The new fic: The Phoenix' flight
I promised a new fic and here we go - unbeta-ed, therefore please forgive my mistakes.
And yes, I'm still hoping to get someone to beta this piece ...
The Phoenix’ flight
Disclaimer: They (almost) all belong to J. K. Rowling and her publisher. I don’t intend to make money with them, but have only borrowed them for some playing. I promise, as soon as I’m done with them (or better said, as soon as they’re done with each other) I’ll give them back.
Author’s Note: If the idea of older people falling in love and having sex with each other squicks you, then - please - do me a favour: Go away. You won’t like this story.
Chapter 1: Another quest
part 1
Hogwarts, October 1998
“Good afternoon, Mr Potter. Come in!” Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts, stood behind her desk, wearing emerald green robes and her usual square spectacles. A little smile played around her small mouth as she pointed to the chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat, Mr Potter. Shall I get us some tea?”
There was a slight trace of impatience in her brisk voice and looking at the piles of papers on her desk, Harry understood it. Only three months after the evil wizard Voldemort had been defeated in what history books would call “The big Hogwarts battle” parts of the old castle lay still in shambles. Besides from the sight of McGonagall’s desk it was clear that her direct predecessor, Hogwarts former Potions master Severus Snape, hadn’t spent too much time at this very desk.
The overload on work she was still dealing with showed at the new headmistress’s features. She’d acquired a few wrinkles more around her mouth, her high cheekbones looked even more prominent and the dark shadows under her still beautiful green eyes spoke about sleepless nights, too much sorrows and a fair deal of exhaustion.
For a moment Harry hesitated. Probably it hadn’t been a good idea to ask McGonagall for this talk just now. She certainly didn’t have time to help him with what his friend Ron named “Harry’s new pet project”. Perhaps she’d even tell him that he hadn’t got time for it and should rather learn for his NEWTs. He’d been one year away from school and though he’d certainly got his share of exercise in Defence against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration and Charms, he’d forgotten quite a lot about Potions and, as Hermione had declared just the other night “Having become a part of history won’t help you through the exam in this subject.” Well, at least in this account McGonagall couldn’t blame him for coming here. It was all about history, wasn’t it? Besides he was in front of her now and she looked expectantly at him, so he couldn’t chicken out anymore.
Now she was really becoming impatient. “How may I help you, Mr Potter?”
“Hem …,” Harry cleared his throat and looked up at the painting which hung over the headmistress’ thronlike chair. It was empty and showed only a green velvet curtain, swaying slightly. Harry didn’t know if he liked it this way or not. “Hem …,” he made again and scolded himself inwardly for sounding like Umbridge. “I was thinking, Prof …, ahm, Headmistress,” he started.
“Professor will do!” McGonagall sounded once more brisk, but her eyes looked kindly and proud at Harry.
“I wondered if you could perhaps find it in your heart to talk,” Harry inhaled deeply, “about Professor Dumbledore with me.” Was there surprise in McGonagall’s eyes? Harry didn’t give her a chance to express it, but proceeded: “I mean, he was pretty important for me, but in the last year,” once more he had to clear his throat. Thinking about Dumbledore still made for it feeling too tight. Harry started anew: “Well, this book …”
McGonagall reacted. Her shoulders became even more tense and her mouth a very thin line. “You don’t believe the codswallop this abysmal Skeeter woman wrote about him?” she asked, her voice frosty.
“No, of course not.” Harry felt himself blushing. There had been a time when he had believed and he was still ashamed of it. “It only made me aware of how little I actually know about Professor Dumbledore. We were always only talking about me - my problems, my future, my plans.”
“And now,” McGonagall once again waved impatiently at the chair and sat down herself, “you want to known what kind of a man he really was?”
“Yes - no!” Harry smiled sheepishly. “I mean I think I know what kind of a man he was. He told me once that one becomes defined by ones choices - and he chose to be a good man who fought and finally died for what he believed in. and he said I’d be more selfless as him, but I don’t believe he was right.” He thought he was babbling, but McGonagall didn’t seem to mind, but listened quietly. “You know, I’m not such a mighty, brilliant wizard as he was, therefore I never was really tempted by power. Yet the headmaster - he could have sat on top of the world if he would have wanted to. I think overcoming the temptation of power and dealing with it the way he did - that was what made him a real great man, didn’t it?”
