Chapter 4 – The First Lessons
(Block 3)
The third week of term brought colder mornings and sharper winds, the kind that bit at skin and stirred the lake into restless ripples. Hogwarts itself seemed unsettled—rumors of the new transfer students swirled faster than the staircases could shift.
For Harry, the weight of expectation pressed heavily. Between extra Quidditch training, Snape's lingering glares, and the ordinary pressure of keeping up with his studies, he found himself worn thin. He hadn't meant to stumble into another confrontation with Malfoy, but Draco had a way of finding him.
It happened in the courtyard, just after Charms. Harry's bag was heavy with books, Ron was muttering about homework, and Hermione was already scolding them when Malfoy appeared with Crabbe and Goyle in tow.
"Potter," Draco sneered. "Enjoying your fame while it lasts? Or do you need your bodyguards to hold your hand through classes?" His gaze flicked toward Percy, Artemis, and Athena, who had just stepped into the courtyard.
Harry's fists clenched. He hated giving Malfoy the satisfaction of a reaction, but something in the way the Slytherin smirked at Percy struck a nerve.
Ron snapped, "Shove off, Malfoy."
But Malfoy didn't. He reached for Harry's bag and yanked it, spilling parchment and quills across the cobblestones. Crabbe sniggered, and students nearby began to murmur.
"Pathetic," Draco said. "Maybe we should see if the Boy Who Lived can survive without his—"
The sentence never finished.
The air shifted. It was like a sudden storm rolling across the courtyard, though the sky was cloudless. Students froze, glancing around as if expecting thunder. Then, with a flash brighter than sunlight and darker than shadow, a vast shape materialized above them.
Wings spread—wider than the courtyard itself, their edges brushing stone walls. Feathers and scales shimmered like the night sky alive with constellations, glowing faintly as if stitched with fire. The creature's eyes, pools of molten starlight, swept across the courtyard, and every student dropped into silence.
It was a phoenix, and yet not. Its body bore the sleekness of a dragon, the power of ancient skies, the majesty of something older than language.
"Nyxios," Percy said softly, his voice carrying even through the stunned courtyard.
The great creature descended, talons curling as it landed upon the flagstones with a resonance that echoed through the castle. Its cry split the air—deep, resonant, like a thousand bells tolling at once.
Malfoy stumbled backward, paling. Crabbe and Goyle scrambled to follow, their bravado dissolved into panic.
Students whispered in shock:
"Is that… a phoenix?"
"No, bigger—look at its wings!"
"Merlin's beard…"
Hermione whispered, "It's magnificent." Even her usual thirst for explanation faltered under awe.
Harry couldn't breathe. He had thought Fawkes—Dumbledore's phoenix glimpsed once in passing—was the most beautiful creature imaginable. But Nyxios radiated something far beyond beauty. It radiated eternity.
The creature lowered its head toward Percy, eyes glowing brighter. Percy reached up, brushing his hand along Nyxios' feathers. A ripple of silver light shimmered across its body, calming the storm it had summoned. Artemis stepped forward next, resting her palm against Nyxios' side; Athena followed, her sharp eyes softening. The beast seemed to bow to them all, as though acknowledging not just Percy, but the bond they shared.
In the Shadows
From his office, Dumbledore felt it before he saw it. Magic stirred violently in the wards, reacting as though a storm had passed through the very bones of the castle. He rose, Fawkes fluttering nervously on his perch.
When Nyxios' cry reached his ears, Fawkes answered weakly with a trill, then bowed his head.
Dumbledore's face tightened. For the first time in decades, unease gnawed at him. Another phoenix—no, something more. Something that does not belong to this world.
Far Away
In the dark recesses of Quirrell's mind, Voldemort hissed in fury.
That… thing. I know it. Not by name, but by power. This is no beast. This is a herald. He dares bring such a creature into Hogwarts?
Quirrell whimpered, clutching his turbaned head. "Master, I don't understand—"
You are not meant to. But mark me: that boy is not what he seems. And his familiar? It is older than my ambition, older than this castle. This changes everything.
Back in the Courtyard
Malfoy had fled, dignity in tatters. Students began to scatter, buzzing with speculation and awe. Only Harry lingered, his books forgotten on the stones.
He looked at Percy—not the mysterious transfer student, not the untouchable figure whispered about in common rooms, but someone who, for the first time, felt like a shield between him and the world's cruelty.
"Is… is he yours?" Harry asked softly, glancing at Nyxios.
Percy smiled faintly. "He's not mine, Harry. He's himself. He just… chose me."
Nyxios' glowing eyes flickered briefly to Harry, and in that gaze, Harry felt something strange: as if the creature had measured him, weighed him against time itself, and found him worthy.
Harry's chest swelled with something he couldn't name.
Percy rested a hand on his shoulder. "Come on. We've got class."
And just like that, as suddenly as it appeared, Nyxios unfurled his massive wings, lifted skyward, and vanished in a shimmer of starlight.
But the courtyard would never forget.