Albus Dumbledore paced his office, fingers steepled in front of his mouth, blue eyes lacking their usual twinkle. The day after Black's escape from the high-security black cells of Hogwarts, frustration was creeping into his every thought.
How had this happened?
He had spent decades constructing the perfect chessboard, ensuring every piece was exactly where he needed it. And yet, Harry Potter continued to slip through his fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass.
Black should never have escaped.
He had placed the man in the most secure cell within Hogwarts' uppermost towers, surrounded by every enchantment he could muster. The walls were reinforced, the door warded against magical tampering, laced with detection spells.
And yet… gone. Vanished as if the very stones of the castle had crumbled away.
Dumbledore clenched his jaw.
The Aurors had searched every crevice, every possible escape route, but there was nothing.
Had the boy been responsible? No. He was still in the infirmary when Black escaped. Even if he had, he wouldn't have the knowledge to set Black free. Remus perhaps?
The thoughts gnawed at the back of his mind. Something had shifted this year. Harry was different, and Dumbledore did not like it. He was more controlled, more powerful, more secretive. And that bothered him. The boy had always been headstrong, but Gryffindors were predictable. A Gryffindor could be moulded—shaped into the perfect soldier. But Harry was a Ravenclaw now, surrounded by those infernal snakes.
And they had disappeared again.
No matter how he tried, there were places in Hogwarts where even his watchful eyes could not follow them. The portraits, normally such useful spies, had nothing to report. The ghosts, ever the gossips, provided no answers. He regretted ever returning the cloak to him.
It was unacceptable.
He should have seen this coming.
The first cracks in his carefully crafted plan had started when Harry rejected Weasley's friendship. That had been the first major miscalculation. Ronald had been chosen specifically because of his temper, his insecurities, and his deep-rooted need for validation. It should have made him the perfect tool—one who would be grateful for Harry's fame, yet jealous enough to lash out at any sign of defiance.
Instead, he had alienated the boy further.
Dumbledore let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Then there was Miss Granger. At first, she had shown promise. Intelligent, eager to please, desperate for approval. The perfect spy—if only she had been less… obsessive.
Her research into the Peverell Keep had been frustratingly slow. He had thought, with her diligence and intelligence, that she would have made better progress. But time was slipping away, and all her notes thus far had been nothing more than the same old legends he had long since read himself.
Perhaps he should have done it himself from the start.
But no—he simply did not have the time. He had been dealing with the Ministry, keeping Fudge from interfering too much in the school, trying to prevent the Wizengamot from removing him as Chief Warlock. Not to mention the backlash from the dementors attacking students at the Quidditch match. He had to manage all of that while keeping an eye on Harry.
Yes, that had been the true challenge.
Even now, he was unsure how much control he had left.
The Weasleys had failed to rein Harry in.
Granger had failed to infiltrate his trust.
His magical guardian status meant nothing if Harry refused to come to him for guidance. He supposed the boy didn't know who his magical guardian was. At least he didn't seem to know about his vaults yet.
He needed to pull the boy back.
Perhaps some time at The Burrow over the summer? Yes, a week at the end of August should do. The Weasley matriarch could fuss over him, and her children could apply the proper pressure to make him more malleable. He will arrange for some tickets for Arthur to use to invite Harry to the Quidditch World Cup.
Dumbledore sank into his chair, temple resting against his knuckles.
He needed to be brought down a peg.
The Dursleys should be able to handle that. Arabella's reports always said Harry was being confined to the house or slaving in the garden. Some isolation with the muggles is just what he needs.
Before he could dwell further, the wards on his door pulsed, alerting him to two familiar presences. His lips curled downward slightly before smoothing back into an unreadable expression.
He flicked his wand, allowing entry. The door swung open, revealing Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, both looking flustered and irritated.
"Professor," Hermione began breathlessly, her cheeks red with frustration.
"Headmaster," Ron corrected her with an exasperated huff, stepping forward. "You won't believe what happened."
Dumbledore settled his hands together on the desk and gave them his most grandfatherly smile. "Why don't you both sit down and tell me everything?"
They launched into their tale immediately.
"It was awful, Professor!" Hermione burst out, wringing her hands. "Harry—he's completely turned against us! And it's all because of those—those Slytherins! They've been poisoning him against us all year!"
Dumbledore raised a patient brow. "Miss Granger, perhaps it is best to start at the beginning."
Ron scowled. "It's those slimy snakes, sir. Zabini and Nott, that traitor Longbottom—"
"—and that awful Loony Lovegood!" Hermione cut in, looking furious.
Dumbledore tilted his head, feigning concern. "Luna Lovegood?" he asked.
He had, admittedly, paid very little attention to the girl over the years. He had dismissed her as nothing more than a dreamy, half-mad child.
"Yes!" Hermione huffed. "She never leaves his side! Every time we tried to approach him, she was there! Always whispering to him—keeping him away from us!"
Interesting.
Perhaps he had underestimated the girl.
"And nothing we did worked!" Ron added bitterly. "We tried to talk to him, we tried to get him alone, but every time we even came close, those snakes would drag him away!"
"He's avoiding us on purpose," Hermione hissed. "Even when I used the Time Turner to get ahead of him, to try and see where he was going, I still couldn't catch up!"
Dumbledore's fingers twitched, but he forced himself to remain passive.
She had what?
"You used what, Miss Granger?"
The girl stiffened slightly.
Ron, oblivious as ever, sighed heavily. "Oh, yeah, Professor. She was using that Time-Turner thingy to follow Harry. But she nearly ran into herself once, so we had to stop."
Dumbledore took a slow, steady breath through his nose.
Idiots.
Hermione must have realised her slip-up, because she paled slightly before quickly saying, "But, of course, I stopped after that! I wouldn't dare break the rules, Professor!"
Dumbledore didn't believe her.
Not for a second.
But that wasn't important now.
What was important was the fact that Harry had continued to evade them—even when pursued across time.
Just what had he been up to?
He leaned forward, peering at the two eager yet deeply flawed pawns in front of him.
Dumbledore's fingers tapped irritably against the polished surface of his desk, his usual grandfatherly demeanour replaced with something far colder. The air in his office was thick with disappointment and barely restrained anger as he fixed a piercing gaze upon Ronald Weasley, who squirmed uncomfortably under the intensity of his stare.
"I must admit, Ronald," Dumbledore began, voice deceptively mild, "I expected better from you."
