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Chapter 1

Backlash

Chapter 1

I

Far away from the ground, where the winds are harsher and the sun is strong, a bird from legends flies. The cold temperature of the air doesn't bother him as scorching fire always resides inside him, warming him from his talons to the tip of his wings. It's nice though he admits it's easier to ride the warm thermals of summer, less need to flap one's wings and grow tired, but the workout is still appreciated.

Perhaps he would go next to a more tropical place where thermals, those bubbles of hot air that help flying, are more common. He kind of misses billowing up effortlessly, soaring up higher and higher with just a couple flaps, until he's above the clouds and can relax and float away, free.

A thud interrupts his musings and he searches for the bird he's been following. He finds it a second later, as his sight is more than perfect in this form, with its wings pressed to its back, head low and talons tucked back, falling down like a seeker who's found the snitch. Then, with the grace only birds of prey have, it opens its wings and picks the dead animal up from the ground, soaring up once again to repeat the action.

Harry calls him Marcus in his mind as it kind of reminds him of Slytherin's captain, Marcus Flint, and what he would consider funny.

Well, it is actually kind of funny to see bird-Marcus picking the animal up to just throw it again and again. This is the third time he's seen it do it, but his amusement hasn't diminished since then. It actually makes up for missing the hawk he was following earlier and lost its tracks thanks to the surprise of watching a dead body falling a couple steps away from him.

He would have gone closer after that if only to inspect the bird-Marcus better. Animals kind of worship him now (or at least threat him with respect), so he isn't afraid of annoying them or them attacking him.

That being said, this is one of the largest birds he's seen. His wingspan is larger than the length of his human body. It can probably fit two Harry's, actually.

He's not intimidated, not really. But he can't deny that seeing a large bird carry a big wolf just to drop it, creates certain measure of caution. His phoenix form is not big even if his wingspan does have a respectful length.

The fourth time seems to be the charm. Bird-Marcus once again goes down, but this time it doesn't pick up the body. It begins tearing the pelt away to reach the flesh with its beak with a disturbing ease. The blood stains the white ground and its brownish chest, but its wings, black with a couple gray feathers, remain pristine.

It's kind of beautiful to see it. Deadly and terrifying, but still beautiful in an almost candid way.

II

Harry never finished his normal schooling as he went to Hogwarts when he was just eleven years old. That means there's a lot of things he doesn't know most people would call obvious and has a lot of information some would call useless. Well, it is kind of useless, now. There's no magical society here.

Though it doesn't mean there's no magic. It's weak and can be felt better if one touches the ground, tightly pressed inside the Earth, as if it's trying to restore its energy, curled up as it is. It can be found in the air, too, but fainter.

So, while there's not enough magic in the air for people with an actual magical core to exist, there's enough for some magical creatures to be born. The people instead have the same secondary sort of magical core intricately connected to their souls, which muggles and wizards also had from what he's sensed, just not as strong. There are a couple magical plants too, so some of his knowledge of herbology and care of magical creatures is still usable, which is nice when dealing with the dangerous ones.