A/N: So yeah…. I'm sure some of you have been wondering why I haven't been posting for my stories, right? Well, this is definitely a big part of the reason. (That, and my brother is now home from college.) This story kinda latched onto my brain and wouldn't let go until I wrote out a bunch of notes for it - and since I have so many things written about it already, why not just write the entire story? Hope you guys enjoy.

Edit: 8/2016

Edit: 6/17

Rekindled - Prologue

A Treatise on Phoenixes – an excerpt from "A Figuring of Foreign Fowl" by Gulliver Pokeby

To begin with, a physical description.

Phoenixes are known as one of the most beautiful species of creatures in existence. They are about the size of an average adult swan, with brilliant scarlet and gold plumage. They have round black eyes, often with golden accent feathers surrounding them, as well as an all-purpose beak and the talons of a bird of prey; while they are not known for aggressive behavior, phoenixes are indeed omnivores, and are just as likely to eat meat as they are fruits and nuts. In addition to their physical beauty, they are known to be creatures of pure Light magic, adding a sort of inner radiance to their natural charm.

Unfortunately, they are also among the rarest creatures in existence, with only three known domestications in the past millennia - and only a handful more sightings. In addition to the assumedly small number of their population, phoenixes are also known to be highly selective of who or what they associate with.

There is a reason that phoenix tail-feather wand cores are so rare – these magnificent birds rarely decide to allow any witch or wizard the honor of a connection to their own magic. Indeed, it is rare in the first place to be compatible with the magic of a phoenix, even when it is so small a portion as a mere feather. Witches or wizards with phoenix-feather wands are often said to be destined for great things.

Even more uncommon is a phoenix deciding to form a familiar's bond with a witch or wizard. Their already high criteria for simple association must be even more demanding for one to share in their magic. Out of the three domestications in the past millennia, only one is known to be a familiar.

Despite their rarity and private conduct, it is a little known fact that wizards do not actually know everything there is to learn about phoenixes. Of course, since they do not possess the necessary vocal chords for human speech (as several other species of bird do), this could be because all knowledge of phoenixes has been collected purely through observation.

Then again, since the already known abilities of phoenixes are so phenomenal, it could just be that few have ever thought they could be even greater than they seem.

After all, they can heal the most grievous wounds with just a couple of tears, carry burdens at least seven times their own weight, fly easily at heights that would otherwise kill a bird from freezing or suffocation, teleport through any magical ward in existence, bring courage to their allies and despair to their enemies by simply singing a few notes, and last but certainly not least - they are immortal, forever slipping through Death's fingers, to be reborn in a burst of fire and ash.

And with all those gifts, who would think to look for more? Then again, to my way of thinking, this lack of observation simply makes the possibility of phoenixes having thus-far unforeseen abilities all the more probable.

In this case, it can be assumed that the unknown talents of phoenixes are either: not comprehensible to humans; not able to be observed simply through the feeble sight humans are equipped with; or so exceedingly rare that they have never been performed in front of a human witness.

Gulliver Pokeby, in his educated guesswork about phoenixes, unknowingly hit the nail on the head. In fact, there are several abilities of phoenixes that no human knows about - two of which are particularly relevant at this moment.

Firstly, the teleportation of a phoenix is capable of traversing not only physical distance, but also the barriers between universes. In fact, the reason phoenixes are thought to have such a small population is because they are an inter-dimensional species. The only real "hub" of phoenix activity is their home world, and even that is sparsely populated thanks to the infinite worlds ripe for exploring. The only reason that phoenixes were even noted as a species in the Wizarding World, rather than a one-off result of some magical experimentation, is because it is one of the select few worlds popular enough for multiple phoenixes to visit.

And Secondly, the most secret art of phoenix magic: under certain conditions, a phoenix may give up their own life, permanently, and transfer all their magic and vitality to a recipient.

Of course, a phoenix would only ever resort to this final option under the most dire and specific of circumstances - namely, when one with a connection to their magic (who is thus under their protection) is near death and their healing tears won't do anything beyond expressing sorrow. Since phoenixes are so habitually selective of their company, and who they choose to bond with – and given that phoenix tears have been known to regenerate lost organs – you can understand why no one has ever even dreamed of this particular talent. The conditions of this gift are so particular that there has never really been a possibility of it happening.

Then again, Harriet 'Harry' Bryony Potter was known for impossibilities.

Rekindled - Chapter One - Through Fire and Flames

Cold. That was all Harry Potter could feel at the moment as she collapsed on the hard stone floor of the Chamber of Secrets. Of course, since basilisk venom was starting to spread throughout her entire body, she supposed she should be thankful that all she was getting was a case of the chills as opposed to pain.

