Chapter 23

In the Lovegood household—arguably one of the quirkiest places in all of magical Britain—the air was thick with the smell of wildflowers and a sense that something magical was always just around the corner. The house itself, a wonky tower of odd angles and mismatched windows, looked like it had been designed by someone who'd either never seen a house before or thought the idea of right angles was simply too mainstream. And honestly? That's exactly how the Lovegoods liked it.

Inside, at the cluttered kitchen table, sat Xenophilius Lovegood, editor of The Quibbler and card-carrying member of the "I Believe in Weird Things" club. His wild, untamed hair stuck out in every direction as he poured over the latest edition of The Daily Prophet. Across from him, his wife, Pandora, was sipping tea, looking thoughtful in the way that made you wonder if she was contemplating the mysteries of the universe or trying to remember where she'd left her wand.

Their daughter, Luna—who was wearing a pair of mismatched shoes (one yellow, one green) and a necklace made entirely out of butterbeer caps—was humming a tune that was probably in her head and nowhere else. She had the kind of dreamy expression that suggested she'd already mentally checked out of this dimension and was likely pondering life in another.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Xenophilius said, practically bouncing in his seat as he waved the newspaper like it was the golden ticket to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. "An unknown creature swooping in to save the day in Diagon Alley! It could be a Crumple-Horned Snorkack finally showing itself!"

Pandora raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued but with a layer of calm that suggested this wasn't her first Snorkack theory of the week. "Or it could be something entirely new," she mused, eyes glinting. "I had a vision last night, you know. I saw a great black beast with wings. It was protecting a child. I have a feeling it means something."

Now, most people would've questioned that statement. Maybe thrown in a concerned look or two. But Luna? She just leaned in, eyes wide and silvery, like hearing about black-winged beasts protecting children was just another Tuesday.

"Do you think it was a Wrackspurt, Daddy?" Luna asked in her usual floaty voice, as if the words were more suggestions than statements. "Maybe it was drawn to all the chaos in Diagon Alley. Wrackspurts love confusion. They're like moths to a flame, except more invisible and less interested in lamps."

Xenophilius patted her head fondly. "Ah, my Luna, anything is possible. The world is full of wonders, after all. And the creature certainly has caused quite a stir—everyone's talking about it."

Pandora set her teacup down with a small clink, her expression turning serious, which was a little unsettling considering she was usually the one suggesting things like midnight moon-dancing to enhance "cosmic vibrations." "We need to keep an eye on this," she said firmly. "My vision felt... significant. Almost like a warning. If we ignore it, we might miss something important."

Luna, of course, nodded like that made perfect sense. "Mummy's right. It could be a friend. Or it could be a foe. But either way, it's definitely a sign of something big. Bigger than Blibbering Humdingers even."

"Bigger than Blibbering Humdingers," Xenophilius echoed, his chest puffing with pride at his family's collective sense of wonder. "Well, we'll just have to investigate, won't we? If anyone's going to get to the bottom of this, it's us Lovegoods. And when we do, we'll publish the real story in The Quibbler. None of that stuffy, narrow-minded reporting from the Daily Prophet."

As the three of them sat there, already buzzing with theories about mysterious creatures, cosmic visions, and maybe a few Wrackspurt infestations for good measure, it was clear that the Lovegoods were on the case. And in their world—where the impossible was just another breakfast topic, and imagination had no limits—they were more than ready to chase whatever came next.

—

In the cozy, always chaotic kitchen of the Burrow, the Weasley family had gathered around their famously worn wooden table, where mismatched chairs jostled for space. The air was thick with the smell of freshly baked bread, sizzling bacon, and just a hint of whatever Molly was burning in the oven—she'd never admit it, but something always got a little too crispy.

Arthur Weasley was seated at the head of the table, brow furrowed as he squinted at the Daily Prophet like it was some sort of ancient, cursed scroll that needed deciphering. "An unknown creature in Diagon Alley," he said slowly, his voice full of that kind of dad-worry that made everyone sit up straighter. "And it killed all those werewolves…"

At that, Molly Weasley—who had been fussing with a plate of scrambled eggs—whipped around, her eyes wide with concern. "Killed? Arthur, that's dreadful!" She plunked the eggs down in the middle of the table so hard that Ron flinched, like he half-expected an egg explosion.

Ron, however, didn't seem too upset. "Blimey!" he said, eyes practically sparkling with excitement. "Imagine seeing that! Some giant creature going toe-to-toe with Greyback and his pack. Bet it was brilliant!"

