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Chapter 18 - Phoenix Song

Albus had just reached his tower after bidding his students off to dinner.

No sooner had he entered his office did the Headmaster portraits begin to shout at him all at once.

Finally, Phineas Black raised his voice above the others, "Aurors were spotted in the castle, in Dolores Umbridge's escort. One would imagine—" And here his voice drawled, "That they have an interest in Mister Potter."

Albus turned on his heel and called, "Fawkes."

He had just left Harry, in sight of the other professors, surely, he would be okay.

Surely.

But the moment Fawkes landed on his shoulder he instructed, "To Dolores's office, my friend."

Fawkes trilled and they were engulfed in flame.

Dolores yelped when he appeared before her, spilling her tea down her front.

"Where is Mr. Potter?" Albus asked without delay.

She waved her wand at herself cleaning up the mess, "I assume he went back to his room."

Albus flicked his own wand from his sleeve, "I will ask once more, where is Harry J. Potter?"

Her lips thinned, "He was arrested for murdering Cedric Diggory."

Albus felt white-hot rage fill his veins, and his voice came out far softer than he intended, "Where is Harry?"

Fawkes squawked from his shoulder in an angry exclamation.

Dolores finally seemed to note her danger, but she kept her shoulders straight as she said, "At the Ministry, being interrogated by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Albus's wand was moving before he could think, before he could fully process the implication.

Granted, he was a tad more sensitive to his students being removed forcefully from school grounds since the end of last year.

But when it came to Harry, Albus was growing, distinctly, more attached.

And maybe that would have be a problem if Harry had merely been a mere celebrity of their world.

Harry wasn't a celebrity, he was a warrior and he was a political target.

Again, Albus had failed to keep him safe.

Dolores didn't have time to fight him. And the pink toad's eyes widened in fright, seeming to bulge from her skull. Her ribbits were uncertain as she tried to process what had just happened.

Albus transfigured the toad a cage. He left her there on her desk and Fawkes whisked him away to the Ministry.

Harry had a profound connection to the phoenix, that went beyond the single feather in his holly wand, to the point where when Albus died, he wouldn't be surprised if Fawkes stayed with the young Potter.

It was due to this connection that the phoenix was able to take him right to Harry, where Albus was greeted with a painfully familiar sight.

Arianna's episodes had been called by his brother and parents 'temper tantrums' or 'rages'.

Albus had never viewed it as such. The magic that had ripped from her had been like a geyser breaking through the earth's surface, or a hurricane tearing across a tropical shore, uprooting trees, bowing flora and fauna to the storm's onslaught.

But that was a description of her magic, of what her magic had become.

It wasn't an expression of what she had felt, it had been the result of what her magic had become after she had repressed it for so long.

In truth, it wasn't even a reflection of a lack of control, but rather the product of too much control. Accidental magic was not in itself a problem. It could be, on occasion, a worrying indication, of either not using their magic enough or being in an unsafe environment.

But this was different than the repression of one's magic, repression to the point where the magic took on a life of its own.

It didn't make sense in Harry's case, he used magic daily, and as of this year, used magic at an impressively high level and frequency. Yet still, Harry's magic was behaving as if he were psychically injured, as if his magical core were damaged.

And damaged cores behaved like diseased animals, attacking their host.

Harry wasn't throwing a tantrum, he wasn't the cause of the storm tearing through the Auror's office, he was its victim. Unlike everyone else in the room, he was the only one who couldn't get away.

Albus waved his wand, bringing up a shield around himself while everyone else cowered behind doorways and overturned tables.

Fawkes tucked himself against Albus's neck, claws digging into his shoulders.

The shield blocked the debris but the wind was another matter, making every step slower than he wanted it to be.

Harry was curled in on himself, hands clutching his head as he yelled into the power circling around him. Yelling his pain and fear against the magic that was tearing through him. The closer Albus got the better able he was to see the shackles around his wrists and ankles.

Albus swallowed his rage, reminding himself that Harry, like Arianna, wasn't angry, he was scared, hurting, and filled with such unimaginable despair that Albus could not imagine it.

Eventually, Albus reached Harry, and Fawkes raised flame around the both, and in a rush of fire, they were returned to Hogwarts, directly to their medical wing.

Travelling by Phoenix was easier than portkeying or apperation. But shifting through space was still a folding of reality, or in Fawkes's case, burning through it.

Albus turned Harry so he wouldn't choke on anything he threw up.

Veritaserum was scentless and tasteless when slipped into drinks or puddings, less so when it was mixed with stomach acid.

The distinctive blue bile again had Albus breathing past his fury.

The Aurors —supposed Aurors— had tortured him. Knowing Harry, the fear of revealing anything about his father and godfather would be far worse than most physical pains.

Albus rarely believed most crimes deserved Azkaban, but tonight would be an exception.

Harry fisted Albus's robes in his hand as his tears began to flow.

Albus should call Poppy, but as Fawkes began to sing, he knew there were other things Harry needed.

Fawkes draped his fire-hued wings over Harry's back, laying his feathered cheek against Harry's.

Albus cast concealing charms around them and accioed the basic healing supplies he would need to patch Harry up. He wasn't a medic, but he could give Harry some time to regain himself before submitting him to Poppy's assessments.

oOo

Fawkes's beautiful singing drove away Voldemort's voice in Harry's mind. But it wasn't just because of the phoenix's song that was bringing him a sense of security, but Albus Dumbledore being here with him.

Saving him, again, from a world that wanted to crush him.

