Phoenix Rising

Revelations


Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, incredible literary goddess that she is. Except for that epilogue, I mean really.


A huge thanks to my new beta, Mel! You rock!


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Harry dreamed.


He was twelve years old again, lying in a puddle of water in the Chamber of Secrets, his own lifeblood seeping from his arm. Basilisk venom coursed through his bloodstream, its acid burn moving swiftly towards his chest, where it would surely stop his heart. The hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor lay heavy in his palm, and he knew if he looked he would see the blade still coated with red-black basilisk blood.


Through a haze of pain he could hear the warbling, singing cry of a phoenix. Fawkes.


Hot air caressed his face as the glowing bird landed beside him. Fawkes warbled mournfully, then bent his head over the wound in Harry's arm.


The tears hissed as they landed in the open wound, and Harry felt the battle raging in his veins. Phoenix tears battled basilisk venom, tracking the poison through his veins and destroying it with fire. It reached and burned, burned and reached, until it had traveled all the way to his heart.


Heat flared once more, intensely, in Harry's chest, then subsided.


Harry opened his eyes to find Fawkes staring at him with head cocked. A golden shimmer radiated from the bird, a corona of light that promised healing and protection. Harry lifted a shaky hand, and Fawkes leaned down, nipping his finger.


The phoenix warbled again, this time with an urgent quality, although how he knew what an urgent warble sounded like, Harry had no idea. Good thing he was dreaming. Fawkes seemed to want Harry to grab onto his tail feathers, swishing them against his wrist in agitation. Remembering what Dumbledore had told him about Phoenixes being able to carry very heavy loads, Harry grabbed hold.


The world blurred, tunneling around him like when the ship jumped to Warp Drive in Star Trek, which he had seen during one of the few times the Dursleys had allowed him to sit on the floor and watch tele with them. Harry had a vague sense of time and distance passing around them, before they slowed, appearing in a sun-drenched, blue-skyed landscape.


Dry heat assaulted his senses, and below him stretched the sands of a desert. They flew swiftly, Harry keeping a firm hold on Fawkes' tail feathers as the sands raced beneath them. He squinted against the wind that caused his eyes to water, and caught his breath as he saw what they approached: The Great Pyramids of Egypt.


Harry had learned enough in Muggle primary school to recognize the monstrous structures, even though one looked half-destroyed. As they approached, he realized it was not half-destroyed, but rather, half-built.


They swooped closer, and Harry began to make out a large crowd of people at the base of one of the completed pyramids. As they came into view, he could see they formed a huge circle, with observers gathered around the perimeter of their linked arms. Within the circle, a huge beast struggled against thick lengths of silver chain, the links glowing with extremely powerful magic. Harry did not know if he could see the magic because it was so powerful, or because he was linked to Fawkes at the moment.


The phoenix began to hover, drifting slowly down towards the gathered figures. They wore elaborate robes and even more elaborate headdresses, picked out in metallic silvers and golds that flashed in the desert sun. Harry assumed them to be the witches and wizards of their time, with the amount of magic they wielded. He could hear their chanting as they approached, rising in a hundred voices from the men and women in the linked circle. The words were foreign to him, but he could sense the rising magic. It rang in the air, and the chain links looked to be growing brighter as they held the struggling beast.


Fawkes had brought them close enough now that he could distinguish details of the beast. It was huge and dragon-like, though not as large as the Hungarian Horntail he had fought in fourth year. It also did not look quite like any dragon Harry had ever seen before. Its hide was leathery, but also had scales that gleamed in the sunlight. In fact, the darkness coming from the scales was so black, it seemed to suck the sunlight right into it, creating a vague shadowing effect around the creature's body. As the beast's head swung around, jaws wide open in a hideous scream, Harry could see rows of wicked-looking teeth, and two huge fangs dropping down in front. A ridged row of spiked flesh traveled down the joints of its spine, and its long, whip-like tail lashed in agitation.


Despite the desert heat, Harry shivered just looking at it, thinking that he was happy to be up here with Fawkes, unnoticed, even if this was just a dream.


Fawkes sang sharply at him, a scolding note that told him to pay attention.


As Harry watched, a golden glow began to form at the far side of the circle. The light built and increased, until, like a second sun, a figure began to rise off the ground.


Harry caught his breath. It was a man, with tawny skin and dark hair, dressed only in a type of skirt that flashed with reflected light from intricate golden filigree, carrying a staff topped with some kind of shining device, whether jewel or metal Harry could not tell. He rose, slowly, above the far edge of the circle, and Harry could see wings forming from his back.


And he shone, with such light as Harry had never seen before. Like sunlight, compacted and then emitted in a concentrated burst. The man's skin shimmered with it, and his eyes flashed with fire. The wings behind him grew and expanded, up and out until they flared across the entire diameter of the circle of chanting people. And the magic that rose with him was – incredible.