"Ronald!" Molly snapped, looking at him like he'd just suggested they invite the werewolves over for tea. "This is serious. People could've been hurt—or worse!"

Ron looked slightly less enthused but still managed a shrug. "Well, I'm just saying…"

Bill, leaning casually against the kitchen counter in that way older siblings do when they want you to think they're super cool, crossed his arms and gave his signature thoughtful look. "It's not every day you hear about something like this. The Prophet makes it sound like we're dealing with something entirely new. We shouldn't jump to conclusions." Bill's expression said I know more than I'm letting on, but Bill's face usually did say that, so no one was too suspicious.

Arthur nodded, as serious as ever. "Exactly. The Ministry's going to be all over this. We need to understand what we're dealing with before we assume anything."

Across the table, Ginny—forever the sharpest knife in the Weasley drawer—leaned forward, eyes locked on her oldest brother. "You know something, don't you, Bill? You always know more than what's in the papers." Her tone was casual, but her gaze could have cut through solid steel. Bill shifted a little.

"I've… heard things," he said, carefully choosing his words like he was walking through a field of Blast-Ended Skrewts. "But you know how it is, Ginny. Rumors get around. They get twisted. It's best to wait for the facts."

"Right," Ginny said, but the look on her face said she wasn't buying the whole wait for facts thing. Still, she didn't push, because honestly? It was breakfast, and nobody wanted a full interrogation before coffee.

Molly sighed, her worry lines deepening. "I just hope whoever—or whatever—this creature is, it doesn't cause any more trouble. We've got enough on our plates without adding this to the mix."

Arthur, ever the reassuring husband, reached over to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We'll keep an eye on it, Molly. And the kids will be safe. The Ministry will figure this out."

The conversation started drifting to other topics—who needed to take the ghoul out of the attic, the latest gossip about what the Chudley Cannons were doing wrong this season—but Bill's mind wasn't in it. He kept one ear on the chatter, but his thoughts? Those were firmly locked on a certain Boy Who Lived and his rather large, scaly companion.

Yeah, Bill knew more than he was letting on. A lot more. Harry's secret wasn't something to blab about over breakfast. Not with the Ministry snooping around like a niffler at Gringotts.

For now, Bill kept it cool, nodding along to Ron's wild speculations about whether or not dragons had invaded Diagon Alley (they hadn't). But in the back of his mind, he was already thinking ahead. Harry needed time to figure things out, and Bill would make sure he had it.

As far as the Weasleys were concerned, this was just another day in the wizarding world—strange, sure, but not that strange. And no matter what was coming next, one thing was certain: the Weasleys would face it together. Because if there was one thing this family excelled at, it was sticking together, even when the world seemed determined to throw one more magical disaster their way.

—

At the Bones Family Estate, a place that practically screamed old money and magical sophistication, things were a little more tense than usual. The sprawling manor, with its pristine gardens and slightly intimidating hallways, felt like the perfect place to relax—unless, of course, you were Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Susan Bones, fresh off the most insane New Year's Eve in wizarding history.

In the cozy sitting room, all decked out with fancy tapestries and magical knick-knacks that probably cost more than the average broomstick, Remus sat slouched in a squishy armchair, looking like he'd been run over by the Knight Bus. Which, to be fair, was how he usually looked the morning after a full moon. Across from him, Sirius Black had a copy of the Daily Prophet in his lap, though it was clear he hadn't even glanced at the thing. Next to him, Susan Bones sat with the kind of energy that said, "We survived, but I'm not okay with it."

"Alright, so... New Year's Eve," Sirius started, his voice steady like he was reciting a grocery list instead of recounting one of the most bonkers nights ever. "We're in Diagon Alley, right? It's packed. People are partying, celebrating... and then—BOOM—Greyback shows up with his furry friends and starts tearing the place apart."

Remus blinked, not sure whether to look horrified or impressed. "Greyback. Of course."

"Yeah," Sirius continued, giving him a look that said, This gets worse, just wait. "Total chaos. People screaming, running—typical stuff. And then Harry, being Harry—except, y'know, not Harry—goes full Drakor mode."

Susan shuddered, either from the memory or from Sirius's casual description of Harry turning into a massive, dragon-man hybrid. "It was... intense. One minute, Greyback's on a rampage, and the next, there's this giant, winged, black creature in the middle of the street. Harry—uh, Drakor—starts taking out werewolves left and right like it's a Tuesday afternoon."