For a moment McGonagall studied him silently, then another little smile warmed her face. “Don’t underestimate yourself, Mr Potter,” she answered. “Dumbledore was very proud on you - and not without reason.”
Harry swallowed once more. “I know he cared for me. And I …,” he searched for words and suddenly he meant to hear Ginny’s voice: “Just say what you feel.” Following her advice he added: “I cared for him too.”
“Dumbledore’s man through and through,” Minerva McGonagall quoted what Rufus Scrimgeour, the late Minister of Magic, had once said about Harry. “Albus was deeply touched as he learnt about that.”
“I thought he’d know,” Harry answered.
Slowly McGonagall shook her head. “As wise and clever he was - Albus hardly ever got how fond people were of him.”
“Why?” Harry asked, but didn’t give his headmistress time to answer. “I know so little about him and there are so many questions! Therefore,” he looked in her eyes pleadingly, “I wanted to ask you if you could tell me. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate just now, but perhaps you could find a little time for me in the next months? You knew Professor Dumbledore for centuries, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did,” McGonagall nodded. “I knew him almost all my life. He was my teacher, my mentor and my boss.”
“And wasn’t he a friend?” Harry asked eagerly. He remembered how loyal Minerva McGonagall had always been towards Dumbledore, how often he’d seen them talk and even laugh together.
Minerva McGonagall breathed deeply and looked up to the empty portrait over her desk. “Yes,” she said, “I like to think we were friends. However, Albus Dumbledore was a very private man. There was a big lot of things we never talked about.”
Harry looked up at the painting too. He’d been so sure that McGonagall would answer most of his questions and now he felt disappointed and sad. “Well, then, “ he said and prepared for getting up. “I don’t want to keep you away from your work.”
“Just a moment, Mr Potter.” McGonagall studied her fingers, laying in front of her on her desk. “I think,” she said slowly and as if she needed to overcome herself for doing so, “there is someone who is able to answer your questions, someone who knew Albus Dumbledore probably better as every other living soul.”
“Aberforth Dumbledore?” Harry asked. The idea of talking once more to the younger brother of his late Headmaster didn’t appeal much to him.
McGonagall once more shook her head. “No, no. Aberforth only thinks he knew his brother well, but they were never really close. Besides Aberforth’s opinion about Albus is still tainted by jealousy and grief, I think.” She sighed. “Living in the shadow of the greatest wizard of our times was always rather hard for Aberforth.” She rose up and turned to the stairs in the back of her study. “Would you just wait a moment, please?”
While McGonagall disappeared in the upper part of the room, Harry looked around. Since McGonagall had taken over as Headmistress, he’d only once been in her office, just four days after the battle. It had been a real mess then, but now it was tidier as he’d ever seen it before. Dumbledore’s knick knacks, the spidery silver things, the stakes of magazines and books and papers which had occupied every free space in former times, had been put away and even the Sorting Hat, sitting on a shelf near the fireplace, looked as if it would have got a thorough cleaning. Besides on the mantelpiece were wizards’ photographs now. Harry went over for looking at them and recognized a tall man with blue eyes, still handsome though certainly around one hundred years old, as McGonagall’s husband Augustus, Headmaster of the Auror’s Academy. Another picture showed McGonagall with the Gryffindor’s Quidditch team after they’d won the house cup a few years ago; a rather old one displayed a very young and radiant beautiful Minerva McGonagall next to Albus Dumbledore who beamed in what looked like fatherly pride down at her. And there was a picture from all Hogwarts’ teachers in Harry’s first year, including a sneering Severus Snape who looked as if he’d hated to be part of this crowd.
McGonagall was back. Coming up the stairs she looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. “It’s time for dinner,” she said. “I hope you’re free afterwards?”
“Yes,” Harry nodded. Actually he’d planned a stroll down to the lake with Ginny, but she’d certainly understand him going where he’d get some answers.
“Good. Madam Pomfrey expects you at half past seven,” McGonagall said.
“Madam Pomfrey?” Harry didn’t understand. Why wanted the headmistress to go him to the mediwitch?
“She invited you to her private quarter,” McGonagall proceeded as if she wouldn’t have heard him. “You’ll find them behind the door to the hospital wing. Just go along to the painting of the healer. The password is ‘Lionheart’. So - and now let’s go down to dinner.”
tbc
And yes, I'm still hoping to get someone to beta this piece ...
