Strange Potter

The class gathered outside Hagrid’s hut, the crisp autumn air carrying the scent of damp earth and the distant rustling of the Forbidden Forest. Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Susan stood together as Hagrid approached, beaming with pride.

"Ah, Harry! That was brilliant, that was!" Hagrid clapped Harry on the shoulder with such enthusiasm that the teen had to steady himself. "Never seen a dragon go down like that before! Knocked it clean out, yeh did!"

Harry scratched the back of his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Well... Tony did build the suit for high-impact combat."

"A Muggle way o’ fightin’ dragons," Hagrid muttered, shaking his head in wonder. "Blimey, never thought I’d see the day. Oh sorry. Meant Non-Magic."

Hermione crossed her arms with an amused expression. "It's efficient, Hagrid. The goal was to get past the dragon, and Harry found a method that worked without getting himself burned alive."

Neville grinned. "Honestly, I think that dragon's going to have a headache for a while."

Hermione  chuckled. "You might’ve given future champions some very unorthodox ideas, Harry."

Hagrid let out a booming laugh. "Aye, that yeh did! But yeh handled yerself well. A dragon’s not a thing yeh face lightly, suit or no suit. I reckon that Hungarian Horntail won’t be forgettin’ yeh anytime soon."

Harry shrugged, exchanging a glance with his friends. "As long as I don’t have to fight another one anytime soon, I’m happy."

Hagrid gave a hearty chuckle, before leading the class toward a new lesson, still shaking his head in amazement at the idea of a non-magical contraption besting a dragon.

The students moved near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, gathered around Hagrid, who towered over them with an excited grin as he started the class. His tangled beard twitched as he clapped his massive hands together.

"Right then, today we're dealin' with somethin’ real special," Hagrid announced, his eyes twinkling. "This here is a Nundu cub."

A collective gasp rippled through the students. Even Hermione, who had read about the creature, looked a little uneasy.

"A Nundu, Hagrid?" Seamus asked, warily glancing at the large cage covered by a thick cloth. "Aren't they, you know, one of the deadliest creatures alive?"

"Ah, don’ be worryin’ too much," Hagrid assured them. "This one’s just a cub, an’ I’ve been takin’ good care of ‘im. He won’ be breathin’ out any disease while I’ve got ‘im. Who wants to give me a hand?"

The students still looked nervous, shifting on their feet, except for one.

"I’ll do it," Harry said, stepping forward with an eager grin.

Neville gave him a horrified look. “Harry, you don’t have to volunteer for everything.”

"Harry, maybe let Hagrid handle it?" Hermione whispered, gripping her shield just in case.

But Harry had already moved forward, wand in hand, as Hagrid beamed proudly.

"Knew I could count on yeh, Harry," Hagrid said, gripping the cloth. "Now, just move slow, show 'im yeh mean no harm."

With that, Hagrid yanked the covering off, revealing a sleek, spotted feline-like creature about the size of a large dog. Its golden eyes gleamed with curiosity as it let out a low growl.

Harry crouched slightly, keeping his posture non-threatening, his emerald gaze meeting the Nundu's. The creature sniffed the air, its tail flicking.

"Tha’s it, Harry. Nice an’ easy," Hagrid coached.

The class watched in tense silence as Harry slowly reached out a hand, his magic subtly flowing through his fingers. The Nundu tilted its head, then, to everyone's astonishment, stepped forward and nuzzled against Harry’s palm.

“Bloody hell…” Dean muttered.

Hagrid chuckled. "Would ya look at that? He likes yeh!"

Hermione let out a breath of relief, though she shot Harry a glare that clearly meant, Never volunteer for a Nundu again.

Harry just grinned as the creature let out a soft purring noise. "I think he's kinda cute."

The three boys were sitting near the edge of the room, the bright sunlight spilling through the windows as they eagerly waited for Lyall to show off his newest enhancement.

Lyall grinned, pulling his sleeve up with a flourish. His eyes sparkled as he flexed his fingers, and with a soft, metallic clink, long, sharp metal claws extended from between his knuckles. The gleaming metal looked lethal.

“Check it out, Reg,” Lyall grinned, showing off the claws, which gleamed under the light. “Tony really went all out with these. He even made sure they’re sharp enough to cut through almost anything.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, looking at them in awe. “That has to hurt when they come out,” he said with a small wince.

Lyall shrugged, his face scrunching up slightly. “Every time. But it’s not too bad once I get used to it. It’s just... part of me now, you know?” He flexed his fingers again, the claws sliding in and out with a quiet metallic hum.

Pietro, who had been bouncing on his feet the whole time, finally spoke up, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh, and I was there when Tony did it! I saw the whole thing. It was so cool! He had all these tools, and Lyall didn’t even flinch! Not once! Tony had to make sure the metal coating was just right, ‘cause the claws needed to be sturdy but flexible, and then he used this whole new alloy mix... Anyway, he made it look super easy, but you know it wasn’t!”

Lyall rolled his eyes at Pietro’s excitement but couldn’t help grinning. “Yeah, Pietro talked so much during the whole procedure that Tony had to shush him a couple of times just to focus.”

Pietro nodded rapidly, his energy undeterred. “I was just so curious! And, hey, I was just trying to help, y'know? Can’t blame a guy for being interested!”

Regulus laughed, shaking his head. “You talk more than anyone I’ve ever met, Pietro. But those claws are seriously impressive, Lyall.”

“Thanks,” Lyall said with a nod, retracting the claws and letting the tips click back into place. “I can’t wait to actually use them in a fight. Gonna be a real game-changer.”