"And Greyback?" Remus asked quietly, his voice tight.

"Yeah, about that," Sirius said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Harry went after him, no hesitation. Took him down like he was a common garden gnome. Beheaded him. Then, uh... ate his head."

"Wait. What?" Remus had heard a lot of wild things in his life, but this—this was new. "He ate Greyback's head?"

"Yeah, I wasn't expecting that either," Susan added with a wince. "It was... weird. And he kept getting bigger every time he, um, did that. But by the end, Greyback was—well, gone. Permanently."

Remus sat there for a moment, trying to process all of this. "So, Greyback is really dead?"

Sirius gave a solemn nod. "Yeah. It's over, Remus. Harry—Drakor—finished it."

There was a beat of silence as Remus stared into the fireplace, which was crackling away like it had no idea how serious this conversation was. The relief on his face was obvious, but so was the weight of everything that had just been dumped on him.

"Greyback's haunted me for so long," Remus muttered. "I didn't think I'd ever be rid of him."

Susan reached over and squeezed his hand. "Harry didn't just do it because he had to. He did it because he wanted to make things right."

Remus looked at them both, his exhaustion giving way to something like gratitude. "I owe him. More than I can say."

Sirius gave a half-grin, the kind that said, Don't go getting all mushy on me now. "You don't owe him anything, Remus. He did it because it was the right thing to do."

And just like that, the heavy atmosphere lightened a bit. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the fire pop and crackle in the background. It was almost peaceful. Almost.

"You know, it wasn't all bad," Susan said after a while, her tone a little brighter. "I mean, besides the whole 'Harry turning into a terrifying dragon thing' and the werewolf massacre, we did manage to grab some ice cream before the chaos started. So, you know, small victories."

Remus blinked, then snorted. "Ice cream. Really?"

"Well, it was New Year's," Sirius added with a grin. "What's a little werewolf brawl without a scoop of Florean Fortescue's finest, right?"

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. "You two are unbelievable."

Upstairs, Harry—currently in the middle of what was probably the best nap of his life—was blissfully unaware of the intense conversation happening below. After the whole Drakor situation, he'd crashed hard, completely wiped out from saving the day and, y'know, beheading Greyback. But he was okay. Safe. Dreaming about... well, who knew what Harry dreamed about after a night like that. Probably not ice cream.

As the fire burned lower, the trio sat back, knowing that, despite the insanity they'd just faced, they were in this together. Greyback was gone, Harry had become something far more powerful than any of them had expected, and the world had shifted just a little bit more toward the strange and unpredictable.

But hey, what else was new?

—

The Wizengamot's grand chamber wasn't exactly the kind of place that screamed "fun times." It was more like walking into a really fancy library where the books stared back at you, judging your life choices. The massive columns and over-the-top carvings definitely gave off some serious "ancient and powerful" vibes. And, smack dab in the middle of all this wizardly pomp stood Dolores Umbridge, decked out in her usual pink, which was doing its best to be all sweet and grandmotherly—if your grandmother was the type to secretly plot world domination.

Umbridge had a plan, and she wasn't shy about using the chaos of Diagon Alley's recent attack as her excuse to push it. She smiled that sugary, too-sweet smile of hers as she began, "Esteemed members of the Wizengamot, we find ourselves in a most troubling situation." Her voice was so sticky-sweet you could almost taste the artificial flavoring. "The attack in Diagon Alley—while it rid us of dangerous criminals—revealed a new threat. An unknown, violent creature. Such a being must be found and dealt with swiftly before it causes any more damage."

Yep. Umbridge was going full "let's hunt the monster" mode, and the crowd? Well, some were eating it up like Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Especially the ones in the back row—the Dark faction. They weren't exactly known for their moral compasses. These were the folks who'd barely dodged Azkaban thanks to some slick lawyering. Now they were all nodding along, thinking this was the perfect opportunity to keep things nice and pureblood-y.

Umbridge, sensing her moment of triumph, pressed on. "I propose a manhunt to apprehend this creature before it threatens the peace and security of our magical society."

And that's when Sirius Black stood up.

Sirius wasn't about to let Umbridge turn this into another witch hunt. Or, uh, werewolf hunt. Or whatever kind of hunt she was angling for. He looked calm but determined as he faced her down. "Madam Umbridge," he said, voice cool but carrying the weight of a thousand "don't-mess-with-me" glares. "You're glossing over a lot of important details here. This creature didn't start the attack. It ended it. Greyback was a criminal, a murderer. He deserved what he got."

