Harry Potter and the Orb of Power

    Chapter 36: The Decision of Fawkes the Phoenix

    Harry clung to the ground, fearing the spells above his head. His hands grasped at the blades of grass, as if he needed the ground’s support. He felt sick, nauseous, and he had the strong urge to throw up. There was a muffled explosion, and he was blasted aside. He hit the ground hard, smelling the grass, and he clung once more to his support. His body was weak with exhaustion, and yet he knew if he didn’t move, he would surely perish.

    He looked up, barely raising his head from the ground, and saw the ragged dog that was Sirius laying to the side of the backyard. He was forgotten amongst the chaos, as was Harry. He felt another burst of sickening emotion rake through his body. He felt like screaming, but he couldn’t manage it. His mind was working at its basic function. Fix on a goal, and then work towards achieving it. Right now, Harry wanted only to get to Sirius’ body, and that’s what he was going to do. He crawled slowly, hoping to avoid the stamping and running above him. Someone came crashing down in front of him, his or her face masked. It was a Death Eater, a man judging by the groan of pain that had came from his lips, and whoever it was, he wasn’t breathing.

    Harry looked at the mask, wondering who was behind it. The person, looked barely human, especially with the haunting mask covering his visage. He was faceless, and now that he was killed, a casualty, he would be even more faceless. Despite the fact that the Death Eater was his enemy, Harry felt a swell of pity. Who knew if that person was under the Imperius or blackmailed into serving the Dark Lord. Harry crawled further up, clutching the dead Death Eater’s robes for support, and heaved himself onwards. How many more were going to die in the war? How many more faceless and voiceless people would perish in the struggle? Harry shook his head; he didn’t have time for such wondering. He had to get to Sirius, another of the casualties. Harry had tears streaming down his face, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting to Sirius.

    Harry crawled over the Death Eater, the sounds in the air distorted horribly. Everything sounded as if it was happening underwater. Harry saw a flash of red light, and saw that a fire had started in the middle of the backyard. In the middle was Fawkes the phoenix, glowing red and orange. He was on fire, but it didn’t seem as if Fawkes was in pain. Harry looked away, and saw that Sirius wasn’t too far away. He resolved to crawl onwards, but he heard a magical and wonderful noise in the air.

    Fawkes was singing in the fire. The music was piping into the air, crystal clear to even Harry’s ears. His heart was filled with fire, with courage, and, despite the grief and anger that were surging through him, he grinned. He would be ok. Fawkes’ music had saved him before, and it would save him again. Harry felt charged, and he surged towards Sirius.

    “KILL THE BIRD!” he heard a cold voice shout. He turned, and saw Voldemort shrieking and pointing towards the bird. One of the Death Eaters strode forward, his hands outstretched, as if he was going to wrap his hands around Fawkes and strangle the life out of him. Fawkes turned his head towards the aggressor and his eyes blazed with fire. A bolt of fire struck out from the flames, and set the Death Eater ablaze. His shrieks of pain filled the night, and stung Harry’s ears. It was awful. Harry turned away again and made to move towards Sirius. He was so close. He reached out his hand, expecting to touch the black fur of his godfather’s Animagus body. He felt strong hands wrap around him, and pull him off the ground.

    “Leave him, Harry,” a voice said above him.

    “NO! NO! LET ME GO! WE NEED TO HELP HIM! IT’S SIRIUS!” Harry screamed.    

    “It’s too late, Harry, let go,” a sad voice said behind him. “Leave him.”

    “WE CAN’T LEAVE HIM! DAMN IT HELP HIM!” Harry bellowed.

    “Sirius is gone, Harry,” the voice said. Harry turned, and saw the twinkling blue eyes of Dumbledore.

    “YOU DID THIS! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” Harry yelled.

    “Now is not the time,” Dumbledore said. He waved his wand, and Harry felt himself thrown backwards against the fence of the backyard. A silver casing surrounded him. Harry threw himself against it, but it was like hitting a brick wall.