Ron, to his credit, at least had the sense to look ashamed. "Professor, I tried, I really did! But Potter—he won't listen! And those bloody snakes—"
Dumbledore's eyes flashed dangerously.
"Enough," he cut in sharply, his tone brooking no argument. "You were given a very simple task. Stay close to Harry. Keep him isolated from outside influences. Ensure he trusts you over anyone else. And yet, not only have you failed to befriend him, but you have actively pushed him further away."
Ron's face reddened, his ears nearly glowing. "It's not my fault!" he protested. "It's them! They've got him wrapped around their fingers! And he's so arrogant, thinking he's better than everyone—"
"You will not speak ill of him," Dumbledore snapped, eyes narrowing. "Harry's arrogance, as you call it, is simply the result of poor influences. Influences that you, Ronald, were meant to counteract."
Ron scowled but said nothing.
Dumbledore sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair as he gave Ron a long, considering look. "I see now that I was overly generous in my financial support," he murmured, steepling his fingers. "Given your… lackluster performance this year, I see no reason to continue the full stipend. Consider your allowance halved."
"What?! But—that's not fair!" Ron shouted, face paling in horror. "Professor, I need that money! I was going to buy—"
"You should have considered that before failing spectacularly at your only task," Dumbledore said smoothly. "You may consider this a learning experience. Do better next year, and I might reconsider."
Ron clenched his fists but wisely kept his mouth shut.
Dumbledore then turned his attention to Hermione, who had been sitting rigidly in her chair, hands clenched in her lap. She looked pale, nervous—good.
"And you, Miss Granger," he said coolly. "I trust you have compiled a full report on your research?"
Hermione flinched as though struck.
"I—I was going to, Headmaster," she stammered. "I had all my notes, I marked every reference to the Hallows, the House of Death, the ancient yew, but—"
"But what?" Dumbledore's voice was quiet, too quiet.
Hermione swallowed, her lower lip trembling.
"They're gone," she whispered. "The books, my notes—everything—it's all gone. Stolen. I—I don't know when exactly, but it happened months ago—"
Dumbledore went still.
"You lost them?" His voice dropped into something dangerously soft, and the very air in the room seemed to cool.
Hermione let out a tiny sob.
"I—I didn't lose them, Headmaster, I swear! Someone took them from my trunk, I—I should have reported it sooner, but I was afraid—"
"Afraid," Dumbledore repeated, his fingers clenching slightly. "Afraid of what, Miss Granger?"
Her breath hitched. "Of failing you," she admitted miserably, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Of disappointing you. I—I thought I could find another way, that I could still be useful, I—I didn't want you to take away my access to the other tomes, the ones in my vault—please don't take them away!"
Dumbledore's disappointment deepened.
Foolish girl.
Did she have any idea how important those books were? The knowledge contained in those texts was not something so easily found. If they had fallen into the wrong hands—
No.
He refused to let himself think about that possibility.
With a slow, measured breath, he forced himself to regain composure, though his hands remained tightly clasped.
"You should have come to me immediately," he said, each word weighted with quiet fury. "The damage that could have been done by now… the opportunities that have been lost…"
Hermione's shoulders shook with barely contained sobs.
"I'm sorry, Headmaster," she whispered brokenly. "I'll keep looking, I'll find them, I swear!"
Dumbledore waved a hand dismissively. "What's done is done. You are dismissed."
"But—"
"Now, Miss Granger."
Hermione flinched, quickly wiping her face as she stumbled to her feet. Ron, still muttering darkly about his stipend, followed.
"Both of you need to reflect on your failures," Dumbledore continued, voice deceptively kind once more. "Consider how you might improve. Do not let me down again."
They nodded quickly, scurrying out of his office like scolded children.
The moment the door shut behind them, Dumbledore exploded.
With a furious snarl, he grabbed the nearest trinket on his desk—a delicate, enchanted globe of shifting lights—and hurled it across the room.
It shattered spectacularly against the glass cabinet opposite him.
A few of the portraits gasped, some even recoiling in shock, but their enchantments kept them from interfering.
Fawkes, usually a source of warmth and comfort, let out a nervous squawk from his perch. The phoenix fluffed his feathers anxiously but did not attempt to soothe his master.
Dumbledore took another deep breath, but it did nothing to calm the fire raging in his chest.
How had everything gone so wrong?
The Chamber of Secrets. The diary. Black's escape. The failure to control Harry. The loss of the Peverell research.
Every single one of his plans was crumbling around him, and for the first time in decades, he had no clear path forward.
He needed insurance.
He was sure the prophecy referred to Harry and he needed a way in.
His fingers traced the edge of his desk, before slowly reaching for the lowest, most well-protected drawer.
With a whispered incantation, the locks clicked open, revealing a single parchment nestled between layers of enchanted seals.
The contract.
His backup plan.
The ink had been set years ago, the wording meticulously chosen to avoid detection. As Harry's magical guardian, he had full legal authority to sign on his behalf.
He hadn't wanted to use it.
Not yet. Wanted things to happen naturally.
But he had no choice. He needed insurance.
Lifting his quill, he carefully dipped it into a deep, shimmering ink, filling in the blank space.
Dumbledore allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
He had hesitated before, but no longer.
Once the ink settled, he placed it securely into the drawer again.
Harry had until he was 16 to come under control, otherwise…well he wouldn't like the consequences.
~
The moment Harry stepped into Number Four, Privet Drive, he knew something was off.
Figg had been watching him too closely, her squinty eyes tracking his every move as he dragged his trunk up the front steps.
He made sure she saw him step inside before shutting the door behind him.
The Dursleys, for their part, had been oddly quiet.
Dudley had sneered at him but wisely stayed away, while Petunia and Vernon only shot him wary looks before retreating to the sitting room.
They had regained some of their usual bravado over the year, but they weren't foolish enough to press their luck.
Not after the incident last summer.
And certainly not after Harry had let his magic speak for itself.
He wasted no time in escaping to his room, closing the door and locking the wards with a flick of his fingers.
With a deep breath, he called out softly, "Tilly?"
The small elf popped into existence a second later, her bright green eyes full of relief. "Master Harry!" she chirped, bouncing slightly on her feet. "Tilly has been waiting! You is needing Tilly to take you to the Cove now?"
Harry smiled. "Yeah, Tills. Let's go home."
