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Seven Days of the Phoenix	By : tambrathegreat Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 2013 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe or mangled Chinese mythology. I make no money from this endeavor.

Chapter List
- 1-Seven Days of the Phoenix
- 1
The familiar, who used to be known as Fawkes, watched the current Headmaster sleep fitfully, his ink-slick hair spilling over the cluttered surface of his desk, his pale skin luminous in the flickering witch-light.   His hand clenched fitfully as he dreamt, and the phoenix stirred to soothe him as ineffectual as the gesture was.
Feng-Huang, the phoenix, was not supposed to be at this place. It was a creature beyond time and space, without a fixed form in this realm, until it was claimed. It had served its last master for over a century and had earned its rest, but the man before it had drawn the phoenix back.   If the truth were told, this human had always drawn Feng-Huang’s notice since the dark man, then a boy, had taken his first hitching step past the gates of Hogwarts. For so many years it had seemed that the boy turned man was lost to Feng-Huang. The mortal had taken a dark path and had allowed what was good in him to be corrupted by the darkness with which he surrounded himself. But there came a day when the man had brokenly asked for redemption and he had changed, though that shuddering metamorphosis was only seen by the occupants of the Headmaster’s office. The phoenix had both rejoiced and mourned his choice. Feng-Huang knew the path of redemption was paved with agony.   It had always been so.
Had the phoenix known what its former charge would ask of this man, it would have never left after this man killed him. It would not have regretted the loss of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Feng-Huang would have never relinquished its post in this incarnation when it found the cost to this man.   So it returned, a disembodied spirit, watching over the new headmaster, though he didn’t know it, and Feng-Huang tried to comfort him when it could. One day the phoenix hoped that the man would see its devotion, one day it hoped he could see the love that had brought the phoenix back to his side… and the phoenix could realise its own selfish dreams of being a mortal, a human who experienced all the trials and triumphs of that blessed state.
But that was the stuff of fairy tales, only a dream for the foolish. This man, this warrior, would most likely not survive the night. The boy who was this headmaster’s sworn enemy had entered the school. Feng-Huang knew that the Three Immortals would intervene for this man who walked such a crooked path no longer.
He stirred. as if knowing his fate was approaching, and the phoenix, who had one time worn the mantle of Fawkes, withdrew from his side. He would face his fate and the phoenix would watch from afar, away from the turmoil of battle. That was all it could do. War was anathema to Feng-Huang. Being close to conflict and strife would only serve to weaken the phoenix.

When the man flew out the window after the cat-woman called him a coward, the phoenix cried silently, hiding its tears in the flame-coloured plumage that it was forced to don in this realm. The old woman left and the clash and clangour of battle soon rent the night air’s peace. The phoenix’s instinct was to flee, but it stood as if rooted to the spot. Its feet would not move. The man, he needed help, the phoenix could feel it, as if a red string was tied from his ribs to its own.
During a lull in the battle after a challenge had been issued, the boy-- that boy that had taken Fawkes’ tail in the labyrinth after slaying the basilisk—entered the room, a vial of silver memories in his hand. When the youth poured them into a basin, the phoenix could taste the man in the air; the Headmaster’s essence was strong with the notes of blood and near death. The phoenix was finally able to move, and it fled, following the trail of his scent back to where he lay.
It found him in a pool of blood, so wax-like and still that it thought he had passed to the portion of the Celestial Kingdom reserved for these long-limbed, big-nosed foreigners, but as it knelt by his side, its form shifted. The phoenix gasped as its chi brought the yang characters held in its phoenix form forward.
As quickly as celestial magic would allow, Huang, Mingxia, handmaiden to the Celestial Empress, stepped forward heedless of her court silks, not caring that the mortal’s blood soiled her hands. She cried out in pain, throwing her now corporeal body over his, tears mingling with the blood that clotted at his throat. The red thread, the one of destiny, which was knotted around each of their ring fingers, was fraying. Perhaps they were merely destined to come together, but not last.
All was lost, all was lost!
And then, his eyelids fluttered, his heart skipped against the walls of his chest, and Mingxia knew she had to seize her chance, just as she had done on a different battlefield with another laowai. She gathered him in her arms and concentrated on home.

