The sky above Hogwarts was painted in hues of amber and crimson, the dying light of day casting long, imposing shadows across the castle grounds. Two figures strode towards the great iron gates, their presence alone enough to command respect. Charlus Potter, the very embodiment of aristocratic authority, moved with the deliberate grace of a man who was used to having the world bend to his will. Beside him, Arcturus Black cut an equally imperious figure, his expression one of practiced indifference laced with the faintest glimmer of disdain.
As they approached, the gatekeeper of Hogwarts stepped into view—Rubeus Hagrid, half-giant, towering over them, his massive form partially silhouetted against the castle beyond. His beetle-black eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the two visitors.
"Evenin', sirs. Can't say I was expectin' company. What brings yeh to Hogwarts?"
Charlus barely spared him a glance before responding in clipped, precise tones. "We have urgent business with Professor Dumbledore regarding a rather ill-advised decision he has made."
Hagrid's thick brows furrowed. "Ill-advised, eh? If this is about the school menu, I'll have yeh know I've personally tasted the treacle tart, and it's as good as ever."
Arcturus let out the faintest breath of a chuckle, though his gaze remained as cold as the Black family motto. "Hagrid, as much as I appreciate the importance of quality confectionery, we are here on matters of actual consequence. Now, unless Dumbledore has entrusted you with school-wide policy decisions, I suggest you step aside and allow us through."
Hagrid hesitated for a moment before stepping aside with a sigh. "Alright, alright. Follow me. Professor Dumbledore's in the Great Hall."
They moved through the castle's towering entrance, their footsteps echoing against ancient stone. The air inside was thick with the scent of parchment, old magic, and the ever-present warmth of the enchanted torches. Students in the corridors took one look at the two men and instinctively pressed themselves against the walls, sensing—if not entirely understanding—the sheer gravitas of the visitors.
Inside the Great Hall, seated at the head table like a monarch upon his throne, was Albus Dumbledore. His gaze met theirs, unreadable yet vaguely amused, as if this meeting had been anticipated.
"Ah, Charlus, Arcturus. To what do I owe the honor of this most unexpected visit? Surely you did not come all this way to offer fashion critiques on my robes, though I do admit they are particularly fetching today."
Charlus, entirely unmoved by the attempt at levity, let the silence stretch a moment before responding. "Dumbledore, if we were here to critique your robes, I would have sent a letter suggesting you refrain from dressing like an overenthusiastic carnival attraction. Alas, we have come on far graver matters—specifically, your astonishingly reckless decision regarding the Philosopher's Stone."
Dumbledore's fingers steepled as he regarded them with practiced serenity. "Ah, the Stone. You must know that I placed it here under the strictest protections."
Arcturus scoffed, the sound rich with amusement and condescension. "Strictest protections? Is that what you tell yourself? Because to the rest of us, it appears you have turned the world's most sought-after magical artifact into an end-of-year puzzle for a group of eleven-year-olds."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, though there was a sharpness beneath them now. "You wound me, Lord Black. You make it sound as if I invited catastrophe. I assure you, the Stone was perfectly safe."
Charlus folded his arms. "And I assure you, it was not. That is why we took it."
A flicker of genuine surprise passed across Dumbledore's face. "You... took it?"
Arcturus inclined his head ever so slightly. "Yes, and before you ask—no, we are not returning it. Nicholas Flamel himself sanctioned this decision. The Stone is now under protections far beyond anything Hogwarts, or you, could provide."
Dumbledore's expression remained calm, though his hands tightened slightly on the table. "I would have preferred to be consulted before such actions were taken."
Charlus smiled, but it was the kind of smile one might offer a particularly slow student. "Ah, but if we had consulted you, you would have protested. And, forgive me, but we have grown rather weary of your tendency to place children in the crossfire of your 'greater good.'"
Arcturus added, his voice smooth and cutting, "I understand the thrill of a well-played game, Dumbledore, but we are not speaking of chess pieces. This is reality. And in reality, the Philosopher's Stone in Hogwarts was an invitation for disaster. We have simply declined to participate in your latest grand experiment."
Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair, his expression caught between frustration and reluctant acceptance. "I see that you have made your decision. Very well. I shall trust that it is safe."
Charlus inclined his head. "That would be wise. Now, if there is nothing else, we will take our leave. Unlike you, we do not have the luxury of endless free time."
Arcturus smirked. "Indeed. Some of us actually have important matters to attend to."