Harry didn't know that one person could harness that much magic without being killed from the sheer weight of it. He watched avidly as the flying man floated into the middle of the circle. The black snake-dragon had turned to face him, head lowered in defiance. Harry wished they could circle around to see the confrontation better.


No sooner had he thought it than Fawkes was moving. But of course, since this was just a dream, Harry could do what he liked. Fawkes shrilled another sharp note at him, and Harry felt a sharp stab of pain in his mind, as if the bird had actually pecked him there. What the hell? He felt a nudge at his thoughts, telling him to watch, to pay attention. That this was important.


Maybe this wasn't just a dream.


The tawny man had landed, but his shining wings had only shrunk a bit, not disappeared. He glowed with fire as he advanced towards the black beast, eyes shining like pools of molten gold. The chanting rose again around them, the people all but shouting in their strange language.


The man stopped just beyond where the chains kept the creature tethered, glowing bright silver against its black hide. From this close, Harry could see the utter hatred on its face as it stared at the glowing man.


The shining man held out one arm, palm towards the beast, and began to speak, the words gaining power like an incantation. Harry could see the magic pooling, a glowing point in the center of his palm. The gathered magic of the chanting witches and wizards streamed towards him, offered up for his use, swarming together, an avalanche of power. It built, tossing and churning as the ocean in a storm. It swelled around the man until Harry was certain he would drown in the sheer mass of it.


Instead he called it to himself, captured it, twisted it, and thrust it directly at the dragon-beast.


The magic flowed forth in the form of fire, leaping in a liquid flame directly for the creature. The beast's mouth opened in a cry of pain as it swarmed around him, flooding over his scaly black body, washing all the way down to his tail, covering it from one end to the other.


The beast writhed and screamed. Then its legs gave out.


It collapsed to the sand and lay panting as the fire continued to course over it. The blackness emitting from its hide seemed to be trying to fight, pushing back against the flame. But the magic continued to pour over it, from the group of wizards and through the winged man, who now glowed so brightly that Harry couldn't bear to look directly at him.


The darkness in its hide began seeping away, dulling against the brightness of the flame. Its head fell to the earth, the last of its strength failing it. The winged man's voice rose sharply, and with one final word, the power seemed to suck in on itself, coiling tight around the beast's body, wrapping it in a shroud of fire.


And then it was over.


The light slowly faded, and the man's wings flowed smoothly back into his skin. He was breathing hard, as if the struggle had taken much out of him.


The beast, when Harry looked, was gone.


The winged man appeared weary, but turned back toward the ring of wizards who had helped him defeat the creature with his head held high.


And that's when Harry saw his back.


Where the wings had sprouted lay a huge, intricate tattoo that glittered like spun gold in the sunlight. Fiery reds and brilliant oranges, slashed all over with gold and black, all formed the image of a phoenix in flight that covered the man's entire back, from his neck to where it disappeared below his gold-banded skirt.


Fawkes trilled, and an image formed in Harry's mind, superimposed over the actual scene he was witnessing in the desert. An image of a phoenix, perched atop the shoulder of a man. Then the phoenix burning, as they always did in their rebirthing, but taking the man with him, burning up both of them.


And then, rising slowly from the ashes, a man, glowing fiery gold, with the image of the phoenix on his back.


Fawkes began pulling them back up towards the sky as the scene faded from Harry's mind. He had once last glance at the mass of ancient wizards on the ground, where the desert sun illuminated a scene of celebration, and then they were gone, swirling through the same type of vortex that had brought them there in the first place.


Harry's mind whirled with the images he had just witnessed, wondering why Fawkes had chosen to show him this. He could hear the phoenix singing as they flew, and he began to grow weary with the sound. The lights began to fade around them, and Harry suddenly had the overwhelming urge to shut his eyes and sleep.


The last thing he felt before darkness took his mind, was the comforting heat flowing from the phoenix tail feathers still clutched in his palm.


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Harry awoke slowly, bathed in a heavy warmth that had him smiling before he even opened his eyes. This warmth was marvelous, soaking through his bones and heating the bed around him. He felt cocooned and safe. It was the best he could ever remember feeling.


Until he remembered the dream.


Harry's smile faded as he opened his eyes to the drab sight of the canopy of his four-poster in the Gryffindor boys' eighth-year dorm.


That dream was not normal.


He could remember it perfectly. Every detail.


He left the wonderful heat of his blankets, frowning as he padded to the loo in just his pants. It was too early for the others to be awake yet, but Harry knew he would not fall back asleep.


The lingering warmth from his dream faded as he relieved himself, leaving him faintly chilled in its wake.


Except for his back.


His back was still warm, heated as if with a sunburn.


