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Harry Potter -ficit => Hunajaherttua => Aiheen aloitti: Crepe - 12.10.2009 18:15:30
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Title: The Melody of His Heart
Author: Crepe
Beta: Sassa
Pairing: Fawkes/Peacock
Rating: S
Genre: romance, angst
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the world that I just played with, no profit made.
Summary: For the first time, Fawkes learns how it feels to lose something truly important. But he also learns that it is possible to find comfort in someone closer to his own kind.
A/N: Well, this certainly started out as a joke, due to these icons (http://tezurith.livejournal.com/2738.html). But then I became obsessed with the idea of this pairing and as no one would write about it, I had to do it! The result is something that is definitely not something funny or bird-porn even if it comes to mind first, but even a little too deep and romantic story about loss, grief and love. I hope someone enjoys it! Thanks to tezurith for the idea and lovely Sassa for betaing!
THE MELODY OF HIS HEART
If grief had a voice, it would sound like this. Like a million different chords tangling together, echoing through cold spring air, telling a story about loss more efficiently than words on paper ever could, vibrating on the skin of everyone who heard it, and boring its way straight through to the heart, so that everyone who was in the way of the song knew that those chords carried a burden of having lost something that had been essential for too long a time.
What the listener received was what the singer felt. It wasn’t something that could’ve been separated in sections, because even he didn’t know where one emotion started and one ended as they were all intertwined in a whirlwind of memories of good times unable to be repeated. The huge bird flying through the mist of the late night just let it all flow from deep within him, letting it transform into sounds and reach every cell of his being, randomly but overwhelmingly, like the wind ruffling his scarlet-glowing feathers.
Or the slow stream of lonely tears that made their way from the eyes one at a time, getting lost in the night without a purpose of healing something – because even a phoenix’s tear couldn’t undo a death that had already occurred, couldn’t take back something that had disappeared behind the Veil.
The one death that Fawkes would have wanted to prevent from happening the most was the one that he’d known to be unstoppable for a long time. Even if he could’ve come to the rescue of his master – of his best friend and so much more – and swallowed the doomed green light like he once had in the battle at the Ministry, too much was already going on.
Fawkes had spent enough time in Dumbledore’s office during the year to have learnt what was to come. He wasn’t just any kind of bird. He was ancient, magical, wise and, above all, deeply connected to his now previous owner. Even if there hadn’t been words, he could’ve seen the truth in those pale blue eyes. Had been able to sense it taking its place in the man's heart. Like the wizard, he didn’t quite embrace the knowledge with overflowing joy, but neither with dread or desperation.
It had all, after all, been inevitable, just another upcoming adventure for every soul that was whole and not split into inhuman parts. Fawkes had lived long enough to learn bits of wisdom about the cycle of life that not many understood. Long enough to have had many previous friends and wise wizards as his masters, being there and then ceasing to live. Long enough to have learnt what loss was, and to accept it as a part of the beauty of life and love.
Still, there was something about Dumbledore’s death that affected him a lot more than anything before, a hurt that he’d had no way of preparing to receive. It wasn’t a silent and poetically sad retreat to the state of being alone again; it was like being ripped apart and then rebuilt incomplete. All sense of whether it was physical or emotional got lost. It was like a light Cruciatus Curse. Where the Crucio would’ve made a person scream in agony, this hurt made the phoenix flee and sing – flee from the stage of his own horror and sing out the suddenly born, unbearable lack inside his heart.
Maybe it was because the relationship with Fawkes and this particular wizard had somewhere along the way grown much more significant than what he had had with anyone else before. Much time had passed since the day that Fawkes had settled beside Albus Dumbledore and he had stayed there through dark times and happenings that not every wizard has to witness. The phoenix had become a part of a war alongside his master, and an irreplaceable help and support to said man. And Fawkes had let his own importance to the man strike a chord.
Whereas Dumbledore had poured his own trust to the bird, had Fawkes poured his loyalty to him in return and there was the result; a mutual understanding, and a friendship above that of an owner and a pet, or a master and a servant. It was all but easy to lose something like that, even for just a bird.
He had let himself connect with a human being like never before and now he had to pay for it.
Fawkes had already flown for several long hours, unable to stop the movement of his gorgeous wings, embracing the cold wind and searching comfort in it. He had no destination but he was heading to the south. The song of sorrow was little by little losing its venom, calming into a flow of sad notes, being created and thrown into the air of their own accord.
He had no idea how long he would continue his flight, or whether he would ever settle anywhere for longer than necessary. He had no desire for returning and continuing to help the friends and allies of his dead master. It was a men’s fight after all and he didn’t feel obliged to take part in it any more. He needed new surroundings and a chance to recover. To start again as the phoenix he had once been. Although he had never lost his independence, it didn’t make the loneliness much easier to bear.
All in all, he had gotten used to having someone beside him. Now he would have to get used to being alone because he knew he could never settle down with a human any more. Albus Dumbledore had been the best and the last and it would offend his memory to ever settle for someone with whom he couldn't have as meaningful a relationship.