Of course she would have to pay for bringing this mortal to the Celestial Kingdom, but any price was worth knowing that he lived even for one more day.
&*&*&
Light filters through Snape’s eyelids, soft and grey, as he slowly climbs from the crimson agony of his final moments. Severus Snape knows he is dead. That was the only fate he could foresee for himself once the Dark Lord had decided to act.   He had embraced that state with an abandon that should shame him. It doesn’t.
He opens his eyes and stares at what he sees. There is a ceiling in the afterlife, one that is golden plaster and heavy, teak beams.   There are strangely wrought clouds in the plaster, in an oriental motif. After moments of consideration of the ceiling, his eyes stray downward. Outside this hallucinated room, there is a garden that he can see past windows that are not glazed, but papered with some type of vellum. Heavy dark wood frames the image of the garden that is built, again, on oriental lines. A brook babbles through it and heavy chrysanthemum blossoms bob in a breeze heady with the scents of other, showier flowers.
He sits up with an ease he hasn’t had since Potter’s first year. His muscles, usually screaming from stress and torture, are blessedly pliant. He finds his hands drifting to his neck. Where he expects to find a gaping wound, or at least a bandage, he instead finds smooth, unmarred flesh. His fingers drift to his clothes. They are soft silk and black, cut with a Mandarin collar and embellished with intricate, black frog-closures. Beyond him lays a crib with a rosy-faced infant, its fly-away hair is black, its features are Asian. The child shakes its fist and a several gold bangles tinkle in the relative silence of the room. A melodic bird trills on beyond the walls.

As he stares into the infant’s black eyes, a wizened Asian woman bustles in. She glares at him, shaking her head as she speaks harshly to the infant in a sing-song language, her intricate hair ornaments clashing as she lifts the child. The old woman leaves with the infant, and Severus is overcome with fatigue.
He leans against the silken cushions upon which he woke and sleeps.
When he wakes again, it is evening, the light is golden and the shadows are long. A small child with a sweetly pointed chin sits at the foot of his bed, a girl, dressed in a heavy, red, silk garment that is embroidered with the fiery image of a phoenix on the sleeves. Her hair is tied into two torturous knots at either side of her head, and each is capped with a golden cage. She is young, a toddler still, just turning into a child. She smiles impishly at him, her Cupid’s-bow lips framed by deep dimples on each side of her face. Even though Severus dislikes children he can see that she is a handsome specimen, one who will grow to be a great beauty.

She lisps, “You were s’eepy.”
“Where am I?” he asks, his voice a harsh rumble to her musical lisp.
“You are home, silly.” The toddler slides heavily from the edge of the bed and leans on the counterpane that covers him. “Baomu sent you congee. You eat or she’ll scold you.”
She reaches to the table next to the bed, uncovering a tray holding a bowl which contains rice gruel. The aroma of garlic and ginger makes his mouth water. He lifts the tray onto his lap and tucks in with gusto, heedless of manners once his ravenous appetite is whetted. When done, the nurse returns and barks something at him before heaving the tray off his lap and pulling the child out of the room. She waves at him from beyond the ornate door.
After he eats, he sleeps again.

When he wakes, it is morning. A lovely girl of about fifteen stands at the foot of his bed. She is vaguely familiar, with a heart-shaped face, and warm black eyes that dance with humour. Her dress is more ornate than the child’s was but is red and emblazoned with the same phoenix pattern. Her hair is in the same two knots but covered with flowers made of semiprecious stones. He opens his mouth to speak, but she holds her hand up. Two golden bangles make a musical sound as she does. “Honoured Headmaster, I am who you knew as Fawkes whilst your leader lived.   I am known as Huang, Mingxia here in the Celestial Kingdom. I welcome you to my humble home with deepest gratitude.”
She waves her hand, and a table appears in the middle of the room, laden with bowls filled with savoury dishes that have a heady aroma. “Please, honoured sir, eat, and I will attempt to answer your questions most faithfully.”
He rises, conscious of his rumpled state and his unhygienic appearance. With another wave of her hand he is clean and clothed once again in a black, noil silk suit that is much like his teaching robes but cut along oriental lines. His inner garments are China silk, smooth and cool against his heated skin. He waits until the young lady sits in a graceful swirl of silk and pale, white skin. He draws out a chair and she serves him, her fingers deftly working the chopsticks, filling his bowl with fluffy white rice, spooning foods onto a plate. His tongue is halting even though questions thrum inside his skull. Where does one begin when thrust into such an alien situation? He finally blurts, “Am I dead?”
“That remains to be seen,” she demurs through coquettishly lowered lashes. “It is still your choice.”
“Is this heaven or hell?”
She covers her mouth as she smiles, and then answers, “It is neither, honoured guest. It is the Celestial Kingdom, a part of what you laowai call Tir-nan-og, and I, when I am not in my earthbound form, serve the Celestial Empress, Queen of Heaven.”
“You said you were called Fawkes.” He tries to temper the mistrust that creeps into his tone, but it there. “Where is Albus?”
“He is dead and in your laowai afterlife,” she answers simply. Severus thinks he hears a harder note of disapproval in the girl’s melodious tones, but it is gone as she says, “You are… not. You exist in the celestial realm as a spirit, but in your world you teeter between life and death. It is the best I could do for you. The choice to live or die will be yours alone.”
She begins eating, taking delicate bites of food, seemingly savouring the experience. She lifts an elegant brow as she says, “Please eat, my… Headmaster. Even though we are in the Celestial Kingdom, we must both take sustenance.”

