Title: The Children Of The Phoenix
Summary: At his 17th Birthday Party Harry Potter disappears after being ambushed by Voldermort. After Fifteen years the Wizarding World thinks he's dead, but he's not. Instead, Harry wakes up on a strange island inhabited by hundreds of Phoenixes. After training for 5 years with both the Phoenixes and their Keepers (the Children), Harry returns to the World he was forced to leave behind. And he gets a rude shock. For not only is the entire Wizarding World on the defensive (and safely entombed in Hogwarts) but every seems much older than they should be...
Timeline: Books one to five, although Sirius did not die. Kingsley Shacklebolt was near enough Sirius when he fell to grab him before he fell through the veil. Otherwise the same.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and any related characters and settings. They are all the property of J. K. Rowling.
Chapter One – Lost in Time
In all of time, there can only be one place that is lost to us. A thing is only lost when it simply no longer exists on this earth. If you dropped a book, then were unable to find it, then it wouldn't be lost to you – just misplaced.
But, somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean there was an Island that was occasionally 'lost'. One day it would be there, sitting happily on the great depths of water, and the next you would find it no where on this Earth.
At that moment, the Island was not lost. It was waiting and had been for a few centuries. Then, one day, someone appeared on it's golden shore and the Island was gone.
It is time.
7 7 7
"I can't believe it!" squealed Hermione, as Harry fell unceremoniously out of the fire place. She yanked him to his feet and promptly engulfed him in a huge hug. "Seventeen, finally!"
"Give him a chance to breathe, 'Mione," admonished Ron, rolling his eyes, but it was in a certainly softened tone than that of a year ago. She grinned embarrassedly and pulled out of Harry's embraced – which had been rather mono-directional – and punched playfully at her boyfriend. Ron affected a wounded expression for a while, but that quickly slipped away as Hermione kissed him on the cheek.
Flushing slightly, Ron moved forward to clap Harry on the back, grinning. "So, how are you, mate?" he asked, leaning against the fireplace. Ron had changed a lot since Harry had first met him. He had grown into his height gracefully and his time as Gryffindor's Keeper had done a lot for his build. He seemed much more…well, confident, somehow. Harry didn't know if this was because he felt comfortable with who he was…or if it had to do with the bushy haired brunette that was reclining in the battered old arm chair.
"Fine," said Harry and this was immediately true. "I'm never going to have to set foot in Number Four Privet Drive ever again! How much better could life get?"
He got his answer immediately when Ron summoned some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies from the kitchen.
Hermione was the one to roll her eyes this time. "Boys," she muttered, resignedly, "always thinking with their stomachs." But, then again, she didn't exactly decline when they were offered to her.
"So, where are the rest of the family?" asked Harry, peering around, as if the Weasley's might suddenly burst out of the walls. Usually they all met him when he fell out of the fireplace and the lack of red heads was rather noticeable. Ron's twin brothers, Fred and George, tended to make enough noise for ten people.
"Ouff th' bacff," began Ron, but swallowed when he caught Hermione's glare. "Sorry – habits, you know?" He turned back to Harry. "They're out the back, putting up a new extension."
Actually now that Ron mentioned it, he could hear a few faint crashes coming from the Yard. "Extension?" he asked.
Ron made a face. "Fred and George have claimed that they need more room for experiments."
"I don't get it," said Harry, confused. "Why are they still living here anyway? They've got heaps of galleons – I mean they bought out Zonkos just last year. Why haven't they got a place of their own?"
Ron laughed. "Well, they told mum that it was something about missing their mother when they weren't here – you know, the Burrow means so much to them and all that. But really, they just like her cooking."
Harry laughed, but was cut off as a particularly loud crash echoed from the yard. Shortly after, it was followed by Mrs Weasley's yells.
"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY!" she bellowed. "WILL YOU STOP MESSING AROUND WITH THAT AND BEHAVE LIKE THE MATURE, SENSIBLE ADULTS YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE!"
"I don't get it," Harry confessed to Ron. "I thought you could just, well, wave you wands and you'd have a new room."
