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Chapter Text

Harry finds himself suddenly transported from the maze at the Triwizard Tournament to a dark, eerie graveyard. Confused and disoriented, he clutches the Triwizard Cup, which had turned out to be a Portkey. He's not alone; Cedric Diggory, his fellow Hogwarts competitor is with him. Their gazes meet and they share a stunned worried look between them.

Before they can fully understand what's happening, a figure approaches and shouts “Expelliarmus!”. The Triwizard cup flies out of Harry's hands into the fog around the tombstones. Simultaneously Cedric lunges in the figure’s direction only to be met with the blue beam of Petrificus Totalus. Cedric’s body stiffens and falls flat into the mud and his presence proceeds to be ignored for they were not there for him; they were here for Harry. However, Harry cannot but feel distressed about Cedric’s prone presence amongst them as there is sure to be a fight ahead.

  Harry is then quickly bound to the tombstone of Tom Riddle by Peter Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail, who prepares a sinister ritual. Harry can't help but grunt in pain as the wicked blade wielded by Wormtail slices down his arm, collecting his blood to add to the ritual cauldron in the middle of the graveyard. Harry watches helplessly as Wormtail uses his own hand, Harry’s blood, and the bones of Voldemort's father to resurrect Lord Voldemort.   

Harry watches on in horror as Voldemort regains his physical form, smoke collects around his body to form dark robes over very inhuman skin.  Voldemort scans the scene before him with his now blood-red eyes; a sniveling follower, Harry bound to his father's grave with blood rolling down his arm, and a frozen Cedric Diggory face down in the mud. He only pauses for a moment before summoning his Death Eaters and placing his attention on them as they appear in columns of black smoke. How dare they think he was gone forever; he would not be defeated so easily.  Harry recognizes a few of the voices, Lucis Malfoy’s smooth acoustic drawl as he placates his dark lord of this loyalty, the crazed cackle of Bellatrix Lestrange, and Greyback who does not even bother to wear a mask as his scared face is borne under the half-moon above. Voldemort calmly says in a serpentine voice “Crucio”.  Unleashing unimaginable pain upon a select few of his followers as their nerve endings light on fire. His face looks up as if he is simply washing the dishes, not torturing dark wizards. Once satisfied with their screams and reassured of their loyalty, though Harry would call it fear, he turns his attention to Harry,

Voldemort seems intent on proving his restored power by killing him in a duel. However, Voldemort was in no way going to fight fair. Harry tugged at his bonds to the gravestone if only he could at least run or put up some semblance of the fight.  Voldemort simply starts by casting “Crucio” upon Harry. Harry lets the bonds that have him tied to the gravestone support his weight as his body lights up with pain, however, he grits his teeth so as not to scream. After a few moments, he slowly raises his face to stare down Voldemort in defiance. Righteous rage is plastered upon his features as his eyes start to glow with magic.

 Something that only seems to spur on Voldemort as he cackles with glee “Look He still fights even when trapped in a corner!” He gestures to Harry with a crazed look in his eye and hisses out “I am going to enjoy this…. Pick up your wand.” Voldemort releases the bonds that were holding Harry to the gravestone.

Harry tumbles to the ground as he has been relying on the bonds to keep him standing.  However, he is quick to get to his knees. His eyes quickly snap around the graveyard assessing everything's position. To his right, his wand is lying on the ground and surprisingly to his left the cast-off blade that Wormtail has used to cut him. Cedric was stiff in the mud further off and almost obscured by the fog, near him a faintly glowing blue light emitting from the tri-wizard campion cup. The semi-circle of death eaters eagerly watching his movement and Voldemort himself standing front and center goading him to pick up his wand. He did not dare to do so as he knew as soon as he did it would be a full-on duel that he had no hopes of winning. So, he had to be clever, he had to outsmart and be quick about it. His mind swirled with ideas as he tried to predict the best outcome. In no way was he prepared for what happened next.

The loud crack of apparition sounded off to his left and from the fog walked Professor Snape cautiously followed by Draco Malfoy. It drew everyone’s attention from him and with this moment Harry took the opportunity to slip Wormtail’s cast-off and forgotten knife into his sleeve.