Harry froze, staring at himself in the mirror over the sink, eyes wide.


No. It couldn't be.


He turned slowly, hand washing forgotten, and peered over his shoulder.


There, over the entire expanse of his before-unblemished back, was a shimmering, intricate tattoo of a phoenix. Twin to the one he had seen on the winged Egyptian man in his dream.


Oh, shit.


He leaned heavily on his palms against the lip of the sink, staring at his reflection in horror. The huge new tattoo was a burning brand at his back.


Thoughts rushed through his head as the dots connected almost of their own accord. The flaring wings that had carried him back up to the tower that night after he fell. The beast snatching children in Diagon Alley. The Phoenix Man and the Beast facing off in ancient Egypt. The new tattoo on his back. Fawkes, not seen since burning Dumbledore's body after his death, appearing in his dreams. And then his own history with Fawkes, since the time he healed Harry in the Chamber of Secrets.


He touched a hand to his chest, where he still remembered the power of the phoenix tears, burning away the venom that almost killed him. Had that somehow connected him to the phoenix?


As if on cue, the stacked plates of heat shifted under his skin. Harry jumped.


This was all getting too big for him. He wished Dumbledore were around to explain things. Surely the man who had been bonded to a phoenix for much of his adult life would have some clue as to what was happening. Maybe he should talk to McGonagall.


But first, of course, he had to tell Ron and Hermione.


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“Bloody hell, mate,” Ron said from behind him, a note of awe in his voice. “That's wicked!”


Harry rolled his eyes silently.


“You said it's exactly the same as the one you saw on the man in your dream, Harry?” asked Hermione. He could see her face, scrunched up in that clinical way she had whenever she examined a new piece of evidence, trying to see where it would fit in one of her flow charts or diagrams.


He grunted affirmatively.


There was silence behind him for a moment, and then a finger began tracing the tattoo on his back, the light touch declaring Hermione as the finger's owner. Harry was sure she could feel the heat coming from his skin.


“In ancient Egypt there was a God named Ra,” she said, going into lecture mode. “He was the God of sunlight, and later believed to be the creator of all things living. His symbol was the sun, of course, but also a bird. I wonder...” she trailed off, taking her finger off his back. Harry turned around to face his two friends. Hermione looked pensive.


“What is it, 'Mione?” Ron asked.


“Well, what if, all those thousands of years ago, Ra was actually a phoenix? Or perhaps Ra was the man reborn as a phoenix that you saw in your dream, Harry.”


“But he was reborn as a phoenix. Fawkes just cried on me when I was twelve, and now six years later I turn into a freak? It doesn't make sense!”


“First of all,” began Hermione, giving him a hard glare, “you are not a freak. This is an incredible gift, Harry!”


“All that's happened so far is that I've had my back turn into a canvas and I almost managed to kill all of us with that fireball in the Room of Requirement!” he cried.


“We've hardly scratched the surface of your new powers, Harry! You might be able to do wandless magic, learn to form those wings and control them, or even work with other elemental magic! The ancient Egyptians were supposedly adept with earth and air magic, as well, you know.”


“Hold on, 'Mione,” said Ron, putting a quelling hand on her shoulder. “I think Harry's right. How is this happening? Even if Fawkes made a connection to him when he cried on Harry's shoulder, it still makes no sense.”


She looked at him steadily. “I'm not sure, Ron. It could be his ancestry, or the connection to Fawkes, or simply that magic chose him to wield this power. Or a combination of all three. Personally, from what Harry described, I think it also has to do with Fawkes' tail-feather in Harry's wand core, which gave Harry a connection to phoenix magic from the time he was eleven. And then Fawkes cured Harry of his wounds from the basilisk, creating an even stronger magical bond between them.”


“And now... what? Fawkes is a part of me?” Harry asked, bewildered.


“Maybe,” said Hermione. “Or maybe that connection just created a conduit for a certain type of magic. The same magic that phoenixes use as elemental fire beings. Maybe when you fell off the tower, that conduit was opened, because you needed the most powerful magic you could access to save yourself.” She paused. “Your power has always been wilder than other wizard's, Harry. Maybe you've always had some capacity for elemental magic, and we never knew.”


“But I probably have some connection to Fawkes, since he guided me in the dream,” Harry said. Hermione nodded.


“When he healed you with his tears in the Chamber of Secrets, that could have left a dormant connection between the two of you, yes. There's very little research on the long-term side effects of healing received from a phoenix.”


Harry's head was reeling. So many maybes, and nothing truly concrete. The only thing he knew for sure was what he had felt in his dream, and that he had new powers and an enormous new tattoo.


“Hermione, can you at least put a glamour on this thing?” he asked, jerking his chin towards his shoulder.


