It just got past midnight here and it's now May 20, which means it's my birthday :D (and I feel old now.) Last year I celebrated it by posting a lot of updates at the same time, and this year I've decided to do the same because I don't usually receive many birthday presents (and even less in person) and reviews make me happy, so I want them :D

I wasn't going to update this so soon, but I finished the chapter soon after the first one and decided to add this story to my other birthday updates :)

Beta-read by The Red Harlequin On The Luna

Chapter 2: The mythical bird

"Potter, Harry!"

Harry snapped back to attention when his name was heard throughout the Great Hall, and he walked forward. Contrary to his future classmates, however, he made it a point not to hurry toward the hat. It wasn't as if he was walking up to his execution.

That, however, gave him plenty of time to hear the whispers that surged around him.

"Potter, did she say?"

"That Harry Potter?"

Yes, Harry was beginning to really hate those reactions.

He sat down on the stool, and Professor McGonagall placed the hat on his head. It was so big that it covered his eyes.

"Hmm." Harry almost jumped in place when he heard that voice. "What an interesting mind you have here. I hadn't had such a complicated case in a very long time. Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes, and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?"

Harry, remembering that Malfoy boy and his two thugs had gone to Slytherin, began to repeat in his head that he didn't want to go there, as he didn't feel like dealing with them in a daily basis.

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said what had to be the hat. Though, how a hat could speak, Harry didn't know. Devil Fruit, perhaps? "No, not a Devil Fruit. I hadn't heard that term in many years. You are certainly a curious case. Are you sure you don't want to go to Slytherin?" Harry conjured up a made up image of the freckled boy burning the hat. "I'll take that as a no. It's a pity, you could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that." He repeated the thought, adding in a furious 'NO' for good measure. "No? Well, if you're sure... better be GRYFFINDOR!"

A loud, almost deafening cheer burst from said table after the hat yelled the House's name, and Harry took the hat off, handed it to the professor, who for some reason smiled at him, and headed in the direction of his new table. He shook the hand of the oldest redhead —his name was Percy?— and sat down, ignoring all the ruckus around him that apparently centred on having Harry Potter in their house, only paying attention when the ghost patted his arm, and that was more due to the shiver the action sent through his body than anything else.

Once he was sitting down, the cheers still going around in the table, Harry looked back up at the Head Table, eyes going to fall on the phoenix. He blinked. Was the bird clapping with its wings?

His attention went back to the sorting when he heard Ron's name, and Harry smiled and joined the cheers when his new friend was sent to Gryffindor just like him.

After him, there was only one more student left, then the Headmaster stood up and gave a short speech that had Harry wondering if his brain was missing something. He rapidly discarded it from his thoughts, however, when all sorts of delicious-looking foods materialized on the table out of nowhere.

It was possible that some of his new classmates tried to talk to him, or maybe they didn't, Harry couldn't tell because he was too busy stuffing his face with food. He was so absorbed in the novelty of being able to eat as much as he wanted without having to keep an eye out to make sure his escape route was open that he didn't notice the strange looks his table manners —more precisely his lack of them— garnered him, and barely spared a glance when the House's ghost —whose name he would later learn was Nearly Headless Nick— pulled his head to the side to show the students how he wasn't completely headless.

When the food on the table was replaced by desserts, Harry was happy to indulge in them, but when the desserts, too, disappeared, he crossed his arms and looked sulkily up at the Head Table when the headmaster rose to speak. His eyes moved to look behind the man's shoulder, where the bird still stood —and Harry had the strange feeling that it was looking at him— and he only half-listened to the old man.

A forbidden forest —he made a mental note to sneak out at some point— apparently it was forbidden to use magic in the corridors and Harry seriously doubted anyone followed that rule, something about Quidditch he didn't care about because he couldn't play this year, and a corridor where anyone who entered would die. Now that got his attention, and his eyes moved back to the headmaster's face. Behind the man, he saw the bird cock its head to the side.

And then they got to sing. Without following a melody. At least they got the lyrics. Harry decided to use one from his dreams, the one from a song titled Bink's Sake that he really liked.

"If I didn't chase after you, then I'd be alone, and being alone hurts worse than pain!"

School started off both great and annoying. It was great because he was learning how to do magic, and it was annoying because the stupid stares, whispers and fascinated eyes followed him everywhere. Harry had once directed a rude gesture he had seen mostly in his dreams to a clutter of gossiping students that were pointing at him, a prefect had seen him and docked five points. Harry directed then the gesture at the idiot's back.

In regards to classes, he had very mixed opinions. He liked Transfiguration, it sounded like a very useful subject —and had a lot of fun potential— and Professor McGonagall, though stern, was cool. She could turn into a cat. For a moment Harry had thought of asking if she was a Devil Fruit user, because ever since the hat pretty much confirmed they really existed he had been obsessed with the topic, but he soon learned she was an Animagus. That wasn't as cool as a Devil Fruit, but was still cool.