Ron snickered. "Yeah, well, that's how it's supposed to be done," he agreed, picking up another cookie, "but Dad suddenly decided that we were going to attempt this the muggle way."
"You're kidding!" Harry's mouth was open slightly.
"He's not," confirmed Hermione, leaning forward in her chair, eyes concerned. "I really don't know what to do. None of them have any clue how to work with the equipment and Fred and George are just using it to launch catapults at the garden." Her eyes narrowed. "Actually, I think there's something wrong with the equipment, too. Unless," she asked, looking up at the two of them – Ron, in particular – "cement mixers do spit out multi coloured blobs of cement every five turns?"
"Ginny!" cried Ron, springing around with relief to face the doorway. Harry and Hermione looked over at the doorway – the, empty doorway. A mild breeze and a blur of colour flashed past Harry's vision before there was a bang of the door, indicating that Ron had taken a run for it, rather than face Hermione.
Hermione stared at the door for a while, her expression lingering between a frown and an exasperated smile, before turning back to Harry.
"So, have you studied for the apparition test yet?"
7 7 7
"Happy Birthday to You!
Happy Birthday to You!
Happy Birthday dear Harry!
Happy Birthday to You!"Harry gave a sort of embarrassed grin before moving over to blow out all the candles on the monstrous sized cake that Mrs Weasley had baked for him. They were cheers and applause as he blew out all the candles. There was a loud flash and a lot of smoky fumes as someone took a photo. Harry couldn't believe it. 17 at last. He had made it – he had survived the Dursleys, he had survived school – well, more or less – and now he was free. He could use magic, he could live on his own – heck, he didn't even have to go to school anymore.
Today was a rare escape from the realities of the real world today. The very real reality of Voldermort, Death Eaters and, indeed, death itself. Over the past two years Voldermort had been fighting and destroying anything he could get his hands on, slowly and slowly drawing more and more of their world into darkness.
Harry, being the only person who could defeat Voldermort, was definitely feeling a lot of pressure and usually he would carry his problems with him where ever he went, but now he had found that relaxing every now and then, enjoying life, was essential to prevent a total nervous breakdown.
Everyone was here for him – the Weasley's, all his friends, Hagrid, most of the Order of the Phoenix – though, thankfully, not Snape – but including people like Dumbledore, Tonks, Mundungus Fletcher, Kingsley Shacklebot and even Arabella Figg! And, where would any party be without Remus and Sirius (as Snuffles, of course)?
Harry was even more embarrassed to see that not only did he get the biggest slice of cake – just over a quarter – but that he also had an extremely high pile of presents. 'Are there that many things in the world to buy?' he wondered dazedly as he bit into his chocolate cake. It was delicious.
"You alright there, Harry?" asked Seamus Finnigan, laughing as he surveyed Harry's slab of cake. "Looks like you got enough there t'feed an army!"
Harry grinned. "Yeah," he agreed, holding it up and studying the triple layered creamy chocolate cake, complete with miniature moving dragons. "Well, if I don't finish it, I know I can always give it to Ron."
At this, Ron's head popped up from the piece of cake he was currently demolishing. "Wha's 'at? 'idge um en a or 'ood?"
Everyone laughed as Ron looked hopefully around. Mrs Weasley shook her head and scowled slightly. "Ronald Weasley!" she barked.
Ron pulled a face, swallowed and said, "Sorry, mum," in such a meek voice that everyone started laughing again.
So much laughter, carefree fun – somewhere inside of him, Harry knew it was too good to last.
Several people screamed as one half of the room promptly blew up. Glass, wood splinters, chairs, presents where flying everywhere and people were running in a stampede to get out of the way. Instead of getting out of the way, Harry tentatively took a few steps forward, ignoring all the jostling people. Behind him, he heard Hermione and Ron trying to do the same. Then there was a chorus of cracks and a hail of curses. Harry whipped around.
The Death Eaters had surrounded them.