    “LET ME OUT!” Harry bellowed.

    “This will protect you from magic. Don’t do anything rash!” Dumbledore said, and he turned towards the phoenix. A Death Eater sent the Killing Curse at Fawkes, but it got lost in the flames surrounding him. Voldemort strode forwards. Flames shot out at him, but they did not harm him. Voldemort smiled, and grabbed Fawkes with one hand.

    “You’ll no longer mettle in my affairs, phoenix,” Voldemort sneered. Harry looked on in horror. If Fawkes was killed, the cycle of violence and death would continue forever. Fawkes couldn’t be killed. Harry felt panic spread through his body. He clutched his wand, but he didn’t know any spell that would help him escape. He threw his body against the spell wall again, but with no luck. He closed his eyes, trying to control his panic, but it wouldn’t cease. He opened his eyes, and saw Voldemort strangling Fawkes. The phoenix song was wavering in the air. Harry felt anger course through him; the air around him seemed to crackle with power. He put his hand forward, and bellowed.

    “LET ME OUT!” The spell casing smashed, falling to the ground like shards of glass. Harry turned and saw two people running at Voldemort. The first was a wizard Harry remembered as Mundungus Fletcher. He twirled his wand, but Voldemort was ready. His head snapped to the side, and with a snarl he flicked his wand. Mundungus Fletcher was hit by a bolt of black energy, and flung back towards the fence. He hit the wood with a crash and fell to the ground. The other was the eyeless witch Ganymera. She sent a stunner at Voldemort, who deflected it easily, and flicked his wand again. There a bolt of lightning crackled from Voldemort’s wand. The bolt struck Ganymera, who was surrounded by blue-white forks of electricity. She was screaming in pain, but the bolt kept coming from Voldemort’s wand. He raised her in the air, her body shrieking in pain. Harry grasped his wand, horrified. He waved his wand, but saw that Voldemort was no longer holding on to Fawkes, and Ganymera had slumped to the ground. He looked wildly around, and saw that Voldemort was on the ground, staggering to his feet. Dumbledore had thrown him off of the bird at the last second, freeing Fawkes and the tortured Ganymera. Harry looked around and saw that the Death Eaters were all engaged with members of the Order. Moody, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Ollivander were chasing Death Eaters into the nearby house. McGonagall, Snape, and Hagrid were no where to be seen. Harry was sure he saw Lupin somewhere, but he couldn’t see him now. He wanted to shout out, but he was distracted by Voldemort and Dumbledore.

    “I’ve looked forward to this for a long time, Dumbledore,” Voldemort hissed.

    “You have indeed, Tom? That surprises me,” Dumbledore said, advancing on Voldemort. “I would have guessed you were afraid of me, seeing as you have always run from direct conflict with me.”

    “I am not afraid of you!” Voldemort screamed. “Avada Kedavra!” The green curse shot towards Dumbledore. Dumbledore side-stepped the curse, and flicked his wand. A purple bolt flung through the air and struck Voldemort in the shoulder, sending him flying. Harry felt himself hurtling through the air, pain ravaging his body again. He yelled in pain, his shoulder burning intensely. Dumbledore turned, and realized in horror what had happened. Voldemort was getting off of the ground. He grimaced, but the smile on his face was undeniable.

    “It seems you have no power here, Dumbledore! You wouldn’t want to hurt your precious student,” Voldemort yelled. Dumbledore backed away from Voldemort. The sight was humiliating, defeating. Dumbledore’s wand was ready, in case Voldemort flung more curses at him, but there was nothing he could do. Most of the Death Eaters had fled into the Minister’s forest house, and the Order were in close pursuit. Dumbledore stood, facing Voldemort. Harry felt as if he had to do something. He ran forward, and stood in front of Dumbledore.

    “You won’t touch him!” Harry yelled. Voldemort glared at Harry.

    “Get out of the way, boy.”

    “No!” Harry yelled.

