A/N: Chap 1 review responses are in the Firebird forum like normal. Thank you for reading.
Chapter Two: Back Up A Step
Twenty-two days before Harry blew up the train to London, he sat back from his OWL revision guide for Potions with a tired sigh. Professor Lupin had kindly handed out revision guides for all the OWL subjects not just to Harry, but all of his friends as well, and those guides were what he used when revising over the summer. It had been the only thing keeping him sane since his forced imprisonment at Number 4 Privet Drive. Merlin knew his relatives were so terrified of the "freaks" that they could barely look at him. This had the advantage of giving him some peace, but it also made him quite lonely.
With another put-upon sigh, he stored the potions materials, and for the hundredth time, considered the notes he took from his mum's book. On his small composite-wood ASDA desk lay a stack of parchment from his trunk, and his mother's book. On the parchment were lines of notes comprised of the 7th and 31st letters of the 140,000 word book. Other than the first lines of the message where she said she loved him, the rest of the message was actually a more complicated cipher that took him a week to figure out.
How his mother managed to write a book that read normally while still encoding all the messages she did left Harry humbled, and feeling a little stupid, if he were to be honest with himself. He doubted he could have done the same if his life depended on it.
More astounding than the technical means she used to convey her message was the message itself. It didn't read like an enigmatic prophecy or life-changing message from the grave. It read as if she's simply written him a letter.
Wands are the key, Harry. For over a thousand years witches have been using wands to limit and control a wizard's magic. But no one has ever realized before that the wands are also killing out the wizards themselves. Study the Domesday Book in the Ministry and you will see that male birth rates have been declining every century since wands were first introduced. If things continue like this, the witch-born will go extinct entirely.
You are my solution, Harry. During my studies for this book, Professor Flitwick let me read the grimoire of Rowena Ravenclaw. Not only was she an aether, but so was her daughter. More importantly, so was her daughter's bond-mate. Before Helena Ravenclaw fled for what is now Albania, Rowena studied her and her bonded, one of the few aether wizards ever conceived, Darius Black. His mother was burned for practicing dark arts when the Sabbat learned he was an aether, but it was Rowena's notes of his birth that allowed me to create you.
Harry, when he and Rowena bonded, there was no drop of his magic. Do you understand? Rowena studied it for almost ten years, and determined that if two heterosexual actuating aethers bond, the aether aspect of their magic will offset the bond. Unfortunately, the Sabbat discovered Helena's secret. Though she loved her daughter dearly, as a Dame of the Sabbat Rowena had no choice but to obey the Sabbat and send a Dark Wizard to kill either her own daughter, or her daughter's bondmate. In his madness, the Bloody Baron slaughtered them both.
I hope you understand what you must do when the Sabbat starts pressuring you to bond, as I know they will. I've made sure you have every gift magic could give you to help you on your way, but by bonding with an aether first, you'll ensure you keep those gifts. I just wish that were enough by itself. I've seen so much blood, though, I fear it won't be. You must find the secret to wandcraft—why wands are weakening wizards so badly.
Only one person can help you. His name is Garrick Ollivander, and he is the only man still alive to have learned wandcraft. He learned at the hands of the Russian apostate Gregorovitch, shortly before Gregorovitch was assassinated by his own coven a century ago. Ollivander was later captured by Voldemort who wanted a wand that would serve the Dark Lord's magic. It says something about Ollivander's character that, despite being tortured for years, he never gave Voldemort what he wanted.
Ollivander should have gone into hiding the night I died. However, I've seen him in my dreams. I know you will find him, and he will teach you what you need.
You are not just my answer to the failing birth rates, but to the prejudice of the Covens as well. You will make a coven out of the very types of witches the other covens hate, and all the Muggleborn and Half-bloods in England will flock to your banner.