Accompanied by another, particularly loud, crack, a great flash of light illuminated the scene and Harry jumped back and felt a stab of fear driving at his heart. 'No, no, NO!' Harry's panicked thoughts were tumbling around his brain, spouting gibberish. 'I'm not ready – I can't die!'
Voldermort had arrived.
And he had his wand pointed straight at Harry.
Harry swallowed and tried not to pear around for Dumbledore as he desperately wanted to do. 'Where is he?' Harry wondered, frantically.
'This is your fight, Harry,' said a small voice, 'and Dumbledore knows it. It's time to face him.'
'But I'm not ready!' Harry pointed out. 'Dumbledore knows that, too. He would never…'
But what Dumbledore would, or would not, do had just been answered for him. Just out of the corner of his eye, he could see a figure sprawled on the floor, half buried under the falling walls. A figure with shattered half moon spectacles and an extremely long beard.
"No!" Harry whispered, but it was time to face facts – Dumbledore was dead. He was on his own.
All the while this had been going on, Voldermort had been standing, grinning at Harry, wand aiming at his heart. He mistook the horror on Harry's face as fear of him and cackled. "Yes, Potter – it's time to die. Ordinarily, I would have enjoyed torturing you a bit, giving you a chance, but too many times have you gotten away from me." The red eyes narrowed with hate. "I'll not risk that this time. Impedimentia!"
Before Harry could even draw a breath, he had been frozen to the spot. As Voldermort's pale lips curved up into a cruel smile, Harry could only think, 'I've failed them – I've failed everyone,' before Voldermort spoke the last words he would ever hear;
"So long, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Avada Kedavra!"
Closing his eyes to the world, Harry saw no more.
7 7 7
Sirius watched, horror struck, as Voldermort froze his Godson in place, helpless against the Dark Lords attacks. Sirius struggled with all his might to reach him, but he had been placed under the full body bind and only fell onto his face.
He had transformed back into himself as soon as trouble had first arisen, which, he told himself angrily was really stupid. If he hadn't, then maybe he would have been in a position to help Harry now.
Helpless tears forcing their way out of his eyes, Sirius watched history repeat itself. Here he was, again, as someone he loved was being murdered by Voldermort. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't look away from this morbid scene.
Vaguely he heard Voldermort speak, as though in a dream, "So long, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived." Then, the killing curse burst eagerly from those lips, like they had many a time before – just as they had done for Lily and James.
But the jet of light that shot out of it was not the same. Instead of a stream of green, this spell was the purest white and spread out in a globe that encompassed the entire battle pitch. Sirius had to shut his eyes to prevent himself being blinded, but even then the light pressed on his eyeballs.
Slowly, the light faded. Sirius opened his eyes and waited impatiently as sunspots danced in front of them. The curse was wearing off slightly, but Sirius didn't care. As soon as his eyes cleared, he peered intently at the spot where Harry had last stood, fearing the worst. Then he gasped.
Harry wasn't there.
Voldermort wasn't there.
The Death Eaters weren't there
It was just him and the rest of the party goers. Feeling the curse slide off of him, Sirius scrambled to his feet and ran unsteadily on cramped legs – had it really been that long? – to the last place he had seen his Godson.
"Harry?" he called, uncertainly. But no, Harry was nowhere to be seen.
Behind him he heard a short gasp and a lot of scrambling. Turning around hopefully, he only saw Hermione and Ron running over to where – 'Oh no, thought Sirius, feeling a great swell of depression sinking into him.
Dumbledore was dead.
Unable to put words to how he felt, Sirius put his face in his hands and began to howl.
7 7 7
As Harry's body had never been found, the world continued to hope that their saviour had, indeed, survived. But when Voldermort and his Death Eaters returned, there was still no sign of the Boy-Who-Lived and, as the years went by the world gradually lost hope.
They kept fighting, of course, but with no hope of ever succeeding, it became harder and harder to keep their spirits up.
7 7 7
Harry vaguely felt a wind tugging at his clothes and hair and a vague sensation that he was travelling.