The Phoenix’ flight
Disclaimer: They (almost) all belong to J. K. Rowling and her publisher. I don’t intend to make money with them, but have only borrowed them for some playing. I promise, as soon as I’m done with them (or better said, as soon as they’re done with each other) I’ll give them back.
Author’s Note: If the idea of older people falling in love and having sex with each other squicks you, then - please - do me a favour: Go away. You won’t like this story.
Chapter 1: Another quest
part 1
Hogwarts, October 1998
“Good afternoon, Mr Potter. Come in!” Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts, stood behind her desk, wearing emerald green robes and her usual square spectacles. A little smile played around her small mouth as she pointed to the chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat, Mr Potter. Shall I get us some tea?”
There was a slight trace of impatience in her brisk voice and looking at the piles of papers on her desk, Harry understood it. Only three months after the evil wizard Voldemort had been defeated in what history books would call “The big Hogwarts battle” parts of the old castle lay still in shambles. Besides from the sight of McGonagall’s desk it was clear that her direct predecessor, Hogwarts former Potions master Severus Snape, hadn’t spent too much time at this very desk.
The overload on work she was still dealing with showed at the new headmistress’s features. She’d acquired a few wrinkles more around her mouth, her high cheekbones looked even more prominent and the dark shadows under her still beautiful green eyes spoke about sleepless nights, too much sorrows and a fair deal of exhaustion.
For a moment Harry hesitated. Probably it hadn’t been a good idea to ask McGonagall for this talk just now. She certainly didn’t have time to help him with what his friend Ron named “Harry’s new pet project”. Perhaps she’d even tell him that he hadn’t got time for it and should rather learn for his NEWTs. He’d been one year away from school and though he’d certainly got his share of exercise in Defence against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration and Charms, he’d forgotten quite a lot about Potions and, as Hermione had declared just the other night “Having become a part of history won’t help you through the exam in this subject.” Well, at least in this account McGonagall couldn’t blame him for coming here. It was all about history, wasn’t it? Besides he was in front of her now and she looked expectantly at him, so he couldn’t chicken out anymore.
Now she was really becoming impatient. “How may I help you, Mr Potter?”
“Hem …,” Harry cleared his throat and looked up at the painting which hung over the headmistress’ thronlike chair. It was empty and showed only a green velvet curtain, swaying slightly. Harry didn’t know if he liked it this way or not. “Hem …,” he made again and scolded himself inwardly for sounding like Umbridge. “I was thinking, Prof …, ahm, Headmistress,” he started.
“Professor will do!” McGonagall sounded once more brisk, but her eyes looked kindly and proud at Harry.
“I wondered if you could perhaps find it in your heart to talk,” Harry inhaled deeply, “about Professor Dumbledore with me.” Was there surprise in McGonagall’s eyes? Harry didn’t give her a chance to express it, but proceeded: “I mean, he was pretty important for me, but in the last year,” once more he had to clear his throat. Thinking about Dumbledore still made for it feeling too tight. Harry started anew: “Well, this book …”
McGonagall reacted. Her shoulders became even more tense and her mouth a very thin line. “You don’t believe the codswallop this abysmal Skeeter woman wrote about him?” she asked, her voice frosty.
“No, of course not.” Harry felt himself blushing. There had been a time when he had believed and he was still ashamed of it. “It only made me aware of how little I actually know about Professor Dumbledore. We were always only talking about me - my problems, my future, my plans.”
“And now,” McGonagall once again waved impatiently at the chair and sat down herself, “you want to known what kind of a man he really was?”
“Yes - no!” Harry smiled sheepishly. “I mean I think I know what kind of a man he was. He told me once that one becomes defined by ones choices - and he chose to be a good man who fought and finally died for what he believed in. and he said I’d be more selfless as him, but I don’t believe he was right.” He thought he was babbling, but McGonagall didn’t seem to mind, but listened quietly. “You know, I’m not such a mighty, brilliant wizard as he was, therefore I never was really tempted by power. Yet the headmaster - he could have sat on top of the world if he would have wanted to. I think overcoming the temptation of power and dealing with it the way he did - that was what made him a real great man, didn’t it?”
