My first fanfic on this site. I'd love constructive criticism but no hate please. This story takes place after the books and does end up changing the world a bit but hopefully in an interesting way. I hope you enjoy this first taste. Show some love and leave a comment, or maybe just say hi. I suggest a nice cup of coffee with this read.

Chapter 1

The scent of old paper is a rich but subtle warm smell. The central archive bears this scent, and an unearthly quiet. A quiet seemingly impenetrable, one could shout as loud as possible and it would be muffled not ten feet away. The silence is enforced by magic as well as architecture. It's here in this silence that secrets are kept. The chamber of secrets is nothing in comparison to this place. There are no artifacts or even prophecies. No there is something far more dangerous here. The written word. Not even the chamber is safe enough for the literature populating the three story shelves. Here there are secrets best forgotten. Secrets that the righteous were unable to destroy. There were many dark sorcerers in history. Voldamort being the most recent, but there were some far worse than even he. The Oblivion ritual has been performed on many individuals, erasing all memory and record of the person accepting powerfully protected objects, objects of great importance to their creator, these surviving records are known as grimoires. Ancient and powerful spell books and diaries, recording not only unique and cogent spells and truths, but the very imprint of their creator's soul. It's in this room that a small child can be found reading what is believed to be among the most dangerous of texts ever to grace the Pyre archives. The child has golden hair and sapphire eyes both of which seemingly glow faintly in the candlelight. Nearby sits a man with dark hair and eyes nearly matching the boy's, he is observing the child, taking notes now and again. He is deep in thought when Lady Pyre addresses him.

"So, do you think he is gifted enough for the elder arts?" she asks her son Damien Pyre.

"The noble arts, yes it certainly seems so. Of course I'll need to secure sanctioning from the ministry. It's rare that more than a single sorcerer is born in the same era. The last time predated the fall of Atlantis." he replies absently. His quill underlines the last word it wrote before continuing as Damien steeples his fingers before him. "I'll need to train him before he attends Hogwarts. The school teaches magic as it is. A sorcerer must learn first to know magic as it can be." he pauses before continuing as his quill begins scratching faster than a hand ever could racing along with his thoughts. "He can already read Gaelien runes, I have no doubt he could decipher pandora's codex with only a few years of training." this was the beginning of the first stage of my childhood journey. Today I wait for the news paper.

The owl drops the latest edition of the daily bugil on the dining room table and I place the appropriate currency in its pouch. My uncle is reading the notes of Lazarus and writing a letter to the ministry about his findings. The ministry asks my uncle to help them solve problems with the forbidden texts. The arcane theories are dangerous, but with proper treatment they can be useful. This is one of the reasons the Pyre archive is so important, only the Pyre family knows how to decipher the ancient texts and translate them. Of course a sorcerer is better than a Pyre, but fortunately for the ministry my uncle is both. My grandmother idly drops her seventh sugar cube into her tea. She's 198 years old this year, she has been drifting into senility since my grandfather passed. She drops a sugar cube in her tea once every few minutes and stirs it in. We aren't worried about her blood sugar because she never drinks the tea, she just puts sugar in it and stirs until around noon, then she will begin writing the same letter to the same friend as she has every day for the past four years, then she will "misplace it." by that I mean my uncle doesn't let the owl deliver it as my grandmother has sent hundreds of copies of the same exact letter and it's gotten on the nerves of her longtime friend Cassidy. As I begin reading the main headline of the bugle (Quidditch cup gossip not really too interesting) another owl drops a letter on the table. The letter is sealed and addressed to me. I take the letter and look it over with curiosity.

"Oh you're letter has arrived! I'll make sure to tell Cassidy when i write to her. She'll be glad to know you'll be receiving a classical education!" my grandmother exclaims as she stirs yet another sugar cube into her tea. She may have lost her marbles but she got the education part right I realize as I read the letter. I've been accepted to the Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. My uncle looks up and his magic quill pauses.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to. I can write to Mcgonigle, she understands your situation." he says looking over his black framed glasses.