    “We need to get out of here,” Dumbledore whispered. “This is not the time to finish the battle.” Harry was about to respond, when he finally spotted Lupin. He was sneaking behind Voldemort, his hand grasping a small dagger. He was about to leap, when a hooded figure grabbed him from behind. It was Wormtail.

    “NO!” Harry yelled.

    “No Harry!” Dumbledore yelled. Harry ran forward, desperate to help Lupin, when strong hands grabbed the back of his robes. Harry saw Lupin strike the Wormtail in the face, prompting Wormtail to drop him. Lupin, leaping up, threw the knife. It went hurtling through the air, and struck Voldemort in the shoulder, exactly where Dumbledore had struck him with the purple curse. Harry expected to feel a fresh burst of pain, but he felt nothing. Voldemort removed the dagger from his shoulder, and threw it to the ground.

    “You’ll pay for that one,” he hissed, and he waved his wand. Without thinking, Harry burst free from Dumbledore’s grip and charged at Voldemort. He hit him at the waist, and the two of them went tumbling to the ground. Harry hit the ground, with Voldemort under him. He reached back and punched Voldemort in the face, feeling his knuckles strike the bone of Voldemort’s face. There was a sickening crack, and Voldemort’s face was covered in blood. Voldemort snarled and pushed upwards, sending Harry sprawling back. Voldemort grabbed him, and put a dagger to his throat, the very same dagger that Lupin had struck him with. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Dumbledore raise his wand.

    “Neither of you move,” Dumbledore said. Harry realized he must have been talking to Wormtail as well.

    “Another standoff, Mr. Potter,” Voldemort hissed, a voice that scraped against his ear and chilled his skin. “It seems as if you are on the lesser end of this one, I’m afraid.”

    “You kill him and I kill you,” Dumbledore said, his eyes pale and narrowed. “There is no gain for you here, Tom.” Harry heard giggling from somewhere in the corner of the backyard.

    “From the doorway of the dark comes the deadly book of shadow,” the voice said, giggling hysterically. It was Fudge, laughing crazily.

    “Shut up!” Voldemort yelled. Harry felt the dagger pressed tightly against his throat. The blade was starting to cut his throat; he could feel blood trickle down his neck.

    “Where do we go from here Tom? There is no escape,” Dumbledore said, his wand pointed at Voldemort.

    “My name is not Tom,” Voldemort hissed.

    “Of course. Call yourself whatever you want, Tom,” Dumbledore responded, advancing slowly.

    “Don’t move!” Voldemort shouted. Dumbledore stopped. Harry wondered where Lupin was, but he couldn’t be moving, because he couldn’t hear footsteps behind him. “Stay right where you are, Dumbledore. Wormtail, Cornelius, come closer to me.” Harry heard a shuffling, and a rapid movement behind him.

    “No, Remus! Just stay put!” Dumbledore yelled.     

    “We can’t let them do this!” Lupin yelled hoarsely.

    “Let us? I assure you, you will let us,” Voldemort cackled. Harry saw Wormtail approach from his right, while Fudge was still giddily laughing in the corner.

    “I see the light! The light is on you!” Fudge gleefully laughed. Dumbledore looked panicked as he stared at Harry.

    “Don’t worry, Harry, we’ll think of something,” Lupin yelled from behind. There were muffled thuds and screams from inside the house. Harry made eye contact with Dumbledore, and he knew what Dumbledore had to do.

    “Do it,” Harry said, knowing that Dumbledore would take his meaning.

    “No, Harry,” Dumbledore said, his face stricken with panic.

    “It’s the only way, do it.”

    “No!”

    “KILL ME!” Harry yelled.

    “Shut up,” Voldemort said, pressing the dagger against his neck.

    “It will kill him too! KILL ME!” Harry yelled. Dumbledore was eyeing Harry, as if seeing him for the first time. Why wouldn’t Dumbledore do it? It was the only way! Life was nothing to him now, he embraced death. Harry felt anger surge through him. “Do it!” Dumbledore lowered his wand.