For a moment McGonagall studied him silently, then another little smile warmed her face. “Don’t underestimate yourself, Mr Potter,” she answered. “Dumbledore was very proud on you - and not without reason.”
Harry swallowed once more. “I know he cared for me. And I …,” he searched for words and suddenly he meant to hear Ginny’s voice: “Just say what you feel.” Following her advice he added: “I cared for him too.”
“Dumbledore’s man through and through,” Minerva McGonagall quoted what Rufus Scrimgeour, the late Minister of Magic, had once said about Harry. “Albus was deeply touched as he learnt about that.”
“I thought he’d know,” Harry answered.
Slowly McGonagall shook her head. “As wise and clever he was - Albus hardly ever got how fond people were of him.”
“Why?” Harry asked, but didn’t give his headmistress time to answer. “I know so little about him and there are so many questions! Therefore,” he looked in her eyes pleadingly, “I wanted to ask you if you could tell me. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate just now, but perhaps you could find a little time for me in the next months? You knew Professor Dumbledore for centuries, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did,” McGonagall nodded. “I knew him almost all my life. He was my teacher, my mentor and my boss.”
“And wasn’t he a friend?” Harry asked eagerly. He remembered how loyal Minerva McGonagall had always been towards Dumbledore, how often he’d seen them talk and even laugh together.
Minerva McGonagall breathed deeply and looked up to the empty portrait over her desk. “Yes,” she said, “I like to think we were friends. However, Albus Dumbledore was a very private man. There was a big lot of things we never talked about.”
Harry looked up at the painting too. He’d been so sure that McGonagall would answer most of his questions and now he felt disappointed and sad. “Well, then, “ he said and prepared for getting up. “I don’t want to keep you away from your work.”
“Just a moment, Mr Potter.” McGonagall studied her fingers, laying in front of her on her desk. “I think,” she said slowly and as if she needed to overcome herself for doing so, “there is someone who is able to answer your questions, someone who knew Albus Dumbledore probably better as every other living soul.”
“Aberforth Dumbledore?” Harry asked. The idea of talking once more to the younger brother of his late Headmaster didn’t appeal much to him.
McGonagall once more shook her head. “No, no. Aberforth only thinks he knew his brother well, but they were never really close. Besides Aberforth’s opinion about Albus is still tainted by jealousy and grief, I think.” She sighed. “Living in the shadow of the greatest wizard of our times was always rather hard for Aberforth.” She rose up and turned to the stairs in the back of her study. “Would you just wait a moment, please?”
While McGonagall disappeared in the upper part of the room, Harry looked around. Since McGonagall had taken over as Headmistress, he’d only once been in her office, just four days after the battle. It had been a real mess then, but now it was tidier as he’d ever seen it before. Dumbledore’s knick knacks, the spidery silver things, the stakes of magazines and books and papers which had occupied every free space in former times, had been put away and even the Sorting Hat, sitting on a shelf near the fireplace, looked as if it would have got a thorough cleaning. Besides on the mantelpiece were wizards’ photographs now. Harry went over for looking at them and recognized a tall man with blue eyes, still handsome though certainly around one hundred years old, as McGonagall’s husband Augustus, Headmaster of the Auror’s Academy. Another picture showed McGonagall with the Gryffindor’s Quidditch team after they’d won the house cup a few years ago; a rather old one displayed a very young and radiant beautiful Minerva McGonagall next to Albus Dumbledore who beamed in what looked like fatherly pride down at her. And there was a picture from all Hogwarts’ teachers in Harry’s first year, including a sneering Severus Snape who looked as if he’d hated to be part of this crowd.
McGonagall was back. Coming up the stairs she looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. “It’s time for dinner,” she said. “I hope you’re free afterwards?”
“Yes,” Harry nodded. Actually he’d planned a stroll down to the lake with Ginny, but she’d certainly understand him going where he’d get some answers.
“Good. Madam Pomfrey expects you at half past seven,” McGonagall said.
“Madam Pomfrey?” Harry didn’t understand. Why wanted the headmistress to go him to the mediwitch?
“She invited you to her private quarter,” McGonagall proceeded as if she wouldn’t have heard him. “You’ll find them behind the door to the hospital wing. Just go along to the painting of the healer. The password is ‘Lionheart’. So - and now let’s go down to dinner.”
tbc