The moment Harry's feet touched the soft sand, he exhaled, feeling the tension leave his shoulders. The Cove smelled of salt and fresh sea breeze, the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore washing away the last remnants of Privet Drive's suffocating presence.
Then, from above came a high-pitched, excited screech.
Harry barely had time to react before a massive shape streaked across the sky, golden eyes gleaming in the afternoon sun, powerful wings pushing against the air as a gust of wind sent sand flying in every direction.
The bond between them thrummed, and Harry's heart clenched at the overwhelming rush of joy and longing that wasn't just his own.
Before he could steady himself, something large crashed down in front of him, sending a shockwave through the sand as razor-sharp talons dug into the ground.
Harry instinctively shielded himself from the incoming spray of sand, coughing slightly as the grains settled.
Then, he laughed.
"Missed me, did you?"
Nox's response was immediate—she let out a huff, the warm gust of air ruffling his clothes before she knocked him clean over with her snout.
He hit the sand with a grunt, but the laughter didn't stop.
She leaned down, her massive golden eyes narrowing affectionately as she pressed the cool scales of her snout against his chest, inhaling deeply.
"Mother," she rumbled in Parseltongue, her voice vibrating through his very bones. "I thought you were lost. I felt your absence."
Harry ran a hand over the smooth scales of her snout, his magic humming in sync with hers as he murmured, "I'm sorry, little terror. I missed you too."
Nox pulled back slightly, raising her head high, spreading her massive wings with a proud flap.
"Look how big I am!" she announced, flexing her wingspan as the sunlight shimmered against the deep black of her scales.
She had grown so much since the last time he saw her properly. Was it normal for a dragon to grow this fast? Her wings were massive enough to cast shadows over the beach.
"You have been eating well," Harry noted, grinning as he traced the ridges along her snout. "And growing into quite the menace, I heard."
Nox preened, swishing her tail before curling it protectively around him. "I am strong now. Fast. I have practiced my magic."
Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Practiced?"
Nox's eyes gleamed. "Yes!"
She turned her head sharply towards the ocean, lifting a talon slightly before slashing it through the air.
The response was immediate.
The sea rose at her command, a great wave surging forward before curling into itself, folding and falling back into the ocean with a powerful crash.
Harry stared.
"...Nox that's amazing!"
Nox let out a pleased little growl, crouching low as if expecting praise. "I have been practicing," she repeated smugly. "And I felt you, Mother. I felt your magic each time I did it. It guided me."
Harry was still processing what just happened.
He knew she had the ability but to see it create such strong waves was something else.
It made so much sense. Harry had felt it throughout the year. The pull on his magic.
Every time Nox practiced, she had been pulling from him. Not taking—just... syncing.
Nox huffed, nudging him again. "Are you not proud?" she asked, tilting her head. "I worked very hard!"
Harry laughed, shaking his head in disbelief before pressing his forehead gently against hers.
"Of course I'm proud," he whispered.
Nox made a pleased little sound, her tail swishing again as she puffed up with pride.
Then—
"The smelly creature you sent to live in my house is very fun to scare," she added mischievously.
Harry blinked.
Then snorted.
"You mean Sirius?"
"Padfoot," Nox corrected. "He makes funny noises when I chase him."
Harry wheezed, imagining Sirius in his Animagus form yelping as a fourteen-foot dragon playfully lunged at his heels.
"Nox!" he scolded, laughing. "You can't bully him!"
"I do not bully. I train."
Harry shook his head fondly. "You are a menace."
Before Nox could respond, a new voice rang through the air.
"PUP!"
Harry turned just in time to see Sirius barrelling towards him from the cottage, looking equal parts relieved and exasperated.
In seconds, he was swept into a bone-crushing hug.
"Bloody hell, Harry!" Sirius muttered, his voice muffled as he held him tight. "You could've written sooner! I've been losing my mind here!"
Harry chuckled against his shoulder. "Nice to see you too, Sirius."
Sirius pulled back, scanning him critically. "You look alright," he admitted. "You eating enough?"
"Yes, Mum," Harry teased.
Sirius scowled before ruffling his hair roughly. "Cheeky brat."
Behind them, Nox huffed, clearly unimpressed with the interruption. "The smelly one returns," she muttered.
Sirius stiffened. "I know she said something rude," he muttered, narrowing his eyes at Nox.
Harry grinned. "She called you smelly."
Sirius let out a long-suffering sigh. "Brilliant. Just brilliant. My godson bonds with a dragon, and I'm the one getting bullied."
Harry just laughed. Sirius was so dramatic.
Harry had known this ever since their first real conversation back in the Chamber, but nothing prepared him for the full-blown theatrics that came with his godfather nearly getting eaten by a dragon.
"You should have warned me!" Sirius exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air as they settled on the porch of the Cove's main house. "Do you know what it's like to finally reach safety, only to be tackled by a massive bloody beast with golden demon eyes?! I nearly shat my pants, Harry!"
Harry, who had been sipping from a glass of chilled pumpkin juice, nearly choked at the mental image.
"She pinned me down, I swear to Merlin!" Sirius continued, looking half-terrified and half-offended. "And I couldn't even move! I thought that was it! I thought my grand great escape from Azkaban was going to end with me as a bloody dragon snack!"
Harry howled with laughter, doubling over.
Sirius scowled. "I don't see what's so funny!"
"You!" Harry wheezed. "You, the infamous Sirius Black, Marauder and supposed mass murderer, reduced to a chew toy for my oversized hatchling!"
Sirius crossed his arms, muttering something about ungrateful godsons while Nox—who had been lying a few feet away with her head resting on her talons—let out a deep, rumbling chuckle.
"Mother," she drawled in Parseltongue, her golden eyes glinting with amusement. "The smelly one is amusing."
Harry snorted. "Nox, stop calling him smelly."
"But he is."
Sirius groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "She's going to hunt me, isn't she?"
Harry just grinned. "Oh, definitely."
As the sun began to set, the two of them sat on the porch steps, watching the waves roll lazily against the shore. Nox had gone off to terrorise the local fish population, leaving them in peaceful silence.
For the first time in months, Sirius truly looked relaxed.
The dark circles under his eyes had lightened, and while he was still too thin, he no longer looked like a man on the verge of breaking.
Harry studied him for a moment before speaking.
"You really scared me, you know."
Sirius turned to him, surprised.