The room went quiet. You could practically hear the collective intake of breath as people waited for Umbridge to strike back.

Sirius wasn't done, though. "We shouldn't be rushing into action based on fear. Greyback was leading a massacre, and this 'creature,' as you call it, stopped him. That's the truth. We need to get all the facts before we act. Otherwise, we risk punishing someone—or something—that might've just saved lives."

At that, Amelia Bones stood up. Now, Amelia was one of those people who didn't waste time with nonsense. Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and someone with a reputation for being fair and tough, she didn't look like someone who scared easily.

"I agree with Lord Black," she said, her voice cutting through the tension like one of Harry's Bludgers at full speed. "What happened in Diagon Alley needs a thorough investigation. We can't just slap a label on this creature and call it a threat without understanding what really went down."

Umbridge, who had been ready to launch her rebuttal, shut her mouth with a snap. She wasn't used to being interrupted, let alone by someone with as much pull as Amelia Bones.

"And another thing," Amelia added, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she looked at Umbridge. "We have a responsibility to protect all magical beings. Not just the ones who fit a certain... narrative." Ouch. That one definitely hit home.

The silence in the room was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife. The members of the Wizengamot were shifting in their seats, clearly rethinking their initial enthusiasm for Umbridge's plan. Even a few of the Dark faction members were looking a little uneasy now, like maybe they'd backed the wrong horse on this one.

Then, from the far end of the room, a gruff voice spoke up. Alastor Moody, the guy who looked like he could face down an entire army of Dark wizards and still have time for a drink, leaned forward. "We've all seen our share of dark creatures," he growled, his magical eye swiveling around to scan the room. "But we can't let fear drive us. If this creature took out Greyback, then I say we find out why. This isn't a time for revenge—it's a time for justice."

With Moody on board, Umbridge's plan was sinking faster than a rock in the Black Lake. Her supporters were starting to look nervous, as if realizing they might've backed themselves into a corner. Umbridge, ever the politician, forced a smile so tight it looked like it hurt. "Of course," she said, her voice just a tad sharper now, "public safety is my only concern. But naturally, we should gather all the facts."

Sirius didn't even bother hiding his smirk. "Glad we're on the same page," he said, though he wasn't fooling anyone. He and Umbridge were about as far from the same page as it got.

That's when Dumbledore, who had been sitting quietly at the center of the room like the wise old wizard he was, finally spoke. "It seems we are all in agreement, then," he said calmly. "Let us proceed with a careful investigation into the events in Diagon Alley. A rush to judgment serves no one."

And with that, the session was over. The vote was cast, and to Umbridge's horror, the majority sided with Sirius and Amelia. No witch hunt today, Dolores.

As the chamber emptied, Umbridge stalked off, looking like she was ready to hex the next person who even looked at her funny. Meanwhile, Sirius and Amelia exchanged a victorious glance. They'd won this round, but they both knew the fight wasn't over.

The future was still uncertain, and there were more battles to come. But for now, at least, justice had won out over fear—and Umbridge's pink tyranny had been kept in check. For the moment.

—

As the sun crept over the horizon, casting a golden hue across the Bones family estate, Harry Potter found himself in a dewy clearing, blinking at the ridiculous beauty of it all. It looked like a scene straight out of a movie—the kind with dramatic orchestral music swelling in the background and slow-motion shots of grass swaying in the breeze. Except, you know, this wasn't a movie. It was his life. And he had a symbiote dragon named Drakor stuck in his head.

"Morning, sunshine!" Drakor's voice rang out in Harry's mind, more chipper than any sane being had the right to be at this hour. "Ready for another day of 'Let's Not Accidentally Destroy Everything' training?"

Harry rolled his eyes, though there was no one around to see it. He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he started with a series of sprints, because apparently running really fast was a good way to distract yourself from the existential crisis of having a sarcastic alien dragon in your brain.

With each step, Harry felt the raw energy of Drakor's abilities coursing through him. It was like he'd been injected with a double shot of espresso mixed with liquid lightning. The world around him blurred as he sped up—trees turned into smudges of green, and the ground? Well, that was more of a suggestion than a surface at this point.

