This story was written for the Fourth Round of the Fourth Season of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I'm writing as Beater 1 for The Wimbourne Wasps.

The challenge was: Creature Comforts

There are non-humans galore in Harry Potter, but they're often overlooked or take the back seat. That's just not fair, though, is it? Creatures deserve love, too! So, this round they get the spotlight.

You are not limited to writing about canonical characters like Dobby, Hedwig or Firenze, or even from specific creatures that appeared in the series such as the Hungarian Horntail Harry fought. Any creature from any timeline is welcome; the sky's the limit!

We had eight creatures to pick from; my chosen creature is Phoenix and I have to write from the point of view of a phoenix.

And these are the prompts I'm using to block our opponents, the Chudley Cannons:

4. (poem) "The Peace of Wild Things" by Wendell Berry
7. (image) Snowy mountains— webneel wallpaper/sites/default/files/images/04-2013/snowy-mountain-wallpaper.
14. (word) frigid

I've also used a prompt from a different forum; Hogwarts Houses Challenges. Spell: confringo (pitch and drabble).

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the world J.K. Rowling has created, it's hers, all of it and its inhabitants.

Warning: It may seem canon at a start, but this is AU and will get progressively more so. Hints of TMR/HP if you squint.

Wasps are amazing; just look at my teammates! They're the best ever for being so supportive, smart and beautiful! 3cheersforidiots, agentmoppet, Xanda, thank you, for once again having my back! Buzz, buzz!

And another thank you goes to my 'external' beta: Paperclippe. You're amazing!

PS. Word-count provided by MS Word

Second Chances
Words: 2 991

His senses were attuned to the emotions of other beings. While he was a creature of joy and life, living forever meant that he'd come in contact with a lot of grief, sorrow, and pain. He didn't enjoy these dark emotions, and more than that, he did not enjoy being the cause of them. His song could make courage sprout from a planting-bed of fear, could wake hope where before there had been despair, and increase happiness where it already lived. He could also inflict cold misery on those with ill intent living in their darkened hearts, but he would never sing for that purpose alone.

For a long time, he had avoided contact with all humans because they, more often than not, were filled with distressing amounts of turmoil and acted with ruthless disregard for others; dark energy was not pleasant to be around, and for his own sake, he had avoided it.

Then there had been a wizard, a man filled with muted sorrow, surrounded by bursts of bright, childlike delight, tempered with deep respect for everything living, and wisdom that, at the time of their meeting, belied his age. Albus had made him less afraid to meet the world as it was; to meet its ugly parts. Staying isolated was easy, but being afraid of the darkness also kept him away from the light.

Staying with the wizard meant that he had been given a name—Fawkes. A name was not something he needed. Still, the name had been given without the intention to confine him and lock him to a form, but to strengthen the bond of affection and belonging that he had freely accepted.

If it had not been for Albus, Fawkes would never have given up part of his essence for the wandmaker's use. To give away a feather was a life changing decision. It was so much more than just giving away something material; he was giving away a part of himself. He would never stop being connected to a freely-given feather. He had been hesitant about it. Providing such immense power to someone he did not know unsettled him. Giving up control could mean that he was birthing misery into the world. But he trusted Albus' judgment. Fawkes gave up two feathers, two feathers and no more. Albus believed that there was good to be found in everyone, and in turn, Fawkes had to believe it too.

He could sense that great things would be done with the wands that held his essence in their cores. He could sense their potential even as they lay on shelves in a London shop, gathering dust. His sense that picked up on emotions was extended through them, and he could sense what happened around them almost as clearly as he could perceive his own surroundings. So when the first of his wands chose its wizard, he was instantly aware. What he felt filled him with both worry and hope. There was pain there, but also immense longing. It was the kind of longing that, if guided, could lead to something great and beautiful, something that would benefit all.

