Broken Bonds

A/N: Disclaimer's in the first chapter.

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November 10, Hogwarts

For about fifty years, Fawkes had been a prisoner. Forced to obey a man he found completely abhorrent and unable to escape ... or even convey to anyone that he was, in fact, a prisoner. It wasn't like anyone could understand his vocalizations. And virtually no one had any idea that phoenixes were self-aware. Mostly, again, because of the communication issue. It was rather hard to get someone to realize you were fully aware when you were a bird who couldn't talk.

But the man had gone away months ago, and not returned. From what Fawkes had overheard since then, someone had realized the man's malfeasance and done something about it. They'd even realized that the man had done something to him to force his compliance.

The relief had been intense. He would be out from under the man's control soon. Fawkes' only concern was that one of the others would attempt to recreate the man's controls. But over the last few weeks, that concern had disappeared. No one ever came near his perch. They all left him alone, except to ensure he had food and water at his disposal. It was pure luck he'd been so close to Burning. He wasn't sure what he'd have done if he'd been facing three more years of imprisonment.

Always before, even when he'd been free, he'd despised this time of his life cycle. The weakness that dragged him down, the exhaustion. The only compensation was the knowledge that it took a mere two months from him starting to lose his feathers to being full grown and at full strength once more. And even then, that compensation had been tainted, over the last fifty years, by the knowledge that the man would spend that entire period reinforcing his control over Fawkes.

It was coming. He could feel it. The tickling itch that presaged Burning working its way over his body and grew in strength, making him curl in on himself at the uncomfortable sensation as it peaked. And then it transformed into the glorious, comforting sensation of heat as flames danced, briefly, in his vision and through his body, soothing the ticklish itch before the world crumpled into darkness.

HPHPHPHPHP

McGonagall had been keeping a sharp eye on Fawkes for the last week. He'd been looking increasingly ragged and almost ill, a sure sign his burning day was approaching. It made her ill, to think of all the times she'd seen Fawkes like that, and never realized Dumbledore was keeping the gorgeous creature prisoner. To think she'd never questioned why she had seen him in decline, but never seen him on his burning day or the days shortly thereafter.

Harry had been horrified to realize that he'd been *present* for Fawkes' re-imprisonment once. He'd told both Sirius and herself all about his encounter with Fawkes in his second year. McGonagall had come away from that with the intense desire to kill Dumbledore personally, because she was fairly sure that he had been forcing his will on Fawkes right in front of Harry, who'd been none the wiser. Worse, she suspected it had been a calculated display. One creature he was controlling and manipulating watching as another was thus enslaved. Given that Dumbledore had had plans to introduce Harry to Occlumency, which would have informed Harry of the dangers of direct eye contact with certain people, Dumbledore included, McGonagall had a feeling Dumbledore had wanted Harry to figure out Fawkes was under his control, as a method of saying 'If a creature this powerful is forced to my will, what chance do you have of escape?'.

She was in the middle of doing some paperwork when an odd sound from Fawkes' direction impinged on her awareness. She looked up just in time to see him curl in on himself and burst into flame. She gave a grim, pleased smile.

"Good luck, Fawkes. I hope this is enough to break his control of you." She murmured.

HPHPHPHPHP

The darkness gave way to the dim, filtered light as seen through his pile of ash, and Fawkes pushed his way to the surface, shaking his head to dislodge the pile of ash above him. For the first time in fifty years, Fawkes discovered he was able to assess his physical condition without interference, reassuring himself that the burning had gone well, as it ought.

It took him a few moments to realize that the compulsion to obey the man was gone. To realize that for the first time in fifty years, his mind was clear and free of any outside influence. Once he did realize it, he let out an ecstatic trill. Unfortunately, because he was a mere chick at the moment, it lost most of its impact, and any further celebration was necessarily curtailed. Ah well, he could always celebrate later as well.

HPHPHP

McGonagall couldn't quite prevent an amused, relieved laugh at the tiny but very happy sounding high-pitched trill that came from chick-Fawkes. If that sound was any indication, the compulsions were gone. They'd have to wait to be sure, allow Fawkes to get up to full strength, then have someone take a look at him and make sure there was no lingering trace of the forced bond. But right now, it was looking good. Then they'd have to figure out what the heck to do.

McGonagall was leaning towards taking Fawkes' ashes back out into the wild somewhere, allow him to live completely free. She strongly doubted he'd be inclined to bond with anyone. She supposed, however, that it needed to be his choice. He deserved at least that much, after all he'd been through. Maybe if they packaged his ashes up in something he could carry? It was worth a try, at any rate, once he was full-grown again.

November 10, Location Unknown

Dumbledore was ... extremely bored. Locked in a tiny cabin, with naught but a thin cot and a chair for furniture, and no books or implements of any kind with which to amuse himself, Dumbledore had had no choice but to spend all his time awake thinking or staring into the distance. He'd quickly found himself sleeping as much as possible to pass the time. And he'd begun talking to himself just to have some sort of sound and at least the pretence of company. He never saw the house elf assigned to provide for him and clean up after him. She only ever did her jobs when he was deeply asleep, leaving him to wake to find his day's rations. At least he could mostly keep track of the time, as she came in once a week to clean the place up from what little mess he could make.

