The backyard of Slytherin Castle was alive in a way it had never been before.
Harry stood at the edge of the training grounds, arms folded loosely, watching as Cody—the same house-elf who once trained Thestrals for the Ministry—moved with calm, practiced authority among creatures that could rip a carriage in half.
The Morticorns were gathered within the massive enclosure.
The younger ones—children and adolescents—responded almost immediately to the presence of food. Their batlike wings twitched eagerly, horns tilting as they stepped forward with cautious curiosity. Golden hooves tapped the ground as they approached the elf, nostrils flaring.
"Easy now," Cody said softly, holding out enchanted feed. His voice was gentle but carried weight, the kind that came from centuries of service and experience. "No rushing. No fighting."
The young Morticorns obeyed.
They lowered their heads, ate carefully, and even allowed Cody to brush a hand along their necks. One of them snorted softly, wings folding in relaxation.
Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"That was… fast," he muttered.
Behind him, Jason—who had come to observe out of curiosity—snorted.
"Kids are always easier," he said. "It's the adults you've got to worry about."
As if summoned by the words, one of the grown Morticorns reared back with a shrill screech. Its wings flared wide, muscles coiling beneath dark hide, horn lowered as it charged the barrier separating it from Cody.
The impact shook the enclosure.
Several Serpent Court members tensed instinctively.
Harry's hand twitched toward his wand—
—but Cody didn't even flinch.
He turned slowly, meeting the creature's glowing eyes without fear.
"Sit," Cody said.
The Morticorn snarled, stomped once more… then froze.
Its wings trembled. Its hooves scraped the earth.
Cody stepped closer, raised one finger, and tapped the air sharply.
"Down."
With a furious snort and a frustrated shake of its head, the Morticron lowered itself, muscles tight but restrained.
Jason blinked.
"…Right. I take it back."
Harry stared, openly impressed.
Cody glanced over his shoulder and smiled, just a little.
"They are not evil, Master Harry," he said. "They are angry. Hurt. Afraid. That passes—with time, food, and patience."
Harry nodded slowly.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "For taking this on."
Cody bowed deeply.
"It is an honor."
A soft yip drew Harry's attention downward.
At his feet sat a small black bundle of fur with silver eyes and oversized paws.
Shadow.
The Grim puppy Grandpa Theo had given him looked up with unwavering devotion, tail wagging so fast it was almost a blur. The pup barked again—quiet, sharp, and somehow adorable.
Harry crouched and scooped him up.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Harry murmured.
Shadow responded by licking his chin enthusiastically.
Harry laughed, a real laugh, the kind that came easily these days. Shadow had become his constant companion in just a few short days—padding after him through the castle halls, curling at his feet during meetings, and stealing treats from anyone foolish enough to underestimate him.
Everyone adored Shadow.
The house elves spoiled him relentlessly.
Sam slipped him bits of meat whenever Harry wasn't looking.
Even Cassandra had been caught sneaking him snacks.
"He's going to be huge," Cassia had commented once, watching Shadow nap.
"And terrifying," Jason had added.
"And still think he's a lapdog," David finished.
Harry scratched behind Shadow's ears, feeling the faint, eerie magic beneath his fur.
"I think you'll be strong," Harry whispered, half to himself. "Strong enough to keep up with me."
Shadow barked again, tail thumping.
Later that afternoon, Harry decided to introduce Shadow to another member of his growing… family.
The dragon.
They walked toward the forested edge of the castle grounds, where a wide, ancient cave yawned open like the mouth of the earth itself. Warm air rolled out from within, carrying the scent of smoke and stone.
Shadow hesitated.
Harry knelt beside him.
"It's okay," he said softly. "He's friendly. Mostly."
Shadow tilted his head, then followed—close, but brave.
A deep rumble echoed from the cave.
The dragon—Salazar, as Harry had named him—shifted within the shadows. Massive wings stretched, scales catching the light as golden eyes opened.
The beast lowered its head, nostrils flaring.
Shadow froze.
Then—against all expectations—he barked.
A tiny, fearless sound.
The dragon blinked.
Then… exhaled softly.
A warm gust rolled over them, not fire, not threat—acknowledgment.
Harry smiled.
"See?" he said quietly. "Told you."
Salazar huffed, clearly amused, and settled back into his resting position. Shadow crept forward a few steps, curiosity overtaking fear, and sat proudly beside Harry.
Two guardians.
One ancient and terrifying.
One small, growing, and destined for greatness.