"Wheeeeee!" Drakor's mental voice whooped, like this was some kind of roller coaster ride instead of, you know, life. "You're like a magical Usain Bolt, except cooler because, well, dragon."

Harry's response was a grunt as he stumbled. Turns out, going fast was fun until your brain couldn't keep up. He nearly face-planted into the grass but managed to recover, barely.

"Steady there, partner. It's not a race... Okay, it's literally a race, but you get what I mean."

Drakor's commentary was relentless, but Harry had learned to tune it out—mostly. He slowed down, focused, and visualized the path ahead. Soon, he found a rhythm. The running became smoother, his movements more fluid. It felt less like he was sprinting on legs and more like he was gliding through the air, a human bullet with a dragon-powered engine.

"You're getting the hang of it!" Drakor cheered. "Next thing you know, you'll be winning gold medals. Do they give medals for superhero work? They should."

With his speed sorted, Harry turned his attention to strength training. He approached a boulder—one that was about the size of a small car. Normal Harry might've had a good laugh at the thought of lifting it, but symbiote-dragon-powered Harry? He cracked his knuckles like he was about to do something mundane, like lift a particularly heavy textbook.

With a grunt, he grabbed the boulder and... well, it came up easier than expected. Like, way easier.

"Look at you, Mister Strong Man!" Drakor crowed. "Should we throw it? Let's throw it. We could start a new sport. Boulder chucking. Or 'Harry-Yeets-A-Boulder-Because-He-Can.'"

Harry, ever the responsible one, tossed the boulder with all the care of someone trying not to launch it into orbit. It sailed through the air and crashed into a distant tree, which immediately regretted being in the way. The impact sent a flock of birds scattering into the sky, squawking in terror.

"Okay," Harry panted, staring at the splintered remains of the tree. "That was a little much."

"Nah," Drakor said dismissively. "It was perfect. If you don't break at least one tree a day, are you even living?"

Harry shot the dragon a mental side-eye. "We're supposed to be training, not demolishing the estate."

"Details, details."

Harry spent the next couple of hours trying to rein in his strength. He lifted rocks, punched training dummies, and avoided breaking more trees—though Drakor was notably disappointed about that last part. Each movement was more controlled than the last, each throw more precise. It was all about balance, which was easier said than done when you had a dragon egging you on every few seconds.

"You've got this, Harry. Just a little more finesse! Like when you're flying, but with fists! Fist-flying. Okay, that didn't make sense, but you get me."

Eventually, Harry set up a series of enchanted dummies, each one programmed to launch attacks at him. The goal was to test his reflexes, which, thanks to Drakor, were now sharper than ever. The dummies lunged, swung, and attacked, but Harry dodged, blocked, and countered with surprising ease.

"Look at you, all dodgy and punchy!" Drakor chirped. "You're like a human blender. Except, you know, with fewer blades. Wait, can we get blades? Ooh, that'd be cool. Blades!"

Harry ignored the comment, focusing instead on the training. He moved with a new fluidity, a combination of his own natural instincts and Drakor's influence. Sometimes, it felt like he was just a passenger, watching his body move as Drakor subtly took the lead. It was strange, like having someone else drive the car you were used to controlling—but it worked.

By late afternoon, Harry was drenched in sweat and feeling like every muscle in his body had been put through a wringer. He collapsed onto a rock, panting and staring up at the sky. The sun was setting, painting the horizon in brilliant oranges and reds.

"Not bad for a day's work," Drakor said, sounding unusually thoughtful. "We're making a pretty good team, huh?"

Harry smiled. As much as Drakor could be a pain, there was no denying they were stronger together. "Yeah," he admitted. "Not bad."

"But let's not get too comfy. We've got work to do, kiddo. More training, more power, more... well, smashing stuff. But, you know, responsibly."

Harry chuckled. "Responsibly smashing stuff. Got it."

As he stood up and began walking back toward the Bones family house, the exhaustion was there, sure—but so was the exhilaration. There was still a long road ahead, but with Drakor at his side (or in his head, technically), Harry felt ready for whatever came next. Even if that meant more boulder-yeeting.

And who knew? Maybe there was a gold medal in his future after all.

—

In the bustling heart of Diagon Alley, the gossip mill was working overtime. Witches and wizards clustered together like flocks of owls, their conversations a hum of excitement. You'd think they'd be more discreet, but when something big happens—like, say, a mysterious creature showing up and wrecking Greyback's gang—everyone and their house-elf wanted to talk about it.