It didn't surprise Fawkes that when the students arrived at the school in the autumn, he could confirm that the wand belonged to the clever yet troubled orphan boy Albus had introduced to magic. Fawkes tried to let Albus know that Tom was hurting, and needed gentle hands to lead him on the right path. Regrettably, it did not turn out well.

Animosity had already sprouted between Albus and Tom, and any attempt to approach Tom made by Albus was met with deep suspicion, making the hostility grow. For every step Albus took towards Tom, the boy took two steps back. Fawkes then tried to support Tom where Albus could not.

When Tom was alone out on the school-grounds, Fawkes would approach him, and, disguised as one of the many songbirds that lived in the Forbidden Forest, Fawkes would sing. Each time he did this, he could see that Tom's spirits were lifted, a stone taken off his chest, a spring added to his steps. These small moments gave the ambitious and solitary boy the energy he needed to carry on in a world that scorned him because of his origin.

As the years passed, things changed; Fawkes's song no longer had as great of an impact as it'd once had. He tried to ignore the implications and go on, working harder now to be an invisible support in the hopes that it might not be too late. For a while, his increased efforts stymied the darkness that was growing within Tom, tempering the feelings of hatred that were born from sorrow, loneliness, and feelings of abandonment. It did not last.

In December, the year Tom was to turn seventeen, when the mountains around Hogwarts were glistening with snow and the Great Lake was frozen over, Fawkes sung to Tom for the last time. Sitting hidden in the boughs of a winter-bare rowan, Fawkes let loose a gentle trill. The melody was in sound what the rays of pale-yellow sunlight sparkling on the snow were in light; it was glistening and bright. As the song reached Tom, he looked pained. His dark eyes grew darker and his handsome face twisted into something ugly and harsh. Without a moment's delay, the young man had his wand out and a blasting curse was shot out of it. Fawkes was not quick enough to evade it, and he burned.

When later he shivered in Albus' cupped hand, as a small featherless chick, Fawkes felt the hope he'd kept for Tom dwindle and die.

"I'm sorry, Fawkes," said Albus softly. "I know you wanted better for him. We both did."

Fawkes was too weak to answer with more than a pitiful chirp. Yes, he had wanted better for Tom. Now, because they had been unable to help him, the whole world was likely to suffer.

As soon as he was grown enough again to take care of himself, Fawkes left. He knew that Albus understood. Fawkes could not stay, not now. Everything he had feared was beginning to come true. He despaired for the world, for what was to come, and he needed to feel connected to nature again, to be free of all the emotions he could feel in the people around him.

In nature, in the great wild that had yet to be touched by humans, be they wizards or Muggles, he found solitude. For a while, he could forget his connections to other beings and feel free. He could pretend that he had never abandoned his natural state for the company of Albus. He could pretend that he had never trusted enough to give up part of himself. There was only the clear waters, the billowing fields, and the endless sky.

But the feelings he could sense through the wand Tom bore grew increasingly dark as the seasons turned. He could ignore the connection, but that would not make it disappear. When Albus called for him, he returned and joined the struggle that would keep the darkness within Tom from swallowing the world.

The fighting lasted for years, and the misery Fawkes had predicted came with it. Many people lost their lives, and many more had their lives changed beyond all recognition. Tom, now calling himself Lord Voldemort, could always be found at the eye of the storm, and Fawkes was constantly aware of feel the dark wizard's feelings. Hatred was the dominant emotion; it eclipsed all other ones, covering them in impenetrable shadows.

During these years, Fawkes would leave every so often to once more find solace in nature. He never abandoned Albus for so long again, but he needed these moments to reconnect to the wild world. Being away from Albus also made him remember why he had given up living freely, and without attachment. A part of him always longed to return to the wizard. The companionship they shared was worth all the sorrow.

Then things changed again. Voldemort was gone. A small child had lost his parents for it to happen, but the darkness receded from the world without a centre point to hold it. When Voldemort no longer had the wand with Fawkes' feather at its core, their connection was broken, and for the first time in decades, Fawkes found true peace, even as he knew it was temporary. The war would return.