Oh wait, never mind. There was the pain - burning like ice, eating away at her body like acid dripping through her veins.

Was she going to die here?

Had she the energy, she would have scoffed in resignation. That sounded like her sort of luck.

After an entire decade living under the oppression of the Dursley family, was she only to experience two years in the Wizarding World before her life ended? There was so much more she wanted to see, so much more she wanted to do. She wasn't even out of school yet - heck, she hadn't even finished puberty!

She had yet to taste the freedom she had hoped for upon entering this new world - she had constantly been boxed in by the school, her House, even other peoples' perceptions of her. It was always 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' with the wizards, or the 'Potter Girl' to those who kept seeing her parents instead of her - or even the 'Freak' with the Dursleys.

She'd never been able to be 'just Harry' like she'd always wanted. And now, it seemed like she never would.

Harry looked around blearily, her already horrible vision worsened by the effect of the poison, hoping to find something that might forestall her death. She could see a bright splotch of brilliant scarlet moving toward her.

'Ginny's hair?' she thought for a moment, somewhat relieved that even if she did die down in that dank chamber, at least she had managed to save her friend's little sister.

But no, focusing her eyes, she could see that the littlest Weasley was still lying prone on the chilled and slimy stone floor. Thankfully, her skin was less deathly pale, and more the pale of any British citizen - and her breathing was deep and peaceful, rather than the shallow gasps she had been making as the spirit of Tom Riddle drained her life-force. She was still unconscious, but mercifully didn't seem to be in immediate danger anymore.

Instead, the splotch of red turned out to be Fawkes, the phoenix familiar of the Headmaster, his scarlet feathers glowing faintly in the darkness of the chamber. Fawkes hopped the last couple of feet toward her, and seemed to examine her with his deep black eyes. Then, the wondrous bird tilted his head to lean over her arm, and thick, pearly tears dripped from his eyes onto the stab wound on her upper arm.

A small whisper of hope rose within her. Phoenix tears had healing powers, didn't they? She remembered Dumbledore saying as much during her previous visit to the Headmaster's office. Maybe she wouldn't die down there.

But moments later, even as the black veins that had spread from her wound began to disappear, she kept feeling steadily worse.

Resignation mixed with resentment welled up in her chest, and her eyes slammed shut. Of course she wouldn't be saved. After all, everyone expected her to be the one doing the saving. Still, she swallowed down the bitterness of her feelings. At least she would be able to meet her parents - even if she did have to leave behind the life that had only just begun to get better.

Her eyes flew open again as something warm bumped against her chest. Looking downward, she saw Fawkes resting his forehead against her clavicle. The phoenix looked up at her with solemn eyes. The sorrow she saw in his avian eyes almost took her by surprise, but then, she had always had an inkling that he was much more intelligent than any simple bird.

"It's… al…right," Harry managed to force her vocal chords and parched mouth to cooperate. After all, it wasn't Fawkes' fault that she was dying, and he had tried to help – most everyone else hadn't even done that much. "You… tried."

Fawkes gave her a long, intense stare. As her vision started to fade, she almost thought he had caught on fire again – like on his burning day – a golden glow beginning to overtake the scarlet of his feathers. His feathery head once again came to a rest upon her breastbone, and suddenly, everything felt different.

It felt like she had fallen into the surface of the sun. The all-encompassing feeling of burning alive overpowered the intense cold left by the venom, and then went on to scour through her entire body. Her back bowed at the pain, hands scrabbling at the stone beneath her, eyes and mouth shooting open. It felt like there was molten metal pouring through every orifice in her body - even her eyes - and all she could see was the color gold. Her forehead felt as though a red-hot poker was being held against it. She would have screamed if the gold hadn't been blazing through her throat as well.

Then, as abruptly as the sensation had started, it was then gone. Despite its brevity, it had felt like hours because of the sheer amount of pain.

Harsh panting filled her ears, and after a moment, she realized she was the one producing the sounds. Opening her eyes, she found that everything was blurrier than before, though she wasn't in pain anymore. In fact, she felt good. Much better than she ever had before, what with the frequent fatigue that came with her malnourished body. She felt almost energized, with a comfortable warmth spread through her entire body.

What had happened? She had just been on the verge of dying, and now... she was better than before? That seemed highly unlikely, even to her - the most unlikely person on the face of the planet.