There is one more thing I must tell you, my son. Do not trust Delia Griffin. In school I spoke openly about my distaste of the covens and my theories about what the shackling of male magic was doing to the population. She pulled me out of class and threatened my life if I didn't shut up. It was she who proposed my bonding your father—not for our happiness, but for a trade. If I bonded James, she would support my having him to myself so long as I kept quiet. James was powerful, and there were already rumours in the Sabbat that he would found a new coven. Delia did not want the Potter name or the clan tithe to leave the Griffin Coven, and this was her answer.
I did shut up, but I never stopped trying to change things. I gathered friends and colleagues together to form a group I called the Order of the Phoenix. I don't know how many survived the culling I saw coming, but I hope at least a few were able to help you. The Firebird was always my favourite symbol because I saw it in you, my son. Though I have died, I know from my ashes has risen the fulfilment of all my hopes and dreams. You are the firebird's son, Harry, and you will burn so bright, and your song will be so powerful, that you will make the shadows weep in despair.
I love you.
"Firebird's son," Harry whispered. "God, Mum, why did I have to get my dad's looks? I'd much rather have had your brains."
He did not get the Daily Prophet—his relatives would never have allowed that—but fortunately he had Hedwig and Neville, and the news his best friend in the magical world was giving him was not good at all.
The Ministry of Magic had a warrant out to arrest Hermione Granger and Justine Finch-Fletchley for murder. Though the Ministry had yet to recover the body of Jarush Stennon, the supposedly innocent wizard who just happened to be near Kings Cross when he disappeared, they seemed absolutely sure he was killed in the proximity of Hermione and Justine, who both were traced using underage magic. Both girls were also charged with underage magic and violating the Secrecy Statutes, but that seemed almost laughable next to a murder charge.
Worst of all, though, was Neville's warning that Hermione was probably defending herself.
"A certain relation to an acquaintance of ours admitted she overheard a conversation between you and two of our classmates, and told her Dame. The Covens are not happy."
Neville didn't need to tell Harry that Hermione and Justine's lives were in danger—that seemed evident already. He could not imagine Hermione killing anyone unless in self-defence.
With a sigh, Harry read through his mother's note one more time before using one of Dudley's lighters to burn the parchment. The door opened when the last part was gone and Petunia jumped in. "Aha!" she snarled. "So you're the one smoking that…what is that?"
"A piece of parchment with a note I didn't want to share," Harry said explained. "And Dudley's the one smoking, Aunt Petunia. Drugs don't affect my kind. You knew that, didn't you?"
Petunia blinked. "My Dudley would never do anything like that," she said, before marching back out of his room.
Harry opened the window to let the smoke out, and in so doing saw Arabella Figg walking across the street with a paper bag of groceries in her arms. Harry rushed out of his room, down the stairs, out the door and across the street in a heartbeat.
"Here, let me help you with that," he said.
Arabella smiled slyly at him. "How thoughtful! Thank you, young man. How has your summer been so far?"
"Excruciating," Harry said. "I wish I got the paper."
"Too easy to sneak a tracer to you," she said with a shake of her head.
"Can you tell me at least a little about what's happening?"
"The Wizengamot is still in session to select a new Minister. The two most common names are Rufus Scrimgeour and Pius Thicknesse."
"At least it's not Umbridge," Harry muttered.
"Oh no, it's always a man," Arabella said. "If a woman got elected, why then the Elders might demand to have a man lead the Sabbat. But the true boss is the Undersecretary of Magic, and Dame Dolores already has that position. I will say this; things are not pleasant."
"What about Voldemort?"
Figg turned onto her sidewalk as Harry walked with her, groceries in hand. "No one knows about him, Harry, not officially. For Amelia to say he came back would be to say how, and we don't want the Covens to know you were able to bind his spirit to a new body. That power, Harry…" The older woman shuddered. "You have no idea how terrifying that type of power is—to be able to manipulate magic and soul energy so easily is frightening. If the covens found out, they would kill you."