    “NO!” Harry yelled. “YOU HAVE TO DO THIS! KILL US BOTH AND END THE WAR! We’re entangled, we’re the same person, just kill us!”

    “SHUT UP!” Voldemort yelled. There was a glare of intense red light, and Harry saw Fawkes streaming out of the ball of fire, flames trailing behind him. He flew into the air, straight up, creating a column of fire. There was another burst of flames, and suddenly Fawkes was no longer Fawkes. He was a bird made entirely out of flames. He opened his beak, and phoenix song sang through the air. Harry stared up in wonder. Harry felt his scar twinge, and when Voldemort lost his grip on his robes, he realized that his scar must have twinged too. Before Harry could act, Fawkes swooped down, and headed directly for Harry. Harry braced himself, and felt Fawkes fly right through him. He felt intense heat around his navel. He turned, and watched Fawkes emerge from his back and fly directly at Voldemort. Voldemort winced as Fawkes flew threw him. Harry saw Voldemort’s scar blaze green. Harry staggered away from Voldemort, who was rubbing his scar. Wormtail, who was watching the whole thing, suddenly snapped to his senses. He waved his wand, and there was a loud explosion in the middle of the yard. Harry shielded his eyes with his hand, and saw Voldemort brandishing his wand. Next moment, the glare had subsided. He barely saw a rat slipping through the grass. Voldemort was standing idly in the middle of the yard, seemingly incapacitated by the glare. Fudge was darting into the house, and escaped. Lupin took the moment to run forward and grab the dagger. He thrust it into Voldemort’s back. Voldemort made no noise, and fell to his knees. He opened his mouth, but no sound escaped, merely a trickle of scarlet blood. His red eyes turned black, and he collapsed to the ground.

    “Is he dead?” Harry asked, and thought that it seemed suddenly pointless. Voldemort was no longer breathing. Harry walked over cautiously, wanting to make absolutely sure that the Dark Lord was dead. He bent over, and listened closely. The only breath he could hear was the breath of the wind, blowing gently through the backyard. The grass swayed in the breeze.

    “It’s over,” Lupin said. “Where is everyone?”

    “Chasing down the remaining Death Eaters. I imagine most of them have Apparated away,” Dumbledore said softly. There was something in his tone of voice, some hint of an emotion that was fleeting and distant.

    “What about Sirius? Have we found him yet?” Harry looked at the body of Sirius, laying neglected in the corner, but did not feel grief. He was much too tired to feel much of anything. Harry stood up, not responding to Lupin’s question, and suddenly saw that Voldemort’s body was glowing gold.

    “What’s going on?” Harry said quickly. Dumbledore pulled him away from Voldemort’s body.

    “What is it Albus?” Lupin asked, looking at the body.

    “I have no idea,” Dumbledore said, his eyes narrowing. Harry got the distinct impression that Dumbledore knew exactly what was happening. The glowing grew brighter; it became so intense that Harry had to shield his eyes with his hands. Then, as soon as it had started, the glowing was gone. Darkness settled back on the backyard and the wind seemed to die. Harry looked at Voldemort’s body, and saw, much to his horror, that it was not Voldemort on the ground. It was the body of Minister Fudge.

    “He switched bodies,” Dumbledore muttered bitterly. Harry looked in horror at the body on the ground, the body of the Minister of Magic. He turned and bolted towards the house.

    “WE HAVE TO CATCH HIM!” Harry yelled. He ripped through the house and emerged from the front door. He looked at the lane that disappeared into the Forbidden Forest. There was no one in sight. The wind picked up, sweeping past him as it ruffled the leaves in the trees. Harry looked around in wild panic , hoping to catch a glimpse of Voldemort. But Voldemort had found a way, like Harry had done so many times before, to make a seemingly impossible escape.