Astronomy, when he managed to stay awake, was a nice class. Not because he had to learn the names of the stars and how the planets moved, Harry doubted he would do that too well, but because looking at the night sky brought a peaceful feeling to his chest he rather liked. Much to his classmates' amusement, only during the first class he had managed to lose himself to the feeling twice, and had been admonished by the professor for not paying attention.

Then there was Herbology.

That was a puzzling subject. For some reason neither he nor Professor Sprout had been able to discover, the plants didn't like him. If they could, they moved away from him, and there had been this one flower in the first class, when the professor had showed them the greenhouses, that had tried to spray him with poison. He had decided to be extra careful, and the professor had lent him special glasses to protect his eyes until he could get his own pair.

According to the whole student population, History of Magic was the most boring class. Harry quite liked it, not because he was interested on the subject or actually able to stay awake as Professor Binns droned out the facts, but precisely because he could sleep with the sure knowledge that Binns wouldn't notice. He had decided to carry a pillow there instead of his history book until he learned how to transfigure something small that wouldn't take up space in his book bag into a pillow.

Charms was also an interesting, potentially useful subject, and Harry liked the tiny, energetic Professor Flitwick, even if the man had reacted to saying his name —it had helped to disperse his annoyance that the professor fell right after saying it— and he also liked that it was a mostly practical class.

Harry had been looking forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts, as both the title and the book were very promising, but one lesson with the stammering mess that was Professor Quirrell had convinced him that the class wouldn't be nearly as interesting as he had expected it to be. And the strong smell of garlic in the classroom made him hungry. Ron had joked that the noises Harry's stomach had begun to make halfway through the class had the professor's stammer worsen even more.

When Friday came, they had their first Potions class. It required a great deal of self control, something Harry only possessed as a consequence of having lived with the Dursleys, not to punch the professor. And at first Snape had sounded interesting with that speech of his, despite his comment about Harry when he took the roll call. Apparently, however, the man couldn't stand Harry for some reason, as he had picked on him from the beginning —so what if he hadn't studied before classes started? No one except Hermione Granger had— and things had just become worse as the class advanced, the professor having them pair up to make a potion to cure boils. He stalked around the class, intimidating most of the students and making them nervous.

Then Harry and Ron's potion exploded.

That had been it. Ron had received some minor burns, and Snape had ordered Hermione —who tried to come out in their defence when Snape descended on them like a hawk with its prey— to take Ron to the Hospital Wing, while he had a field day at Harry's expense and assigned him detention with Filch, the school's caretaker. Harry was somewhat glad Snape wouldn't take care of the detention himself.

Right when Snape snapped at the class for staring at them instead of working, Neville Longbottom's potion began to release a smoke that wasn't supposed to be there and he, too, had to be taken to the Hospital Wing.

Harry came back from Hagrid's hut in a much better mood that he had gone. Stefan had brought him Hagrid's invitation that morning at breakfast, and at first Ron was supposed to come but the medi-witch, Madam Pomfrey, had refused to let him out of the Hospital Wing so soon. Harry had been in a very bad mood after Potions, but the time with Hagrid —and the cakes that were a little hard but pretty good— had been good for him.

They had talked about Hogwarts, Harry's classes —and he was sure Hagrid knew why Snape acted like that with him— and Harry had seen a newspaper article about a break-in at Gringotts. The day they had gone there. He probably wouldn't have thought much of it if Hagrid hadn't refused to speak about the topic. Now Harry suspected it had been the vault Hagrid had picked up something from.

Harry took his time to walk back to the castle, nibbling on one of Hagrid's cakes as he walked around half an hour before dinner started. He looked around at the extensive land that was Hogwarts' grounds, and decided he quite liked it. Since school started, Harry had been distracted with classes and all the magic around him, but being out here alone, the sun setting on the sky and the wind blowing gently, he thought he should come out more often, just to walk and think and be outside. He could visit the lake they had crossed to come the first night, for example. He liked the water.

Hearing a soft flapping noise, Harry turned his head and was surprised to see the phoenix from the welcome feast flying in his direction. He stopped walking, and soon enough the bird was suspended, wings beating, before him. It poked Harry's forehead with its beak.

"Ow!" he complained, taking a hand where the beak had touched him not so gently. He looked at the bird, still on the air before him with its head cocked. Harry thought its eyes looked lazy, not the sharp gaze from the bird picture he had seen in his book. "You're a phoenix?" he asked, curious for a confirmation of his theory, and, much to his surprise, the bird moved its head up and down. Nodding.