Harry kept his gaze on the horizon. "That night... when the Dementors swarmed us. I thought I'd lost you before I even got you."
Sirius sighed, running a hand through his too-long hair. "Harry..."
"I meant what I said before," Harry interrupted, voice quiet but firm. "You need to live today to fight tomorrow. I know it must have hurt, leaving like that. But you had to."
Sirius exhaled slowly. "Yeah. I know. Doesn't mean I liked it."
They sat in silence for a moment before Sirius nudged him lightly.
"But you," he said, voice thick with emotion. "You saved me, Pup. You saved me, and you saved Buckbeak, and you even caught the rat—"
"And still didn't hand him over," Harry muttered bitterly.
Sirius shook his head. "Not your fault. None of this is your fault. We don't know who to trust."
Harry clenched his fists. "I should have done more."
"You did more than enough." Sirius turned to face him fully, his expression serious. "You went back in time. You outwitted Dumbledore. You fought an army of Dementors, Harry. Do you have any idea how incredible that is? And you did it for me!"
Harry looked away.
Sirius sighed. "Look at me."
Harry reluctantly met his gaze.
"I need you to understand something," Sirius said firmly. "You are not responsible for the world. You are not responsible for everyone's safety. You're a kid, Harry. You shouldn't have had to do any of this."
Harry opened his mouth, but Sirius held up a hand.
"But," he continued, voice softer, "I am so, so proud of you. You are brilliant. You are strong. And no matter what happens... I will always be proud of you."
Harry swallowed, throat tight.
Sirius smiled sadly. "I should have been there for you sooner."
Harry shook his head. "It's not your fault. You were the one betrayed. Not me."
Sirius clenched his jaw. "Doesn't change the fact that you grew up alone."
A lump formed in Harry's throat.
"...Not alone," he whispered.
Sirius frowned. "Harry—"
"I had Luna," Harry admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "She was there. She's always been there. I have my friends and now I have you."
Sirius was silent for a long moment. Then, with a knowing glint in his eye, he smirked.
"Ah. Luna."
Harry groaned. "Not like that!"
Sirius laughed. "Oh, don't mind me, Pup. I just think it's sweet."
Harry huffed, crossing his arms. "She's my sister."
Sirius grinned but wisely didn't press further.
Instead, he leaned back against the porch railing.
"So," he said casually. "What's our next move?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Our?"
"Well, yeah," Sirius said. "I refuse to stay cooped up in this place forever. Even with Buckbeak for company. I'm grateful, don't get me wrong—"
"Nox will keep you on your toes."
"She lives to torment me, Harry." Sirius sighed dramatically. "But seriously—we need a plan."
Harry nodded. "Yeah. We do."
They sat there, the waves crashing in the background, the sky turning deep purple as the last of the sun disappeared over the horizon.
~
The summer holidays were only a two weeks in, and already, Harry could feel the Dursleys itching to reassert control over their lives.
At first, they had been cautious, aware of the incident with Aunt Marge the previous summer. But as the days passed without any new accidents, their bravado started creeping back.
Vernon had stopped avoiding eye contact and had taken to making pointed grumbles about ungrateful layabouts.
Petunia had returned to her usual huffing whenever she so much as caught sight of him in the kitchen.
And Dudley…
Dudley was the real problem.
The look he had given Harry just yesterday still stuck in his mind—a nasty, calculating smirk, one that usually meant bad news.
And the worst part?
Dudley had been hinting—loudly—to his gang that he was getting a pellet gun.
The thought of Hedwig being anywhere near Privet Drive when Dudley was armed with projectiles made Harry's stomach turn.
So, just to be safe, he had sent her off to the Cove for the summer. She had nipped his ear in understanding before taking off into the night, white feathers glowing under the moonlight.
That was one problem handled.
For now.
Harry stretched his legs out on his bed, parchment, quills, and ink sprawled in front of him. His fingers ached from writing, but he was nearly finished.
The schematics for his expanded suitcase lay open on the bed, detailing every measured line, every etched rune, and every stabilisation array to keep the internal space from collapsing in on itself.
The design had taken him weeks.
A standard Undetectable Expansion Charm wouldn't do for what he had in mind.
Seeing his journal glow slightly, he put everything aside. Flipping it open he watched as fresh ink bloomed to life.
Sirius: We're really keeping the rat alive?
Harry: Yes, Sirius, we've been over this. We need him alive for proof.
Sirius: Proof is overrated. So is mercy. I vote we throw him into the sea.
Theo: Tempting.
Blaise: Vetoed. As much as I loathe that little beast, if we lose him, we lose any legal chance of clearing Sirius' name.
Sirius: I'm starting to think you all enjoy torturing me.
Neville: I think he deserves a taste of his own medicine.
Luna: Stubby, we should paint him a tiny hat. Every prisoner needs a uniform.
Harry: Luna, I love you, but no.
Luna: What about stripes?
Theo: I support this idea.
Sirius: Where did you find these children, Harry?
Harry: In a magical castle full of lunatics. Moving on. I'm heading to Gringotts tomorrow.
Blaise: About time.
Harry: I want to see if Grimbok can meet you, Sirius. At the Cove. We need to start putting actual plans into motion.
Sirius: Good thinking. But what exactly are you looking for tomorrow?
Harry hesitated before writing his next response.
Harry: I have some theories about the Yew Bridge in the Peverell prophecy.
There was a pause before anyone responded.
Theo: Go on.
Harry: I need to see if there are any references to it in the vault. The prophecy mentioned a path of yew and I want to see if we can narrow down the locations. And if were right… then Dumbledore is looking for it too.
A heavy silence fell over the pages.
Blaise: Then we need to get there first.
Theo: Agreed.
Sirius: Then I suggest you get moving, Pup. Time isn't on our side.
Harry snapped the journal shut, shoving it beneath his pillow before slipping out of bed.
Outside, the night air was cool against his skin as he walked to the back garden. He settled at the base of the tree and sent his magic out to summon an owl.
Magic rippled through the air, invisible tendrils stretching outward like a net.
He stood there, waiting.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. He forgot how long it could take for one to fly here. He thought, sighing in slight boredom.
Finally, a soft rustling filled the air, and a barn owl swooped down, landing neatly on the garden fence.
It tilted its head, large amber eyes watching him with quiet intelligence.