Dumbledore chuckled, though it was laced with resignation. "Then I shall not keep you. Safe travels, gentlemen."
Charlus and Arcturus turned without another word, their point made, their mission accomplished. As they exited the castle, Hagrid watched them go, shaking his head.
"Blimey," he muttered to himself. "That was like watchin' two dragons circlin' a goat."
And with that, the two men strode into the twilight, leaving behind an unspoken message: there were still those in the world who would not stand idly by while others played dangerous games.
—
The morning air was crisp, and the secluded training grounds of the Black family estate were alive with the sounds of exertion and Moody's gruff commands. Seven figures—Harry, Neville, Tonks, Susan, Hannah, Daphne, and Tracey—ran laps around the clearing, sweat glistening on their foreheads as they pushed through the grueling warm-up.
"MOVE IT, MAGGOTS!" bellowed Alastor Moody, his magical eye swiveling like a mad compass. "You lot think Voldemort's gonna wait for you to tie your bloody shoelaces? Faster! If I see one of you slacking, you'll be doing double laps—on your hands."
"Moody, we're eleven!" panted Neville, barely dodging a tree root as he ran.
"And I was fighting dark wizards when I was your age, Longbottom! Stop whining and run faster!"
Harry shot Neville a grin. "See? All that plant-growing business didn't prepare you for the real world, Nev. Should've picked a more violent hobby."
Neville groaned. "Next time, I'm growing man-eating plants."
"That's the spirit!" Tonks chirped, tripping over a rock and face-planting into the dirt.
Moody sighed, rubbing his temples. "TONKS! I swear to Merlin's left buttock, if you trip one more time—"
"I meant to do that," Tonks mumbled, spitting out grass.
Susan snorted. "You meant to eat dirt?"
"Protein," Tonks said smugly. "I'm bulking up."
"Only thing bulking up is the size of your bruises," Tracey quipped.
Harry grinned. "Pretty sure she's going for the 'Most Graceful in Combat' award."
Moody rolled his one good eye. "Less talking, more running. Let's see if any of you have what it takes to survive a real fight."
After the brutal warm-up, Moody moved them to dueling drills. The group stood in a loose circle as he paced in front of them, his wooden leg thudding ominously against the ground.
"Alright, listen up. The best way to survive a fight? Don't get into one. The second-best way? Make sure the other poor sod regrets every life decision that led him to messing with you."
Daphne tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder, smirking. "So, our strategy is 'hit them until they cry'?"
Moody grinned. "Exactly."
"Sounds like Tracey's entire personality," Hannah muttered.
"Excuse you?" Tracey shot back. "I'm a delight."
"Yeah, a delightful menace."
Moody clapped his hands. "Enough chitchat. First up—Potter, Greengrass. Show me what you've got."
Harry and Daphne stepped forward, wands at the ready.
"Alright, Potter," Daphne said sweetly. "Try not to cry."
Harry grinned. "Ladies first."
Daphne flicked her wand, sending a stunning spell straight at him. Harry sidestepped effortlessly, the spell sizzling past his ear.
"Too slow," he taunted. "That all you got?"
Daphne smirked. "Not even close." She feinted left before snapping her wand up, sending a jelly-legs jinx his way.
Harry ducked and rolled, firing back a disarming charm. Daphne deflected it, but he was already moving, twisting behind her and flicking his wand up. "Levicorpus."
Daphne yelped as she was suddenly lifted into the air by her ankle, hanging upside down like an elegant bat.
"Oh, come on!" she huffed, crossing her arms. "You couldn't have let me win just once?"
"Greengrass, rule number one—never expect your opponent to be polite," Moody barked. "Potter, well done. Greengrass, stop pouting and get yourself down."
Harry flicked his wand, dropping her unceremoniously onto the grass. Daphne glared at him, but there was a begrudging smirk on her face.
"You're buying me a chocolate frog after this."
"Fair trade."
After dueling practice came Moody's specialty—stealth and evasion training. He had set up an obstacle course filled with traps, illusions, and surprises designed to test their ability to remain undetected. Their task? Get to the end without getting 'caught.'
Harry and Tonks went first, crouching low as they darted between obstacles.
"Left," Harry whispered as they slipped behind a boulder.
"Right," Tonks argued.
"Tonks, I swear if you trip—"
She tripped.
Harry barely caught her before she face-planted again. "Merlin's beard, you're like a drunk pixie."
"Stealth is overrated," Tonks grumbled.
"Tell that to the people who are good at it."
