The fire was oddly temperate. Michael had thought he was dead but either his Professor had set up a non-maiming trap or there was something else at work here. While he didn't feel the heat from the fire he also didn't think it would be particularly smart to shove his hand into it.

He furrowed his brow.

"You've read more spellbooks coming here than the average fifth year has done as part of their coursework. You have to be able to do something," he told himself as he groped for his wand in his robes for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

"Phoenix core has to mean something," he breathed in as he touched the tip of his wand to the wall of flame. Instead of the singeing sound of wood-burning as he had expected, his ears were met with a very pleasant song. It was as if his wand was singing which he hadn't known it to do a single time in the three months he'd had it.

The only thing it had done of note was the golden flame bursts it produced upon matching with him which Ollivander had called very curious. Of course, Michael had not cared much to ask what was so curious as he had been on a very tight schedule that day. Or well, so he said when the odd old man had attempted to get him to ask just what was so curious.

"Does it work?"

"Yes but—"

Michael had set down the galleons on the table and grabbed his wand. The most he knew or cared to know about it was that it was made of Elder Wood and had a Phoenix Feather core. He surmised it was the Phoenix core that was causing this musical effect. Plunging the wand in deeper he felt a pull within himself.

With a shift of his weight, the wall of flame vanished and the gem on the floor was nowhere to be found.

"Great," he said to himself as he couldn't spot an exit anywhere. It was only after a moment that he noticed a small chirping and then he looked down to where the stone had been. Nothing but dark water. He looked behind himself and nothing was there either.

It was only when he searched his pockets that he found the culprit. A small red chick with crimson feathers stared back at him. It looked like a miniature bird of prey. The only creature he could imagine this to be, and it likely was, was a Phoenix. But how on earth one ended up in his pocket was beyond him.

Mike had done little to no extra-curricular reading on Magical creatures. If he had he might have known that the gem he saw was probably a Phoenix egg.

"Any idea how to get out of here?" He asked it and it twittered again. "I guess you're my Owl now, I don't suppose you carry letters do you?"

His answer was the feeling of being thrown through a laundry machine for a nanosecond and then his current position changed. He was not anywhere in Hogwarts it seemed, instead he was surrounded by trees for miles in each direction.

A gust of wind whistled through the dark trees and the shadows of the leaves danced onto the grass below him. The noise caused the Phoenix to shake before doing a low flap of its wings. It was a very curious animal. Michael gingerly grabbed it and placed it in the front pocket of his school blazer to which it shifted comfortably in.

He knew not to say a word, for if any monsters were to hear him they would surely find him. A mental note filtered itself somewhere in Mike's mind that should he live this ordeal he should really make an attempt at learning more spells.

Though, it had only been his first day of Hogwart's. Harry Potter eat your heart out, he thought as he moved slowly into a random crook of trees that didn't look particularly different from any of the other crooks of trees. All the walking he had done in that dark realm was starting to hold its effects and his legs were growing more tired as he progressed.

Now, however, he had the added adrenaline of likely being in danger of dying if he did slow his pace for anyone predator to hone in on him. There was a faint hoot of an owl, hopefully, that meant he was going the right way.

"Is there any way you can flash me back to Hogwarts?" he asked the bird in a deathly silent whisper. It merely looked at him impassively. "You're going to need a name."

Wand in hand Michael ducked over a low hanging branch. He saw a faint light in the distance. It was a cool blue, almost misty in appearance. For a moment he contemplated moving further, he hung at the edge of a large oak tree and steadied his gaze on it.

Time had an odd way of escaping him for the moment, he hadn't the faintest idea of how long it had been since he got here. It was reasonable to assume that the enchantment he had been in maybe had some sort of properties that dilated time if it was this dark outside. Unless his Phoenix had accidentally teleported him to America or worse, France.

There wasn't much he could do to assess whether the light was dangerous or not so instead of walking straight at it he made way through the surrounding trees. Branches, unfortunately, crunched every now and then against his trainers which had dried fabulously. Which is to say, there was a slight squish whenever he pressed down his foot.

It was a wonder something hadn't come out and eaten him yet. A nearby branch cracking made him regret saying that as he continued towards the blue mist which seemed to have grown in size. Another cracking branch came closer. He swore that he could hear something breathing. Another crack in front of him.

He took his wand out again, shifting in fear. A shadow jumped above him, he instinctively ducked.

"Flipendo!" He aimed his wand into a nearby bush and the grey jet disappeared into the darkness.

CRACK

He felt a white-hot something smack against his face and the splinters of a nearby tree rained down on him. Shielding himself with his robes he came to notice that now he was engulfed in the blue mist. Whatever had hit him in the face had sent his ears ringing and he staggered across the dirt for a moment.

This was not like the stories. There was nothing fun in whatever was happening and he the young wizard was above all scared. Michael wanted his mum, he wanted to go home.

Another something rushed at him and this time he stumbled out of the way of it just in time. His momentary stupor was interrupted by something that made him entirely stop for a moment, just a moment.

The blood in his veins had gone cold, his grey eyes looked at the spectral figure in front of him with a mix of fear and confusion. All of the wind, the noise of the wood and even his own heartbeat was drowned out by the blood furiously pumping in his ears.

In front of him was a figure; a wizard he thought, judging by the garments and features. But he looked to have been horribly murdered, the same as any Hogwart's ghost. Only his alements were not so comical as nearly headless nick.

A hole gaped in the middle of his body wide enough that his ghostly robes could not hide it fully. Some of the forest was visible through his deep wounds and his milky white eyes stared at Michael blankly. His flesh was deathly pale as anything else about him but there were blue-black tears across each of his arms and black blood leaked from his exposed wounds.

"You know not what you have done," the man croaked, so hoarse and dry that Mike's breath hitched in his throat. "There is no way to unring the bell." His eyes looked almost through the young wizard and then they moved upwards.

"Get away from him!" a voice in the absent darkness screamed. The ghost slammed against a nearby tree as if it had a physical body. Professor Potter stood there, wand out and the ghost shook his shaggy head slightly. Its white beard almost bristled.

"How you have fallen, young Wizard," he said as another amorphous blast of pure power shot out of Professor Potter's wand. However this time the ghost passed through it easily.

Before Professor Potter could move to cast another spell the figure disappeared in a swirl of blue mist.

"I had that," Michael said into the emptiness. His Professor only barked out a laugh.

"I'm sure you did. I guess we need to talk in my office." Potter eyed the bird in Mike's pocket.

"Not on that desk."