Harry approached carefully, pulling the letter from his pocket. "I need you to take this to Grimbok, account manager at Gringotts. Can you do that?"
The owl gave a low hoot, stretching out its leg.
Harry tied the message securely. "Get it to him tonight if you can."
With a powerful beat of its wings, the owl launched into the sky, disappearing into the dark.
Harry watched it go, his mind buzzing with thoughts.
Tomorrow, he would meet with Grimbok.
And with any luck, they would get another step ahead of Dumbledore.
~
Harry moved through the dimly lit streets of Diagon Alley under the cover of his veil, his magic wrapped tightly around him like a second skin.
Gone were the days when his shadows flickered uncertainly at the edges of his form—now, he was a ghost, slipping through the alley unnoticed, even by the occasional Auror stationed near the bank.
Ever since Sirius had escaped, security had increased.
It was paranoia at its finest.
Harry kept his movements smooth and unhurried, passing through the grand entrance of Gringotts as if he belonged there. The goblin guards at the doors didn't spare him a glance, their sharp eyes sweeping over the morning crowd instead.
The moment he stepped into the grand marble hall, his shadows receded, melting back into his skin as he approached the familiar desk.
The goblin behind it lifted his head, eyes narrowing for a brief moment before recognition dawned. "Ah, Master Birch."
Harry inclined his head slightly. "Grimbok is expecting me."
"Follow me."
With a flick of his wrist, the goblin led him towards the private meeting rooms reserved for high-value clients. The doors were spelled against eavesdropping, with thick iron frames and heavy warding that made his magic tingle as he stepped inside.
Grimbok was already there, sitting at the head of a dark wooden table, a pleased smirk on his face as he gestured for Harry to sit.
"Lord Peverell—"
"Birch today," Harry corrected automatically.
Grimbok chuckled. "Ah yes, your alias. It has served you well, hasn't it?"
Harry rolled his eyes, but there was no heat to it. "I'd rather not have Dumbledore sniffing around my accounts, thank you very much."
"Wise," the goblin acknowledged, lacing his fingers together. "Now, tell me—why the sudden request for a meeting?"
Harry took a deep breath before launching into his explanation.
He didn't leave anything out.
He told Grimbok about Sirius, about Pettigrew, about everything that had gone down that night.
How he had captured the rat and kept him locked away instead of handing him over.
How he and Theo had gone back in time to fix their mistakes.
And most importantly—how he had overheard Dumbledore and Snape plotting to get Sirius "out of the way."
By the time he was finished, Grimbok was tapping his claws against the table, deep in thought. "So, you have the key to clearing Black's name, but the Ministry—especially Fudge—will never allow it."
Harry nodded grimly. "They'll have him kissed before a trial ever happens."
Grimbok hummed, reaching for a parchment. "There is a way to force the Wizengamot's hand, but it's not simple."
Harry leaned forward. "I'm listening."
"If the House of Black had an active Lord, they could demand a trial for a member of their house. In fact, Arcturus Black attempted this several times before his death, but he lacked leverage."
Harry frowned. "You mean I'd have to—?"
"Accept the Lordship of House Black," Grimbok confirmed, watching him closely. "As Sirius was semi-disowned, and as you were named heir in his stead, the Lordship legally passes to you."
"I would still need to be emancipated for that. I'm not sure how long Sirius would stay out of sight," he said warily.
Grimbok tilted his head. "That is an issue, yes. But it would be the most viable solution. As an emancipated Lord, Dumbledore would lose all legal control over you."
"We will need to find a way to do it," he admitted, running a hand through his hair.
Grimbok nodded. "We'll discuss it further tomorrow at the Cove. There are... other factors to consider."
Harry sighed but didn't argue.
"Now," Grimbok said, his smirk returning, "on to more profitable matters."
Harry arched a brow. "Oh?"
Grimbok flicked his fingers, and a stack of parchment appeared on the table. "The basilisk auctions have proven… lucrative, to say the least."
Harry scanned the numbers, his eyes widening. "This… this is insane."
"Indeed," Grimbok said smugly. "And keep in mind, this is only a quarter of the beast sold. Your current earnings are approaching 900,000 galleons."
Harry stared.
Nearly One. Million. Galleons.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, dazed.
Grimbok grinned, clearly enjoying his reaction. "And it gets better."
Harry looked up warily. "Better how?"
Grimbok's smirk widened. "You remember the auction terms? The clause stating that only those who met our standards could purchase?"
Harry nodded.
Grimbok's eyes gleamed. "We had the pleasure of denying one Severus Snape access to the auction."
Harry blinked.
Then he burst out laughing.
"No way."
Grimbok chuckled. "It was quite the spectacle. He ranted for ten full minutes about how he had the right to those ingredients—only to be reminded, quite politely, that he had no such right."
Harry wiped at his eyes, still grinning. "Oh, I wish I could have seen that."
"It was glorious," Grimbok confirmed. "He stormed out in a spectacular display of embarrassment."
Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair, still feeling the satisfaction settle deep in his bones.
After watching Snape kick Sirius while he was unconscious, this was the vindication he needed.
Getting to the other main reason for coming here, he sat up more.
"before I go, I need access to the Peverell vault," he said quietly.
Grimbok sharp eyes studied him.
After a long pause, he nodded. "Very well. I'll arrange for a cart."
Despite having been the official Lord Peverell for a few years now, Harry had barely set foot inside the vault.
It wasn't fear—well, maybe a little bit—it was more that he hadn't been ready.
The weight of his ancestors, the magic that hummed through the stone, and the secrets buried within the vault had been too much for an eleven-year-old to face.
But he wasn't eleven anymore.
He was older. Wiser. More prepared.
And most importantly—he wasn't afraid to claim what was his.
As Grimbok led him through the deepest tunnels of Gringotts, Harry kept his hand resting against the cool metal of the cart, watching as the vault numbers passed by in a blur of flickering torchlight.
The ride was fast—far deeper than most of the regular vaults.
It wasn't long before they entered the lowest levels of the bank, where only the oldest and most powerful families had vaults. The air was thicker here, the walls carved with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with protective magic.
Harry barely had time to register Vault 714—when a sound made him freeze.
A low, sad voice hissed through the cavern, echoing off the stone.
"…Hungry… so hungry… need food… hurts…"
Harry stiffened.
"Stop!" he called out suddenly, making Grimbok pull the lever sharply. The cart screeched to a halt, nearly throwing them forward from the momentum.