***

    It wasn’t long after when Harry found himself in Dumbledore’s office. He was alone, looking at the many different portraits that were hanging on the walls. Dumbledore was attending to the many injured, particularly the witch Ganymera. The lightning bolt that hit her had not lost its potency, and was now slowly and steadily leeching the life out of her. Dumbledore had said that Madame Pomfrey would be able to cure her, but it would be incredibly painful. Harry felt a pang of guilt when he heard that, but he was far too exhausted to carry the feeling further. He looked at the perch in the office, where Fawkes would usually stand. Harry looked away. Too much was lost tonight. No, not just tonight. This entire year was all about loss, about pain. It was almost too much. The many who died in Diagon Alley, in Azkaban, Alice and Frank Longbottom, Minister Fudge. Harry felt tears stinging his eyes when he thought of Neville’s parents, and Sirius, his godfather.

    “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” Dumbledore said behind him. He swept into the office and sat down behind his desk. He cast a side glance at Fawkes’s perch before he looked at Harry, who was viciously wiping at his eyes. “There is no shame in crying, Harry. A lot was lost tonight.” Harry sensed an accusation in Dumbledore’s voice, and he felt anger bubble up.

    “I know,” Harry said coldly. Dumbledore did not look fazed, and continued.

    “We haven’t lost any members of the Order, thank Merlin. It’s rare that so many of us make it out of such encounters.”

    “Nice to see that you’ve forgotten about Sirius,” Harry snapped icily. Dumbledore did not react, but merely continued to look at Harry.

    “I have not forgotten about Sirius, Harry, despite your insistence to the contrary.” Harry didn’t respond, but merely glared at the Headmaster. He wanted to say so much, but he couldn’t bring himself to start yelling again. He was too tired.

    “You must be in terrible pain,” Dumbledore prompted.

    “Thank you for reminding me,” Harry responded. “But of course, it can’t be anything compared to the pain of the others that were hurt tonight.”

    “I am not accusing you of causing this, Harry,” Dumbledore said, looking over his half-moon spectacles. “This was going to happen whether you went to the Minister’s house or not.”

    “But I did,” Harry said, not wanting to look at Dumbledore’s piercing eyes.

    “Yes, you did. And that was exactly what I hoped wouldn’t happen,” Dumbledore said.

    “Maybe if you helped me during the year!” Harry yelled, rising to his feet.

    “Sit down, Harry,” Dumbledore asked. Harry shook his head. His anger was getting the better of him, and all of the things he wanted to yell came flooding forth.

    “You haven’t told me anything all year! You left me to fend for myself! You didn’t tell me about the Order, about the Orb, about the Verdoth Longbottom or the Founders. You left me to stew in my own ignorance! You left me, Ron, and Hermione out of the loop, after all we’ve done and all we’ve seen!”

    “I admit to have left you three out of the picture, but I did so for your own protection,” Dumbledore responded. “You three have always had a knack for discovering too much for your own safeties. I felt that if you were given no information, you wouldn’t be able to get yourselves in harm’s way.”

    “And you shouldn’t have done it,” Harry seethed. “If it weren’t for Verdoth and Mrs. Figg, I wouldn’t have known anything!”

    “I am not surprised that Verdoth took an interest to you, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “But I am surprised at Arabella. I told her to maintain strict confidence as to what was said to you.”

    “She’s my Custodia,” Harry yelled. “She did her part to help me keep safe.”    

    “Your Custodia,” Dumbledore repeated. “How very interesting.” He wondered into thought, losing himself in the thought of Mrs. Figg being Harry’s guardian angel.

    “What’s a Custodia?” Harry demanded angrily. It was about time Dumbledore started explaining things to him.

    “A Custodia is a witch or wizard who binds themselves to a person that they must protect. Often, the Custodia does this because of a close personal relationship.”

    “Well I don’t have one with Mrs. Figg,” Harry muttered. “She hates me.”

    “I doubt that,” Dumbledore responded.

    “Well, you would. Not that you would know, you haven’t been paying any attention,” Harry snapped.

    “Perhaps I was wrong in keeping you in ignorance.”

    “You’ve been wrong this entire year. You couldn’t find the Orb, you couldn’t stop Voldemort and his Death Eaters from killing the Longbottoms, or Sirius!”

