Chapters 231-240

Flight of the Phoenix

Woodstock glided downwards, the phoenix’ bright flight like lightning in the darkness of death, bringing them closer and closer to the surface of the river. Alina kept her eyes on the water (and her thoughts off the pain that was taking up residence in her wrists, her arm muscles and sinews).

Professor Snape and Harry were here somewhere. And she had to find them.

‘You may not recognise them at once’—Death’s warning replayed over and over in her mind. What had happened to them? Would they have turned into ghosts? But then they’d already be dead and wouldn’t need rescuing anymore, wouldn’t they? And somehow she had the distinct feeling that even Death thought that Harry and Professor Snape should be saved.

They’d be hurt, most likely. Wounded maybe, possibly in pain. She shuddered and firmly put such thoughts out of her mind. She had to concentrate on finding them. She could worry about their health later!

Soon the pain in Alina’s own body distracted her from her dark thoughts. Her arms were hurting so much that she thought she’d rather prefer to have them cut off NOW and end up in the river than endure another second of the haphazard flight, she spotted a dark—no, two dark shadows moving sluggishly towards a waterfall.

But when they got closer, Alina bit back a scream. Shadows! Shadows with claws and fangs! Burning red eyes with black pupils in the shape of hour glasses, like giant reptiles, snake-like demons!

…or like Voldemort. Wasn’t this how the Dark Lord was described in the books? Dark, his evil eyes glowing red with alien, slit pupils and reptilian nostrils—Alina opened her mouth in a silent scream, frantically urging Woodstock higher, out of danger. But the phoenix didn’t react. Her heart racing, Alina was dragged closer and closer to the creatures, dangling helplessly from Woodstock’s claws.

Finally her feet were nearly touching the river just behind the demons. Alina gasped for breath, terrified. What was Woodstock up to? Then she remembered Death’s words again. ‘You may not recognise them at once.’ Surely they couldn’t have changed so much? Those shadowy creatures didn’t look even remotely human anymore. But what if it was them? Would the River have changed only their appearance, or also their character? Though—come to think of it…Professor Snape could hardly get more fearsome than he already was…

That thought, more than anything else, made Alina take a deep breath. She opened her mouth and wanted to shout, ‘Professor Snape? Harry? Is that you?’

But she couldn’t hear her voice. In the strange twilight of death, all sound seemed elusive.

In the water, however, the creatures halted their progress, flailed wildly, then paddled on the spot.

A mouth opened, and although she couldn’t hear the words, she was almost certain that the movements of the mouth could only mean something along the lines of ‘Miss Petrel! What did I tell you about staying out of trouble?’

And then she recognised the snitch-shaped, bright white scar on the forehead of the monster that was clinging to the back of the first creature. There was only one person in the whole wide world who had a scar like that. But how could she get them out of the river? She needed her hands to hang on to Woodstock, and she wasn’t strong enough to lift two grown men anyway.

But if they could reach her feet, maybe they could simply hang on to her ankles and Woodstock could lift all three of them at once? For a fraction of a second Alina dithered. But then she remembered one of her Care of Magical Creatures lessons. A phoenix was supposed to be able to carry enormous loads! A grown phoenix should be able to lift an elephant without turning a feather! And even all three of them together didn’t come close to the weight of a very tiny elephant!

‘Harry?’ Alina’s mouth moved, but she couldn’t make a sound. She shook her head, trying to dispel the stuffiness that clogged her ears, the dizziness that flowed from the corners of her eye. Clearing her throat, she mouthed, voicelessly, ‘Can you reach my legs? Can you reach them?’

A moment her stomach roiled and twisted, as both shadows reached for her, red eyes burning, claws lunging. ‘You may not recognise them at once,’ she told herself, silencing the panic inside her that screamed ‘What are you doing? These are demons! They will kill you!’ If she could have yelled, she would have shouted: ‘Lower, Woodstock, lower!’

She couldn’t make any sound at all, but the phoenix seemed to understand her all the same and gave a reassuring, bright trill.

Then Alina could feel strong fingers wrapping around her ankles. Fingers, no claws. And when she peered down, the shadows melted away, and she was looking at Harry Potter. A white-faced, wet, weary Harry Potter, but Harry Potter nonetheless.

And a black, red-eyed demon who was clinging to Harry as if his life depended on it, but somehow still managed to give the impression that he was thoroughly disgusted with the whole process.

Woodstock soared upwards. Bright red feathers, golden sparks, brilliant wings beat the darkness.

Alina felt as if she was torn asunder. Her wrists were firmly clasped by the claws of the phoenix, while Harry hung on to her ankles, and she could only hope that further down the red-eyed, black figure that clung to Harry’s waist was none other than Professor Snape. Burning agony raced through her arms, wrapped around her ankles like bracelets made of glass-shards, slicing through to the bone. Something inside her stomach tightened and snapped. She opened her mouth, she just couldn’t contain the pain. But she couldn’t make a single sound. Her ears filled with the rushing sounds of frantically beating wings and the shrill, sweet sound of phoenix screams as Woodstock launched herself into the everlasting darkness above the River of Death.