Pietro grinned. “Just don’t let me get too close, okay? I might need to dodge those claws a few times!”

Lyall smirked at Pietro's teasing. “Don’t worry. I’ll aim for the bad guys, not my twin,” he teased, nudging Pietro with his elbow.

Regulus chuckled at the playful exchange. “You two are really something else, huh?”

Pietro's grin only widened. “Hey, we gotta keep things exciting, right?”

The fire crackled softly in the grand hearth of Dumbledore’s office, casting flickering shadows across the ancient tomes and delicate instruments cluttering the shelves. Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, fingers steepled in thought, his blue eyes unusually dim as they rested on the swirling contents of a crystal basin—his Pensieve.

A sharp knock interrupted his musings. “Enter,” he called, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken contemplation.

Professor McGonagall stepped inside, her green robes as crisp as ever, though there was a tightness to her features. “You wished to speak with me, Albus?” she asked, eyes narrowing slightly at his pensive expression.

“I did, Minerva.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Please, sit.”

She took her seat, folding her hands in her lap. “Is this about Potter?”

Dumbledore’s lips twitched upward—just barely. “You always were astute.”

McGonagall frowned. “Albus, I know that look. You’re troubled.”

Dumbledore exhaled, tapping his fingers lightly against the polished wood of his desk. “Harry has always been… exceptional. Even as an infant, he survived what should have been an unbreakable curse. But recently, I find myself wondering—has he always been merely exceptional, or is he something more?”

McGonagall stiffened slightly. “Are you referring to his magic? Surely, you’re not suggesting he’s anything but a wizard?”

“No, no,” Dumbledore said gently. “But magic is vast, ever-expanding. There are branches of it even we do not fully comprehend. What we have seen of Harry, especially in these recent events, suggests a capability beyond what should be possible for a boy his age.”

McGonagall’s frown deepened. “If this is about the Patronus he conjured—”

“A fine display of skill,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “But no, it is not just that. There have been moments—subtle things. When Harry duels, when he casts spells, even when he moves. It is as if there is something... more at work. Something even I cannot place.” He met her gaze, his own unreadable. “You saw what happened in Hogsmeade. What he did.”

McGonagall hesitated, recalling the battle, the sheer power Harry had wielded. How unnatural some of it had seemed.

“You suspect something,” she said carefully.

“I suspect only that there are answers yet to be uncovered,” Dumbledore said lightly, though his eyes betrayed the weight of his thoughts. “And I fear that by the time we uncover them, it may be too late to change what they mean.”

McGonagall pursed her lips. “Albus, if you have any real concerns about the boy, I suggest you speak to him. You know as well as I do that speculating from afar helps no one.”

Dumbledore nodded, though the faraway look in his eyes remained. “Perhaps you are right, Minerva. Perhaps.”

But deep down, he knew Harry Potter was at the center of something far greater than any of them had foreseen. And whatever it was, it was only beginning.

Sirius leaned back against the kitchen table at Potter Manor, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, so Harry’s an Animagus now. How exactly are we going to register that without making it a bloody circus? You know how the Ministry gets when something unexpected happens with him."

Strange, sitting across from him with a cup of tea, barely looked up. "You don’t have to worry about that."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why is that?"

"I already registered him," Strange replied smoothly, taking a sip. "With my Order."

Sirius blinked. "Your Order?"

"The Masters of the Mystic Arts remember?," Strange clarified. "We operate outside the jurisdiction of any single government, but our records are recognized by all Ministries across the world. That includes the British Ministry."

Sirius let out a low whistle. "So, that means…?"

"That means if anyone at the Ministry tries to make a fuss about it, they’ll find Harry’s Animagus form is already legally documented and classified under international magical protections," Strange said, setting his cup down. "No red tape, no reporters, no unnecessary attention."

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "You really do think ahead, don’t you?"

Strange smirked. "Someone has to."

The bright sun hung high over the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, casting long shadows over the teams preparing for the match. The air was filled with the sound of excited chatter and the rhythmic beat of broomsticks against the soft breeze. It was a crisp autumn day, perfect for a high-speed match.

Gryffindor's team was lined up in their red and gold uniforms, and Harry stood at the front, his broom held tight in his grip. It was a strange feeling to be playing a match after everything that had happened, particularly with the Triwizard Tournament occupying so much of his attention. But this—this was still something familiar. Something he could control.

The Hufflepuff team looked equally prepared, though without Cedric Diggory, who was off preparing for the Tournament. Harry couldn't help but notice how different the team felt without their star Seeker, but that wouldn't stop them from being a formidable team. They were still skilled, and he knew this match wouldn't be easy.

"Alright, Gryffindor!" Wood's voice rang out, strong and clear. "Remember, no matter what happens in the Tournament, this match is just as important. We’re going to win this. Focus!"

Harry gave a firm nod, his mind wandering just a bit, remembering his last encounter with the Tournament. He knew he'd have to face it again soon, but for now, he was focused on the game. It was good to be back on the broom, back in the air.

The game began with a shrill whistle, and the teams were off. Harry darted into the air with the rest of his team, the wind whipping through his hair as he soared through the sky. The Quaffle was already in play, and the game was on.

Gryffindor’s Chasers—Katie, Alicia, and Angelina—moved as one unit, passing the Quaffle fluidly, dodging the Bludgers that swung dangerously toward them. Fred and George were already on the Bludgers, expertly knocking them toward the Hufflepuff players trying to break through their defenses.

Harry, for the moment, stayed high in the air, scanning for the Snitch. He could see the faintest glint of gold in the sunlight, but he knew it was a false trail. There was no way it would be that easy.