Meanwhile, Neville and Susan were creeping through the course with surprising efficiency.
"Wow, Nev, you're actually good at this," Susan whispered.
Neville shot her a grin. "I garden. You learn to move quietly when you have venomous tentacula in your greenhouse."
"Do they also teach you how to dodge Moody's traps?"
Neville froze. "What—?"
A net sprang up from the ground, ensnaring both of them.
From his perch, Moody cackled. "Longbottom, Bones—you're dead. Try again."
Tracey and Daphne, meanwhile, were doing surprisingly well.
"We're going to be Slytherins," Tracey whispered. "Sneaking is in our blood."
Daphne nodded. "We just have to—" She paused, eyes narrowing. "Wait. Something's wrong."
Tracey barely had time to blink before the floor vanished beneath them. They plummeted into a pit, landing in a heap.
Daphne groaned. "I hate this training."
Tracey sat up. "On the bright side, at least we didn't trip like Tonks."
"Hey!" came Tonks' distant protest.
Moody loomed over the pit, grinning. "Should've checked the ground, ladies. That's the thing about traps—you never see them coming."
Harry, the only one to make it to the end of the course unscathed, smirked as he leaned against a tree. "Tough luck, everyone. I'll try to remember you fondly."
Susan groaned. "Shut up, Potter."
Moody clapped his hands. "Alright, enough fun. You lot are improving—slowly—but you're still green. Keep working, stay sharp, and for Merlin's sake, learn to look where you're stepping!"
Harry grinned, glancing at his exhausted, dirt-covered friends. "This is going to be an interesting year."
—
The final weeks before the start of their first year at Hogwarts turned Moody's boot camp into something out of a war story. Gone were the relatively simple drills and casual dueling exercises—this was hell mode. And Mad-Eye Moody, in all his Tom Hardy-esque growling intensity, had no intention of letting them coast.
The training grounds—a dense, hidden part of the Black family estate—had been transformed into something straight out of a nightmare. Magical traps, shifting terrain, and illusions designed to mess with their heads lurked around every corner. The days started before dawn and ended well after sunset, and if anyone thought Moody was about to go easy on a bunch of 11-year-olds, they were about to be painfully educated.
"Move it, Greengrass! You look like you're out for a bloody Sunday stroll! You want the enemy to send you a formal invitation before hexing you into next week?!" Moody barked as Daphne dodged a set of swinging, spike-covered logs that were enchanted to change direction at the last second.
Daphne huffed, flipping her hair back as she slid under one of the traps. "Some of us like to dodge with style, you grizzled old warhound."
Moody snorted. "You wanna talk about style? You'll be plenty stylish when you're six feet under 'cause you were too busy preening to see a curse coming. MOVE!"
Tracey cackled from a few feet away as she sprinted through a section of terrain that suddenly turned into quicksand. "Keep talking, Daph, maybe Moody will be so impressed he'll carve you a bloody tombstone himself."
"Focus, Davis, before that quicksand swallows you whole," Moody barked. "And don't think I didn't see you trying to sneak a levitation spell! No cheating in hell mode!"
Tracey groaned but managed to drag herself through the trap, muttering under her breath about Moody being the literal devil.
Nearby, Harry and Neville were navigating a tightrope walk over a pit that, knowing Moody, was probably filled with something unspeakable.
"This is absolutely ridiculous," Neville muttered, wobbling slightly as he tried to keep his balance. "What kind of school are we even going to?"
Harry smirked, hands casually resting behind his head as he walked the rope like he was on a leisurely stroll. "The kind where, if you're not careful, you'll end up a cautionary tale in Hogwarts: A History. 'Longbottom, Neville. Last seen screaming as he was eaten by an aggressive shrub.'"
Neville scowled. "You're not helping."
"I think I am," Harry countered. "At least you'll be remembered."
"Potter! Stop showing off and move your arse before I light that rope on fire!" Moody bellowed.
Harry gave him a lazy salute before hopping off the tightrope like he'd just stepped off a curb. "Relax, Moody. You're acting like there's an actual life-or-death situation going on."
Moody's magical eye whirled to glare at him. "Constant vigilance, Potter! You'd do well to remember that."
Tonks, watching all this from her position halfway up a magically shifting climbing wall, cackled so hard she lost her grip and plummeted toward the ground.
Mid-fall, she managed to twist her body, aiming straight for Susan, who was in the middle of dodging spellfire from enchanted training dummies.
