The voice startled him.
Harry jerked upright, clutching at his side as his ribs flared in protest. His head snapped around the small, suffocating room until his gaze landed on Hedwig's cage.
The snowy owl was perched inside, feathers ghostly in the dim light, her amber eyes glowing like twin lanterns.
"Did you just… talk?" Harry whispered, his throat raw, the words scraped thin from disuse.
"Yes," Hedwig said crisply, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "And you'd better listen. Honestly, for someone they call the Chosen One, you're painfully slow."
Harry froze, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "How… how are you—"
"Magic, Harry," Hedwig interrupted, ruffling her feathers with a sharp snap. "It exists, in case you've forgotten. Now stop gaping like a stunned fish and pay attention."
Harry blinked, his mind stumbling, then sagged against the wall. "You… you've been able to talk this whole time?"
"No," Hedwig admitted, her tone softening just a fraction. "Not exactly. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And you, my idiot human, look like you're ready to give up completely. I can't allow that."
Harry looked away, ashamed. His voice was flat, bitter. "Why do you care? No one else does."
Hedwig's gaze sharpened, but her words held a fierce tenderness. "Because you're mine. I've spent five years watching over you—through beatings, through nightmares, through things no child should endure. I'll be damned if I let you throw it away because of those monsters downstairs."
Something tight lodged in Harry's throat, painful as a fist. "I can't do this anymore, Hedwig," he whispered. "I just… I can't."
"Yes, you can," Hedwig snapped, wings flaring against the bars. "You've survived worse. You're stronger than you realize. And if you can't see that now, then I'll see it for you. But you must hold on. I'm going to bring help. Don't you dare leave me before then."
Tears stung Harry's eyes, hot and humiliating. He swallowed, nodding once. "Alright. I'll try."
"Good," Hedwig said firmly, though her eyes softened. "Now rest. And Harry?"
"Yeah?" His voice cracked.
"You're not alone. Remember that."
---
The gray light of dawn crept through the threadbare curtains, pale fingers stretching across the walls of Harry's prison. He hadn't slept. Not really. He'd drifted, half-conscious, haunted by memories he never dared name. Hedwig's words anchored him more than he cared to admit, keeping him from unraveling completely.
Minutes or hours passed—it was impossible to tell, balanced as he was on the edge of despair—when a sudden blaze of firelight pierced the gloom.
Harry flinched violently, his heart hammering. Then he saw it.
A phoenix perched on the window ledge, feathers scarlet and gold, radiating warmth like a living sunrise. Its golden eyes caught Harry's, and for one disorienting moment, he felt as if his very soul were laid bare.
"Fawkes?" Harry breathed, pulling himself upright, every bone aching.
The phoenix trilled, a sound of aching beauty that wrapped around Harry like a cloak. Hedwig, perched nearby, hooted smugly, her feathers gleaming in the reflected glow.
"I told you I'd bring help," she said, satisfaction dripping from her tone.
Fawkes stepped forward, the golden light spilling from his wings flooding the room with a warmth Privet Drive had never known. Then, without moving his beak, his voice filled Harry's mind—low, melodic, sorrowful.
"Harry Potter… you have endured more than any soul should. But it is time for the shadows to lift."
Harry's throat closed. "What do you mean?"
The phoenix tilted his head, sorrow deep in his gaze. "You carry wounds deeper than flesh, and burdens heavier than fate itself. But first—your body must be mended."
Before Harry could ask, Fawkes bent low. Golden tears spilled from his eyes, falling onto Harry's hands, his bruised arms, his scarred face. The warmth hit instantly—soothing, then searing, like fire coursing through his veins.
Harry gasped, his back arching. His scar blazed as though it had split open.
"It's burning—!"
"It is not only your body," Fawkes said, his voice steady. "There are curses and charms in you that do not belong. They must be burned away."
Agony ripped through Harry's skull. He screamed, clutching his forehead, nails digging into skin. The room spun, heat flaring like molten iron under his scar. He thought he might shatter.
Then—sudden silence. The fire ebbed. The pain retreated like a tide.
Harry collapsed onto the bed, gasping for air, every muscle trembling. His skin was slick with sweat, but his body felt… lighter. Cleaner. Whole in a way it hadn't for years.
"You are healed now, Harry," Fawkes said gently. "But listen well. There is a darkness inside you—something no phoenix tears, nor any ordinary magic, can touch. It cannot be destroyed by me, or even by you alone."
Harry's stomach turned. "What kind of darkness?"
Fawkes spread his wings, light washing over the room. "That truth lies in your blood, in secrets bound and buried. Only the Goblins will tell you what was done. You must go to Gringotts. Ask for your family's Account Manager. They will help you."
Harry's breath stuttered. "The Goblins?"
"Yes," Fawkes said firmly. "But beware. Dumbledore must not know. If he learns of your visit, he may intervene—and bind you tighter in chains you cannot see."
Harry's mouth went dry. Dumbledore. Chains. Curses.
Fawkes inclined his head. "The path ahead is dangerous. But you are not alone. Allies wait for you, if you choose to trust them."
The phoenix's song swelled, carrying a promise and a warning both.
And Harry, exhausted but trembling with a fragile, desperate hope, clung to it.