    “Those losses, I’m afraid, were unavoidable, though very regrettable,” Dumbledore whispered, his eyes filled with a terrible sadness.

    “Unavoidable? You did nothing to prevent them!” Harry raged. “They could be alive today if you hadn’t failed to act!”

    “I know this,” Dumbledore said, his voice heavy with grief. “Do you not see that I cared for them? That I cared for the Longbottoms, as well as Sirius? I wish I could have done something to prevent their deaths. I did not know that the Longbottoms had the Orb. The attack on them came as a surprise. We scoured every inch of every known Death Eater activity zone to find Sirius, but we had no luck. The Ministry used the Fidelius Charm to protect the forest hideaway, and we did not know where it was until you sent up your flare. We did all that we could. I understand your anger, Harry, but you must see that I did try to save them.”

    “And yet they are still dead,” Harry said, slumping into his seat. “You refused to take up your burden in fighting Voldemort.”

    “My burden?” Dumbledore asked his eyes wide with surprise.

    “Verdoth told me all about it. How you inherited Gryffindor’s war against Slytherin.”

    “This is worse than I thought,” Dumbledore said, taking off his glasses. “I’m afraid you must have left the Tomb of the Founders too soon. Yes, I did know you went there, I have been paying attention. But you must have left far too soon, because you must not have heard the entire story.”

    “What do you mean?” Harry asked. “What’s the rest of the story?”    

    “That I cannot tell you.” Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Dumbledore held up his hand. “The truth is for you to discover, not for me to tell you. However, I can tell you that the burden of Gryffindor’s war is not on me, Harry, but you.”

    “I don’t understand. Verdoth told me that you’ve positioned yourself...”

    “...in order to directly oppose Voldemort. Yes, I surmise that Verdoth did indeed feel that I would be the one to assume Gryffindor’s burden. Verdoth has always felt that equals must confront one another in equal battle. I’m afraid he has a naive outlook on the world.”

    “I don’t follow.”

    “The reason why Verdoth never felt that you would assume Gryffindor’s burden was because you, at this moment in time, are not Voldemort’s equal. He has a deeper knowledge of magic than you do, and would be able to defeat you if it were merely the case of magic versus magic. Verdoth probably assumed that you were to be the death that spurred me into direct action against Voldemort. You were to be the equal of Helga Hufflepuff, not Sirius, as you thought.”

    “How did you know?”

    “Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger informed me. They’ve been worried sick about you after you left them to go find Sirius.” Harry felt another twinge of guilt, and he very much wanted Dumbledore to continue.

    “Then why am I not Hufflepuff’s equal?”

    “For one, you are not dead. However, there have been spectacular circumstances that have leveled the playing field between you and Voldemort. Voldemort’s initial failure to kill you, and his subsequent loss of body, allowed you to grow and discover your wizarding heritage. You have an innate ability to fly, which gave you confidence in the magical world. You found that you can speak Parseltongue, that you can produce a Patronus, and even this year you found you can become an Animagus. And now Voldemort can no longer use magic against you. The playing field is almost leveled. Why?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “Because you have assumed the role of Gryffindor. You are to fight the final battle against Voldemort, to settle the score forever. Fawkes made his decision tonight. He decided which of you would live and which of you would die. Whether the heir of Slytherin or the heir of Gryffindor would win.”

    “The heir of Gryffindor?” Harry felt his mouth go dry. It wasn’t possible.

    “Yes. You, through your father’s veins, are the last descendent of Gryffindor’s bloodline. Remember when you pulled his sword from the Sorting Hat in the Chamber of Secrets. Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled it from the hat.”

    “It’s not possible.”

    “I assure you it is. It is down to you, Harry. I’ve fought this war for you until you were ready to hear the truth. That moment came much sooner than I expected. This war, unfortunately, is yours.”

    “No,” Harry said simply. “I don’t want it.”

    “I understand...”