The situation he is speaking of is my burnings. Because my mother mated with a Phoenix while polymorphed and managed to conceive I'm effectively half Phoenix. She died in labor, the human body was never intended to lay an egg of that size, and magic couldn't be used because my eggshell radiated an arcane barrier of protection. Because I am half Phoenix I periodically burst into magic flames and my body turns to ash which blows away to reveal my new body. This isn't the real issue, that's not really that big of a deal, it's the fact that I can change gender when I burn that complicates things. It doesn't always happen, but when it does it's rather hard for those around me to adjust. One moment you could be chatting about the theory behind none bound flight charms with James, the next you are discussing the implications of the works of Balaraforn the black on astral mana with Emily. Because of this I've never really had friends. Well I could also attribute this fact to my intense training and study in the noble arts. That does fill up my schedule to the brim on most days. I'm ten years old and I've learned more about magic than many Wizards learn in a lifetime. That's just the nature of sorcery though, it requires more understanding and comprehension than memorization.

"I'd like to go, I think I can make friends while I'm there. Besides it's an opportunity to open my mind to the lesser arts and learn how normal wizards comprehend the secrets. That way I'll be able to help like you." I reply after a slight pause. The second bit was an afterthought really. Im just desperate to go beyond the walls of the archive and meet people. I've gone out of course, but this is my first chance of actually going somewhere and being able to be with people. All the times I've left our home it's been to run errands with my uncle and we've had no time for social exchanges. I just want a chance to interact with people… kids… my age. Uncle Damien nods and that settles the matter. After breakfast uncle Damien makes arrangements for my school supplies to be sent to Hogwarts, we visit the alley to have two sets of robes tailored, as we leave the shop my uncle steers us towards a pet shop.

"I think you're responsible enough for a pet." he says with a wink. "Just don't tell grandma." he continues with a slight chuckle. I share his quiet mirth as we enter the dark pet shop. There are many animals to choose from. Rats, owls, toads, and a litter of kittens as well. Not to mention a plethora of other much more exotic creatures. There's a clutch of griffin eggs on a heated display, fairies in small glass cases, and what is labeled as a pygmy hydra. The hydra is still a sizable creature. We browse among the many creatures in the shop, they are all wonderful, but I feel like there is something here that's important. Destiny perhaps. I feel something rub against my leg, looking down I see exactly what I didn't know I was looking for. A black cat with two tails. The cat is so black it's actually rather disconcerting, as though I'm staring into a bottomless abyss. Probably a trick of the light. It continues to rub against my legs purring rather loudly.

"It seems to like you." uncle Damien says as he kneels down to scratch behind its ear. The cat sniffs his hands and deems him worthy to scratch behind its ear. Even its eyes are black as night, it's fur almost seems to smoke creating an inky blur. I pick up the cat, I'm fairly sure it's not a normal cat but I want this one. He seems like a good person… erm. Cat…

"Could I have this one?" I ask as the cat purrs even louder.

"I don't see why not." my uncle says, I watch his eyes and notice he is reading the cat's aura, I follow suit just out of curiosity. The aura is radiant white, almost blinding but it's technically impossible to blind a minds eye without effectively killing someone, so I suppose that's not correct. It is however the only way I can describe the white light emanating from this cat. Usually there's more than one color in a being's aura representing their traits, a dominant trait is more intense and shows more. The cat is clearly a good entity, but beyond that it's a mystery.

We approach the counter where a young woman is reading a book. She has it propped up so I can see the cover. Now I'm not so sure I want to speak with this woman. She's reading my mother's book. The book that led to my conception. The firebird, a study. I haven't read it, grandma forbids it, that's one of the few things she has hung onto in her twilight. My mother apparently shamed our family. We aren't purebloodists in the death eater sense, but we believe old families tend to produce strong wizards if they keep their bloodline well maintained like ours. Even if our family didn't have strict rules about maintaining our bloodline a witch mating with what is widely considered to be a magical bird is unquestionably wrong. Taboo is what draws people to my mother's work recounting her experiences with these creatures. She studied them hands on, she may have understood them better than anyone ever had.