The world continued turning and with it came change. This time, things stirred as the second wand he had given a feather to chose its wizard. Fawkes did not have to wait for September to learn who had connected with the wand. The wandmaker immediately notified Albus, convinced that the event was of significance. And there was no denying it. Harry felt different than Tom had. The pain was there, but it was not as dominating. Curiosity and longing were hiding it, making it a shadow on a sunny day. In Harry, Fawkes saw a new chance at helping something good come in the world. He was determined that this time, he would not fail.

Harry's prospects were good. Harry found friends where Tom had found adversaries. Harry felt love where Tom had felt fear. Harry didn't need the help, but Fawkes was prepared to provide it nevertheless. When Harry met Voldemort at the end of the school year, Fawkes appeared at his side after the battle was over. He cried healing tears to close the external wounds Harry had suffered, and he sung to provide strength where darkness was seeking to extinguish Harry's life-force.

The following year, he met Harry face-to-face. It was on a burning day, and their interaction was brief; still, it was enough for Fawkes to tell that he was right to put his hopes on Harry. He was strong and would manage to go down a good path where Tom had failed. Yet, as Fawkes was in close proximity to Harry, he felt something he could not explain. It was almost as if Tom was right there with him, though how that was possible, Fawkes could not say. He could only worry.

And yes, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets meant that Tom had returned to Hogwarts. Albus was certain. No one else could open the Chamber; only the Heir could find what Slytherin had hidden within the school. As Hogwarts was about to be closed, Fawkes felt something through Harry's wand that he had not expected. The hand holding it was not Harry's; it was Tom's. But it was impossible to tell what Tom was feeling. The connection felt blurred, insubstantial, and wavering. It was behaving like hot air, trembling and distorting everything.

Then Harry said something that pulled at the bond Fawkes had with both Harry and Albus; it allowed Fawkes to appear in the Chamber. Through song and fire, he moved away from the Headmaster's office to the large underground chamber, hundreds of feet below.

Both Harry and Tom were there, standing on the damp stone floor, bathed in dim green light. Harry, small, tired and dirty. Tom, tall, young once more and strangely blurred around the edges. Harry was the one Fawkes had come for, but now he second-guessed himself. This was Tom, the boy he had sung for and brought strength to. It was not Voldemort, the Dark Lord who was set to consume the world. Or so it appeared. It had appeared like that the day Tom had cursed Fawkes too. The difference was that this time Tom was not recoiling at his song; it seemed to energize him. It should not be possible, yet it was happening.

Fawkes landed on Harry's shoulder, taking care not to dig in his claws. He could sense both wizards' emotions better now. Harry's heart was trembling, beating rapidly with fear, but also with renewed hope now that he was no longer alone.

Tom was filled with conflicting emotions. There was not only darkness there. There was hatred and fear, but also determination and a fierce longing for something better. He watched Harry with conflicting emotions too. Hunger. Malice, some would say, but Fawkes could see that there was more to it—a child's longing for someone who might understand.

"You," said Tom, looking at Fawkes.

"What?" said Harry.

"Your song, I have heard it before. You used to sing for me, every time I was alone outside. You helped me. Why did I never realise that it was Phoenix Song?" Tom looked between Harry and Fawkes. "Why? You're Dumbledore's. He always..."

Fawkes sang again. He could not use words to convey meaning, but his song spoke to the soul. His song asked for forgiveness, for understanding, for a second chance for them all. He could sense positive feelings growing within Tom in response, something that had long been missing.

"I thought... I always thought that he hated me."

"Fawkes, what's happening?" asked Harry. He then whispered: "We have to help Ginny."

Ginny Weasley. The girl was lying on the chamber floor, by the feet of a statue of Salazar Slytherin. Fawkes' song died down to a low trill as he became aware of her. He had not felt her before; she was too weak. Fawkes was beginning to understand. A life for a life. Life was pouring from Ginny Weasley to Tom. He was leeching off her to regain his own strength. Fawkes could not allow that to happen. Not even to try and rectify his and Albus' failings towards Tom.