There had been a time, not so long ago when Harry would have spat in Dumbledore's face. Or at least wanted to, despising the fact that the elder wizard was never there when he needed him most.

But he had come tonight, just as he had come when Voldemort had appeared at the ministry.

Harry had been so filled with anger and loss then, but now?

Now he felt empty, his head ached, the scar pulsing, and he just…

He just hated that he didn't have the freedom to be himself. That he couldn't escape his enemies even in his own mind.

In Dumbledore's office, it had seemed so simple. Albus had trusted his education to Snape while avoiding Harry at every turn.

'I don't care what you've got to say! I don't want to hear anything you've got to say!'

You will, Dumbledore had responded. 'Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be.'

But he wasn't angry anymore.

He was tired.

He was empathetic. Hadn't Harry made as many mistakes? It was Harry's fault Cedric had died, Harry's fault his friends had wound up in the hospital wing, time and time again, and Harry's fault Sirius was dead.

All because he couldn't listen. All because he thought he had to understand before he could trust.

This time around, he had kept his issues to himself and things had still gone to hell.

It was easier for him to understand that even when trying his best, Dumbledore had fallen short.

Just like Harry.

Neither of them it would seem trusted others enough.

It was a perilous game to trust.

Sometimes trusting got you hurt.

And sometimes, not trusting got others killed.

Dumbledore had been doing that math for decades, he had failed in some and succeeded in others.

But what he never did was stop trying, or give up hope that goodness and decency could one day win out.

Tonight, Harry couldn't be angry at Dumbledore, he couldn't judge without judging himself as harshly.

In this moment, he didn't give a fuck about right or wrong. All he knew was that he hurt, that the wizarding world was trying to steal away his family, and that he had no way of controlling what happened next.

So when Dumbledore returned Harry's hug, those twinkling blue eyes having been filled with such caring and sorrow, Harry broke.

He didn't recognise the sound that spilled from his lips as tears blurred his vision.

He cried like a newborn.

He hated it, it was humiliating and stupid and weak.

But now that he had started he couldn't stop.

Voldemort was trying to take his family away and he was using the wizarding world to do it.

He was scared and he felt helpless.

Fawkes surrounded them with warmth and melody. Dumbledore felt like an island in the storm as he held him tight, murmuring soft nothings save for the promise that the worst would not happen.

Because Dumbledore would not allow it.

It was a lie.

Of course it was a lie, but a lie Harry let himself lean into. Because he would never be safe, and Dumbledore was as good a bet as any he could think of.

Harry had no certainty, but perhaps, he did have hope.

Hope could fail him again and again, yet the only true failure was giving up on hope.

That's what Voldemort had been whispering in his mind, in his nightmares.

Give up.

Harry wouldn't.

Not on himself.

And not on the people who were trying to lead him to shore.

oOo

Albus's heart broke for the boy. This was too much sorrow for any one child to hold and remain a child.

Yet Albus was relieved to see that sorrow, to be entrusted to be here for this moment.

His sister had never cried, not truly, not even with Aberforth. She kept it all in, locked away, and ultimately that is what had destroyed her.

Not the abuse she had suffered, but the shame and the grief that followed. A human being could take so much, not unaltered, not unaffected, but it was fear of pain, fear of future harm, not truly the pain and harm that would defeat a person.

Harry crying now, like this, raw and bleeding, was a deeper release of magic than he knew.

Depression was not sadness, battle fatigue was not tears.

No, the danger lay in the numbness, in the fear, in the hopelessness.

Arianna had locked herself down. Had been unreachable and never let herself see beyond the horrors in her own mind. Trapped by her own demons.

It hadn't been her fault.

But Harry was more resilient than Albus's sister, perhaps because he had more to live for, more people to live for.

More life to hope for.

Friends who he not only trusted but loved.

Family, he not only loved by but also saw himself as being needed by.

Albus didn't know if Arianna ever knew how much Aberforth needed her. His brother had been so gifted, yet so misunderstood that he saw the world as a united enemy against him.

Harry didn't know James well enough, but to Albus, it was plain to see how much Harry cared for Sirius.

Cared for Sirius in ways that he couldn't care for himself.

For Harry's ability to forgive and care for another person, even if he hardly knew them, was unparalleled to any being he had met before, something unique to himself.

And then there was Luna Lovegood.

Young love could be beautiful, and the innocence of their love was certainly star-bright, but it was the awareness they seemed to have of it, of each other, that made them so singular.

Albus had never doubted Harry's ability for love, he was much like his parents in that way, but Albus had feared his capacity to allow himself to be loved.

The abuse by the Dursleys and the hot and cold nature of the wizarding world's fixation on him was enough to unmoor any man.

Yet with Luna, Harry had allowed himself the happiness of being himself.

It was an act of bravery to let yourself be seen so fully and accept kindness.

So as Harry cried in his arms, Albus grieved for him, but he did not despair.

He would make Cornelius and Dolores pay for harming Harry and his students, for gaslighting their people, leaving them vulnerable to Tom's cruelties.

Harry would survive this and Cornelius would suffer for his actions and cowardness. Suffer far more than a man in his position had ever contemplated. It was said that what men of power feared most was losing their power.

This was a trite simplification, for what the powerful truly feared was being treated like everybody else, to be treated as they had so carelessly or cruelly treated others.

Although Albus couldn't inflect everything that had been done to Harry onto those fools, he could certainly bring the full weight of the law down upon their heads.

oOo

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