Unfortunately she didn't understand what would happen to her child if it were sired by one of her beloved avians. My uncle puts his hand on my shoulder and guides me towards the forbidden book. I hate that book. That's why I'm the way I am. It's why I have to suffer and die repeatedly. It's why I cough up blood staining my clothes, it's why I burned my bedroom furniture countless times by bursting into violent flames, it's the reason I grew up without a mother, and it's the reason I'll never be able to know my father. I grit my teeth and push aside the negative thoughts, clearing my perspective. I'm still angry, but my mind is blank, my senses enhanced, sharper than a blade, and crystal clear. This state is called the edge. I'm not supposed to read the 13th shelf of the third west bookcase in the archive, but I've read every single book in the archive once regardless of what I'm told I'm not ready for. The edge is described by Playtheon the pious. His early works regard emotional transcendence, actually very insightful, but after he went mad for reasons unknown his work shifted towards mass manipulation rather than enlightenment. Something about the tree of evil was involved I think. I have a good memory, but it's hard to keep certain references straight as they overlap. The tree of evil, the forbidden fruit, the dark heart, the dark sorcerer, the pool of truth, the edge of oblivion. Lots of recurring references unfortunately they refer to a work that isn't in the archive. Regardless this state is preferable to emotional anger. This is a pure aggressive focus, rational, cunning, and efficient.

"Hello there! Did you find what you were looking for?" the young woman asks cheerfully as she puts the text aside. I keep my face pleasant, I don't want to project my displeasure.

"I think we did!" I say happily as I look at the purring cat. Somehow remembering its presence brings me back to a warm happy mood and I find myself smiling genuinely.

"Let's see here… oh… are you sure you want this one?" she asks with a hint of concern.

"Yes, is that a problem?" my uncle asks cautiously.

"Well no, it's just that isn't a normal cat… its a black cat. It's considered a major magical creature so I'll need you to sign some papers is all." She says bubbly. Uncle Damien cocks an eyebrow for a moment looking between the cat and the girl.

"It's a black cat, they have nine lives, magical powers, make fantastic guardians, and are perfect for children." she continues. My uncle seems to understand what she means when she explains the second time. I'm wondering why the color of a cat would make such a difference.

"You should ask it for its name, it'll tell you when it's ready." my uncle says to me as he begins signing a stack of papers thick as a book. It's the better part of an hour before uncle Damien is done. He then pays a rather large sum for the cat (it's a powerful magic creature and hard to aquire let alone breed). Then we find an alley and dissaperate home. I got my license a few years ago, the ministry sanctioned my training as a sorcerer so things like that are possible.

"What do we have here?" grandma asks as we sit down for dinner. The cat is sitting on the table flicking its two tails at different paces. It wasn't a trick of the light in the pet store, the cat radiates shadow, its fur as night and eyes even darker.

"It's a black cat. Perfectly safe, thought it would be nice for James to have some company." uncle Damien says naturally as he butters a roll. Grandma seems to be about to retort when he continues. "It will teach him responsibility and help him at Hogwarts, a sorcerer should always have a familiar, especially when trying to learn spells rather than theses."

She nods and her eyes soften. She hates pets, but apparently familiars are different so she can accept it. But there is something that my uncle said that begs question.

"They don't teach theses at Hogwarts?" I ask.

"No, only spells. Wizards have to use spells because they control magic precisely and with uniform standards. Spells are useful, but they don't teach free form magic, or arcane architecture. You'll need to bring several texts i've prepared in order to continue training on your own. At this point you should be developing your first thesis, the books will simply guide you and provide general information. You don't need to worry about the books, they are enchanted with an obliviation charm, most people won't remember what they read and those that have a strong enough memory most likely won't be able to make sense of it anyways. It's attuned to our bloodline so you and I can read it fine." my uncle explains at length.

"What about grandma?" I inquire.

"Grandma can't read Atlantian." he replies.

Well that's chapter one. kinda a weird way to end it I know, but I'll make it up to you guys with chapter two if y'all want some more. Lemme know what you thought okay? Thanks for reading!