"Oh, bloody hell—TONKS!" Susan yelped, diving aside just as Tonks crashed where she'd been standing.
Tonks groaned from the dirt. "Ow. That's gonna bruise."
Susan crossed her arms. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to kill me before Hogwarts even starts."
"Accidents happen," Tonks grinned. "And by accidents, I mean my impeccable lack of coordination."
Hannah, who had been watching with wide eyes, turned to Neville. "Tell me again why we're willingly putting ourselves through this?"
Neville, still catching his breath from the tightrope challenge, sighed. "Because apparently, we're insane."
Moody, overhearing this, stomped over. "No, Abbott, you're here because I refuse to let you lot walk into Hogwarts looking like easy targets. You think bullies, dark wizards, and death traps are gonna take pity on a bunch of untrained brats?!"
Hannah gulped. "...No?"
"Damn right, no!" Moody growled. "Now get back to work!"
As the sun began to set, the final challenge of the day commenced: a full-scale infiltration scenario. The goal was simple—break into a 'fortified' location, steal the objective, and escape. The catch? Moody had enchanted the area with shifting walls, traps, and animated guards that would hex them if they so much as sneezed wrong.
Harry, Neville, and Tonks took the lead, utilizing every trick they'd learned to stay undetected. Susan and Hannah handled distractions, leading guards on wild chases, while Daphne and Tracey cracked the magical defenses with frightening efficiency.
At one point, Daphne muttered, "I swear, if this school doesn't have a dueling club, I'm starting one."
"Right behind you," Tracey whispered, disarming another enchantment. "Preferably one where we don't have a madman barking at us the whole time."
Moody's voice boomed from nowhere. "I HEARD THAT, DAVIS!"
Tracey groaned. "I hate this place."
Despite Moody's ever-present growling, the team completed the exercise in record time, and by the end of the night, they were sprawled around the campfire, exhausted but victorious.
Moody studied them with a critical eye, then nodded. "You lot have come a long way. You're not just stronger—you're smarter, sharper, and you've learned to trust each other. That's what keeps people alive. You keep this up, and maybe, just maybe, you won't get yourselves killed."
"High praise," Harry muttered. "I might actually cry."
Moody ignored him. "Enjoy this moment, but don't get cocky. Hogwarts is a battlefield in its own way. Don't let your guard down."
The team exchanged glances, a silent agreement passing between them. They weren't just ready for Hogwarts.
They were about to shake the whole place up.
—
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the Black family estate, a quiet stillness hung in the air. The day before September 1st, when everything was about to change, Charlus Potter, Harry's grandfather, moved purposefully through the house, his every step echoing with an air of quiet dignity. The Potter family tradition was clear: the Invisibility Cloak, passed down from father to firstborn son, would be handed over the night before their departure for Hogwarts. Though James Potter was not there to perform the rite, Charlus was resolute. He would honor the tradition and his son's memory.
Harry, who had known about this moment for the better part of five years, stood at his bedroom window, watching the fading orange sky. His room was a whirlwind of half-packed trunks, a few last-minute books and robes hastily tossed across the floor. Excitement buzzed in his chest, but it wasn't just the start of his magical education that made his heart race. It was this moment, the one he had longed for since he was six years old.
The sound of footsteps broke through his thoughts. Charlus appeared in the doorway, his sharp features softened by the weight of emotion and years. The man, tall and imposing, exuded the sort of power that came from wisdom and experience. His face, though lined with age, still carried the unmistakable strength of his youth.
"Harry," Charlus began, his voice low but resonant, like the deep rumble of distant thunder. "There's something I need to give you."
Harry turned to face him, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips. "Something important, I take it?"
Charlus nodded solemnly and reached into his robes, producing a small, meticulously wrapped package. As he unwrapped it, Harry's heart skipped a beat. Inside, nestled in the fabric, lay the Invisibility Cloak—the very same cloak he had first seen when he was six. His memory of that day remained sharp, like a shard of glass lodged in his mind. He had been so small then, so lost, rescued from the clutches of the Dursleys and brought into his grandparents' care.
That night, Charlus had shown him the cloak, draping it over his shoulders as Harry gawked at it, awed by the magic woven into the fabric. Now, five years later, the moment had come.
"This," Charlus said, voice thick with the weight of history, "is the Potter Family Invisibility Cloak. Passed down for generations. It's more than just a cloak—it's a symbol of the Potter legacy, and it's your birthright, Harry."
Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. He had known this moment would come, but hearing the words still sent a wave of emotion crashing over him. He had been raised on stories of his father's bravery and sacrifice. But tonight, it was his turn to carry that legacy forward.
The cloak shimmered in the dim light, its fabric alive with an ethereal glow that shifted with every movement. Despite its age, it was almost impossibly perfect, as if time had no hold over it. Harry reached out, his hands trembling slightly, and touched the cloth. "It's incredible," he whispered, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "I've haven't seen it for years, but... holding it like this... it's unreal."
Charlus' lips quirked into a slight smile, his cold eyes softening. "Your father would have been proud. And I'm proud of you, Harry."
Harry chuckled, though there was a quiet lump in his throat. "Proud? I'm probably the only kid going to Hogwarts that has a cloak that can make him invisible. If that's not 'cool,' I don't know what is."
Charlus raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "Don't get too cocky, young man. That cloak has a long history of mischief—and not all of it good."
"Good thing I'm a master of mischief then." Harry's grin was impish, his usual sass slipping out. "I'll have to give it a test run—maybe sneak around the castle a bit, pull a few pranks."
"Just remember," Charlus warned, voice suddenly stern, "that this cloak isn't for pranks. It's a tool. A tool for when things are dangerous. Use it wisely, Harry. Your father would've said the same."
Harry nodded, the weight of the words sinking in. He could joke around, but he knew how serious this moment was. The Potter legacy wasn't just about bold actions and bravado—it was about responsibility.
Without a word, he slipped the cloak over his shoulders, watching as it seemed to meld with the shadows around him, swallowing him whole. He turned to Charlus, his figure now completely obscured by the cloak. "Well, guess that's one way to sneak past dinner without anyone noticing."
Charlus chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and pride. "Just don't do it at the family dinner table. Your grandmother would have a fit."
"I'll make sure to be stealthy. You know, just like a true Gryffindor." Harry's voice came from nowhere, muffled by the cloak's magic. The playful edge in his voice was unmistakable.
Charlus shook his head, but the corner of his lips curled upward in fond exasperation. "Gryffindor or not, don't forget that the cloak was forged in times of war. There's a lot more to it than meets the eye."
Harry's head emerged from the folds of the cloak, his face set in a serious expression now. "I won't forget. I promise."
Charlus stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on Harry's shoulder. "I know you won't. Your father may be gone, but you're carrying his legacy forward. Just remember—sometimes, the best way to win a battle is not to fight at all."
Harry gave a single, decisive nod, determination shining in his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind, Grandpa."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of the tradition settling in the air between them. Charlus had done what was needed to honor his son, and now Harry was ready to take on the mantle of his father's legacy, wearing it like the cloak he had just received—silent, invisible, but ever-present.
As the evening drew on, the two sat in the stillness of the room, the importance of the moment not lost on either of them. Tomorrow, they would board the train to Hogwarts, and a new chapter of Harry's life would begin. But tonight, it was just them—grandfather and grandson—sharing a quiet, sacred bond over the Potter family's most treasured heirloom.
And as Harry lay back in bed later, the cloak folded neatly at his side, he couldn't help but smile to himself, already thinking about the adventures ahead. Hogwarts was going to be a place like no other—and with this cloak, and the legacy of his family at his back, Harry was ready to face whatever challenges came his way.
—
The morning of September 1st arrived, crisp and cool, the dawn sun casting a golden glow over the Black family estate. As the house bustled with preparations for Harry's departure to Hogwarts, Dorea Potter was in her element. While Charlus had already presented Harry with the Potter Family Invisibility Cloak—its emotional weight still hanging heavy in the air—Dorea had been busy preparing her own surprise for her grandson.
Kreth, the Potter family House-Elf, was trotting about the house as usual, humming softly to himself as he tended to the various chores around the estate. He was a small, wiry creature, but with an air of efficiency and a quiet, unassuming dignity about him. His rounded ears flopped with each step, and his large, bright eyes were always scanning, always observing. Today, he was wearing a freshly pressed, but slightly mismatched, outfit—a sign of the busy morning.
"Ah, Kreth," Dorea's voice rang through the quiet study. "Could you come here for a moment?"
"Yes, Mistress Dorea!" Kreth answered immediately, his voice a mix of eagerness and subdued reverence. His bare feet hardly made a sound as he appeared in the doorway, eyes wide with curiosity. "What do you need, Mistress?"
Dorea looked over her shoulder, her lips curling into a sly smile. "I think it's time for Harry to receive his parting gift."