He was about to dive for it when the Hufflepuff Seeker—a tall, athletic boy named Finch—zoomed past him, his eyes locked on the same glint. Harry couldn’t help but smirk. He knew how this would go. Finch was good, but Harry was better. He’d trained too long, had faced too many dangerous situations, to let a single Seeker outdo him.

As the game progressed, Gryffindor maintained the upper hand. The Hufflepuff Chasers were no slouches, but Gryffindor’s offense was relentless. With a strategic pass from Angelina to Alicia, Katie sent the Quaffle through Hufflepuff’s hoop for another goal.

Harry’s heart raced as the wind whipped around him. He spotted the Snitch again, this time dipping below the ring of the goalposts. He wasted no time. With a single flick of his broomstick, he shot toward the ground like a bullet.

The air rushed past him as he sped toward the Snitch, his fingers barely inches from the golden wings. But just as he was about to make contact, Finch dove toward him, forcing Harry to swerve sharply to avoid a collision.

"Not this time," Harry muttered under his breath, spinning his broom hard to the right. He could hear Finch’s frustrated shout as he missed the Snitch.

But Harry was already ahead of him, his eyes locked on his target. With a final burst of speed, Harry stretched out his hand and grabbed the Snitch, its wings fluttering in his grasp. The crowd erupted into cheers as Harry held the tiny, fluttering ball in his hand, victorious once again.

The match ended shortly thereafter with Gryffindor securing a well-deserved win, much to the delight of their cheering supporters. The players flew down to the ground, exchanging high fives and hugs, all of them exhausted but elated.

As Harry touched down, he was met by his teammates, who immediately clapped him on the back.

"Great job, Harry!" Luna cheered, grinning widely.

"Thought you were going to let Finch catch it for a moment there," Hermione teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

Harry grinned. "Not a chance. Besides, I’ve got to save my energy for the next round of the Tournament."

As the team celebrated, Harry’s thoughts drifted for a moment. Cedric was somewhere preparing for the next part of the Tournament.

But he pushed the tournament aside for now. He had won the match, and that felt good. He would enjoy it. Because when the time came, facing Voldemort would be inevitable—and he was more ready than ever.

Professor McGonagall sat at her desk, eyeing her class as she debated how best to handle the unique challenge presented by three of her newest students.

Regulus observant and quick-witted, reminding her far too much of his father. He had a sharp mind, an easy confidence, and an unmistakable Marauder streak that made her wary.

Then there were Lyall and Pietro Lupin. Lyall was quiet but intense, his sharp eyes watching everything. He was clearly working hard to control his heightened senses, his nose twitching at the different scents in the room. He was doing better—she’d seen the struggle during their first few lessons, but he was adapting quickly.

And then there was Pietro.

McGonagall had taught many talkative students before, but Pietro Lupin was in a category of his own. The boy had an endless stream of energy and words, moving his hands animatedly as he spoke. She had expected to have to silence him frequently, yet every time he spoke up, his comments were surprisingly insightful.

“And that’s why human transfiguration is so complex, right? It’s not just about getting the physical form right but also the internal structure—bones, muscles, organs, everything. Otherwise, we’d all be walking disasters. Oh! But that makes me wonder, Professor—what happens if someone halfway transfigured gets hit with a spell meant for their original body? Would it target the transformed form or the base magical signature?”

McGonagall had been preparing to reprimand him for talking out of turn but found herself pausing. That was actually an excellent question.

She sighed, adjusting her glasses as she stared at the boy. “An interesting point, Mr. Lupin. The answer depends on the nature of the spell and the strength of the transfiguration. A poorly cast transformation might still register as the original form, while a perfected one would be targeted as the new shape. However, certain spells, especially those tied to identity, may override transfiguration.”

Pietro grinned proudly and turned to Lyall. “Told you it was a good question!”

Lyall rolled his eyes but smirked slightly. “Yeah, yeah.”

Regulus leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, amusement flickering in his expression as he watched his younger cousin cause unintentional chaos. He glanced over at McGonagall and smirked. “You’re going to have your hands full with him, Professor.”

McGonagall sighed deeply. “I already do.”

The dim light of a flickering candle barely illuminated the cold stone chamber where Voldemort sat. His deformed face twisted in anger as he stared at the parchment Peter Pettigrew handed him. With trembling hands, Peter held the paper up, his eyes nervously flicking to his master, who was seething with rage.

"Read it," Voldemort hissed, his voice a low growl, barely containing his fury. His red eyes blazed in the dark.

Peter quickly scanned the paper, the words barely registering before he began speaking.

"Uh... it says here, 'Potter... defeated the Hungarian Horntail using a Muggle suit.'"

Voldemort's eyes widened with disbelief, and his voice rose in a deadly hiss. "A Muggle suit?! That boy dared to use a Muggle suit to defeat a dragon?!" He swirled around, his thin body almost a blur in the low light. "Do you realize what this means, Wormtail? The gall of that child, to treat our magical challenges as nothing more than a trivial joke! It’s a mockery! A mockery!" His fist slammed into the stone wall, creating a crack that sent dust falling to the ground.

Peter flinched, his voice quaking as he continued. "It, uh, says he wore Stark's suit... Tony Stark's. The Iron... Iron Man suit, I think?"

Voldemort snarled. "Muggles are less than animals," he spat venomously. "Their technology, their filthy inventions... no better than the worms crawling in the dirt!" His fingers twitched, long nails digging into his palm. "But Potter... he defies us all. Not only does he have the audacity to live through every challenge I set for him, now he dares to use the tools of a Muggle to defeat a dragon that no wizard could."

