to the kitchens, through their dinner, and back up to Albus's office without remembering to teleport.

"So," asked Albus while preparing some tea, "why, do you suppose, is it that my presence or physical contact with me can bring you back to control?"

Harry had been dreading that question.

"I don't know," he responded. "Maybe Fawkes recognizes your aura and backs off, or something," he invented. His real theory was that contact with Albus woke up the only part of him that Fawkes couldn't or didn't want to resist.

Albus hummed in thought as he brought poured tea into a cup for Harry and one for himself. "Well, unless we can come up with a way to make sure you to remain in control, I think you'll have to stay the night with me." He sat down in the chair across from Harry.

Harry was silent for a moment, processing what Albus had said.

Stay the night.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I really don't think there's another option. I hate to inconvenience you."

Overnight. In bed. With Albus.

If he refused, he could wind up out of control flying around Egypt, for all he knew. If he stayed, he didn't know that he'd be able to keep their dreams apart.

An image flashed into his mind of himself and Albus in matching purple pajamas eating lemon scones in bed.

No, this was purely business.

"No, you're right. It makes sense," he heard himself say. "I don't want to end up in Egypt or something."

"Tomorrow you can try smithing a pair of tongs. We'll get the gold from Nicolas."

Harry nodded.

"And we can go get the ingredients for the potion."

Harry nodded again.

"Harry, you look exhausted."

"Really, I'm fine."

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

Harry was about to reply with "of course," but he actually didn't know.

"Probably not," he said. "But let's talk about the tongs." He wanted to procrastinate being in bed with Albus until he came up with a game plan…

"Alright."

Harry leaned back in the armchair, and closed his eyes to think. When he opened his eyes, he was lying in purple satin sheets, bathed in sunlight with Albus looking down at him with a silver tray in his arms.

"Good morning, Harry. Did you sleep well? Would you like a lemon scone?"