They stepped inside, and almost immediately Harry was inundated by kneazles. "Hello, Rufus," Harry said, leaning down to lift one of the kneazles into his arms. "Yes, I remember you."
Arabella stared a moment before shaking her head. "I remember you meeting him for the first time. It was the day I tested you to see if you were an Aether or not. It seems like it has been so long. And what a remarkable young man you've become."
Harry put the kneazle down as Arabella began putting away groceries. "Were you a member of the Order of the Phoenix?"
"Were?" Arabella said with a grin. "I still am, lad. Me, Alastor, Amelia…she was only Head Auror at the time. She lost her whole coven in the purges, poor girl. Her whole family, save for one niece, who survived quite by accident."
"Is Sybil Trelawney a member?"
Arabella nodded, and then sighed. "She hasn't come by lately, I hope she's doing well."
Harry saw a spike in the other woman's magic, bound as it was by her being a squib. "You and her … oh, right. None of my business."
"No, it isn't, but I'm sure Sybil hasn't been shy about her orientation. Does she still walk around her tower naked?"
"Yeah,"
Arabella laughed and finished putting away the groceries.
"Ms Figg, have you or any of the others heard from my friends, Hermione or Justine?"
"They're in hiding, Harry," Arabella said sombrely. "They fell in with someone who had a means of magically hiding a home—I can't say where. The Ministry is looking for them, but they haven't found her yet. They can't afford to come out, either, not with that warrant pending."
"Can't Madam Bones do anything about that?"
"No, not until the dust has settled." Figg pulled a butterbeer from her icebox and handed it to Harry, who accepted it gratefully. "Harry, I know it's hard to just sit and wait, but things are very dangerous for everyone right now. The covens are watching each other jealously and the Wizengamot is squawking like a bunch of chickens over how Fudge and the Diggory boy were killed. They're even accusing Dumbledore of having a role in it, since he's the only one that close to the explosion who survived."
"How did he survive?"
"His phoenix," Arabella said. "A handy friend to have, don't you think?"
"Yeah," Harry said. He drank his butterbeer and watched as the older squib puttered around her kitchen. "Ms Figg?"
"Yes, dear?"
"What about my birthday? Will the covens…you know. Will they really make me get bonded?"
"That's the one thing that hasn't changed, Harry," she said sadly. "The Sabbat's charge is still binding, and no one has forgotten. On your fifteenth birthday, a witch will be sent to your home to bond you. By custom, if you refuse, then another will be sent, and then a third if you refuse the second. They get worse with each one—older and meaner. If you refuse the third, then you will be taken from your home and bonded by force. What would be a pleasant sensation becomes painful. I've heard it described as Coven-sanctioned rape, really."
Harry shuddered. "I don't want that to happen," he said.
"It won't, Harry," Arabella said. "Since you knew about the order, I gather you've read your mum's message?"
Harry nodded mutely.
"Do you know who she was talking about?"
"Luna."
"Luna Lovegood," Arabella confirmed with a nod. "Expect her before your birthday, Harry. She'll have to come alone because your wards would keep out adults that might accompany her. Not even I could actually go to your house. But because she is only fourteen and won't mean you harm, she can. But be warned—those wards will collapse the moment the bonding is complete."
"So I'm supposed to bond and…have sex…with a fourteen year old girl?" Harry asked. "It doesn't seem any fairer to her and it does to me."
"It isn't fair, lad," Arabella said. "But it must needs be done. I assure you the two of you are not the first in history to give your sex for a greater cause. Look for her."
"I will."
~~Firebird~~
~~Firebird~~
On the thirtieth day of July, on the eve of Harry's fifteenth birthday, a strange bus appeared on Privet Drive. It was a rather disconcerting shade of purple, with three decks. It arrived in a billow of wind and the squeal of brakes, and then disappeared with the roar of an engine and another billow of air, leaving in its inexplicable wake a single girl with long, straggly white-blond hair.