He weak form was barley able to hold his rage."This Stark... This Tony Stark... He will pay for this insult. I will make an example of him. When I have my new body, I will show him the true meaning of power. I'll show all of them. No one will mock the Dark Lord."

Peter hesitated, afraid to speak too soon. "But... Master, you... you need Potter alive. You said it yourself—he's the key to your return."

Voldemort paused, his sharp eyes locking onto Peter. "Yes," he hissed, voice dripping with venom. "I need him to survive the tournament, for now. But once I have him, once he serves his purpose... I will destroy him, and then... then I will turn my attention to Stark and his pathetic Muggle world. They will see who is truly the master of magic... and the master of their fates."

Peter gulped, trying to keep his composure. "And... the rest of the tournament, Master?"

Voldemort’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. "Potter will make it to the end. But the boy thinks he is clever, doesn't he? He thinks he has found a way to defeat me. We'll see how clever he is when he faces me face-to-face."

He turned towards the shadows, his voice a mere whisper now, full of hate. "And Strange... That fool thinks he can control magic. He doesn’t understand its true power. But once I have my new body, once I have everything, I’ll show him who the true master is." Voldemort's laughter echoed in the stone chamber, dark and cold, a forewarning of the devastation to come.

Hermione sat at a secluded table in the library, her brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully measured out a mixture of herbs and magical oils into a small stone mortar. Beside her, Lyall sat stiffly, arms crossed, his nose twitching every few seconds as the lingering scents of ink, parchment, and the faint trace of musty books overwhelmed him.

"This better work," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "I swear, if I have to deal with another week of knowing what everyone ate for lunch just by walking past them, I'm going to lose it."

Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't look up from her work. "It will work," she assured him. "I’ve been researching scent-dampening charms and potion-infused balms. This should block out excess smells without completely dulling your sense of smell. You’ll still be able to track things if you need to, but it won’t be overwhelming."

Lyall sighed, glancing toward Pietro, who was slouched in a chair nearby, flipping through a book but clearly more entertained by their conversation. "She’s really putting in all this effort for you," Pietro teased, smirking. "Must be nice to have a genius for a friend. Harrys a lucky guy."

Hermione ignored him, grinding the mixture into a fine paste before adding a few drops of a shimmering blue potion. The balm thickened and settled into a smooth, light green salve. She carefully scooped it into a small container and pushed it toward Lyall.

"Here," she said. "Just dab a little bit on the sides of your nose and your temples. It should last for at least twelve hours before you need to reapply it."

Lyall hesitated before dipping two fingers into the balm and rubbing it where she instructed. Almost instantly, his shoulders relaxed, and his tense expression eased. He blinked, sniffing the air experimentally.

"That’s... actually amazing," he admitted, sounding almost in disbelief. "I can still smell things, but it’s not hitting me like a brick wall anymore."

Hermione beamed. "Told you."

Pietro clapped him on the back. "Great, now maybe you can focus in class instead of whining about how potions class smells like a troll’s armpit."

Lyall shot him a glare but didn’t argue. He turned to Hermione instead. "Thanks, Hermione. Really."

She smiled. "Anytime."

The cold air filled the Hogwarts grounds as Luna stood near the edge of the Quidditch pitch, her usual dreamy expression focused for once. Strapped to her side was a sleek holster, a gift from Harry—one that carried something unique.

"Alright," she murmured to herself, lifting two fingers to her lips. With a sharp whistle, a silver arrow shot out from the holster, slicing through the air toward the target a few meters away. It embedded itself just shy of the center.

Luna tilted her head. "Hmm. That was a little off, wasn't it?"

Nearby, Harry leaned against a wooden post, arms crossed as he watched. "You're getting better. It's reacting faster."

Luna smiled. "It's very polite. It listens so well." She lifted her fingers again and whistled a different pitch. The arrow pulled itself free from the target and zipped back into the holster with a soft hum.

Neville, standing beside Harry, blinked. "That’s still weird to see."

"It's brilliant," Hermione added, flipping through a notebook. "I still don’t fully understand how it works. It’s part enchantment, part… whatever you did to it, Harry."

Harry smirked. "Bit of both. I tweaked it with some magic that makes it recognize Luna’s commands. It’ll only work for her."

Luna beamed. "That’s rather sweet, isn’t it?" She whistled again, sending the arrow soaring toward a further target. This time, it hit dead center.

Neville let out a low whistle of his own. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

Luna twirled on her heels, clasping her hands together. "Oh, Neville, you’d have to do something truly dreadful for that to happen. Like steal my pudding."

Harry chuckled as the arrow zipped back into place. "At this rate, you’ll be able to hit moving targets in no time."

Luna simply smiled and whistled once more, sending the arrow flying with perfect precision.

In Dumbledores office a new fight was starting.

“As tradition dictates,” Dumbledore began, voice calm but firm, “the Triwizard Tournament champions are required to open the Yule Ball with a dance. This includes—”

“I don’t care,” Strange’s voice cut through the hall like a blade.

All eyes turned as Strange, arms folded, stood beside Harry’s parents, both of whom looked just as unimpressed. Natasha had a sharp glare fixed on Dumbledore, while Sirius crossed his arms over his chest, already scowling.

Dumbledore sighed but kept his tone level. “Doctor Strange, I understand your concerns, but this is—”

“Not happening,” Sirius interjected. “Harry never put his name in that damn Goblet, so he’s already being forced into a tournament he never agreed to. And now you expect him to play along like this is some fun school event?”