Severus uses the utensils, a bit inexpertly, but the girl, Mingxia, makes no comment. When they both have taken their fill, she bids him to follow her into the garden. The tinkling of her bangles reminds him of the child from the day before and he asks, “Was that your sister yesterday, that child?”

Mingxia laughs melodically. “No, that was… me. Even though I have human form here, I retain my transitory nature. I have seven days of life between each incarnation.”
She plucks a white chrysanthemum from a bush, its pink petals showy against her pale skin. “Tomorrow when I greet you, I will be older yet.”
“Ah.” Severus nods. He reasons that he is hallucinating his final moments, and this interlude with this young woman is his brain’s death throes.
The girl takes his hand and pulls him down a path to a statue of a dragon, its snake-like form at once alert, yet calm.   She sits beside it and pats its head. “Reality is an odd thing, is it not? What might be conceivable in one instance is impossible in the next. Sometimes one must just allow situations to be what they are. That is what I had to tell Albus when he was here.”

Severus peers down his nose at her. “I thought you said he was dead.”

“Oh, he is,” she says as she pats the ground next to her. “Sit and I will tell you his story.”
Severus remains standing, his arms crossed over his chest. “Begin.”
He notices that in the time they have walked, she is carrying herself with more dignity and her features seem to have matured. The roundness of youth has given way to a greater beauty.
She says, “War is anathema to my kind, yet I have been drawn, throughout my existence, to warriors. I assisted the Lady Mulan, Phillip of Macedonia, his son, Alexander, and the first Tang emperor in their lives, to name but a few. Albus Dumbledore acquired my aid during the Grindlewald war. He too was mortally injured, and in my haste to flee, I took him with me to my home. He drew my yin from me, and so I appeared to him as a beautiful male…”
Severus doesn’t know if it is the light or his own suggestibility, but as she speaks, her features shift into those of a handsome youth. When he turns his full attention on her, she is a delicately made girl once again. He waits for her to continue.
“Though he was uncommon for your kind, Albus could not stand to see me as I was here. As his days went on in the Celestial Kingdom, he began to wish for home, to turn from what I was, a creature of renewal and rebirth. He chose to return to his home, and I remained his familiar, but was… unable to join him in the form I had wished to.” She has tucked her hands into her sleeves and as her words become solemn, the day chills and the scintillating light darkens, as if the sun has gone behind the clouds. “But enough of sad stories. It is time for music and laughter. Come, we will go to the court pavilion and we will celebrate your time here in the Celestial Kingdom.”
She turns and flees from the garden with melodious laughter, the tinkling of her bangles keeping tempo with her steps. Severus rises, curious about this new world and the strange creature who was, apparently, Fawkes.

They spend the day in a vast garden inside the walls of a grand palace, which houses various forms of entertainment. When Severus begins to brood, Mingxia distracts him with a new artist, a new marvel, or her own dry wit. It is a pleasant day and by the end of it, he feels the stirrings of something he thought he could only feel for one woman.
The girl is barely out of the nursery, and he is a fool, he tells himself when they are separated by the crowd for a time. When she returns to his side she seems older and more self-possessed. Her hair is now in an intricately woven coiffure that is topped with large, magenta peonies. She carries a cake in each hand.
“Try one of these.   They are the Celestial Emperor’s favourite. They are said to heal the heart and create a balance in all harmonies of the soul.”
Severus stares at the crumbly confection, not moving to touch it, and so she pushes it toward him. “Your chi flow is obstructed and your yin is sorely underfed. Take it.”
He does.
He has eaten sweets from China before. One of his Slytherins had left them as a gift for him many years ago. He hadn’t liked the foreign, bean starch flavour of the sweet. He watches her nibble on the cake, sees a crumb on her face as she closes her eyes rapturously. Suddenly he wants to taste that crumb that has despoiled her porcelain doll visage. He wants to flick it off with his tongue and taste the skin below it, but he dare not.

