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Fawkes Feather


It was a couple nights later and by this time everyone in the castle was quite blue - even Severus Snape, who did, it turned out, take showers. Only James remained his natural colour, having refused to allow his hair to turn blue, and smelling up the Gryffindor common room quite spectacularly. Professor Slughorn had found the antidote a mite harder to brew up than he’d originally hoped, and the first batch hadn’t worked in remedying the coloration issue. He’d had to start from scratch and try a potion that took a longer time to mature.

Meanwhile, James and Sirius were having a right ol’ time all over the castle, cracking jokes and puns about being blue - however lame they might be. “Indigo to class,” Sirius said, excusing himself from the Gryffindor table with a grin.

“Cyan you later,” James answered, snickering.

“Did you hear about the king who used to be a blue knight?” Sirius asked Frank Longbottom one evening by the fire. When Frank shook his head, he said, “He’s cerulean now.”

Remus frowned, “You know, you lot shouldn’t take this all so lightly,” he scolded them, “You don’t know if they can reverse this. We might’ve done something horrible.”

James looked Remus dead in the face. “Rey, we are taking it very seriously… I azure you.”

Only Sirius had laughed at that one, high-fiving him with copious amounts of snorts and giggles, “Good one, James!”




Professor McGonagall knocked on the Headmaster’s office door, holding a vial of the antidote that Professor Slughorn had finally managed to create. “Come in, Minerva,” Dumbledore called. She entered, pushing the door shut behind her with her elbow as she stepped inside. Dumbledore - still blue all over, like everybody else in the castle, stood by Fawkes’s perch, stroking his feathers gently. The bird was nearly ready for his burning and there were little plumes of smoke rising up out of his feathers. He let out a weak little squawk. Dumbledore sighed and Fawkes nipped at Dumbledore’s fingernail with his beak. “The antidote?” he asked, seeing the steaming blue vial in McGonagall’s hand.

“Horace just finished this batch,” she said with a nod, putting it down on the desk. “He says it should do the trick. He added a sprig of mint for the taste.”

Dumbledore walked over and lifted the vial, looking it over.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t rather one of the rest of us test it first, sir?” she asked.

Dumbledore smiled, “No, Minerva, I think it should be me who tests it out. Just to be sure it has no adverse reactions.” He held the vial up in a cheers. “Bye, bye blues,” he said in a chipper voice, and he downed the vial in a single go. Professor McGonagall watched with a worried expression, hugging the tray she’d used to carry the vial up to the Headmaster’s office to her chest. Dumbledore made a curious expression as the blue liquid drained from the vial and into his throat, and smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth at the completion of it. “Leaves quite the aftertaste.”

“The mint didn’t help?” she asked.

He shook his head.

Dumbledore took a deep breath, shivering, and as McGonagall watched the blue seemed to fade from the top of his head down, returning to his normal color. She breathed a sigh of relief as Dumbledore looked himself over, a smile spreading across his face. He lifted his beard and looked over the whiskers carefully. “Well,” he muttered, “That’s most disappointing.”

“Sir?” McGonagall asked, concerned.

“I had hoped that a couple of streaks might remain,” he said, “Give me a little flair.”

“Sir.” McGonagall’s voice reflected disapproval that time.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, “You don’t think I could pull off some flair, Minnie?” he asked.

She eyed him.

Dumbledore smiled and set himself down in his chair behind the desk with a groan of age. “So, Minerva, I never heard. How are our perpetrators doing with their punishments?” His voice lilted with amusement.

“They begin tonight.” McGonagall’s lips twitched. “It was very hard, mind you, keeping a straight face while talking to them about it.” She shook her head, “Mr. Lupin actually thought we might expel them for it. Thought I was going to snap their wands.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Got to give them a hand for their brilliance,” he said, “I never would have thought to dye the entire student body blue when I was in my third year. It will be most interesting to see what sorts of pranks they come up with in the future, with such a promising first go at it.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows raised.