The girl wore a plain white dress with a circlet of intricately crafted silver holding her hair out of her eyes, and a pair of finely wrought silver radishes as earrings. The front of her circlet had a crown of two moons facing opposite directions and a third full moon in the centre, much like the progression of the lunar cycle.
Being a Sunday afternoon, the neighbourhood was bustling with the slow, summer activities of the proletariat. Husbands and wives dickered about outside, pretending to work on their gardens while talking amicably to their neighbours, usually about other neighbours. Children played football in the street using cheap plastic goals while their parents looked on with proud smiles.
The strange girl in the white dress and silver circlet looked vastly out of place, as if transplanted form a Tolkien novel of elves, wizards and hobbits. Nor did her behaviour aid in the impression of belonging. She stood for almost a minute, blinking in the sunlight and looking curiously about her, before taking a few hesitant steps down the street.
Dolly and Ned Spickleman frowned as the girl brazenly walked up to their front door and stared inquisitively at the number 12 set to the side of the door. "Oh, I understand!" she said, clapping her hands in delight over something that only she could guess at.
"What can we do for you, lass?" Dolly asked at last.
The girl turned and stared at her, the child's eyes widening to almost cartoon proportions. "Oh, hello. Am I not supposed to be here?"
"Generally folks don't go walking in another person's garden," Dolly said. Her own girl was four, and she was used to having to explain things simply.
"Oh, I see, terribly sorry," the girl said. "I've never seen a place like this. It is so interesting. How do you make your houses all look so alike? It's as if you just copied each house, one after the other, like magic."
Dolly glanced at her husband, and Ned stared right back, as confused as she was. "Are you looking for something, young lady?" he asked, a little more firmly.
"Oh, I am, thank you," she said, beaming broadly.
Dolly snorted and covered her face to hide the smile. Ned, with the smile he used whenever he spoke to Dursley, said, "And what might that be, girl?"
"I am looking for Harry Potter."
Dolly lost her smile. "Why would a nice girl like you look for a boy like that? I bet's not even back from that delinquent boys' school he attends."
The strange girl stared first at Dolly, then Ned, before blinking and shaking her head. "That is a very strange thing to say. Why would The Harry Potter be going to a delinquent boys' school? His ancestors fought at Arthur's side against the Saxons, his family holds lands granted by the Romans and affirmed by kings since, and he has more money than he can count. He goes to a boarding school in Scotland so exclusive one can't even apply to it, one can only be invited. You don't appear to have a wrackspurt infestation, so you must have been told that by someone else, but what a strange thing to say."
"You don't know what you're talking about, child," Dolly said.
"Oh, but I do. Our mums were good friends, you see. We attend the same school. Do you know which way to his house, please?"
Wordlessly, Ned hitched a thumb over his shoulder.
"Oh, wonderful, thank you," she said lightly before skipping—yes, skipping—out of their garden and back to the street.
When she was gone, Ned looked to Dolly and said, "You believe that?"
Dolly pursed her lips. "I've seen the Dursley boy acting the part of a hooligan, but never the smaller boy. We just have what Vernon says, and we both know what he's like."
Ned grinned. "Might make an interesting story to tell, now, mightn't it?"
~~Firebird~~
~~Firebird~~
Petunia Dursley sighed in annoyance at the sound of knocking coming from their front door.
"Who'd that be, then?" Vernon asked, as annoyed as she to have his Sunday brunch interrupted.
Petunia threw her napkin down on the table, stood and walked to the door. Upon opening it, she saw a girl in a white dress, with nearly white-blonde hair held back by an admittedly breath-taking silver circlet. She was petite, but developed enough for Petunia to place the girl in her teens. She looked up at Petunia with wide eyes of an odd shade of silver-blue and said, "Oh, hello, you must be Petunia Dursley." Then, to Petunia's shock and dismay, the girl stepped right past her as if she had lived in the house her entire life. From the kitchen, Vernon called, "Who was it, Pet?"