“It is a tradition—”

“I don’t give a damn about tradition,” Natasha snapped, eyes cold. “You put my son in danger, and now you want to dress it up like it’s some kind of grand celebration?”

“It is part of the tournament’s customs,” Dumbledore tried again, though even he seemed to know he was losing this battle.

“You should be more focused on keeping Harry alive than worrying about customs,” Strange said flatly. His eyes narrowed. “Or should I be questioning why this event seems more important to you than the fact that someone forced his name in?”

Dumbledore held Strange’s gaze for a long moment but said nothing.

Sirius scoffed. “Harry isn’t dancing here. He’s got more important things to deal with—like surviving whatever’s coming next.”

Natasha stood firm. “This discussion is over.”

Dumbledore exhaled slowly but finally relented. “Very well.”

The office remained eerily quiet as Strange, Sirius, and Natasha made it abundantly clear: Harry Potter wasn’t going to be playing by Hogwarts’ rules.

Another discussion was happening with McGonagall as she sat stiffly behind her desk, her sharp eyes fixed on the man across from her. Remus, calm as ever, leaned back slightly in his chair, hands folded neatly in his lap. Despite his composed exterior, McGonagall knew him too well.

"You’re dodging my questions, Remus," she said, her voice edged with knowing suspicion.

"I don’t believe I’ve dodged anything, Minerva," Remus replied smoothly. "You asked if Harry possesses magic similar to Strange’s, and I simply pointed out that such a thing should be impossible."

"Should be." McGonagall narrowed her gaze. "And yet, what I saw with my own eyes was not impossible. It was undeniable. You know something, and you're choosing your words far too carefully."

Remus smiled faintly. "I’ve always been careful with my words. A necessity, given my former... condition."

McGonagall exhaled through her nose, unimpressed by the deflection. "Remus," she said, leaning forward, "I have years of experience listening to you carefully dance around uncomfortable truths. I know when you're hiding something."

Remus hesitated, but only for a breath. Then, his expression turned serious. "If I am hiding something, Minerva, it’s because it’s necessary for Harry’s safety."

McGonagall pursed her lips, her keen mind whirling through the implications. Remus was one of the most trustworthy people she knew. If he was keeping a secret, it was for a reason. Finally, she nodded, though dissatisfaction lingered in her expression.

"For his safety," she repeated. "Very well, Remus. But if I find out that secrecy puts him in greater danger, I will not remain silent."

"Understood," Remus said quietly.

McGonagall studied him a moment longer before sighing and sitting back. "You’re impossible."

He chuckled. "You should have expected that by now."

Peitro was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his eyes darting around the Ravenclaw common room, making sure no one was paying attention. His voice was a constant hum of chatter, the only thing that could keep him still for more than a second.

"Did you know that the stars in the sky are actually giant balls of fire? But they look so small from here, so you can never really tell just how big they are. It's kind of like how people look at us and think they know us, but they don't actually know everything about us," he said, looking over at Luna, his usual energy only slightly dimmed as he tried to focus.

Luna was sitting across from him, completely relaxed, her expression as dreamy as ever. She nodded slowly, her eyes following his every word like she was unraveling a mystery hidden in the air around them. "I think you’re right," she said softly. "People tend to forget how vast the universe is."

Peitro grinned, his smile almost mischievous. "Yeah, well, it’s fun when you realize how little people actually know," he said, then glanced over at the students around them. "Speaking of which… let's see if I can make something cool." He quickly made sure no one was looking their way— the last thing he needed was someone noticing him when he was about to use his magic.

He closed his eyes for a second, focusing. His fingers twitched with the familiar tingling of magic coursing through him. Unlike his mom, Wanda, who used magic with intense control, Peitro had learned to wield his magic with raw spontaneity, purple sparks swirling around his fingertips as he muttered under his breath.

A small creature began to form in front of him—a gentle swirl of purple and blue energy. It wasn’t fully solid yet, but Luna’s eyes widened in excitement as the little creature took shape, becoming something between a puff of smoke and a tiny creature, its body shimmering and translucent with a sparkle of color.

"I think it’s working…" Peitro whispered, watching in awe as the creature fluttered and twitched its tiny wings. It resembled something between a tiny dragonfly and a fairy, all made of shifting energy and light. It hovered in the air, its wings buzzing softly.

Luna’s eyes lit up. "It’s beautiful," she said, her voice as soft and serene as ever. "You made something... new. A creature that doesn’t exist, but does."

Peitro smirked, but it wasn’t a smug one. There was something more... genuine behind it. "Yeah, I guess I did. Just don’t tell anyone, alright? We don’t need to give anyone ideas."

Luna nodded slowly, her expression dreamy but with an underlying understanding. "I won’t tell anyone, Peitro. But I think it's a good idea to create things like that, even if they don’t make sense to everyone."

He gave her a wide grin before watching the little creature hover and drift around them for a few more moments, the light shifting as it zoomed through the air. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he made the creature vanish, its magic dissipating in a burst of sparkles.

"That was fun," Peitro said, turning back to Luna. "I can make a bunch more if I want, but I think I’ll keep them to myself for now. Wouldn't want anyone to steal my thunder."

Luna chuckled, the sound melodic and calm. "I think you have your own kind of thunder, Peitro. Maybe it’s not like the usual kind, but it’s special."

Peitro rolled his eyes with a grin. "Well, I’ll take it." He paused, looking at her seriously for a moment. "Thanks, Luna. You’re the only one who gets it."

"You're welcome," Luna said softly, smiling in her own unique way, her eyes bright and full of quiet understanding.