It was strange, Harry thought. From the few things he had learned about birds at his Muggle school, he knew they were supposed to move their heads in jerky, fast movements —or so he had been told— but this one had moved its head slowly. He shrugged and resumed his slow walking, the phoenix flying at a slow pace next to him.

"Were you watching me at the welcome feast?" Another nod. "Do you live around here?" A third nod. Harry wondered if the phoenix could really understand him or if it was only doing that every time he talked. He decided to check it. "Are you tasty? Can I have a taste?" Before he realized it, the phoenix had ascended slightly and a wing swat him on the head. Hard. "Ow."

So it did understand him.

Taking advantage of having an audience that couldn't rat him out —or at least he was pretty sure it couldn't— Harry began to talk about his week, not bothering to check the complaints, most of them colourful comments about the last professor he had met, as he had done during his visits with Hagrid.

Throughout his monologue of his first few days of class, the phoenix nodded, shook its head and even patted his back —really, with one of its wings— when Harry morosely spoke about his detention and how he really hadn't done anything wrong while making the potion.

When they reached the front door, Harry turned to the phoenix, unsure of what to do, and was surprised when it ruffled his hair with a wing.

"I'll see you another day, I guess," he said, unsure, and the phoenix nodded before flying higher and disappearing from sight.

Harry followed it with his eyes, fascinated at how different the phoenix was from any animal he had even encountered, even that nice serpent at the zoo back on Dudley's birthday.

"Why do you guys call him 'Pops'?"

The next day, the beautiful afternoon of the first Saturday of the school year, while everybody enjoyed themselves outside, Harry found himself stuck in one of the bathrooms of the fifth floor, a bucket of water next to one wall and a toothbrush in hand courtesy of Argus Filch, the ugly, sour and very much annoying caretaker of the school. Filch had left him here, saying he would come check on him from time to time and Harry wouldn't be allowed to leave until he was done, he had threatened Harry with hanging him from his toes with chains in the dungeons if he even suspected the use of magic and left.

Muttering under his breath —he had thought the humiliating chores would be over now that he wasn't at the Dursleys' anymore— he scrubbed viciously at the inside of one of the toilets.

He heard the soft flapping of wings and turned, not as surprised as he probably should have been, to find the phoenix entering through the window and landing on one of the sinks lining the wall opposite the toilet stalls.

"Hey," Harry greeted, half tempted to tell the phoenix to move from there or it would get dirty, but shrugging as he remembered he would have to clean it either way when he started working on the sinks.

The phoenix turned its head to the side and let out a low trill Harry interpreted as a greeting.

"Sorry about the mess, I'm stuck in detention. I told you yesterday, didn't I? I think Snape told Filch to be extra nasty, because this is something I'd expect from the Dursleys."

The phoenix cocked its head to the side, and Harry thought it was asking him to elaborate. Maybe it wasn't, and it was simply Harry making things up because he was bored out of his mind, but either way he explained, and the phoenix did nothing to stop him.

"The Dursleys are the people I live with. They're a foul lot and hate me. They're my relatives and all, but I don't consider them family, because they don't act at all like a family should, always insulting me and giving me chores. That's not a family. A family is, well... Pops and the others, I guess."

He was startled when the phoenix snapped its wings open and grew very still. Harry thought its eyes had opened completely, opposite to their strange half-lidded state from both yesterday and moments ago.

"You want to know who are Pops and the others?" Slowly, the phoenix nodded. Harry smiled. "Since I was a little kid, since I can remember, really, I've had these strange dreams. They're about a boy that's really cool, and his life. He grew up in a forest, raised by some bandits that weren't really bad people despite their profession, and he met this other kid when he was five, and later another and the three of them became brothers and they wanted to be pirates, but the first of his two brothers died one day and the other two were left alone. When he turned seventeen, the kid, or boy now I guess, set sail, found a good crew and became infamous. He decided to go kill the strongest man in the world, but lost and, after trying to kill him for a long time, decided to join the crew. That's Pops, the strongest man in the world. He made a lot of friends there and found a new family, because in that crew they were all a family."

The phoenix, that had been staring at him all the time, jumped from its post, and it glided down to land next to him on the floor and chirped at him. Harry placed a hand on its head and caressed softly. The phoenix was big enough that it reached up to Harry's chest in his kneeling position.

"There's some stuff I don't remember when I wake up, you know? Like the boy's name, it doesn't matter how hard I try. And the oldest I've ever seen him was twenty. Do you think something happened to him?"

Another chirp and the phoenix settled against Harry's leg, curled into itself and placed its small head on his leg. Harry attempted to move it to go back to complete his detention, but the phoenix didn't budge —it must be strong, because Harry used all his strength as he asked it to move and didn't manage to push it even an inch, and didn't seem to weigh that much— so he shrugged and bent as best as he could to continue the tedious task of cleaning the bathroom. He wouldn't be surprised if it took him all afternoon with that ridiculous toothbrush.