With a flick of her wrist, she pulled a large, ornate cage from a nearby shelf. Inside was a snowy white owl, her feathers pristine and glimmering in the morning light. The owl was perched on a simple wooden perch, her bright amber eyes darting about the room with an air of quiet intelligence.
Kreth's eyes widened in surprise as he approached. "Such a beautiful creature! A true treasure, Mistress Dorea!" he murmured, his admiration apparent.
Dorea smirked and held the cage out toward Kreth, who took it with a mixture of awe and reverence. "You're right, Kreth. She's going to be a perfect companion for Harry. Now, would you kindly fetch him for me? I'd like him to see his new friend."
"At once, Mistress Dorea!" Kreth replied eagerly, disappearing with a snap of his fingers.
Minutes later, Harry appeared in the garden, his expression a mix of excitement and curiosity. He had just finished a few last-minute preparations, his gaze lingering on the ornate wrapping paper that now lay in tatters after the unveiling of his Invisibility Cloak. He had been expecting it for years, but now that it was real, the cloak felt weightier than ever.
"Grandma Dorea? What's all this?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he spotted Kreth holding the cage with the snowy owl inside.
Dorea folded her arms, her stance relaxed but somehow commanding. She watched Harry closely, the twinkle in her eyes betraying her amusement. "Well, Harry," she began, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm, "I suppose a young wizard of your caliber deserves a proper companion on his adventures, doesn't he?"
Harry arched an eyebrow, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. "Oh, absolutely. I was starting to think I'd have to send out a few owls for my Hogwarts letters," he quipped, his tone dry. "I suppose it's about time I had a better way to communicate with the magical world than shouting at the walls."
Kreth blinked rapidly, his ears twitching. "Mistress Dorea's gifts are always... useful, Master Harry," he said, his voice almost a little nervous, as though trying to keep up with Harry's banter.
Dorea rolled her eyes, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her fondness. "Well, if you prefer that I send you on your way with a stack of parchment and a quill, Harry, I suppose we could do that." She gestured to the owl. "But I think you'll find a snowy owl much more reliable than parchment. She's yours, Harry. She'll be your messenger, your companion—your trusted confidante when you need someone to listen."
Harry approached the cage, his eyes lighting up with genuine excitement. "No way," he muttered, bending down to take a closer look at the owl. She blinked at him, her amber eyes full of a quiet, knowing intelligence, as if she had already made up her mind about him. Harry's heart skipped a beat. "She's perfect," he said softly.
"She's been well trained," Dorea added, her voice steady and full of pride. "She'll be with you for all of your adventures, Harry. What will you name her?"
Harry stood still for a moment, considering the question. His gaze softened as he met the owl's steady eyes. "Hedwig," he said with a knowing smile. "She looks like a Hedwig, don't you think?"
Kreth's eyes widened in surprise, his ears standing up in delight. "A fine name, Master Harry!" he exclaimed, his voice full of admiration. "A perfect name for a wise, beautiful creature!"
Dorea raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "I knew you had good taste, Harry. Hedwig is a name for a companion of distinction."
Harry gently extended his arm, allowing the owl to hop onto his outstretched wrist. The soft flutter of her wings was almost imperceptible, as though she had been waiting for him all along. He stroked her feathers gently, marveling at how soft and fluffy she felt beneath his fingertips.
"She's amazing," Harry said, his voice filled with wonder. "I'll take good care of her, I promise."
"Of course you will," Dorea said, her voice rich with affection. "You've always had a knack for making the right choices. Just remember, Harry, she's not just a pet. She's a symbol of the magical world that's now yours. You've got an entire world of adventures ahead of you, and this owl is part of that journey."
Kreth nodded sagely, his small face illuminated with wisdom beyond his years. "She'll be there when you need her, Master Harry. A companion for all things, yes."
Harry grinned, feeling the weight of both gifts—the Invisibility Cloak and Hedwig—fill him with a quiet sense of excitement. "I'm ready," he said confidently, his voice steady. "Let's get to Hogwarts."
Dorea smiled, her eyes full of pride and warmth as she watched Harry bond with his new companion. "I know you are, Harry. We've prepared you well."
With one last glance at Hedwig, who was now perched proudly on his arm, Harry felt a surge of readiness. His adventure was about to begin, and with the support of his grandparents—and the unexpected wisdom of Kreth—he knew he was more than prepared for whatever lay ahead.
---
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