He is a lecher, a fool, and a coward.
He stuffs the cake in his mouth, heedless of how it affects his dignity. He simply wants the damned temptation of the sweet and the girl to vanish. He wants this Mingxia minx to leave him to his afterlife or purgatory or whatever this place is, so that he can accept his lot and not dream of lithe girls and dancing eyes, be they green or black.
He reels as the taste explodes on his palette. The cake tastes of moonbeams and petal-soft lips. It smells of kinship and only dimly remembered love. He swallows and is embarrassed to feel tears on his face, to taste the bitter-salt of them as he gives into the urge to cry.
He doesn’t know if his lachrymose display is for losses, missed opportunities, Damoclean decisions, or the few moments of joy he’s experienced in his wasted life. He does know he can’t stop. He tears from the pavilion and back into the palace. It is by sheer chance that he winds up in his room.
He falls asleep in his stiff clothes, rimy streaks on his face.
He awakens before dawn. Outside a nightingale sings. Severus knows its breed, because it could only be that bird in this fairy-tale hallucination. He rises from his bed and spies a deep pool that is filled with fragrant water in the corner of the room. It has appeared since he last was awake. It is a pool made for pleasure, crafted of gleaming jade, the basin is deep but the sides are sloping for the comfort of the bather. Suddenly, a bath is what Severus desires most in the world. He hastily undresses, folding them precisely in the way of a man who has learned such neatness and care due to poverty. Once nude, he stretches.

His muscles have the spring of youthfulness, his cock, nestled in a patch of coarse black hair, springs to life, a thing it hasn’t done in years. He slides into the pool savouring the wash of warmth over his turgid member, the weightlessness of water surrounding his balls. He pulls experimentally on his cock and sensation threatens to overwhelm him.
It is not like him to dwell on the physical. He has lived a monk-like existence since he lost Lily that Samhain night. Oh, yes, there had been static, Muggle images that he wanked to furtively when his physical needs overcame him early on, but in these last years, he hasn’t needed even that release.
He closes his eyes as he continues his exploration of his renewed vigour. He expects to see green eyes as sharp as feldspar, and fiery red hair. He doesn’t. Instead his mind’s eye supplies him with the delicate features of Mingxia. But it is not Mingxia from yesterday, the girl growing to woman. It is an idealised Mingxia, with the ripe figure of womanhood, a slender neck, and moon-pale hands. He pictures her opening to him, a luminous flower against silk. He can almost feel her thrum around him as the beat of his heart matches the beat of his fisted cock. It is at this apex that he hears, “Let me give you ease, my love.”
The pool sloshes and he opens his eyes to his fantasy come to life. Mingxia stands before him the water coming to her hips, her small breasts peaked. She is older now and the promise of youth has grown into fertile lushness. She straddles him. “Honour me with your body, my beloved.”
He wants to protest. He opens his mouth to give a sharp rebuke to this former bird, but with a deft motion, she impales herself on him. The only appropriate motion is for him to thrust into the heat of her core, to punish her for her effrontery by taking the pleasure she so willingly offers.
They reach their orgasm together and after, in a sated haze, they explore each other’s bodies as if what just passed has not occurred.
The next three days are heaven. Each morning she comes to him, older but no less beautiful. He does not flinch as her body changes and small lines grace her face. He learns her body anew with each change, each day closer to her burning. It does not occur to him to mourn her approaching death. She will return as many times as there are stars in the sky. Severus has no illusions that he will be with her, it is enough for him that she will go on.
The last day arrives, and Mingxia’s stooped figure enters the room, her once beetle black hair is now all steel. He escorts her to a small settee, one that just two days ago held their striving bodies. She watches him for a moment, her eyes rheumy but no less intelligent. She lifts a still-strong hand to brush a stray hair out of her eyes and Severus is treated to the now familiar music of clashing gold bangles. He sits beside her, holding her hand, and they pass what time is left in nearly wordless communion.
As the day turns to night she turns to him, his Mingxia who has done what no one else cared to do. She has healed him as no balm could.
In a voice that creaks with great age, she says, “Why have you not turned away from me, my beloved? Why does my age and death not frighten you as it has done so many others before?”
He wants to tell her of the great gift she has given, but he simply says, “Come lay with me in the bed one last time. Let me hold you in my arms until the end.”
As the light begins to fade, so does Mingxia. Severus kisses her on her forehead; his eyes remain dry, but his heart is ripped and bleeding. He is a man who lost all that he loved, and expected death as his reward. He closes his eyes against the brilliance that is Feng-Huang and says, as she erupts into flame, “How could I turn from you? You have given me the chance to see the woman I love grow old. It’s not something I ever expected would happen for me. ”
He falls into red oblivion…
His time is up…
&*&*&
Light filtered through Severus’ closed lids, his body thrummed with the steady beat of his heart. It took him moments to recognize the red agony that was his neck, and longer still to be able to raise his hand to the bandage that covered what was, no doubt, a horrific injury. He remembered little beyond the fact that Potter had been given the message and his duty was completed. After that…
A dream…
A hallucination…
A bit of paradise…
A clock struck the hour. A whir and a chime, and then two more, said it was three, the darkness told him the hour was in the morning. After some effort, Severus was able to open his eyes. He spied a slight figure perched on a chair in the corner of the cordoned off space.
His first attempt at speech fails with a spectacular spike of pain to accent that failure.   The figure rose. A cool hand slid over his forehead, and the figure, a female, said with a slight accent, “Do not try to speak, Headmaster. Your oesophagus received extensive damage. It will take time to heal.”
A mild wash of magic tingled over Severus’ skin, and the small witch light beside his bed flared to life. The woman was Asian with a sweetly pointed chin, black eyes, and a streak of filth across her cheek. She was dressed in the red robes of a Healer from China, the elaborate, stylised phoenix of her profession embroidered on her sleeves. With a flick of her fingers, she adjusted the light and as she lowered her hand, the clash of gold bangles sounded.
Severus was transported to his hallucination, and he once again felt the fierce joy of being in Mingxia’s presence. For a moment, the two realities melded. He forced his voice to work and asked, “Is your name Huang, Mingxia?”
“No,” the healer coloured prettily before answering, “I am a different sort of phoenix than the Celestial handmaiden, the Lady Huang. I am Feng, Baihe.   Now it is time to rest, Honourable Headmaster. I will be with you as long as you wish.”
Severus closed his eyes and dreamt of new beginnings.
Story notes:
The phoenix legend in China is tied to the Imperial persons of Chinese history. Feng-Huang is the phoenix who embodies both the male (Feng) and female (Huang) aspects of the creature though when the phoenix is depicted with the dragon (representing the Emperor/yin/male,) it is always in its female form (representing the Empress/yang/female.)
Although in the Asian version of this legend, the phoenix embodies fire, and it is never consumed as it is in the Greek version, it does represent eternal, cyclical life. The phoenix is described as a creature of refinement, grace, and justice with a hatred of strife. It is so gentle that it lives on dew. It is depicted in the si ling (four immortals) Taoist magic along with the dragon, the tortoise, and the unicorn. The phoenix is represented by summer and the south, and is shown with a tail of fire while its upper body is shown in the woodlands. It is graded from green at the head to poppy red at its tail.
I chose to use Huang, Mingxia as the phoenix’s female celestial name. Huang, again, is the female (fiery air) aspect of the phoenix, and Mingxia can mean bright, glowing dawn clouds or summer dawn, both elements of heaven. When the two return to Hogwarts, the phoenix becomes Feng, the male (cooler earthen) aspect of the phoenix. Baihe means lily and was chosen because I thought it fitting that our Potions Master should end up with a woman named Lily in the end.
Terms used in the story:

