I've been naughty, but this is only the tip of the iceberg... One little story, what harm could it do? Well, I haven't even started the next chapter of TSAAM, but I figure that requires significantly more thought than this, and that it's A-OK to pause once every now and then, but usually you don't get to see the fruits of these pauses...
So here you go, I own nothing you recognise, and nothing that you don't either, obviously. I came up with this around bonfire night, and made notes of maybe a hundred words or so, to remind me. Lo and behold, after reading the first line of my notes, everything was fully formed in my mind within seconds, and I 'simply' had to fulfil the task of trying to translate a burst of pure thought containing so many feelings, scenes, etc behind it into a coherent story that people can follow.
I hope I do my idea justice.
Rated M because of a certain someone's potty mouth... Not mine, I'm all sweetness and light, me.
'Such a shame...' mused the firebird sat upon his ornate perch, 'This one had so much potential before I came along. Now look at the state of him...'
It was true; before he came along, Albus Dumbledore was well on his way to actually becoming someone interesting. That had been why he'd picked him, rather than that blonde curly-headed fool. It had been a close call, but the blonde one was a narcissist, and that settled it. His last wizard had been a narcissist, and there was no way in hell he was doing that again. Of course, Albus Dumbledore was a narcissist-lover, but that could be fixed. The man was a strategical genius! It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but then of course, he'd regretted it barely a week later when a rip-roaringly drunk Albus Dumbledore decided that really, it would be a good idea to call his new familiar by the ridiculous name of 'Tinsel'. If only he'd been sent back as a woodpecker... but no, he had to be a phoenix, and not just any phoenix, but a phoenix that had no choice but to preserve their companion's life, and therefore he was stuck with this... this... travesty. Honestly, it was embarrassing to be seen with the likes of Albus Dumbledore; that's why he pretty much lived on his perch.
Thank goodness he'd pecked his name into the man's arm that day, or he probably would have burned up in shame. Tinsel, indeed! It's bad enough when the Kooky Wombat decides to almost strangle him with the stuff every year at Christmas in an attempt to make him look festive (red and freaking gold plumage, check it out, how Christmassy can you bloody-well-gosh-darned get! Back off old man!)
Well, at that moment, the Old Duffer was practically dancing around his office, smiling and twinkling and talking to those musty old paintings on the wall about Harry Potter, and wasn't it wonderful that Harry Potter was coming to his school, and wouldn't it be grand to find out what sort of boy Harry Potter is?
'A bloody lucky one, that's what,' grumbled the bird to himself. 'Killing curse to the face, and now he'll be the latest in a long line of corny little heroes saving the world one good deed at a time, I bet,' he added, shifting slightly on his perch to try and spare his eyes from the spectacle that was Albus Dumbledore's latest wardrobe malfunction – malignant magenta today, with light blue and yellow horrors skipping around its hem... 'Fat lot of good it did me... High treason my bent tail feather... How they figured that getting rid of those stinking bureaucrats would have been a bad thing, I'll never know.'
Perhaps if he flamed just a bit too close to those creepy talking paintings one day, he could set them on fire and burn the lot. Most were pretty much insane by now, anyway. They'd have to be, to put up with Albus.
"We have to look out for Harry Potter; if you see him in any trouble, I want you to report it to me straight away, just until he settles in, you understand..." the Old Prat was saying to them.
Although, he had to admit, that kid getting one up on the so-called Dark Lord at fifteen months old was actually rather interesting. Oh, to have been a fly on that wall! Just so that he could see little Tommy's face when he realised the curse was heading back his way... There was another narcissistic little prat right there... So much potential, wasted... but then again...
Fawkes turned to stare at his 'companion', his avian features showing little expression.
'He had potential too, before I came along... oh the plots he would have come up with! He could have been great! Now look at him! Daft old git. Curse of the phoenix, old man, curse of the phoenix. Couldn't happen to a bigger douchebag.'
Albus Dumbledore smiled happily to himself as he hummed a light hearted tune under his breath, and began the task of lacing the lemon drops on his desk with calming draught.
'Proof right there! See, if it was up to me... some would be poison, some would be truth potion, some would give people gas... anything! But Gramps here put in calming draught! Calming draught! Pathetic!'
Fawkes shifted on his perch again, towards his food bowl this time.
'Oh come on! How many times old man? I don't like pineapple, and I friggin' hate raisins! You do this to me on purpose don't you? You're actually trying to make all my lives as miserable as possible, aren't you, you old goat! I wish your brother would perform some inappropriate charms on you! You're the oldest goat I know!'
Fawkes squawked loudly.
Albus looked up from where he was performing minor surgery on his lemon drops, and turned to Fawkes.
"Ah, hello there old friend!"
"SQUAWK!" 'I'm not your friend you git, hurry up and die! But not before getting me some decent food up here! Then die.'
"Of course you can have one Fawkes! I've been trying to tell you they're delicious for years; here you go!"
Fawkes stared down in frank disbelief at the lemon drop that had just pinged into his food bowl.
'Fuck you old man. Just... Fuck you.'
"You're welcome Fawkes!" Albus Dumbledore replied, beaming genially as he patted Fawkes gently, before returning to his lemon drops.
'I said fuck you, not thank you... Great... First he's colour-blind, now he's deaf! That's got to be a sign of brain death or something! Come on! Keel over! At least if I'm burning after saving your wrinkly arse, I don't have to put up with your crap for a couple of weeks.'
(Say what? MS Word doesn't like the word 'strategical'... suggested I use 'strategically' instead, which wouldn't make sense! 'Strategical' looks and feels right, so as far as I'm concerned, it IS right. *shakes fist at MS Word*)
Anyway, I'm not sure whether or not I should continue this... I've got a couple of ideas but I'm not sure whether or not this is one of those fics where now that I've broached the idea, it won't be as funny when added to... I don't know. It's definitely not going to be of epic length though...
Feedback would be appreciated...