    “No you don’t. You can’t possibly understand. You had a choice. You got to decide whether or not you wanted to watch over the Order of the Phoenix. Why don’t I get a choice? Why can’t I decide what I’m going to do? You said yourself once that it’s not who we are, but what we choose to be. I choose not to be the heir of Gryffindor.”

    “But Gryffindor is part of you. He is in your blood. You cannot deny your past, your family.

    “I don’t care if his blood is mine. I choose not to take up his mission.”

    “And you are entitled to your choice,” Dumbledore said sadly. “Choices make the person, Harry. You choose to accept this burden, or to let it fall to someone else.”

    “I will not let some witch who lived a thousand years ago decide whether I live or die,” Harry raged. Dumbledore looked at Harry with grave sadness.

    “I wish I could have shielded you from all of this, Harry. I did not want you to know all of this. No fifteen year old should have to bear such a heavy burden. In reality, it comes down to the basic struggle between free will and fate. How much of this was fated to happen? How much was the result of our choices? Such questions are not for a fifteen year old to answer, and yet here you are, year after year, attempting to find the answer to them. You did not ask for this role, and yet it was thrust upon you by those who lived a thousand years ago. No one can force you to choose but yourself.”

    “I’m going to the hospital wing,” Harry said, opening the door. He looked at the doorway, and saw the giant phoenix gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office. He felt another twang of guilt. “And in the morning, I want to see Sirius.” Harry turned, and saw Dumbledore looking at him.

    “Very well, Harry.” Harry saw a tabby cat walk by him, and he instantly knew it was Professor McGonagall. Harry shook his head, and walked towards the gargoyle. He heard two voices whispering, and decided to listen in.    

    “What did he say, Albus?”

    “He refused to take up his role. It is as I feared, Minerva.”

    “But surely he will come to his senses?”

    “He has lost much, tonight. He cannot be held responsible for his choice tonight. He will have time to reconsider. That is not what I fear most.”

    “What is, Albus?”

    “I fear for his well-being. He is still young, still full of promise. I do not want him believing that he cannot enjoy his youth.”

    “Surely he’ll come out all right,” McGonagall said. Harry listened closer.

    “I do not know, Minerva. I was right to assume that Voldemort would not be able to use magic against Harry. He used Harry’s blood last year, and made a grave error in his plan. His main weapon is now useless against him.”

    “Then why worry?”

    “Because his scar glowed green when Fawkes made his decision.”

    “And?”

    “It means Fawkes chose Voldemort as the victor.” Harry’s eyes widened in shock. McGonagall scoffed.

    “You know very well I take no stock in prophecy and spell work of such nature. The future is not set in stone.”

    “I pray you are right, Minerva. For all of our sakes, I pray you are right.”

    “Albus, this despair is not like you. Potter is a strong boy, and with friends like Granger and Weasley, he’ll be all right.”

    “I fear the worst. While in the presence of the students I maintain a look of hope, but I must confess I’m no longer so sure of the future. This may be our darkest hour.”

    “We’ll fight, Albus. We’ll fight, and we’ll win. We feared the same when we told James that he was the heir. And look how far we’ve come.”

    “You are right, Minerva. There is still hope. Perhaps fate holds no sway over Harry Potter. All we can do is wait.”

    Harry heard movement in the office, and stole down the stairs as quickly as possible, Dumbledore’s words still ringing in his ears. So Fawkes decided that it was he, Harry, that would lose the battle and be fated to die. Harry fumed, and shook his head. And Dumbledore was still refusing to tell Harry the truth. He raged, feeling the urge to break something, to scream at Dumbledore. He hated him, hated the old man that had organized his pain. He reached the hospital wing, and entered in a blaze of fury. Madame Pomfrey seemed to have expected him, because she had a cup of Sleep Easy potion ready for him. He spotted Ron and Hermione sitting on a bed, talking to one another and waiting for him to come in. Before they could say anything, Harry grabbed the cup and drank the contents. He collapsed on the bed, and allowed sleep to overcome him.