He looked up as Luna walked into the room, stared at him for a moment frozen in shock, and then screamed. Vernon screamed because she screamed and threw his roast beef sandwich into the air while in the process of falling from his chair. Petunia rushed back in, while Harry Potter came thudding down the stairs.
He paused at the foot of the stairs when he saw who it was and smiled despite the scream. "Luna!"
"Harry!" she said in a frantic, terrified voice. "Look at him!" She pointed.
Confused, Harry walked further into the living room where he saw his uncle trying with mixed results to right himself while Petunia tried to help. "What's wrong, Luna?" he asked while looking at Vernon.
"That…that…man!" Luna said, sounding on the verge of tears, "How can he be so fat and still be alive?"
Harry started to laugh but stopped when he realized from her expression and the feel of her magic that she was dead serious. "Well, you know, Muggles don't burn calories the way we do, so if they eat too much, they become overweight."
"Oh," she said, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "How terrible for them. He is going to die very soon."
"Luna," Harry said, fighting not to laugh at his relative's angry faces as they struggled together to get Vernon upright, "are you here to…?"
"Yes, I've come to bond with you," Luna confirmed, matter-of-factly.
"What?" Petunia squawked, in the process losing her grip on Vernon and allowing the large man to fall back to the ground with a groan.
Harry shook his head and for the first time looked into the younger girl's eyes. Almost immediately he realized his mistake, but by then it was too late.
She was looking right back at him, her own eyes large, silver and blue. Her magic sparkled about her head and began reaching for his magic of its own accord, just as his responded in kind. If was just like his first year when he looked at Mary Carlisle, the healer. "Luna, I'm not ready," he said, though there was no protest in his voice.
"Oh, I'm not either," Luna said lightly. "In point of fact, I'm quite frightened. I'm only fourteen, you know. I've thought of you constantly, of course. When the nargles and heliotropes come, sometimes I could feel you watching me and it made things better, but I'm not sure I'm ready. But it has to be now. My mum said so in her book, you see, and I saw in Sybil's class that we would bond, and father said that I had to be your first, and…oh my, what an interesting feeling."
"Yeah," Harry breathed. "You don't look like I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "Maybe the typical pretty blonde girl. But you don't look typical."
As if pulled, the two drifted closer. "I've never been told I'm pretty, so it should not surprise me you think me plain."
"Not plain," Harry said. "Different. Unique. But still pretty." Both teens were flushed brilliantly.
"Harry, I think I should kiss you now," Luna continued.
"Okay."
"Now see here!" Vernon shouted from the floor, but the two ignored him as they drew in together and kissed. It was chaste at first, but quickly deepened into something more. Vernon regained his feet at last and charged forward to physically separate them when the air about their heads cracked loudly, like a small bolt of lightning.
"I think we may be bonding now," Luna said, still in her light tone, oblivious to the Dursleys. "It feels quite extraordinary. Witch's health did not talk about this part. I feel…Harry, I think we need to go to your room now."
"Don't you dare take that slag up to your room, boy!" Vernon roared.
"I have to, Uncle Vernon," Harry said, though he could not look away from Luna. "If not her, it would have to be someone else tomorrow. The Sabbat ordered me to bond."
"My father will be coming soon," Luna said. "To see us marry before the Covens kill me. The bond must be consummated before then. Are you ready?"
"Are you?"
"No," Luna said with a nervous giggle. "As good as it feels, I'm still quite frightened. I'm only fourteen, after all."
"I'm scared too."
To the stunned shock of the Dursleys, Harry and Luna took each other's hands and walked slowly up the stairs, staring deeply into each other's eyes the entire time. The door to Harry's room slammed shut moments later.
When at last he could speak, Vernon snarled, "I want that Freak out of this house today! I won't have it, not anymore!"
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Author's Note: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. If there are any major faux-pas, they are entirely of my own doing.