Grimbok scowled. "Master Birch, this is not a place to linger."
But Harry wasn't listening.
He heard it again.
A long, drawn-out whimpering hiss that sent a shiver down his spine.
He turned to Grimbok, his voice serious. "Are there any snakes down here?"
Grimbok's expression flickered between confusion and alarm. "Snakes?"
Harry nodded. "That hissing… someone's hungry."
Grimbok's gaze darkened. "Not a snake." He hesitated, then sighed heavily. "There is a dragon."
Harry felt something click in his chest. "A dragon."
Grimbok shifted uncomfortably. "Yes. It guards one of the high-security vaults. I would strongly advise—"
"I need to see it."
Grimbok's scowl deepened. "Absolutely not. I will not watch you get killed by a dragon."
Harry met his gaze evenly. "I can speak to dragons. If it's suffering, I need to know why."
Grimbok let out a long-suffering sigh, muttering something under his breath in Gobbledegook before narrowing his eyes at Harry. "You must not do anything rash. If they find out we were down here longer than necessary, there will be… consequences."
Harry didn't care.
He was already stepping forward.
The air was thick with the scent of fire and damp stone.
As they rounded a bend in the tunnel, Harry finally saw it.
A massive dragon, its hide pale from years in darkness, lay curled up in a tight, miserable ball. Thick, black chains were clamped around its limbs, and a cruel iron muzzle covered its snout, preventing it from breathing fire.
But the worst part?
Its eyes.
They were milky white. Blind.
Harry's stomach twisted in horror.
The dragon let out a soft, pitiful hiss. "…who…must protect treasure."
Heart hammering, Harry took a slow step forward. "I mean no harm," he called gently in Parseltongue. "Can you understand me?"
The dragon flinched.
"…You… sound… so… small…"
Harry swallowed hard. "I'm a friend. I just… I heard you. You sounded sad."
The dragon let out a weak, shuddering breath. "… Hungry… eyes hurt…"
Harry's fists clenched.
He turned sharply to Grimbok, who was watching with wide eyes.
"Why is it being treated like this?" Harry demanded.
Grimbok sighed. "The Lestranges."
Harry's jaw locked. "What do they have to do with this?"
"They… stole the dragon as an egg. Paid their account manager to train it to attack anyone but goblins and Lestrange family members." Grimbok's mouth twisted in distaste. "But all they accomplished was frightening it into submission. They used rattles and noise, not kindness or care."
Harry felt sick.
"This isn't training," he spat. "This is torture."
Grimbok hesitated before nodding grimly. "Many of us protested, but their clan overruled the decision. The gold had already been paid."
Harry's hands curled into fists.
There was nothing he could do—not yet.
So he turned back to the dragon, forcing himself to breathe, to calm down.
"You're not alone," he whispered in Parseltongue. "I promise I'll come back. I'll find a way to help you."
The dragon let out a small, sad sound. "… No one comes…"
"I will."
The dragon didn't answer.
"Grimbok," Harry said suddenly, still looking at the dragon. "Can I call Tilly?"
Grimbok hesitated. "Why?"
Harry glanced at him. "I need food for it."
Grimbok sighed. "Quickly."
Harry didn't waste a second. "Tilly!"
With a soft pop, Tilly appeared, looking at him with wide eyes. "Master Harry?"
Harry turned to her urgently. "I need a portion of the basilisk meat. Quickly."
Tilly blinked, then nodded, disappearing instantly.
Moments later, she reappeared with several large slabs of preserved basilisk meat.
Harry didn't throw it at the dragon.
Instead, he carefully placed it down and stepped back. Then used his magic to unlock the muzzle around its snout, making Grimbok groan behind him.
"This is for you," he said gently. "Real food."
The dragon hesitated.
Then, tentatively, it reached out, sniffing the air before letting out a shuddering whimper and taking a slow bite.
Harry felt a lump in his throat as the dragon devoured the food like it was the first real meal it had ever had.
Harry swallowed. "I have to go now," he said quietly. "But I swear—I'll find a way to free you."
The dragon exhaled a tired, sad breath. Turning its back to them now, curling in on itself.
Harry felt something sharp twist in his chest.
But before he could say anything else, Grimbok grabbed his arm.
"We need to leave," the goblin said seriously. "Now."
Harry gave one last lingering look to the dragon.
"I'll come back," he whispered.
Then, reluctantly, he let Grimbok pull him away.
The weight of the moment still lingered as Harry and Grimbok continued their journey deeper into the underground vault levels of Gringotts.
Even as the cart picked up speed, the image of the blind, starving dragon remained seared into his memory.
Harry clenched his fists.
Grimbok exhaled sharply beside him, breaking the silence. "You have a reckless heart, Master Birch."
Harry glanced at him, unsure if it was a compliment or a reprimand.
Grimbok snorted, answering the unspoken question. "A warrior's heart, perhaps. But reckless nonetheless." He gave Harry a sharp look. "Do not mistake my patience for approval. If you ever do something like that again without warning, I will personally take an axe to your feet."
Harry huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "I appreciate the warning, but I don't regret helping. I couldn't let them starve."
Grimbok sighed, rubbing his forehead. "We are a warrior race, but we are not cruel." His eyes darkened slightly. "Most of us, anyway."
Harry nodded solemnly, thinking of ways he could track down the Lestrange account manager and chop his feet off.
Their cart had slowed to a stop, the air thickening with old magic as they approached a massive obsidian vault door.
Harry could feel the vault before he even touched it.
It hummed with power.
The ancient wards wrapped around him like an unseen cloak, tasting his magic—measuring it.
Slowly, he raised his hand, the Peverell ring on his finger pulsing in recognition.
The moment he pressed his palm to the cold metal, the symbols flared gold. A deep clank echoed through the cavern, and the vault doors groaned open.
Inside was not a simple storage room.
It was a cavern.
Torches flared to life on their own, illuminating rows of barrels filled with gold, tomes stacked high on ancient bookshelves, and artifacts scattered across polished stone tables.
Grimbok lingered at the entrance, watching as Harry scanned the vast vault, searching for anything that could give him a clue about the Peverells' movements over the centuries.
His eyes were drawn to the massive tapestries hanging along the walls—depicting scenes of battles, magical rituals, and sprawling landscapes.
A star chart caught his eye.
His brow furrowed.
The constellations didn't match their night sky.
