The dark corridors of Hogwarts Castle passed by one echoing step at a time. Most portraits have long since fallen asleep in their paintings, but even the most vigilant of them wouldn't have been able to spot a trace of his passing.
Harry paused his march for a moment to gaze wistfully out at the stars hanging in the sky of a clear november night.
Hidden behind his family's cloak, he let out a dejected sigh. Pain and sorrow flared in the depths of his soul, but he knew he must move on. Steeling his heart he resumed his journey, now even more certain of his decision.
Soon, he stood in front of the entrance to the headmaster's office.
He hesitated for an instant, a thousand thoughts of doubt blurring by in his mind. With a deep breath and an effort of will, his mind stood firm once more.
Despite being a Gryffindor, he didn't consider himself a reckless person. Despite what his head of house and his 'adventures' might insinuate, if Harry had a choice he wouldn't have carelessly rushed into such dangerous situations. The hat did say he would have fit in any of the four houses... He wonders if he will get to speak with it again. Probably not.
Shaking his head, Harry takes a step forward and braces himself for what might, hopefully be the most risky plan he'll ever concoct.
He had spent that day invisibly lurking around, hoping to obtain the password. Luckily, it hadn't taken long with the recent chaos. At least this accursed tournament was good for something.
"Kolyva..." A whisper rang out from beneath the veil, which not even death could pierce.
A murmur slipped past his lips as he seamlessly slid past the gargoyle. "...Ironic" and indeed it was. Kolyva, or Koliva, is a sweet dish, most often an offering for the dead. It symbolises earth, and the cycle of death and rebirth.
It was... oddly fitting, considering what he had to do. He guessed that the universe had a sense of humour.
He easily ascended the stairs and slipped into the office. In his arrogance, Dumbledore didn't even bother locking his door.
Harry didn't consider himself a reckless person, but a childhood of seeking refuge in the library, of hiding his tears behind books and fleeing from hunger into the stories and knowledge inside them has taught him a lot.
Like, how sometimes, when all else fails you must take a stand. Even if it means resorting to drastic measures.
"Heh." A breathy chuckle escaped his empty mind. "Drastic." The word tastes as bitter as the stale bread he 'enjoyed' growing up at the Dursleys.
In truth, it wasn't merely a drastic plan. To call it a drastic plan would be akin to calling a nuclear explosion merely bright.
No, what he was about to set in motion would be the kind of insanity that would make whatever god had forsaken this world personally hand his soul over to the devil. That is, if even a sliver of his soul would still exist in the end.
The phoenix looked up at Harry's approach, letting out a thrill akin to forlorn hope as the boy let the cloak slip off his shoulder.
"I'm afraid... I have no other choice Fawkes. As is always the case with me." Harry said, a deep sadness echoing out from his heart.
The note Fawkes sang was pleading, almost begging, actually, but Harry could tell it wasn't really directed at him but more at the world in general.
"You have lived longer than I have. Seen more... Experienced more..." his hand reached out to stroke the phoenix, its feathers radiating a muted warmth.
"Tell me... tell me..." The young boy's voice broke into restrained sobs. "I-is th-there any... hope?"
The bird did not sing this time. It departed its perch and landed on the boy's shoulder, pressing its head against his cheek.
It made no sound, for in its heart of hearts it knew... this world was truly what it appeared to be. A cesspit of treachery.
Truly... It wondered. When had the hearts of mankind fully fallen to the darkness? It should have noticed.
Perhaps... It had, but simply deluded itself with hope that better times would come... but, perhaps the sun doesn't always rise anew each morning.
Not when humanity has extinguished the light of their souls.
~α~
It was a few minutes later when both boy and bird finally looked back up. "You already know what I want to do, don't you Fawkes?" Harry murmured.
The Phoenix nodded, its heart at last no longer aching as much as it constantly had for the past few centuries. Perhaps this was ment to be.
Fawkes looked up into his eyes. That was all that Harry needed to form the connection. Through the link, he poured his heart, his sorrows... He poured all that he was and all that he wished he could have been.
Fawkes received his song and sang back his own.