“I can try,” she replied, looking a bit pensive. “Although I'm not sure how a glamour spell might interact with the magic of the tattoo. I'd rather research it first.”


“It goes all the way up to his neck, 'Mione. Everyone's sure to see it,” said Ron.


“Can my collar cover it?” asked Harry.


“Most of it, but there will still be gold feathers poking above it,” Hermione replied. “But I could make your hair grow to cover it until we can find more information about phoenix magic and magical tattoos.”


Harry sighed in resignation. “Just do it, please.”


And that was how Harry spent his third day after his fall from the tower: with longer and shaggier hair than usual, a constantly-warm tattoo covering his entire back, and no wand.


That last bit was, of course, driving the professors spare. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had told Headmistress McGonagall just enough about his new powers and errant magic, along with the loss of his wand, that she had exempted him from performing spells in class for the time being. Harry hadn't dared try to use either Ron or Hermione's wands for fear of destroying them as he had his own, although with the new developments about his connection to Fawkes, he wondered if the phoenix feather in his wand's core had somehow joined with the magic inside his body. How else could he explain that fireball in the Room of Requirement, where the two fire magics had crashed together and joined?


It was enough to keep him thoroughly distracted throughout the day, enough so that when he stepped off a moving staircase to pass towards the Great Hall for dinner, he ran right into another student before he even realized he was not alone in the passageway.


“Oh, sorry!” he said, grabbing the other student's arm as he stumbled. Harry caught sight of the platinum blond hair at the same time as the other student jerked his arm roughly out of Harry's grasp.


Of course it would be bloody Malfoy. Merlin's great dangling bollocks but he had shit for luck.


“Watch where you're going, Potter!” sneered Malfoy, rubbing at his arm as if Harry had caused some type of serious injury. Harry rolled his eyes.


“I didn't hurt you, you great wanker.”


“Maybe you need your glasses back, Scarhead, since you can't seem to see what's right in front of your nose!”


Malfoy was flushing slightly, and it was distracting Harry again. He didn't want to be distracted, as this was the perfect opportunity to vent some of his recent frustration with his magic.


“I guess you've just become so insignificant that I don't even notice you any more, Ferret Face!” said Harry, proud to have a suitably snappy comeback.


Instead of simply taking another verbal jab at him, as Harry had expected, Draco's face twisted in rage, and before Harry knew it, the blond was on him, shoving him backwards towards the staircase. Startled, but still with the advantage of weight and height, Harry grabbed Malfoy's wrist and yanked, hard, at the same time as he spun sideways. The move sent Malfoy careening past him, where he would have to catch himself on the railing of the staircase or topple down it.


Unless, of course, a tiny Gryffindor first-year by the name of Annabelle Grimes stepped off the staircase at that exact moment, right into Malfoy's path.


Harry's heart jumped into his throat as he saw the little girl's eyes go almost comically wide, seeing the much larger Slytherin boy bearing down on her. She had no time to move, to jump aside. Nothing to grab onto that was close enough for her small arms. Nowhere to fall except down the long staircase behind her.


The long, stone staircase.


Even as Harry lunged forward, it was too late, Malfoy slamming into her as he grasped for the edge of the banister.


NO! his mind screamed.


And his power responded.


Never before had he felt so consciously the movement of his own power in response to a command. The heated plates beneath his skin swirled and surged, churning and foaming, transforming even as the power breached the barrier of his skin.


Harry could feel the air around them as his magic filled it, interacted with it, shoving and packing it down and forward and around them, shifting and forming it until it bent to his will and coalesced, in a fraction of a second that seemed to last a lifetime, into a solid bed of air underneath the first-year. So fast was the magic that it had caught her before she had fallen a single step.


Harry drew the power back towards him, pulling the girl in far enough that she could stand on the landing on her own. Her feet touched the floor, and Harry hurried forward, so breathlessly relieved that she was all right that he could barely form coherent thoughts. He gathered her in his arms, letting the magic fall around them. It was not as hard to draw back this time as it was when he had tried to contain the fire in the Room of Requirement. He only vaguely wondered why as he held the quaking girl in his arms.


Over her shoulder he saw Draco Malfoy, dusting himself slowly off, a completely blank look on his face as he stared at Harry.


“Shhhh, it's ok,” he murmured to the diminutive eleven-year-old.


Malfoy stared some more, in complete silence. Harry stared back.


Their actions, their childish squabble, had almost killed or seriously injured an innocent eleven-year-old girl.


Harry had survived a lot of things, but if he had caused a child's death, he would never be able to live with himself.


He stared at Malfoy, and Malfoy stared at him. He rubbed the girl's back as she pulled herself together.


The quiet moment was broken as they heard more students coming up the stairs, carrying chatter and laughter with them.


Malfoy turned away, striding off towards the Great Hall, face a mask of stone.


TBC


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