'So this is what it's like when your dead,' Harry thought glumly. He didn't really pay it too much attention, overwhelmed with thoughts of remorse, regret – and of his failure.
Because of him, Harry, Ron and Hermione would die – probably tortured for hours or ending up insane. Sirius and Lupin – Harry fought back a sob – could meet a worse fate than that. And Dumbledore – well, he was already dead, wasn't he? He probably got lucky.
Then his limp form slammed into a floor of some kind. 'OW!' thought Harry, angrily. 'Is this anyway to show respect for the dead?'
But then Harry reminded himself that he didn't deserve any more respect – he was a failure.
"My, my, he's certainly happy bunny, isn't he?"
Harry's eyes flew open.
He was on a beach, with seemingly perfect golden shore. Gently lapping at the sand was a perfectly turquoise Mediterranean sea. And, sitting all around him, were phoenixes.
Well, he thought they were Phoenixes. They looked similar to Fawkes, the only phoenix Harry had ever met, anyway, especially the red ones. But phoenixes were all one colouring weren't they? Harry was sure that "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" would have mentioned if they weren't.
"Be quiet, Riva!" snapped a voice. This one was different to the one that had spoken first and was older and male. "And what's a 'bunny'?"
"Um, well… I don't now," the first voice admitted, somewhat sheepishly. This was definitely female and sounded rather young.
Harry twisted his head around, trying to find the sources of these voices. All he couldn't see anything but Phoenixes.
The man tutted. "You've been listening to young Frazzle's wild stories again, haven't you?" There was an uncomfortable silence, which the man obviously took for a yes. "You shouldn't believe everything that he says you know. He's a real wild one."
While this was going on, Harry was getting more and more confused. Where were these voices coming from? 'Wait,' thought Harry suddenly. 'They're not coming from the Phoenixes are they?'
Suddenly, Riva giggled. "Oh, Grandfather, we're confusing him – we forgot to make our selves visible!"
And with a sudden flurry of wings, two people appeared in front of Harry. It was a slight understatement to say that he gave an almighty jump. Several of the nearby Phoenixes squawked and jumped aside, fluttering their wings.
Riva's Grandfather was a tall man, with many wiry muscles that were clearly visible through his lack of top. Harry had trouble believing that he was a Grandfather at all – he was smooth skinned, with a dark tan and a crop of black hair. If not for his eyes – that reminded Harry slightly of Dumbledore's in green contacts – he would have guessed this man was only in his early thirties.
Riva, however, looked the age she sounded – in other words, around fifteen/sixteen. She too had black hair, although it curled down her back in elegant braids. Her eyes – a vivid blue – sparkled mischievously and Harry immensely thought that this was a person he was going to like.
"Hi!" she said, enthusiastically.
"Erm, hi," Harry returned, somewhat uncertainly. "Er, who are you?"
"Oh, I'm Riva and this is my grandfather, Maali," she told him, still grinning, now bouncing slightly up and down on the spot.
Harry was taken aback – was she always this happy? As he saw Maali rolling his eyes he got his answer – yes.
"Um, I'm Har-" he began, but was cut off by Riva almost immediately.
"Harry Potter, yes, we know," she dismissed flapping a hand at him. "Do you think that we just bring random people to our island?"
Harry didn't know quite what to say here. In the end he settled for "You're island?"
Riva opened her mouth to speak again, but was stopped when Maali put his hand on her shoulder. "Not so fast, Riva, dear. Maybe we should tell him who we are, first?"
"Huh?" Now Harry was really confused. 'Do they have short term memory loss problems, or something?' he thought, reflecting back to the rare opportunity he'd had to watch 'Finding Nemo', and groaning inwardly.
Almost as if he could read Harry's mind, the man laughed gain. "No, don't worry – we're not insane. What I meant to tell you was what are race is called."
"Oh." Harry took a moment to digest this. "Are you not human then?"
"Well…yes and no," answered Maali, smiling at him.
Then Riva, who had pouted slightly when Maali had interrupted her before, grinned again and informed him happily, "We're the Children of the Phoenix."
7 7 7
Thanks for reading.