The Celestial Kingdom: it is where the king and queen of heaven reside along with their court. It is roughly equivalent to heaven, but not all can aspire to live there.
The Three Immortals: the three keepers fortune (Fu), longevity (Shou), and power (Lu).

Bao mu: (Chinese) [Bou moo] nanny
Congee: (Chinese) [Con jee] a thin, rice gruel made with ginger, meat, and garlic. It is usually servers with fresh, chopped chives and soy sauce.
Chi: (Chinese) [Chee] Can be imagined as life force but is so much more.
Laowai: (Chinese) [Lou wah] foreigner.
Samhain: (Celtic) [Sou wen] The holiest day of the witch’s calendar, October 31. It is a night when the physical world and the spirit world are closest together.
Tir-nan-og:(Celtic) [Tearnan oeg]The Summerlands or land of the Fairy, the afterlife where a person decides their next incarnation.
Yin and yang: (Chinese) In the Taoist word view everything is comprised of both of these essences. The represent polar opposites such as male yin/female yang, dark/light and so on…
*ou in the pronunciations sounds like house.
Names:
Mingxia: Ming shau.
Baihe : By hwa
I use the Asian convention of family name then given name in this story, so the phoenix’s female form family name is Huang while her given name is Mingxia. The same convention is used for her earthbound incarnation of Feng, Baihe.
All apologies for the butchery of the Chinese phoenix legend in this story.   I carved it up to make a cohesive fit in this universe. No disrespect is meant by the use of this legend or my total lack of skill in writing or speaking the various dialects of China.
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Seven Days of the Phoenix