As Harry watched the sun dip behind the castle towers, Morticorns training peacefully behind him, a Grim pup at his side, and a dragon watching over the land.
Harry had always known that Grandpa Theo was powerful in a way that had nothing to do with brute force.
He learned just how powerful a week after the necromancer settled in.
At first, it was subtle.
A cloaked woman from Eastern Europe checked into Zeus Hotel, asking for a long-term stay and a private workspace. Then came two men with accents Harry couldn't place—one from North Africa, the other unmistakably South American. After that, a quiet family from the Balkans arrived with trunks warded so heavily that even the hotel's goblin-safe enchantments hummed in response.
By the end of the week, the front desk was overwhelmed.
Sam stood behind the counter one evening, rubbing his temples as another guest signed the registry.
"I swear," he muttered, "half the world decided to visit Knockturn Alley at the same time."
Harry, seated in the lobby with Shadow curled at his feet, looked up.
"They're here for Grandpa Theo, aren't they?"
Sam snorted.
"Not even trying to hide it. They all ask the same thing—Where is the ritual master?"
Harry leaned back, thoughtful.
That was when he realized what Grandpa Theo had truly brought with him.
Not just knowledge.
A network.
Ritual magic had a reputation.
In Britain, it was treated like a curse—illegal, taboo, whispered about only in dark corners. The Ministry lumped it together with blood magic and necromancy, branding it inherently dangerous.
Which was only half true.
Grandpa Theo made that clear the very first night Harry asked him about it.
"Ritual magic isn't evil, boy," the old necromancer said, sipping tea in his private office. "It's honest. That's what scares people."
Harry frowned.
"Honest?"
Theo nodded.
"A spell is quick. Sloppy. You wave a wand and hope the magic listens. Rituals?" He tapped the table. "They demand precision. Intent. Sacrifice. If you make a mistake, the magic doesn't forgive you—it reflects you."
Harry swallowed.
Theo continued calmly,
"Healing rituals. Strengthening rites. Wards that last centuries. Soul-stabilization for curse victims. Even land purification. Entire civilizations were built on ritual magic."
"And now it's banned," Harry said quietly.
"Because it can't be learned by idiots," Theo replied without hesitation.
That was the moment Harry understood.
People weren't coming to Gothic Alley for dark magic.
They were coming because there were almost no safe places left in the world to practice ritual magic properly.
And Grandpa Theo had just opened one.
The effect was immediate.
Zeus Hotel went from busy to constantly full.
Rooms were booked weeks in advance. Some guests stayed for days, others for months. Wizards, witches, healers, scholars, mercenaries—many of them powerful, many of them dangerous, all of them careful.
They paid well.
Very well.
The shops in Gothic Alley flourished overnight. Potion distributors couldn't keep stock. Jason and Cassia's curse-breaking office received contracts from abroad—jobs so complex Gringotts wouldn't even touch them.
Even Knockturn Alley changed.
Shady deals didn't vanish—but they became quieter, more professional. Violence dropped. Everyone understood one thing:
This territory was watched.
Not by the Ministry.
But by some new power.
Harry walked through the alleys one evening, hood up, Shadow padding beside him. He passed shops glowing with new enchantments, heard foreign languages drifting through the air, smelled incense from ritual preparation rooms hidden beneath wards and stone.
Sam fell into step beside him.
"You did this," Sam said quietly.
Harry shook his head.
"No. Grandpa Theo did."
Sam smiled faintly.
"You gave him a place. That's the same thing."
Harry didn't answer.
Because as profitable as it all was—as successful as the business had become—Harry could feel it.
Knockturn Alley and Gothic Alley were no longer just refuges.
They were becoming a crossroads.
A place where the old rules didn't apply.
A place where forgotten magic was being practiced again.
And places like that…
Always attracted attention.
Shadow let out a soft growl, ears twitching.
Harry rested a hand on the pup's head and looked up at the glowing windows of Zeus Hotel, where Grandpa Theo worked late into the night, carving sigils older than the Ministry itself.
"Things are going to get complicated," Harry murmured.
Shadow barked once, as if agreeing.
Harry avoided Gothic Alley whenever he could.
It wasn't fear—Harry had long since learned how to walk through danger without flinching—but identity. To step into Gothic Alley meant wearing a mask, and not just any mask. It meant becoming Lord Blackfyre again.
That was something he had worked very hard to bury.
As far as the wizarding underworld was concerned, Lord Blackfyre had left Britain. A long journey across Europe, business dealings abroad, distant expansions. A shadow moving elsewhere. The illusion was deliberate, carefully maintained, and effective.