She pulled herself up into a sitting position, automatically reaching up to remove her glasses for a cleaning. Instead of receiving a wipe down, the bulky frames slipped from her grasp as shock loosened her fingers. She absently heard the lenses crack as they fell to the floor.

She could see - better than she could ever remember, even when her glasses had been the correct prescription. Now, without them entirely, nothing was blurry. She could pick out the smallest details, from the small, sharp-edged bits of rubble on the stone floor, to the tiny cracks in the well-worn leather cover of Tom Riddle's Diary. She looked down at her hands, and beneath the grime, saw the small whorls and ripples that made up her fingerprints.

Now she was really anxious to know what had happened. How exactly did one go from near-death, to better than ever before?

Looking around with her new and improved vision, she felt an instinctive wave of dread when she saw that Fawkes had disappeared. Where had the bird gone? To get help? It was plausible, but she had a sinking feeling that wasn't the case. When she looked down, she saw ash (she could see each little particle sticking against the wool fabric of her cloak) coating her entire front and part of the floor where the bird had previously been sitting.

The feeling of unease grew. There was no small, wrinkly chick sitting amidst the ash, newly reborn.

What had happened to the phoenix?

Harry shook off her alarm for the moment. Perhaps Fawkes had just done something to heal her, and then gone back to his perch in the Headmaster's office to recuperate? In any case, she needed to get herself and Ginny out of the awful, murky place and into the Hospital Wing. Who knew what damage being possessed by the Diary could have done to the youngest Weasley. That wasn't even taking into consideration what kind of germs could have been lurking in the ancient, subterranean chamber – it was located beneath a bathroom, of all places. (Did witches and wizards get sick as easily as muggles?)

Looking around, she spotted the shining Sword of Gryffindor, coated in dark green basilisk blood, and lying on the ground from where her venom-numbed fingers had lost their grip on it. She pushed herself to her feet, still slightly weary from the fight for her life, despite the unknown energy boost she had presumably been given by Fawkes. After a couple of steps, her legs adjusted to walking again, and she quickly scooped up the Sword.

She hastily wiped the blood from it with excess fabric of her robes - after all, she didn't want to be responsible for damaging a priceless historical artifact. It would be just typical for her to be punished for nicking said blade while in mortal combat with a giant snake.

Once done with her sword-cleaning, she twisted her head and found the Sorting Hat lying in a crumpled heap of fabric where she had dropped it after pulling out the Sword. She felt a small twinge of guilt - after all, she wouldn't have wanted to be treated like that, and she was pretty sure the Hat was sentient.

She quickly picked that up as well, before setting it on her head - she would need the extra hand if she wanted to carry Ginny as well as the sword, her wand and the Diary back toward the cave-in where Ron was waiting. Her pockets could only hold so much.

"Quite a fight you've had there, little lion." a familiar voice announced in her head. The Hat seemed quite impressed with her recent actions, and thankfully not put-out at being dropped. "It's not every day one witnesses a small girl defeat a thousand-year-old basilisk. Or any basilisk at all, for that matter."

"I'm just glad that it's over." Harry thought back plainly, taking no offense to being called small - after all, it was true. Whatever Fawkes had done to improve her hadn't changed that.

She moved to pick up the Diary and placed it in securely her robes' pocket. The small journal seemed more repulsive than ever with the knowledge of what it had been doing to an innocent little girl for the majority of a year. Still, someone might be able to help Ginny better by examining the artifact that had harmed her.

A chuckle resounded through her head. "For someone like you - destined for greatness - it will never be over." the Hat stated ominously. "And I should know, having seen the minds of every student to pass through the halls of this school, as well as every Headmaster. There's a certain pattern to it all."

Harry paused mid-reach for her wand, which had been dropped by the shade of Riddle when he'd disappeared. A shudder wracked her spine, and she distantly hoped that this was one instance in which the Sorting Hat was mistaken. She didn't particularly want to be destined for greatness. Whatever 'greatness' she had experienced thus far always seemed to come with danger, and invited the fickle opinions of everyone around her.

As her fingers closed around the familiar handle of her holly wand, she felt an intense heat flare up within her arm. Much to her horror, the wand burst into flames. Before her eyes, the wood quickly smoldered away, until only the phoenix feather core remained. She instinctively grasped at the feather - the last part of her beloved companion in learning magic - before it could fall, Quidditch-honed reflexes making it an easy thing. But as soon as the red and gold plume touched her hand, it seemed to melt into some kind of liquid-gold energy, and disappeared into her hand.