At Flourish and Blotts, two middle-aged witches, who looked like they'd seen more cauldrons than kids, were whispering near the potions section. One of them had a stack of books that probably weighed more than a first-year's luggage.

"Did you hear about that thing?" the first witch asked, lowering her voice dramatically. She glanced around as if the creature might be browsing the latest in Advanced Potions.

Her friend nodded, wide-eyed. "Oh, yes! They're saying it was a dragon. Right here, in Diagon Alley! Imagine that—our very own dragon attack. Might as well sell tickets!"

Over at the Leaky Cauldron, the topic of the hour was no different. An old warlock, looking like he'd just crawled out of a history book with his long gray beard, leaned on the bar. A group of fresh-faced wizards crowded around him, listening like he was about to reveal the secret to eternal life.

"They say it was huge—black, with wings like a bat, and claws sharper than a goblin's contract," the warlock rasped. He had the kind of voice that made you feel like you should be taking notes. "Sliced through werewolf hide like it was Sunday roast."

One brave witch, who looked fresh out of Hogwarts and had the enthusiasm to match, chimed in from the corner. "Could it be some kind of enchanted golem? Like an Inferius, but, you know, smarter?"

The warlock snorted. "Inferi don't have brains. This thing? It was clever. Too clever for its own good, if you ask me."

Meanwhile, at Madam Malkin's, a stern-looking Pureblood witch was picking out robes for her equally stern-looking daughter, all while grumbling about the Ministry's failures.

"If they can't figure out what this creature is, we're all in for trouble," the mother muttered, straightening her witch's hat with a dramatic flair. "Dangerous magical beings popping up in the middle of the day? It's a wonder we're still standing."

Her daughter, who had clearly mastered the art of teenage eye-rolling, sighed. "Mother, it's probably just an experiment gone wrong. You know, the Department of Mysteries is always up to something. Honestly, it's like they want us to live in constant chaos."

Over at Fortescue's, two Hogwarts students were in a heated debate, ice cream melting as fast as their patience.

"You seriously think it's a hero?" asked the first one, a fiery-haired Gryffindor with a temper to match. "It took out Greyback, sure, but it was brutal. Like, really brutal."

The other, a calm and collected Ravenclaw, pushed up his glasses. "Maybe it's one of those 'ends justify the means' situations. Dumbledore said stuff like that all the time, right? Maybe sometimes you've got to be a little brutal to keep people safe."

Across the country in Hogsmeade, things weren't much quieter. At the Hog's Head, Aberforth Dumbledore cleaned glasses while eavesdropping on the latest chatter from the locals. A grizzled wizard with a scarred face nursed a firewhisky as he spoke to his tablemates.

"If that creature's as dangerous as they say, it won't stop with Greyback. Creatures like that—no loyalty. It's only a matter of time before it turns on us."

A young witch at the bar, who had clearly had enough of the doom and gloom, shook her head. "But didn't it save people? Maybe it's not a monster. Maybe it's some kind of guardian. A really angry guardian, but still."

In the drawing rooms of the wealthy and powerful, the conversations were a little more... calculated. At one such manor, a group of well-dressed wizards sat around a table, sipping drinks that were probably worth more than most people's broomsticks.

"Whatever this thing is, it's a game-changer," one wizard said, swirling his glass of wine like he was in a Muggle detective show. "If it can take down Greyback, imagine what it could do to our enemies. Or to us."

A sharp-featured witch across the table raised an eyebrow. "We need to be smart about this. Information first, alliances second. We can't afford to act without understanding the full picture."

And in the quietest corners of the countryside, the older generations gathered by their hearths, sharing their wisdom—or at least, their well-worn opinions. In one cottage, an elderly wizard with more wrinkles than time itself spoke to his wide-eyed family.

"Back in my day, we had creatures that could freeze your bones with a glance," he said, his voice raspy with age. "But this? This is something different. Something that doesn't play by the rules."

His granddaughter, a young witch with bright eyes and an even brighter imagination, stopped knitting long enough to ask, "But if it saved people, doesn't that make it... good?"

The old man sighed, staring into the fire like it had all the answers. "We can only hope, dear. We can only hope."

And so, from the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley to the quiet corners of wizarding Britain, the same questions buzzed in every mind. Was this creature a savior? A threat? Or something else entirely? Whatever it was, one thing was clear—it had shaken the magical world to its core, and nobody could wait to see what happened next.

---

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