That night.

In the heart of the Forbidden Forest, the moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. The air was crisp, filled with the earthy scent of pine and damp leaves. Sirius, as Padfoot, bounded effortlessly through the underbrush. Beside him, a sleek white wolf with gleaming eyes kept pace—Regulus his new Animagus form.

The two raced side by side, their movements synchronized, a testament to their shared bloodline and newfound connection. Regulus had embraced transforming into a wolf, a form that felt both foreign and exhilarating. Sirius had been the one to guide him, teaching him the nuances of their Animagus transformations.

As they neared a clearing, Sirius slowed, allowing Regulus to overtake him. Regulus's wolf form moved with grace and agility, his senses heightened, the world around him more vivid and alive. Sirius watched with pride, his tail wagging, as his son embraced this new aspect of his identity.

They came to a stop at the edge of the clearing, both panting lightly, their eyes reflecting the moonlight. Regulus shifted back into his human form, his expression a mix of exhilaration and contemplation. Sirius followed suit, his usual mischievous grin in place.

"Not bad for a beginner," Sirius teased, clapping Regulus on the back.

Regulus smirked, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Think you can keep up, old man?"

Sirius laughed, ruffling his son's hair. "We'll see about that."

In that moment, amidst the ancient trees of the Forbidden Forest, father and son shared a bond forged through shared experiences and the unique magic they possessed. It was a night of freedom, of connection, and of the unspoken understanding that, no matter the challenges ahead, they would face them together.

The next morning 

The Great Hall buzzed with excitement as students whispered and speculated about the upcoming Yule Ball. At the Slytherin table, Blaise Zabini leaned back in his chair, exuding confidence as he scanned the room. His gaze landed on the Gryffindor table, where Ginny Weasley sat laughing with her friends.

With a smirk, Blaise stood and made his way over, ignoring the curious glances from both Gryffindors and Slytherins alike. As he approached, Ginny looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"Blaise," she greeted, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

"Weasley," he responded smoothly, flashing his signature smirk. "I was wondering if you'd like to go to the Yule Ball with me."

Silence fell over the Gryffindor table.

Ron, who had been mid-bite into a piece of toast, choked, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. "WHAT?"

Blaise didn’t so much as flinch. His focus remained on Ginny, who looked momentarily surprised before a slow, amused smile spread across her lips.

"You’re asking me to the ball?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Indeed," Blaise replied smoothly. "I appreciate good company, and you, Weasley, seem to be one of the few Gryffindors with actual wit."

"Hey!" Harry, Neville, Hermione, and Regulus all said together.

Ginny let out a laugh, clearly enjoying the stunned expressions around her—especially Ron's. She tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to consider. "Hmm. You know, I was going to go with some friends, but… you did ask nicely."

Ron recovered enough to sputter, "Ginny, you can’t be serious! He’s—he’s a Slytherin!"

"Excellent observation, Weasley," Blaise said dryly, before turning back to Ginny. "So, what do you say?"

Ginny glanced at her red-faced brother, then at Blaise, and grinned. "Sure, Zabini. Why not? Should be fun."

Blaise's smirk widened. "I’ll be sure to make it worth your while."

Ron let out an outraged noise as Blaise gave Ginny a parting nod before sauntering back to the Slytherin table, looking extremely pleased with himself. Meanwhile, Ron buried his face in his hands, groaning.

"She's lost her mind," he muttered. "Absolutely lost it."

Harry, who had been watching the whole thing unfold with quiet amusement, clapped Ron on the shoulder. "Look at the bright side. At least she didn't say yes to Malfoy."

Ron groaned even louder. "This is your bloody fault Potter! You had to be friends with him!"

Neville saw Blaise throw caution to the wind and he had made up his mind.

He spotted Luna in the Gryffindor common area later that day, Harry always invited her over, calmly reading a book upside down while humming softly to herself. The sight made him smile—Luna was always in her own world, yet somehow more grounded than most people he knew.

Taking a deep breath, he approached her. "Hey, Luna."

She looked up, her dreamy gaze settling on him with curiosity. "Hello, Neville. Did you know that some people believe Yule Ball decorations are enchanted to whisper secrets if you listen closely?"

Neville chuckled. "I wouldn’t be surprised." He hesitated for only a moment before pushing forward. "I was wondering... Would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

Luna blinked, tilting her head as if considering. "Oh, that would be lovely! Dancing under floating candles and enchanted snowflakes sounds like a rather fascinating experience."

Neville let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Really? You’d go with me?"

"Of course, Neville," Luna said with a bright smile. "You're kind, and I like spending time with you. Plus, I think you’d be a wonderful dance partner."

Neville turned red at the compliment but grinned. "I—uh—well, I don’t know about that, but I’ll do my best!"

Luna patted his arm reassuringly. "Don’t worry, the Nargles might try to trip us, but I’m sure we’ll manage."

Neville just laughed, relieved and happy. Maybe the Yule Ball wouldn’t be so nerve-wracking after all.

Harry was the last to leave the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, his bag slung over one shoulder. Just as he reached the door, Remus's voice called out.

"Harry, a moment, please."

Harry turned, noting the serious expression on his former professor’s face. He hesitated, then stepped back inside, allowing the door to shut behind him.

"Something wrong?" he asked, already feeling the weight of whatever was coming.

Remus leaned against his desk, folding his arms. "Professor McGonagall has her suspicions. About you. About what really happened at Hogsmeade. She’s been watching closely and has noted your—abilities."

