Chapter 4: Ink-Black Wings and an Unexpected Invitation

I woke to scratching.

Not on the door. Not on the window.

From inside the room.

I sat bolt upright.

Moonlight spilled through the curtains, silvering the desk, the cluttered books, the wand box I'd refused to open again until morning—and the tall, black shape perched silently on the windowsill.

I squinted.

Not an owl. Too lean. Sleeker.

Its feathers shimmered like oil—midnight blue in some angles, pure shadow in others.

A raven.

And it was watching me.

"Okay," I muttered, dragging myself upright. "Let's just pretend this is normal now."

The raven cocked its head. Then it tapped its beak on something lying beneath its talon.

A scroll.

Oh...

I crept forward, slowly enough not to startle it, and took the scroll gently. The raven didn't move. It stared like it had already judged my soul and found it... acceptable.

The ribbon was red. The handwriting—terrible.

Classic Ron.

> Rowan,

> Mum says it's fine if you come over for a few days. Dad says we should "expand your exposure to the magical lifestyle," whatever that means. Ginny's excited. Fred and George are sharpening things (worrying).

> We've got a room set up for you already. Just don't bring anything cursed.

> Also, this owl's weird. It's not even an owl. Don't know where it came from. Landed right as I finished writing. Seemed smart. Figured you'd like it.

> —Ron

> PS: It stole a sausage from the table before flying off. I respect that.

I blinked.

"That's... not how owls work."

The raven gave a soft caw, like it agreed.

And maybe I was losing it—but something in my chest clicked. That same quiet tug I'd felt when holding the wand. That same deep pull, like gravity... but personal.

"Wait... you're not Ron's delivery bird, are you?" I asked softly.

It hopped onto the desk. Gave me a look.

Then, with zero warning, it jumped onto my shoulder—smooth and silent—and sat like it belonged there.

My breath caught.

"You've got some nerve," I whispered.

It pecked my ear once, lightly. Then nuzzled.

I laughed.

Actually laughed.

Somewhere deep in the house, Mum shouted something about "bloody wildlife indoors again?!"

I didn't care.

Because this raven—this thing—wasn't just visiting. It was choosing.

Me.

---

By morning, she had a name.

Nyx.

Goddess of night. Fitting, really.

And the way she looked at me? Like she understood things I didn't yet?

That was the part that unnerved me.

But also... made me feel less alone.

---

Mum nearly passed out when she found Nyx in the kitchen, calmly dunking a sugar cube into her tea.

Dad choked on toast.

"She's not an owl," I explained, shielding Nyx as she gave Dad an unimpressed glare. "She's... something else."

"Does Hogwarts even allow alternative birds?" Mum asked, wide-eyed.

"I'm pretty sure they allow dragons if you bring a permission slip," I said.

Nyx croaked smugly.

---

That afternoon, I packed.

Wand—check.

Clothes—eh, enough.

Strange, inky bird who might secretly be an ancient magical entity in disguise—double check.

As we stepped into the garden, a sleepy barn owl drifted overhead, dropping a second letter. This one from McGonagall, confirming transport times and supplies for school.

I glanced at Nyx.

"You didn't bring that one, did you?"

She ignored me.

Figures.

---

The moment I crossed the boundary from Muggle suburb to wizard countryside, something changed. Like air turning richer. Thicker. Expectant.

And Nyx?

She spread her wings and soared ahead—like she already knew the way.