Chapter 70: Wraith Chicken and The Phoenix
Amidst the applause, whistles, and cheers, Anthony saw Dumbledore smiling with relief. The young Seeker, surrounded by his teammates and friends, held the Snitch high, grinning broadly. The golden gadget with its fluttering wings seemed perfectly at home in his hand. Snape landed slowly, spitting on the ground in frustration.
Dumbledore stood and made his way towards the stands. Anthony pushed through the celebrating crowd, passing the sullen Slytherins. "Headmaster, wait a moment–" Dumbledore turned in surprise. "Anthony? What is it?"
"I wanted to know if you were free recently. I need your assistance." Anthony caught up to Dumbledore and they walked back to the castle together. He needed Dumbledore's wisdom to tackle the relocation of the Wrackspurts. "I sent you a letter, but there was no reply–"
"My apologies," Dumbledore said. "It must have been incinerated by Fawkes. The Ministry of Magic and the school governors sent some letters that angered him. Before I knew it, he had set my fireplace ablaze."
"I hope it didn't cause you too much trouble, Professor."
"Not at all," Dumbledore replied, a twinkle in his eye. "No one has mentioned those letters since, and I remain blissfully unaware of their contents. But the truly important things – like you, Anthony – always find their way to me." He glanced at the sky. "Unless you're inviting me to a beach holiday, we can head to my office now. I have at least two hours free... I hope you don't mind if I enjoy some afternoon tea while we chat? You don't? Excellent."
...
Ten minutes later, Anthony was seated in a comfortable chair in Dumbledore's office. He held a cup of plain black tea, watching as Dumbledore squeezed a slice of lemon into his own cup and added seven spoonfuls of honey. The spoon made a pleasant clinking sound against the porcelain. Fawkes perched on a cabinet, preening his feathers, so vibrantly that Anthony felt a bit dizzy.
"Tell me about the letter Fawkes burned," Dumbledore said, pushing a plate of biscuits towards Anthony. "How can I help you, Anthony?"
"Well... I have a pet," Anthony began, dipping a biscuit into his tea. The biscuits had a familiar aroma; they must have been Professor Sprout's Christmas gift to Dumbledore.
"I've noticed," Dumbledore said gently. "It looks just like a real cat. What's the concern?"
Anthony shook his head. "It's not a cat. To be precise, I have two pets. Besides the cat, I also have a chicken."
"Ah, an excellent choice," Dumbledore commented. "If not for Fawkes, I might fancy a chicken myself."
Fawkes lifted his head from his feathers and let out a soft trill.
Anthony continued, "But it's a wrack spurt. It can fly, squawk, and tilt its head inquisitively. It's better than a live chicken because it doesn't need to eat or shed feathers. The only problem is it can't leave its summoning point, and it's transparent."
Dumbledore mused, "I see... you'd like to take it with you, I presume?"
"Yes," Anthony confirmed. "On a related note, I thought the topic of disguised ghosts might interest you as well. Remember our discussion about resurrection? Ghosts are quite similar to souls – not entirely the same, but close. If someone wanted to be resurrected, they'd likely want to create a body for themselves, and that's what I'm aiming to do with the chicken."
He spread out his notebook, revealing his notes to Dumbledore. The left side outlined ideas about resurrection, while the right detailed his Wrackspurt camouflage plan. Amidst the colorful notes, a hastily scribbled "just make one" was circled in dark blue ink. Arrows connected the two topics, weaving a narrative across the pages.
"I've researched extensively. There's plenty on the soul, but very little on the body," Anthony explained, gesturing at his notes. "Snatching the soul back from Death is just the first step.
For true resurrection, a body is essential. People seem fixated on the first step, with no time to consider what comes after the soul returns. I couldn't find any relevant books in the library, so..."
Three lines were underlined in the notebook: "Soul, body, put together."
Dumbledore set down his teacup and peered at Anthony over his half-moon spectacles. "You do realize what you're suggesting, don't you, Anthony? You're not only proposing to wrestle a soul from Death, but now you want to meddle with the creation of life itself."
Anthony paused to think. "No, that's not quite it. I just wanted to make a chicken... I couldn't use a real one due to rejection and such, and wrack spurts aren't true souls."
"Wrackspurts aren't true souls?" Dumbledore asked, intrigued.
"No," Anthony said firmly. "They're not the spirits of actual chickens that once existed, but rather... how should I put it, a spiritual entity formed from the collective desires of chickens.
One might have wanted a beautiful red comb, another impressive tail feathers, and yet another the ability to fly. But ultimately, they all wanted to be lively chickens, and that's how they became my pets. So from that perspective, at least, I haven't competed with Death for a soul."
He concluded, "It's not so much a desire to raise one chicken as it is a desire to raise an entire flock."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Intriguing. I'm beginning to wonder what desires I'll leave behind after death." He sighed. "But please don't be offended by an old man's warning, Anthony. In my experience, the body is no less complex than the soul, and life is as miserly as Death."
"It seems I'm quite fortunate, then," Anthony remarked. "Death has been rather generous with me." Perhaps too generous at times.
Dumbledore murmured, "Indeed you are."
"So, if I were to ask life for the same generosity, would I be considered greedy?"
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly. "Ah, greed. Few escape its grasp... especially when it comes to matters of life and death. I must be honest, Anthony, I don't hold a high opinion of your relationship with life. But I always welcome the next miracle."
Despite having a vague inkling, Anthony was still surprised by Dumbledore's firm tone. His confusion must have shown on his face because Dumbledore chuckled.
The Headmaster pointed to the magnificent bird above his head. "A phoenix, Anthony, is pure life. I'm very, very glad you're fond of Fawkes – even if he doesn't reciprocate the feeling."
Anthony sighed softly. "There's no need to be so hurtful."
He truly did like Fawkes. If he hadn't already had a wrack spurt chicken, he would have wanted a phoenix for himself.
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