Harry kept his expression neutral, but his heartbeat quickened. Of course McGonagall would notice—she was sharp, and Harry hadn’t been as careful as he should have been.

"And what does she think?" Harry asked, carefully measuring his words.

"She doesn’t know, but she suspects you’ve been keeping secrets. Big ones. She hasn’t gone to Dumbledore yet, but she’s considering it." Remus’s eyes studied him. "She respects you, Harry, but you need to ask yourself—can you trust her with the truth?"

Harry exhaled slowly, looking past Remus at the flickering torches on the walls. He trusted McGonagall to be fair, to care about him in her own strict way. But Dumbledore? If she went to him, things could spiral out of Harry’s control.

"Do you think I should?" Harry asked, glancing at Remus.

"I think she means well," Remus admitted. "But I also think that once she knows, she may not have a choice but to inform Dumbledore."

Harry clenched his jaw. That was the problem. He had no doubt McGonagall would be on his side—but would she have the freedom to stay on his side once she knew everything?

"I need to think about this," he muttered.

"Then do it quickly," Remus advised. "Because she's watching."

"I just need this to hold on until the end of the tournament." Harry said.

"You think that will be the end of your secret?" 

"As mum said. Not an end. A new beginning." Harry said.

In the hidden space beneath the castle, deep within the passageways only a select few knew existed, Regulus stood before Pietro and Lyall with a smug grin. The twins had been pestering him ever since he let slip that he had been working on something special.

"Alright, alright," Regulus chuckled, holding up his hands. "You two are relentless. But you're going to love this."

Pietro leaned forward eagerly. "Finally! We’ve been dying to know! What is it? Some super-secret spell? A new prank to outdo the Weasley twins?"

Lyall sniffed the air, already sensing something different. "No," he murmured, tilting his head. "It’s something more… primal."

Regulus smirked at Lyall's sharp instincts. "Smart pup," he teased before taking a deep breath. Then, before their eyes, his body began to shift. His form melted into something larger, his limbs extending, his clothing vanishing into thick, pristine white fur. A moment later, a massive wolf stood in his place. Its sleek coat gleamed like fresh snow, and its piercing eyes glowed in the dim light.

Pietro’s jaw dropped. "Bloody hell!"

Lyall’s eyes widened, his own instincts going wild. He could hear the powerful heartbeat, smell the raw magic in the air. "You're a wolf!"

Regulus let out a deep, rumbling growl before shaking out his fur, the movement fluid and controlled. Then, just to show off, he padded forward and bumped his massive head against Lyall’s chest, nearly knocking him over.

Pietro laughed. "Okay, that's actually wicked! When did you even learn to do this?!"

Regulus shifted back, standing before them once more, smirking. "Been working on it for a while. Wanted to surprise you both. Figured it fits the family, don’t you think?"

Lyall grinned. "I think it's awesome. But you do realize now that I’m gonna ask to race you on all fours, right?"

Pietro snickered. "That’s not fair, he’s bigger than you! As a wolf!"

Regulus smirked. "Bigger, stronger, and smarter, obviously."

The twins groaned, but their excitement didn’t fade.

"Wait till the others hear about this," Pietro said, still buzzing with excitement.

Regulus crossed his arms. "They’ll hear about it when I decide. For now, it's our little secret."

Lyall nodded. "Yeah… but this does mean you're officially the coolest cousin now."

Regulus grinned. "Obviously."

"Well. There's Tonks." Peitro smirked.

"And Harry." Lyall added.

"Piss off, both of you." Regulus laughed.

As the students filtered out of the Great Hall after dinner, the air buzzed with excitement over the upcoming Yule Ball. Conversations about dress robes, dance partners, and music choices filled the corridors, but Harry's focus was elsewhere. He spotted Hermione sitting in a quieter section of the Gryffindor common room, a book in her lap, though she wasn’t reading. Instead, she was absently staring at the fireplace, lost in thought.

Harry approached, hands in his pockets. “Hey, Hermione. Can we talk for a sec?”

She looked up, offering a small smile. “Of course, Harry. What’s on your mind?”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… I wanted to apologize.”

Hermione blinked in surprise. “For what?”

Harry sat down across from her, leaning forward. “For not being able to take you to the ball. I know we never made any plans, but I still feel bad. I would’ve asked you first if I was staying here."

Hermione’s expression softened. “Oh, Harry, you don’t have to apologize for that. It’s not like you planned to have your name thrown into the Goblet.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But I still want to make it up to you.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Harry grinned. “What if we go to an Avengers Christmas party instead? Your parents can come too. I figured… I know how much you miss them during the holidays, and this way, you’d still get to have a fancy event—just without all the weird magical politics.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up in surprise. “A Christmas party with the Avengers?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. It’s always a big deal, and you’ll get to meet everyone properly. You won’t even have to worry about wizarding etiquette or anything like that.”

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head. “That actually sounds… really wonderful.”

Harry smiled. “So, you’ll come?”

She beamed. “Of course, I will.”

“Great,” Harry said, relieved. “And who knows? Maybe mum can even teach you a few moves for when the dancing starts.

Hermione laughed. “Now that, I’d like to see.”

As the warmth of the fire flickered between them, Harry felt lighter. No matter what the tournament threw at him, at least he had his brilliant girlfriend who made things just a little bit easier.

"Oh." Hermione looked at her watch. "Practice?"

"Right. Blaise and Susan are eager to use those 'things' I made them." Harry stood and offered his hand.

"Glad I got my shield." She took his hand.