“I wasn’t always the - er - upstanding citizen that I am today,” he said, winking. “And we both know, Minerva, that you, too, have had your fair hand in a prank or two.”

McGonagall fought very hard to keep her lips in a tight line.

Dumbledore smirked beneath his whiskers.

Across the room, the phoenix gave a cry, making them both turn to look, and with a burst of flame, Fawkes turned to ashes. Dumbledore nodded and went over to lift one bright red tail feather that had fallen to the floor and he looked it over. “Curious,” he murmured. McGonagall watched as he turned the feather’s spindle in his fingertips. “I shall have to give this to Mr. Ollivander,” Dumbledore said.

“Does he shed his tail feathers frequently?” McGonagall asked.

Dumbledore was still studying the feather, moving it through the air, “No,” he replied, watching the way it swished and flicked about in his hand as he waved it. “Only one other time. But Mr. Ollivander had voiced a hope that, should Fawkes shed another, I send it to him. The last wand Mr. Ollivander made with a tail feather from Fawkes has gone on to do great and terrible things, he says, and he should like to see what another might do.” Dumbledore’s half-moon glasses reflected the sway of the feather.

McGonagall sighed, “I’m very sorry, Headmaster, but I must beg your leave - I need to go and meet up with our wee trouble makers. They’re supposed to be cleaning with Mr. Filch for the first time this evening.” She glanced at a small pocket watch that hung from a chain ‘round her neck, along with her reading glasses.

“Yes,” Dumbledore murmured. “Of course. Thank you for bringing the antidote up to me. And do tell Horace to add a wee more mint for the students, else some of our more picky eaters shall be remaining blue the rest of the term.” He smiled to himself and carried the tailfeather to the desk, removing a dusty, empty wand box from a drawer and laying the feather inside of it.

“Goodnight, Headmaster,” McGonagall said, bowing out of the room.

“Goodnight, Minerva,” Dumbledore replied.

There was a hissing and a tiny noise and Dumbledore looked over at the ash that lay at the foot of Fawkes’s perch. A tiny hatchling of red wrinkles and black beak hiccoughed a plume of smoke. Dumbledore smiled and walked over, gently cupping the new baby Fawkes in his palms. “Welcome back, old friend.”




The boys sloshed down the dungeon steps, James and Sirius each carrying two buckets half-filled with dirty water. Peter clutched the handles of four mops and a bag filled with cleaning supplies. Remus struggled with his crutches on the stairs. When they reached the dungeon floor at long last, they made their way past Slughorn’s office door to the Prefect’s toilet. They stood before it, staring up at the door, memories flooding over them.

“Well,” said James, “At least we won’t be meeting the Dark Lord when we go in here this time, yeah?” he looked about at them.

“We hope,” said Remus dourly.

“He’s busy infecting the world with deadly viruses,” said Sirius, “He hasn’t got the time to be haunting prefects toilets.”

Peter shivered, remembering that horrible voice whispering his name and the awful things he’d said to him. He could still feel the cold of the water he’d fallen into and the squashing of his feet in the soaked shoes as he’d run to catch up with his friends… It had been a terrible night, that night, and he had been dreading coming back to this toilet ever since McGonagall had said they’d be cleaning the prefects toilets for all four houses.

Sirius took a deep breath. “Salazar,” he said. The bathroom door unlocked and opened and they stepped inside.

James waved his wand, lighting the torches around the room, lighting up the torches to dimly illuminate the green tiled bathroom and the horrible painting of a giant squid eating a big ship on black water. Peter looked timidly at the wall-size mirror, which had been replaced with brand new glass that shone silver and bright, unlike the old glass that had been there before. In the glass stood the reflection of the four of them - something else that was quite different from last time they’d visited the Slytherin prefect’s toilet.

“Blimey,” James said, stepping up to the mirror, “I look bloody terrible. I need a shower. Why didn’t we think to keep one of the showers protected from the blues?”