A flicker of familiarity sparked in his mind—Salazars library had contained a similar chart, one that didn't align with their world.
Were the Peverells connected to whatever Salazar had discovered? He made a mental note to ask the portrait next time he went to the chamber.
Moving deeper into the vault, his fingers traced the edges of a massive tapestry with what looked like Welsh written on it, its fabric rough beneath his touch.
Harry exhaled. "There's too much here to go through in one trip."
Grimbok made a thoughtful sound. "What exactly are you looking for?"
Harry frowned, trying to put it into words. "Mentions of the Yew Path, bridge or keep. Anything about where the Peverells went over the centuries."
He turned to a stack of old journals, fingers brushing against the cracked leather bindings.
Most were written in Latin or Old English.
One, in particular, caught his eye.
The leather was darkened with age, the title barely visible:
Corvill Peverell – 1389
Harry carefully flipped through the pages, scanning the text.
Welsh phrases were interwoven with Latin inscriptions—the handwriting sharp and precise.
It was old, detailing accounts from a Peverell ancestor who had lived over 600 years ago.
He tucked it carefully under his arm, deciding to take it with him to translate later.
Something gold caught his attention.
On one of the polished stone tables, a pair of intricately carved earrings rested on a black velvet cloth.
They were shaped like dragons—the metal twisted elegantly, looking like the tail would curl around the top of the ear, while the mouth rested at the lobe.
Harry turned to Grimbok. "What are these?"
The goblin stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he inspected them. "Interesting craftsmanship." He tapped one of the earrings lightly. "These are enchanted. They translate languages, but I cannot tell which ones. Enchantments like these are usually tailored to the caster's magic."
Harry hesitated, then reached out, running his fingers over the smooth gold.
A sharp buzz ran through his fingertips—his magic reacting to the object.
Curious.
He picked one up and slipped it onto his ear.
The metal was warm, fitting snugly against his skin.
"Grimbok, would you mind speaking Gobbledegook?"
The goblin gave him a look before exhaling and switching to his native tongue.
"Duwaz ghalrek, kor'maj zu'thak al norbek!"
Harry gasped.
The strangest sensation washed over him—he understood it.
He could still hear the original guttural syllables of Gobbledegook, but layered over them was an immediate, seamless translation, as if his mind had always known the language.
His brain tingled at the foreign words twisting into something familiar.
"Merlin," he whispered, staring at Grimbok in awe. "I could understand you."
Grimbok nodded, somewhat impressed. "The enchantment is effective. Your mind is adapting to it well."
Harry removed the earring, shaking his head slightly as the translation faded away, leaving only the unfamiliar sounds of pure Gobbledegook.
The magic lingered in his ears, like an echo of understanding that was already slipping from his grasp.
He set the earrings back on the table. "They're incredible, but... I don't like taking shortcuts. Right now anyway."
Grimbok arched a brow. "A foolish sentiment, but an honourable one."
Harry smirked. "I'll leave them for now. But it's good to know they're here if I need them."
Grimbok nodded approvingly. "Wise choice. Magic like this often comes with unseen consequences. But should you ever wish to wield them, they are yours by bloodright. I could possibly teach you our language for a fee." Grimbok smirked.
With a final glance at the golden dragons, Harry turned away, already focusing on the other mysteries within the vault.
Harry was about to move on when his gaze landed on a set of old scrolls rolled up in the corner of the table.
He reached for one, carefully unrolling it.
The symbols weren't runes—at least, not any he recognised.
They looked… almost like seals—reminding him of the warded scrolls he had seen in some of the Eastern magical texts Newt had recommended.
Grimbok peered over his shoulder, frowning. "I do not recognise this script."
Harry could feel the energy pulsing from the ink, but he had no idea how to read it.
He rolled it back up, setting it aside for later study.
Harry stepped back, taking one last sweeping glance around the vault.
His mind was racing with new possibilities.
His hunch about Wales being tied to the Keep was getting stronger.
With a deep breath, he turned back to Grimbok.
"Thank you," Harry said earnestly. "For everything. For trusting me with the dragon, for helping me find all of this."
Grimbok crossed his arms. "You are an unusual wizard." He exhaled. "But a good one."
Harry smirked. "Don't let the others hear you say that."
Grimbok snorted. "Don't push your luck."
The rattle of the cart's wheels against the metal rails echoed through the deep, twisting tunnels of Gringotts as Harry and Grimbok rode back up from the depths of the bank.
Harry tried his best to block out the lingering sound of the captive dragon's sorrowful hisses, but the wretched, lonely cries clung to him, wrapping around his ribs like suffocating vines.
The dragon had never known the sky, had never felt the wind beneath its wings or the sun against its scales. It was born in darkness and had been kept there ever since, chained to a fate it had never chosen.
Harry's fingers curled into fists, knuckles white against the leather of his seat.
Beside him, Grimbok watched in silence, his sharp goblin eyes tracking every subtle shift in Harry's expression.
For a long moment, the only sounds were the clanking of the cart and the distant rumble of shifting earth far below.
Then, Grimbok exhaled through his nose, as if coming to a decision.
"Look forward, lad," he murmured, voice quieter than usual.
Harry turned to him, startled. "What?"
Grimbok kept his gaze steady, unwavering. "Look forward. If you keep looking back at every injustice, every sorrow, you will bury yourself beneath it."
Harry swallowed, shifting in his seat, the weight of the dragon's cries still pressing heavily on his chest. "I can't just ignore it."
Grimbok inclined his head slightly. "And you shouldn't. But a soft heart, while admirable, is also a dangerous thing."
Harry frowned, sensing something more profound behind the words.
Grimbok continued, voice low and even. "A soft heart can make you strong, but it can also make you weak. It makes you hesitate when you should act. It makes you care when you should walk away. It makes you feel the pain of others so deeply that sometimes... you forget to guard yourself."
Harry's mouth felt dry. "Are you saying I should stop caring?"
Grimbok snorted. "No. I'm saying you must learn when to wield that softness as a weapon and when to shield it like armour." He levelled Harry with a pointed stare. "You feel the dragon's pain, and that is good. It means you are not callous, not cruel. But do not let it blind you. Do not let sorrow lead you into foolishness."
Harry breathed deeply, his mind turning over the words.
Grimbok was right.
It wasn't just about feeling—it was about knowing when to act. About picking his battles.