Freedom failed to hold any glory for him. He had always been free, especially with Dumbledore. He had never expected anything from Fawkes that he wasn’t willing to give. It just meant that he didn’t have a home any longer.
When he saw the woods thin out again in the distance, giving space to habitation, it occurred to him that he needed to rest. He had developed a hunger without even noticing it and the flying was growing tiring. He flew long enough to reach the town and decided to seek for a place to rest somewhere near it.
When he arrived at his destination, Fawkes found a church right at the town’s borders. He stopped singing and landed on the tall church tower. He blinked the eyes that were still glistening with tears and took in the surroundings. The town seemed quiet but alive anyhow with the rising morning. He could sense magic and knew immediately that at least a part of the population was wizards and witches. None of them seemed yet to have noticed the magnificent bird on the church roof, though, and suddenly the phoenix felt that he preferred it that way.
He took flight again, to the left, and began to circle the town. He didn’t want to approach people, even if it would be hard to find food in the nature. Fawkes had grown a little too accustomed to being fed. It was time to learn to cope on his own again.
Then the bird’s broken heart leapt a little as he noticed something interesting. A huge manor was looming ahead of him, on a low hill in-between the forest, on one side of the town. The manor had massive grounds and all of it screamed magic at him. That somewhat reminded him of Hogwarts and as much as that hurt his lonely soul, it also fed it, like food would his hunger.
Fawkes found himself being strongly appealed to the centre of magic and he was too tired to resist the urge. He closed the remaining distance, flew over pretentious gates announcing in large letters the area of the Malfoy Manor and landed gracefully on the top branch of a tree bordering the wide lawn of the grounds. There was no one to be seen and the Manor itself seemed a little threatening, but the sun had started to rise up from the horizon and made the scenery glow a little. There was a pond not far away and the water was glittery on the surface and the trees rustled in the light wind.
Fawkes remembered Hogwarts grounds where he had for the last time only a day ago made a morning tour, circling above the Forbidden Forest and the greenhouses, pausing to rest on the Astronomy Tower. The Tower above which there was maybe still looming an ugly green skull, with a snake slithering out of its mouth.
Suddenly it became far too painful to remember. To behold this magical scenery welcoming the beautiful morning, like nothing bad had happened, like Fawkes hadn’t just lost his human soul mate. Once again, Fawkes started to cry out a sorrowful song, because it was the only way the phoenix knew how to express his suffocating feelings. The sound of his grief rose to the sky like the sun, competing with its beauty, offering a sad version of it that would never fail to make someone come to a halt out of wonder, if they were there to hear.
And someone was. Fawkes didn’t notice the other huge bird before he ended the song long after starting. When he had left out the final notes, he lowered his gaze to the grounds and saw him. Then it was Fawkes’ turn to come to a halt out of surprise. Down there on the lawn there was a big, pure white peacock gazing up at him, like a sole spectator of his concert.
Fawkes had never seen something like it. He had seen lots of magical peacocks throughout his life but never one that would’ve been white. That one in the Manor grounds was whiter than snow and he even glowed a little like a snowy day in the light of the sunrise. His tail feathers were long and magnificent, lying on the ground behind him, and he was such a contrast to the dark Manor on the hill, reminiscent of something both innocent and fascinating.
The phoenix with deep red feathers sat silently on top of the tree watching the white miracle and found new songs, consisting of something lighter than the ones from the night, beginning to cautiously come to life inside him. But he was way too amazed and exhausted to sing any more. Slowly, so slowly, he closed his eyes, afraid that the beautiful creature would disappear but knowing that if it was to happen, it would be better for his aching heart if it happened right away.
And he fell asleep and dreamed of falling to the green light, whirling in it aimlessly, until dropping through it to a summer day, flying above a flower field while wrapped in warm snow that caressed his feathers, white contrasting beautifully with scarlet…
When Fawkes woke up on the top branch, he felt sad, desperate, confused and something else that made him fear the songs within, waiting to burst out and be sung. He couldn’t quite understand any of them although there was definitely something more positive inside of him now, too, trying to gain control but with it came a sharp longing resembling unsure hope.
And there was no white beauty anywhere to be seen. Just like he had feared.
But the Manor grounds were huge and labyrinth-like with all the gardens, hedges and trees. Fawkes let himself be cradled in the belief that the surroundings seemed like a suitable home for a gorgeous bird – despite the dark and intimidating Manor – and even if it wasn’t, why would the peacock have been there and then suddenly left? Surely Fawkes hadn’t frightened the bird away.
It couldn’t have been just imagination of his tired mind earlier in the morning how the white-feathered bird had stood so still, caught in the moment of listening to Fawkes’ emotions flowing from inside of him in the form of melodies. Hadn’t there been an air about the peacock that spoke of interest and sympathy, not hostility? Fawkes could even see in his mind’s eye the exact angle of the long neck, inclined a little to the side, speaking volumes about understanding.