Her arm jerked back at the searing sensation on her palm – like someone had taken a cow-brand to the skin there. Her left hand tightened her grip around the Sword in reaction to yet more pain. Again, the burning was sudden, leaving as swiftly as it started. Harry turned her hand, wanting to examine it for injury.

She was stunned when she saw no wound. I]Whatever had just happened, it had felt as though she should at least have a burn. Instead, there in the middle of her palm was a small, realistic feather pattern, just like the one that had disappeared. It had felt like a brand, but it looked almost like a tattoo, inked in vivid scarlet and gold.

Her first thought was, 'Aunt Petunia would sooner chop my hand off before letting me in the house with a tattoo.'

Her second thought - and what followed - went something like this, 'My wand. It's gone. You can't do magic without a wand, can you? How am I going to stay in Hogwarts without a wand?'

She nearly hyperventilated at the thought of being sent permanently back to Privet Drive - where hand-chopping most likely awaited.

"Oh honestly, child. Calm yourself," came the slightly chiding voice of the Hat. "Witches and wizards do get replacement wands – did you think there was never someone who broke their wand in a duel, or dropped one in a potion?"

Harry deliberately slowed her breathing to a normal pace.

"Besides, from what just happened, I'd say you won't need a new wand anyway," the Hat continued almost smugly. "Surely you noticed that the most magical part of your wand hasn't left you?" it prompted her, referring to the new mark on her palm. "I'd wager you'll likely never need a wand to perform magic again."

Harry simply stood there for a moment, completely still as her brain worked over this new information. She soon gave up, pushing back the unwanted thoughts and emotions until a later time. It was a familiar practice.

'Why can't I be normal for once?' she thought to herself in frustrated dejection, even as she began to adapt to her newest situation. 'No one can do magic without a wand - it's supposed to be impossible. This'll just make me even more of a freak. Even among the magical people, I'm an anomaly.'

A long sigh escaped her throat. 'Isn't there someplace where I'd just be able to simply be me for once?'

Unknown to Harry, her simple wish activated one of the powers Fawkes' magic had bestowed upon her; teleportation for a phoenix was simply a matter of wanting to go somewhere else. And Harry most definitely wanted to be somewhere else at the moment.

A sense of vertigo overtook Harry's mind, along with a surge of terror as she abruptly found herself engulfed in a torrent of fire. It surrounded her on all sides, licking against her face and limbs, and for a panicked moment, she didn't realize that it wasn't burning her. She felt herself tumbling through open air - downward or sideways she didn't know - and all she could see was a blur of red, orange and yellow all mixing together and dancing in the pattern of a flame.

Finally, the chaos ceased, and she felt something solid beneath her feet once again. Her legs nearly buckled as her feet met the ground with a muffled thump.

She opened her eyes, only just realizing they had closed against the onslaught of blazing color. They widened far beyond what she had intended as she took in the view.

The sight before her was nothing short of enchanting.

She was currently standing in a valley, nearly every inch of the ground covered in brilliant red-orange flowers, each with six perfectly formed petals that glowed with some sort of soft radiance. Surrounding the valley like a circle of guardian watchtowers were the wide bases of tall, green mountains, so lofty that their tops were veiled by a thick bank of clouds. She could see shining ribbons of water gliding down the slopes in the form of sparkling waterfalls, splashing pleasantly into clear pools with large, round, white stones at their bottoms.

She stumbled over to one of the pools, finding her dry throat almost unbearable in the face of a supply of such clean, refreshing-looking water. As she leaned over the nearest pool, however, she felt pinned in place by the sight of her reflection. Her face was pale, though her cheeks were slightly flushed from adrenaline, and completely covered in grime. Her hair was sweaty and plastered to her skull - the least riotous she had ever seen it. Her robes had various tears in them, and were filthy from the slide down the grubby entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

What held her attention was none of that.

The most abhorred part of her appearance, that unwanted-attention-grabbing scar carved onto her forehead - it was gone. There was a small trail of dried blood mixed with some sort of black ooze where it had previously been, but as she splashed a bit of water onto it, she could see that there was not even a trace of the once-famous scar. She felt almost weak-kneed with some unknown emotion between confusion and immense relief. The relief quickly won out, given that she was pretty much used to a constant undercurrent of confusion.

Her fingers reached up of their own volition, and traced the spot lightly.

Her contemplation was interrupted as her keen ears - hidden beneath the too-large Sorting Hat - twitched backwards slightly at a soft fluttering noise behind her. She quickly spun around, still a bit skittish from the recent fight with a gigantic snake-monster, her hand clenched tightly around the handle of the Sword.

She was met with nearly a dozen gleaming black eyes, staring straight at her.