Harry was ecstatic at the thought of finally receiving flying lessons. He listened to his classmates' stories about flying, hoping to learn a little of what he had to do, but most of those stories were outlandish 'adventures' that involved some flying Muggle artefact, and finally Harry decided he would have to wait for the lesson. He was nervous, though not as much as he was eager, and he wasn't the only one. Neville Longbottom was scared, as his grandmother had never allowed him to ride a broom before, and Hermione Granger was positively terrified.

That morning, excitement and nerves were mixed for the first year students, mostly depending on who you looked at. Their class was, to general disappointment, shared with the Slytherins, and Harry wasn't happy that he would have to practice his self-control once more. Draco Malfoy had been a thorn in his side since school began and, though Harry could easily ignore most of his comments, the annoying brat sometimes managed to rile him up. He had to remember Dudley, and how he had always resisted from punching him, to stay calm. Otherwise, he would have been delighted to take a page off the freckled boy's book when he was ten and attack him with a pipe.

The class, of course, couldn't go without trouble. Harry did well, managing to do everything Professor Hooch told them easily, but as soon as they were on their brooms Neville's nerves got the better of him, he shoot out accidentally and, after what probably was the greatest fright of his life, he fell and broke his wrist. The professor took him to the Hospital Wing, for some reason —not that Harry minded— leaving them with the brooms.

Malfoy wasted no time before showing how much of a spoiled idiot he was, and Harry would have ignored him if it wasn't because he took the object —he hadn't paid attention to what it was, busy as he had been eating breakfast— that Neville's grandmother had sent him that morning. Harry liked Neville, he was a nice guy, and so he intervened to try to get it back.

Harry and Malfoy ended up in the sky and Malfoy, coward as he was, threw the object away. Harry shared many traits with the freckled boy from his dreams, and one of them was that he did not like to back off —though his upbringing had taught him to do it from time to time— so he soared right after it. Flying, he decided, was a really nice feeling.

Harry saved the little ball from being destroyed by a hair's breath, but then McGonagall appeared, startling them all.

Oh, Harry was going to enjoy it when Malfoy not only saw he hadn't been expelled, but he had managed to do what Malfoy had been loudly complaining he couldn't do: Harry was allowed to join the Quidditch team.

"Ow! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Harry exclaimed, trying to cover his face with his arms to block the blows from the phoenix's deceptively strong wings.

He had just left the Quidditch pitch, where Oliver Wood —the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team— had given him a quick course in Quidditch rules after McGonagall introduced them and told Wood why Harry should join the team, and the phoenix had descended on him, attacking Harry viciously with the wings.

It didn't matter that the phoenix couldn't speak, the message was as clear as day: it had seen Harry's stunt at the flying class and hadn't liked it.

"Oh, come on, nothing happened!" he exclaimed, earning another swat at the head, but at least after that the phoenix stopped its assault. "Are you stalking me or what?"

He received a very convincing glare. Harry sighed and raised a hand to pat the phoenix's head.

"Sorry. I promise next time I do something stupid I'll have had some training first."

The phoenix's glare at those words made it clear it didn't approve, but, as if it knew Harry wouldn't be swayed away from entering the Quidditch team, it rose a little higher and flew next to him all the way to the castle.

Harry spent the whole walk talking excitedly about everything Wood had explained to him about Quidditch.

Backing off from a fight, unfortunately, wasn't a common occurrence in Harry's life. He had been stupid enough to accept Malfoy's challenge for a duel, when he knew Malfoy was too cowardly to actually show up, ignoring Hermione Granger's warnings not to go. Hell, he had been rude to her even, annoyed by her overbearing bossy attitude. But she had been right.

She had been forced to accompany them when she had tried to stop them and had found herself stranded outside the common room, along with Neville Longbottom —who apparently hadn't been able to enter the common room because he had forgotten the password— and of course Harry's feeling about Malfoy had been true and Malfoy had set Filch on them.

What Harry hadn't expected was to stumble upon a three headed dog as they fled from Filch —and did Harry hate fleeing, but he had been an idiot once today already. A dog that, according to Hermione, guarded a trapdoor.

Interesting. This needs some investigation.

And Harry was sure the investigation would reveal that whatever Hagrid had taken out of the Gringotts' vault that day would be under that trapdoor.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Harry covered himself with his book bag as the phoenix once again hit him with its wings after he told it about what had happened the previous night. "Enough!"

Harry jumped back and the phoenix, luckily, didn't follow. It glared at him, though.

"I'll stop telling you stuff if you're going to react like that every time!"

The phoenix's eyes turned sad all of a sudden, and it trilled morosely. Harry glared at it but, at the second trill, he relented and sighed. Manipulative—

"Fine, fine, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

To be continued