So it was that he was aware it was November, and Fawkes' burning day was very close. Which meant his time left on this earth was extremely short, as the Wizengamot had made it clear he was to be executed as soon as they were sure Fawkes would not follow him in permanent death. He would have at most a month after Fawkes' burning day left to live.

He still wondered where the hell he'd gone wrong in his plans and calculations. How things had gotten so out of control. It was just as well he had no ability to lash out magically, because he otherwise would have tried to do something to that ... that boy. That Xander. Most of the blame for the way things had fallen apart rested solely on that brat's shoulders. And there was nothing he could do about it. No one knew where he was, and most of the wizarding world would have been far more likely to kill him than help him, if they had known.

And then, between one moment and the next, breaking into his thoughts and scattering them completely, was the sudden dissolution of the bond. He felt it go, like an overstretched rubber band giving up the ghost in his head, the recoil stinging him mentally.

He was out of time. And there was nothing he could do about it. For the first time in his life, Albus began to realize what some of the people he'd used over the years must have felt, feeling the trap they couldn't see close around them. It was a highly displeasing sensation.

November 10 Hogwarts

Now that the fighting was over, Spike had found himself having a great deal of free time on his hands. Deciding to make the best of it, and recognizing that he and Xander would probably be in England for a while to come, Spike had decided to connect, or, in his case, re-connect, with the United Kingdom's demonic underground.

It had been a long time since he'd been here, in the UK proper. He and Dru had run all over Europe, but had only rarely come to the UK, the last time being during World War 2. They'd come here as a middle step to getting out of Europe entirely, heading for the United States and safer shores for the duration. The UK had been somewhat safer (the Blitz aside) than Europe proper, as the island had never been invaded.

Power bases in the demonic world could and frequently did change more frequently than in the human world, so Spike needed to find out if any of his old contacts were even still alive, never mind still in their old positions of power.

In the process, he'd been hearing some ... odd things. He'd learned his lesson, after Prague, about listening to the locals. They'd warned him and Dru that getting up to tricks in that town was a spectacularly bad idea, that the people were not blind to the existence of the demon world, and would not ignore it or blame it on something else if people started showing up dead with holes in their necks.

Spike had been getting an rather alarming number of warnings. Avoid this area entirely, and that one. Don't get up to tricks here, or there. It took him a couple days and a bit of research to realize that the areas he was being warned about coincided with magical areas.

But not public areas, like Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. No, the magical areas in question surrounded peoples' homes. More interesting, and alarming, was that the homes in question? Largely belonged to the people that had recently been shoved through the Veil with extreme prejudice, or had died in the battle at Hogwarts.

It didn't add up. These people had been fighting side by side with demons very recently. Which possibly explained why he was hearing that none of the demons in the attack had been locals. They'd all been from the continent. It all added up to a heck of a mystery, which Spike was getting nowhere solving. He needed some help on this, and more importantly, the others needed to know something was up.

It was late enough in the day that Xander ought to be in his room, so Spike headed there first, and knocked on the door. Sure enough, it opened a few moments later.

"Hey Spike. What's up? Getting anywhere with the underground?" Xander asked as he waved Spike into his room.

"Yeah. Few of my contacts are still around and in position. Couple have even gone up in rank." Spike said. "So I ought to be able to keep ahead of any trouble that comes from that direction between now and whenever we leave." Spike slouched into one of the chairs in Xander's room, arms and legs sprawled wide. "Somethin' odd's goin' on, though."

Xander, who'd taken the chair in front of his desk, leaned forward. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Been gettin' warned off of magical areas by practically everyone I talk to. Thing is, it isn't Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade or the like they're warning me away from."

Xander frowned. "That is odd. Where are they warning you away from, then?"

"The areas around the homes of quite a few of the folks we just got done fighting." Spike said.

Xander blinked. "You're sure?"

"Double checked it at the Ministry." Spike said. "They've got the locations of all the properties they seized over there. Not everyone we fought's on the list, but quite a number of them are."

Xander frowned. "That is ... really, really odd. And makes no sense, given that Voldemort used demons in the fight against Hogwarts. I wonder what the deal is?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, right now." Spike said. "I'll try'n get ahold of someone who makes sense, rather than speaking in warnings and riddles. Thought there might be more information to be found somewhere on this side of things, though."

"Good point ... demons would need a damn good reason to be leery of certain areas. That sort of thing implies either one big battle that left a really strong memory, or a long period of smaller conflicts." Xander said. "Either way, there'd be some sort of record somewhere of what was going on. I'll talk to Sirius. His family was dead-center of that sort of group, so they'd be likely to have that sort of record, and it would save us the trouble of trying to wade through the good alone knows how many books from the libraries of the seized properties."