And yet, there was a way. Perhaps it was foolish and doomed to fail. Nevertheless, once the thought had surfaced, Fawkes knew he had to go through with it. He had not given up his solitary life to bring darkness into being. He existed to create light and never before had as grand an opportunity to do that presented itself. It was a small chance, but bright in its pinprick form. He might be able to save Ginny, Harry, and Tom.

He jumped off Harry's shoulder, flying to land on Tom's instead. Tom seemed like he wouldn't allow it, but as Fawkes approached, he relented, offering his arm. Fawkes could not land, though. Tom was not corporeal enough, not yet. Fawkes sank through what should have been flesh and bone.

They burned. Cleansing. Joining. Becoming one. Through him, through his gift of life, Tom would live. Through the essence of a phoenix, he would learn to understand his own emotions and the emotions of others. It would be the end of Fawkes, but he could not regret it. Aside from Albus, Tom was the human who had meant the most to him, and Albus had taught him always to give second chances, to believe in the good within everyone.

Oh, but it was so cold. Absolutely frigid. His flames were dying. Perhaps this was what it meant for a Phoenix to die, the flame dwindling, growing cold as ice so that no life could be rekindled from the ashes. Before the darkness—the good darkness—settled, Fawkes was content; he had chosen, and that meant that he was free.

-`ღ´-

Fawkes shivered. He sought warmth in the skin of the hands that were cupping his small, featherless body. The hands were wrinkled, the skin soft. He let out a small chirp and opened his eyes. Somehow, he expected to see Albus. He always saw Albus after his burning, but this time, there shouldn't have been a reawakening. Yet the chilling wind and the gentle hands holding him confirmed that the impossible had happened. As he turned his head to look up at the person carrying him, he did not see Albus' silver beard, half-moon spectacles, or bright blue eyes. He saw another old face, beardless, with round glasses over green eyes. Harry, an old man in the place of the second-year student Fawkes remembered.

"Tom always thought you'd be reborn after his death," said Harry. His mouth was smiling, but his emotions spoke of sadness and heartbreak. "Of course, he was right about that. After you merged with him, he was never wrong about anything. He never had the chance to thank you. It falls to me now. Thank you for what you did, Fawkes. I think it would be fair to say that you saved us all."

He had succeeded. And he was alive. He should have been happy. But looking at the deep furrows that had etched their way onto Harry's face, Fawkes knew that the people he'd sacrificed himself for were gone. Harry had said it plainly; Tom was gone. And Albus was gone too, Fawkes knew.

His small throat could not produce the sad melody he wanted to create, yet the soft and melancholy tweet he managed said as much as any lament could.

"They're both gone," said Harry. "But you gave them something they never thought they would have: reconciliation, a second chance at a new beginning. They were grateful. And so am I."

Fawkes burrowed into Harry's hands and tried to sleep. The wizard was warm where death had been frigid, but inside, the chill remained.

Once he was grown, Fawkes left Harry. Like so many years ago when he had failed Tom, the sorrow after Albus' passing was driving him away in search of solitude. He might never be as he had been before he'd chosen Albus. His song would always carry a theme of lament for the people he'd lost. But in the great wild, on the mountaintops and in the great forests, he could find peace. One day, he might return to civilisation and find someone new to bond with. Albus had taught him that everyone deserved a second chance. Tom had proved that Albus was right. Fawkes would give himself a second chance one day. For now, however, he would allow the unbroken nature to embrace him and set him free.

The End

A/N 27th May 2016

When I first spoke to my team about what to write and brought up the possibility of Fawkes and the feathers he'd given to be used as wand cores, they shot me down. They convinced me to think of something else and I did. Then this idea came to me, and I had to do it. I'm glad I did. I hope you are too. I'd love to know what you thought of this story.