He didn’t let himself dwell on questioning why it held so much importance to him to know that someone he had only seen once hadn’t left Fawkes alone just yet. He just allowed the new emotions make their way to his heart, taking away some of the pain that still had a home there.
And days went by, agonizingly slowly. Although not really searching for the reason for his delay, Fawkes never left the Manor grounds again during those passing mornings, days and nights finally turning into a week. He just knew, in his deep-rooted wisdom that it was too late to leave now. It was not the right moment. If he fled yet again from one scene that had created an emotional storm before sorting it out, it would probably damage him deeply.
Some things you just can’t run away from, the phoenix knew. He knew a few things about destiny and situations it ruled. Fate wasn’t simple, nor always undeniable, but neither was it something to be ignored. You always had a choice to run away from it, should you find it easier, but you could never run away from the consequences, the damage that would awaken inside of you after tossing aside something so meaningful and complex.
Fawkes knew he was destined to stay where he was for the time being, and he had never been one to ignore fate’s requests. There could no longer be any other place where he could complete his period of mourning. After that, maybe he would have a chance to heal. And maybe, just maybe, he would find something more, something he hadn’t been able to stop dreaming about since the morning of his arrival.
But as the week neared its close, Fawkes had still only been alone. He ate food as much as his appetite would allow, food that he’d found being left in the grounds, probably for the albino peacock. He sang whenever he found the strength to do so. Slept more than in weeks. All this while his feathers started to lose their shine, while his body started to shrink and it slowly became too difficult to sing and fly any more.
He knew it was normal because he had gone through it so many times. It was just the repentant cycle of his life, time to be reborn again. But it scared him nevertheless. Because his emotional state had quickened the starting of the phase. He shouldn’t have been deteriorating already. And if it was because of his lack of willpower, everything could go wrong. Every once in a while, even a phoenix’s life ended and the awakening never happened.
He needed to want to be reborn again. For that he needed something to return to from the flames that defined the chore of his species. It was all about living and dying and living again, facing the destruction but finding the light in it, not fearing moving on but making the choice by the Veil to postpone its call, to once again return to the world left behind. Appreciating its full beauty with full force.
Without seeing that, you might as well pass through the flames and welcome the future somewhere else. Unable to ever come back.
So when the seventh day was over, Fawkes settled by the rose garden to wait for the next phase, having not yet decided how to act. He really wanted to stay in this world because it was not his time to leave yet. But he couldn’t help wondering whether his loneliness would ever pass, as there was that one-way gate between him and his lost friend.
He constantly dreamed of warm snow and silk-soft feathery comfort. As the night drew in, he gathered his last strengths and let out a low note of longing and closed his eyes. When next opening them, sitting in his position by the deep-red roses, he finally saw a glimpse of it, a glimpse of the snow-white salvation and assumed it was one of those things he usually saw before the fire took hold of him, the visions a phoenix saw about this world, in case they wouldn’t return.
But it was coming closer, appearing more real than any vision would, and radiating magic. Fawkes gazed in wonder as the peacock he’d seen a week ago gazing up at him, now stopped two feet away and looked down upon him. The eyes of the two birds, one still strong and one decayed, found their way to each other and neither was quite willing to tear their glance away.
And then the beautiful habitant of Manor grounds bent his long white neck down and stayed that way until Fawkes noticed something unbelievable – the peacock was crying. A small number of liquid pearls made their way from the black eyes to the ground and something shook inside the already frail phoenix. They weren’t a phoenix’s tears, they had no magical way of healing anything, but somehow, just looking at the flow of them, Fawkes found himself starting to heal inside, like he had waited for a week full of desperation.
And that wasn’t all. When the tears finally ended, the albino peacock started to sing. Once again, it wasn’t one of those melodies only a phoenix could produce, those supernatural sounds characteristic only to the immortal species, but it definitely held the same notes and that was all that mattered to Fawkes.
Because a bird’s talk was always a melody. It was nothing like a human language, where all the words held a strict meaning in an almost crude way, only rarely managing to echo inside out and outside in. A bird’s talk, this particular bird’s talk was a long line of chords telling about amazement, a little heart swelling in the chest, a sudden fear and confusion – and promises, loads of simple but life-changing promises and a request for love.
As wise a creature as Fawkes had become, as intelligent and aware of depths of life, death, love and loyalty, he now found that there was still something new for him to learn – a whole new aspect of belonging. Because as much as he had loved his human soul mate, he had never been able to be the first priority to him, something he just couldn’t live without.
To find someone closer to his own kind and a sprung-up bond of a different kind of love, was the reason not to fly the path to the Veil.
The pure white peacock stayed beside him as he burst to flames. He didn’t have visions of the world because it was all there, waiting for him to come back and see it again. Through the fire Fawkes could hear a soft song of joy, welcoming him into a new reality without the strings of grief pulling at his heart.