~Ω~
Harry Potter stood at the exit of the champions' tent, awaiting his turn to compete in this farce of a tournament. The Norwegian Ridgeback figurine was discarded on the ground behind him. If all went as planned, he wouldn't be getting closer to it then the entrance of the arena.
The moment came, and he marched out with the poise of someone who, unlike Tom, knows that death is not the worst thing that can happen.
He barely spared the dragon enough of a glance to reinforce its chains and the walls they were attached to.
He glanced towards the judge's table, a faint trace of melancholy in his smile.
"Dragons... are quite interesting, wouldn't you say so headmaster?" He asked, but it was clear he didn't really want an answer as he continued. "While preparing for this task, I got lost in a bit of a tangent about magical fires."
He easily ignored the indignant sounds the other school heads made. Hypocrites. As if they hadn't directly told their own champions about this task.
Here, he had to hand it to Dumbledore. The old coot knew how to craft a quest and make someone find the answer themselves. Harry would have liked it more if these plots weren't usually a direct threat to his life.
"Dragon fire caught my attention. A magical flame that erodes whatever it is put against, be it spell or not." His tone was conversational as he gestured towards the nearby dragon, who seeing no apparent threat, had curled protectively around her eggs and watched.
"That led me to question what other magical fires are there. From protego diabolica, the fires that only burns at betrayal, to the infamous Fiendfire, the hellish flame that consumes all." Harry mused, ignoring the crowd's predictable reactions.
"But one thing stood out to me. Even considering how... lazy wizards are in general, you all seem particularly ignorant about this fire." He quickly moved on, knowing that they would miss the insult if he did. Wizards are quite slow, after all.
"The fire of a phoenix is not something well researched. Everyone knows that it allows them to travel similar to apparition." Harry didn't look away from the judges' table even as he casually lifted his wand and shot a tongue locker at Malfloy to shut his complaints up preemptively.
He snorted, willing to bet that the audience wouldn't even realise that, him being able to shoot a spell at the stands ment that the protective wards around the arena were down.
"But that is all you seem to know." He turned to look back at the castle his gaze fixed on the general area of the headmaster's office. "You do not seem to realise that much like it grants them eternity, their fire grants them absolute freedom too."
"Phoenixes are interesting beings. For as long as someone is genuinely trying, a phoenix will give them a thousand and one chances, and then a hundred more." Harry's voice echoed with emotion. "They are light incarnate. Endlessly willing to try compassion. But when that proves, truly proves futile they will shun that person with all their being. Their judgment is like fire."
Slowly, almost hesitantly, Harry turned around and spread his arms "All this, Headmaster, is to say..." A small tremor ran through the ground. In the distance, above the castle, a glowing spot can be seen ascending, growing more distinct as it does so... Growing bigger and brighter.
As the figure of the ascending phoenix burns ever brighter, Dumbledore has a bad premonition. Distracted, he does not notice the elder wand in his hand seemingly getting colder... more distant. Almost like it is fading. It wouldn't have been able to save him anyways.
The phoenix, having reached a monumental size, spreads its wings and fire licks at the landscape as they cover the sky from horizon to horizon. The ground quakes uncontrollably, the world seemingly trembling in fear... or perhaps remorse.
"For a million lies... The truth will rise and... tear this world apart!" Harry's voice rings clear to everyone. A moment later, the giant phoenixfire construct opens its mouth, and a cry that decrees damnation defens the world... Before it is all swallowed by eternal flames.
~α~
An all-encompassing warmth envelopes Harry as he drifts between being, and not. Distantly, he can feel something getting burned out of him. The faint headache that had accompanied him almost all his life being accentuated by its sudden disappearance.
Soaring over, it's wings wrap around the boy's soul. Fawkes lifts his head to gaze at a world judged unworthy and sheds one singular tear.
Then, he moves, and creation blurs around them in a kaleidoscope of flames.
Through this cosmic fire, their bond gets reforged... reborn, and through this bond, they become one.
~Ω~
On a desolate, ash-drowned world, a single crystalline tear glimmers on a sunless morning as it falls upon the land.
Then, with a quiver, a tiny green sprout pushes out of the mud.
It will all be reborn again someday. Such is the cycle.