In a secluded, shadowed alcove of Hogwarts, well hidden from prying eyes, Blaise Zabini and Susan Bones stood poised with their weapons, their gazes sharp and focused. The air crackled with energy as Harry , standing off to the side, conjured a fresh set of magical targets—animated dummies that twisted and moved unpredictably. The challenge was clear: precision and adaptability.

Blaise flicked his wrist, and a sleek black dagger left his hand with a whisper, spinning through the air before sinking deep into the chest of a dummy. The moment it struck, the blade shimmered and vanished—only to reappear in his palm a second later. Without missing a beat, he sent two more flying in rapid succession, each one hitting its mark before effortlessly returning to him.

Susan, meanwhile, gripped her spear, the weapon glowing faintly with ancient magic. With a practiced motion, she thrust it forward, the tip elongating mid-strike as it punched clean through the magically reinforced target. The spear retracted instantly as she twirled it around, shifting seamlessly into a defensive stance.

Nearby, Regulus swung his hammer in large, sweeping arcs. The weapon, reminiscent of Thor’s Mjolnir, hummed with power as he tested its weight, sending it spinning through the air before calling it back with a mere thought. Each time it returned to his grip, he let out a satisfied smirk.

"One day that things going to do some serious damage." Hermione said. "Oh wait. You already knocked down a tower.." She smirked.

"Harry fixed it." Regulus shrugged. "You master throwing that shield yet?" He grinned. "I know someone who can give you pointers."

"Captain Granger?" Hermione tapped her chin. "It does have a nice ring to it."

Harry laughed at Hermiones words as leaned against a conjured rock, arms crossed, watching with Blaise with amusement. “You’re getting faster,” he commented as Blaise’s daggers blurred through the air.

Blaise smirked. “Not fast enough. I want them to feel like an extension of my hand.”

Susan nodded in agreement, spinning her spear before jabbing it forward again. This time, the weapon extended to nearly twice its original size, striking multiple targets in one clean motion before snapping back to normal. “That should do the trick in battle,” she murmured.

Pietro, sitting cross-legged floating in the air, whistled. “You lot really don’t do anything by halves, do you?”

Regulus swung his hammer onto his shoulder and grinned. “Wouldn’t be any fun if we did.”

Harry chuckled, conjuring more targets. “Then let’s see just how much fun we can have.”

And with that, the training continued, the air filled with the sound of metal meeting magic, laughter, and the relentless pursuit of mastery.

In the quiet, dimly lit chamber of the Sanctum Sanctorum, Harry stood at the center of a protective circle, his breathing steady but his magic thrumming wildly beneath his skin. Wanda stood on one side, her red energy weaving through the air like threads of fate, while Strange observed from the other, hands steepled in thought. Sirius, leaning against the wall with arms crossed, watched with a mix of pride and concern.

“Alright, kid,” Sirius said, nodding toward him. “Give us the stag.”

Harry closed his eyes, willing his body to shift, and in a smooth motion, his form changed. White fur rippled over his body, antlers sprouted from his head, and soon, a magnificent stag stood where Harry had been. But even as the transformation settled, red sparks flickered around the antlers, Chaos Magic still entwined in the process.

"Good," Wanda murmured, stepping closer. "But the magic isn’t letting you settle completely. Try another form."

Harry concentrated again, feeling the shift, but instead of returning to human form, his body morphed into a sleek black panther. Strange raised an eyebrow, while Sirius let out a low whistle.

“Hes getting the hang of it,” Strange said, stepping forward with his cloak billowing behind him.

Wanda’s lips curled into a small smile. “Your Chaos Magic isn't just letting you transform, it’s giving you freedom over it. But right now, it’s instinctive. You need control.”

Harry shifted again—this time, a majestic black raven spread its wings before them. Then, without thinking, he changed into a large wolf, fur bristling before turning into a sleek fox. The transitions were seamless, natural, but too fluid, uncontrolled.

Strange raised a hand, creating a sigil that glowed gold in the air. “If you don’t master this, you’ll lose control at the worst moment. Your Chaos Magic isn’t bound by normal Animagus limitations. You can become anything, but the danger is in becoming something you shouldn’t.”

Sirius nodded in agreement. “Yeah, and trust me, kid, you don’t want to accidentally become something you can’t change back from.”

Harry took a breath and focused. Slowly, he shifted back to himself, feeling the hum of Chaos still pulsing in his veins. He looked at Wanda and Strange. "So... how do I control it?"

Wanda stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The same way you control any magic—understanding, discipline, and willpower."

Strange sighed, rubbing his temple. “Which means, Potter, you’re going to be training here. A lot.”

Harry groaned, while Sirius clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry At least you’ll be the most unpredictable Marauder in history.”

Harry smirked, but deep down, he knew this was only the beginning.

Neville stood in the backyard of his home, Wanda had given him a lift before he needed to go back to the castle, shifting on his feet as he took a deep breath. His parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom, watched him with curiosity and anticipation.

"Alright, son, let's see it," Frank encouraged, arms crossed with a proud smile.

Neville nodded, closing his eyes as he focused. A moment later, his form shimmered, and in his place stood a majestic lion with a golden mane, his emerald-green eyes still unmistakably his own.

Alice gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Oh, Neville!"

Frank let out an appreciative whistle. "Now that is a proper Animagus form."

Neville padded forward, shaking out his fur before rubbing his head affectionately against his mother's side. Alice let out a soft laugh, running her fingers through his thick mane.

"You were always our brave boy," she whispered.

Neville transformed back with a grin. "I figured it suited me."

Frank clapped a hand on his son's shoulder. "Suits you perfectly, lad. And Merlin help anyone who crosses a Longbottom now."