He had sworn to find a way to free the dragon, but running in blindly would only get himself killed or make things worse.
He had to be smart about this.
Hadn't he learned that the hard way?
How many times had he let his emotions rule him, only to be manipulated or led astray?
His fists slowly uncurled.
"When to wield it as a weapon... and when to shield it like armour," he repeated under his breath.
Grimbok gave a short nod, satisfied.
The cart jolted to a stop, and they arrived at the upper levels of the bank.
As they walked back toward the offices, Grimbok watched him carefully but said nothing more.
Finally, as they reached the entrance, Harry turned to him. "Thank you. For today."
Grimbok hummed, waving a clawed hand. "It is my duty to serve my client's interests. Even when they involve foolishness."
Harry grinned slightly. "You mean kindness."
Grimbok snorted. "That too."
A beat of companionable silence passed between them before Harry exhaled. "I'll see you tomorrow at the cove."
Grimbok inclined his head in farewell, his sharp gaze lingering as Harry pulled his Veil back over himself, fading from sight.
~
The morning sun cast long, golden beams over the cove as Harry waited near the edge of the wards. A familiar pull in his magic signalled Grimbok's arrival just outside the protective barriers, and he reached out, allowing his account manager to step through.
As soon as Grimbok's boots hit the enchanted sands, he stopped, his sharp eyes scanning the area. "Impressive wards," he muttered in approval, adjusting the axe slung across his back. "Efficiently layered. You've added to them yourself?"
Harry nodded. "With help from the goblin-forged ward stones you approved, of course."
Grimbok huffed. "At least you used proper materials instead of those flimsy wizarding charms."
They began making their way toward the cottage, the fresh sea air mixing with the earthy scent of magic around them.
"Before we go any further," Harry said casually, glancing at the goblin beside him, "a fair warning—don't raise your axe in aggression. My little dragon won't harm you."
Grimbok stopped dead, his gaze snapping to Harry, brows furrowing. "What did you just say?"
Before Harry could respond, a powerful gust of wind blasted against them, the sound of giant wings cutting through the air making the very ground tremble.
Then, with a thunderous impact, Nox landed directly in front of them.
Her jet-black scales shimmered like polished obsidian, her golden eyes burning with intelligence and intent. Towering over them, she arched her long neck forward and let out an earth-shaking roar—
Right into Grimbok's face.
The sheer force of her roar sent a wave of air blasting outward, rattling the ground, and making the nearby trees shake. The goblin, to his credit, stood his ground, though his fingers instinctively gripped the handle of his axe and his eyes were wider than Harry had ever seen.
Nox wasn't done.
With slow, deliberate menace, she lowered her massive head, her golden slit-pupil eyes mere inches from Grimbok's frozen form. She sniffed him once, let out a slow, threatening hiss, then—
She began chuckling.
A deep, hissing sort of laughter rumbled from her chest, her tongue flickering out in amusement.
Harry groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Nox, you have to stop doing that."
The dragon flicked her tail and puffed out her chest proudly. "How was that, Mother?" she hissed, her mental voice full of excitement. "I was trying to be a scary dragon. To protect the nest."
Grimbok, still gripping his axe tightly, snapped his gaze to Harry, his expression a mix of shock and incredulity. "Little dragon?" he repeated, his voice rising slightly. "You called that your little dragon?!"
Harry winced. "Er… she was little. Once."
Grimbok exhaled sharply, releasing his axe handle slowly, his muscles still tense. "And you thought it was a good idea to let her think I was a threat?"
"I didn't let her do anything," Harry said quickly. "She was just… being protective."
"I was practicing!" Nox added, her wings twitching happily. "Did I do good?"
Harry translated and Grimbok's left eye twitched. "'Good'? Whelp, I nearly had a heart attack."
Nox puffed out a pleased breath, her tail curling around her feet. "Then I did well!"
Harry sighed, patting her snout affectionately. "Nox, we've talked about this—scaring people isn't nice."
"But it's fun," she countered smugly.
Grimbok shook his head in disbelief. "So this is the hatchling you were warning me about."
"Pretty much."
Grimbok pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something in Gobbledegook that Harry didn't need a translation for.
Just then, a large, black dog trotted out of the cottage, sniffing the air cautiously.
Sirius paused mid-step as his gaze locked onto Nox, who was now stretching her wings to their full impressive span.
Harry barely had time to brace himself before Padfoot let out an undignified yelp and immediately turned to bolt back inside the house.
"SIRIUS!" Harry shouted, exasperated, watching as the Animagus skidded to a stop and changed back into his human form.
Sirius poked his head out from behind the doorframe, his wide grey eyes still darting toward Nox warily. "You could have warned me that your kid was awake!"
Harry crossed his arms. "You never asked."
Sirius jabbed a finger at him.
Nox tilted her head, her large golden eyes blinking. "You are smellier today," she stated matter-of-factly.
Sirius gaped at her. "Excuse me?!" Not knowing what she said, but knowing it was an insult.
"You smell like wet dog," Nox added, sounding pleased with herself. Harry translated, hiding his smile.
Grimbok coughed into his hand, but Harry was sure he was suppressing a laugh.
Sirius scowled at the dragon, folding his arms. "I'll have you know I have very dignified canine hygiene."
Nox let out a snorting huff, clearly unimpressed. "I like you better when you are a dog. You are less loud."
Sirius gave Harry a long-suffering look. "She takes after you, doesn't she?"
Harry grinned. "Obviously."
As they all walked toward the house, Grimbok kept sneaking glances at Nox, still processing everything.
Finally, he muttered, "I'm going to need something strong to drink after this. No wonder you were so adamant yesterday." Referring to the dragon in the dark.
Harry looked saddened for a second before chuckling. "You get used to her."
Grimbok let out a sceptical grunt but said nothing else as they reached the cottage.
Harry watched as Nox curled up near the front porch, her massive body radiating warmth as she lazily stretched out, soaking in the sun.
Sirius still looked slightly miffed, but he had at least stopped standing behind Harry like a human shield.
Grimbok sighed. "Let's get to business before I start questioning my life choices."
Harry smirked, gesturing for them to head inside. "Welcome to the nest."
Grimbok just shook his head, stepping inside.
Sirius, still muttering about cheeky dragons and disrespectful godsons, followed closely behind.
And outside, Nox chuckled to herself, pleased with her latest successful intimidation attempt.