Sirius snickered. “You know - one good push into the bath there and --” he mimed shoving James and James quickly danced away from him.

They got to work, polishing all the fixtures and the floor. Remus was there more for decoration than to actually do the work - he sat on a bench along one wall and rubbed his aching knee while his crutches leaned against the wall beside him and the other three were on their hands and knees working at cleaning up the floor. When they were finished, they poured out the dirty water down a drain and carried their buckets and mops into the corridor. Sirius pulled the toilet door closed behind them.

They were just about to go about their way back to deliver their supplies to Filch’s supply cupboard when a snicker echoed down the hall. They looked up. There came Regulus Black and Barty Crouch Jr. Sirius scowled. “Well, well, well,” chortled Regulus, “If it isn’t my brother, the House Elf.”

“I’d rather work like a house elf than be a house elf snogger,” Sirius retorted.

Regulus’s face went into a straight line. “I don’t snog house elves.”

“Kreacher will be most disappointed when he finds out,” Sirius said. He took up his mop and bucket and started to walk away.

“Expelliarmus!” James shouted, at exactly the same time as Regulus raised his wand at Sirius’s back and shouted, “Colloshoe!” Sirius’s shoes went fast to the floor and the result was he tripped right out of them and into the floor, smashing his nose against the cobblestones. Regulus’s wand flew out of his palm and into James’s hand.

“Sirius!” cried out Peter in surprise and Remus paused, teetering on his crutches, eyes wide with concern. Peter rushed forward to help Sirius up, but Sirius pushed him off.

Sirius’s nose was bloody and he stood up, swiping at the blood with his robe sleeves, and stared at his brother with a sad, confused sort of look on his face. He reached for his wand in his robe pocket with a shaky hand. Barty drew his wand, too, matching Sirius and James’s raised wands. Regulus scoffed, “Going to hex your wandless little brother like a coward?” he mocked.

Blood still dripped from Sirius’s nose. “Is it much more cowardly than you hexing your elder brother with his back turned?”

Regulus stared at Sirius, a challenge in his eyes.

“Give him his wand,” Sirius said darkly to James.

“But - Sirius -” stammered James, looking at his friend, lowering his wand slightly.

“Do it. And put away your wand, too.”

James’s eyebrows folded, but he tossed the wand back to Regulus, who instantly raised it to point at his brother. He slid his wand into his pocket.

Sirius’s eyes never once left Regulus’s. He shook his head, took two steps back and slid his wand into his pocket, too, before reaching for the buckets and the mop and sloshing off, his nose still bleeding. The other three looked between the two Slytherins, who had their wands raised at them menacingly, and then turned and followed Sirius down the hall. Remus hung back the longest, swinging himself on the armrests of the crutches. He took deep breath, “The world’s too unsteady for this fighting,” he said wisely, then he turned and hobbled away.

“Bloody cripple wolf,” muttered Regulus, dropping his wand and jamming it into his pocket.

Remus had heard the words and though they put a chill down his spine - Regulus knew his secret? - he didn’t slow or acknowledge them.

The others were waiting for him at the stairs up to the entrance hall and they helped him up the steps into the entrance hall. Some moonlight spilled through the large windows over the door. Remus paused in a pool of it and looked at Sirius, leaning heavily on one crutch and struggling to pull his wand out. “Episky,” he said, and with a crack Sirius’s nose healed itself.

Sirius made a face, “Oi...that smarts,” he muttered.

Remus looked Sirius over. “Your brother called me wolf,” he said quietly, his face looking quite betrayed. “Why does your brother know to call me a wolf?”

James looked at Sirius with a worried expression.

“Remus, I can explain,” said Sirius, “It’s not my fault.”

Remus shook his head, “I can’t believe you,” he said accusingly, and he hastened to put his wand away, and grabbed hold of his crutches to leave.