Harry Potter, on the other hand, had no place in Gothic Alley.
Not among ritualists, curse dealers, artifact smugglers, and wizards who lived their lives skirting the edges of the law. A nine-year-old boy—no matter how clever, no matter how powerful—did not belong there.
So Harry stayed away.
He divided his days between Knockturn Alley, Zeus Hotel, and Slytherin Castle. He trained. He studied. He helped Master Garrick. He walked the castle grounds with Shadow trotting faithfully at his heels, the Grim pup growing stronger and more alert with each passing day.
It was peaceful.
Almost domestic.
Which was why Cody's request caught him off guard.
"They need space," Cody said carefully, standing beside the massive wooden enclosure behind Slytherin Castle.
Harry watched as one of the adolescent Morticorns stretched its wings, the leathery black membranes catching the sunlight. It flapped once, twice—then settled again, clearly restless.
"They're not attacking anymore," Cody continued. "The young ones listen. Even the adults… they're calmer. But these creatures aren't meant to stay grounded forever."
Harry frowned slightly.
"You're saying they need to fly."
Cody nodded.
"Not far. Not free. Just enough to remind them what they are."
Harry looked up as one of the larger Morticorns lifted its head, golden hooves scraping against the earth, black horn glinting faintly. There was no hatred in its eyes now—only tension. Contained power with nowhere to go.
"What do you need?" Harry asked.
"Restriction collars," Cody replied. "The enchanted kind. Linked to a ward-stone. You set the radius, and they physically can't cross it. Five kilometers would be perfect—enough airspace, no danger to nearby settlements."
Harry exhaled slowly.
He knew where those collars were sold.
And that meant one thing.
"I'll handle it," he said at last.
Gothic Alley greeted Lord Blackfyre like an old secret welcoming its keeper.
The moment Harry crossed the threshold—cloak dark, mask smooth and expressionless—the alley seemed to shift around him. Conversations lowered. Eyes followed. Respect and wariness rippled through the space like a tide responding to the moon.
This was not a place for Harry Potter.
This was a place for Blackfyre.
He moved through the alley with practiced ease, ignoring the ritual chambers hidden beneath storefronts, the wards humming faintly under the stone. He was here for one thing only.
Keller's Curio.
Harry stopped mid-step.
The shop itself wasn't the surprise.
The sign was clear, newly enchanted, polished and elegant:
Keller's Curio — Artifacts and Exotic Implements.
What made Harry still was the man behind the counter.
Tall. Thin. Tired eyes shadowed by years of restraint and regret.
Remus Lupin.
Harry felt it immediately—that subtle tightening in his chest, the instinctive awareness that something important had just shifted.
So.
This was Dumbledore's move.
Sam hadn't mentioned this.
Lupin looked up from the counter—and froze.
For half a second, his expression flickered with something unreadable. Recognition? Suspicion? Calculation?
Then he bowed his head politely.
"Welcome," Lupin said evenly. "How may Keller's Curio assist you today?"
Harry almost smiled.
Almost.
"I'm looking for enchanted restriction collars," Harry said, voice smooth and altered by magic. "Creature-grade. Flight-capable. Radius-linked."
Lupin's eyes sharpened.
"Large creatures?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Dangerous?"
Harry tilted his head slightly.
"Only if confined too tightly."
That earned a brief pause.
"We have three models," Lupin said at last, moving beneath the counter. "Adjustable radius. Non-pain compliance. Linked to a central ward-stone. I'll warn you—they aren't cheap."
Harry placed a pouch on the counter without comment.
The sound of gold was answer enough.
As Lupin retrieved the collars, Harry studied him quietly.
This wasn't coincidence.
Remus Lupin didn't work retail. He was here because Dumbledore wanted eyes in Gothic Alley. Wanted information. Wanted to know who was buying what, and why.
And Lupin, loyal as ever, had agreed.
Harry took the collars, inspecting them briefly.
"They'll do," he said.
As he turned to leave, Lupin spoke again.
"Gothic Alley has been… changing," he said carefully. "Some say for the better. Others are uneasy."
Harry paused at the doorway.
"Change always frightens those who benefit from stagnation," he replied.
Lupin met his gaze.
For a moment, something almost like understanding passed between them.
Then Harry stepped back into the shadows, cloak sweeping behind him.
Lord Blackfyre vanished once more.
And somewhere behind that mask, Harry Potter wondered how long it would be before the past caught up to him again.
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