Snape addressed Voldemort with a confident air “My Lord, Apologies for our tardiness, Hogwarts was simply a mess when the champions did not return.” He moved into a sweeping bow that was quickly copied by Draco.

Voldemort smirked “I see you have brought the young Malfoy heir with you; does he wish to join our ranks.”

Harry can almost taste the fear that is spilling off Draco. His storm-grey eyes are filled with fear, and he moves almost robotically copying Snape's actions. His magic seems to be swirling around his body defensively and in this moment, Harry knows Draco is not there willingly. Their eyes lock and Harry watches as a single tear slips from Draco's right eye and slides down his cheek. Unfortunately, he is not the only one to witness this.

“Lucius it is very unbecoming of your heir to be shedding tears,” snaps Voldemort while leaving his wand to Draco's face.  Snape sidesteps to place distance between himself and the fearful teen. “You should teach him to present himself better in the presence of his lord, Crucio”.  The red light leaps and hits Draco directly in the chest.

Harry's distress climbs higher at Draco's screams, his full attention upon the young heir as he withers upon the ground. After a few moments, Voldemort cuts off the spell, however he has caused a chain of unavoidable events. The air seems to charge with magic as a shower of blood bursts from Draco's back and a keening wail fills the air. Harry feels something start to rip in his soul as his magic whips around him turning up the fog and dirt. Finally, it snaps, and he transforms into something that does not require a wand or blade to kill. His large black wigs arch behind his back as spells bounce off harmlessly, his full attention on Draco and the enemy between them.

---------------------- Cedric POV ------------------------------

Cedric is in the thick of the Triwizard Tournament final, navigating the challenges within the daunting maze. When he and Harry Potter simultaneously grab the Triwizard Cup, they are unexpectedly transported to a dark and unfamiliar graveyard. Cedric is initially bewildered and tries to make sense of their surroundings, realizing that the Cup is a Portkey.

As they try to figure out their next steps, Cedric senses the gravity of their situation when a mysterious figure emerges from the shadows. The atmosphere is charged with danger, and Cedric, ever vigilant, is on high alert. His sense of unease only deepens when he hears a cold voice shout out, “Petrificus Totalus!” Before he can even think to jump out of the way the spell connects, he is lying face down in the mud.

The earth is cold, and it is difficult to breathe in the way he has fallen. Anger and fear course through him as he listens to Voldemort be resurrected. He can hear Harry’s grunt of pain and the way his teeth snap as he defies Voldemort the pleasure of hearing him scream as he is tortured. All Cedric can think about is how he wishes to survive and that Harry is a person he could only hope to be one day. His bravery and courage in the face of their situation was the bright shining light of hope for him, as all he could truly do was lay in the mud and wait for the inevitable killing blow, he was sure would eventually be directed his way.

Then he heard the snap of apparition and the familiar swish of a cloak. Professor Snape was here, and he would surely help them, he let himself smile into the mud. However, it quickly turned into a grimace of anger as he realized where the professor’s true loyalty lay. He was also surprised to hear he had brought Malfoy along. He felt the air charge with magic. He could pick out that a majority of the swirling magic above him belonged to Harry and it was almost calming if not for the rage it was charged with, nevermore he knew it was not directed at him and seemed to almost be protecting him. As a wail fills the air he feels like his body is being ripped apart. A glowing white light surrounds his body and he suddenly finds himself lying next to Malfoy.

                Cedric struggles to get to his feet and finally concedes to staying on his knees and he turns to watch a horrifically beautiful ink-black creature rip into the surrounding death eaters as its eyes pin Voldemort to the ground with a rage-filled gaze. He quickly turns away raising what he has realized are wings to cocoon himself and Malfoy who is knocked out and sporting pale silver scales.

----------    Hogwarts Grandstands – Slytherin Section ---------------

Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott sat in the grandstands; their attention fixed on the maze below as they awaited the announcement of a victor in the Triwizard Tournament. The atmosphere was tense, charged with the anticipation and excitement that had built up throughout the year. Both Blaise and Theo had reasons for their interest, their eyes scanning the edges of the maze, not just for the champions, but for any sign of trouble.

Theo was visibly on edge, more so than usual. Blaise noticed his friend's unease deepen after Professor Snape had mysteriously ushered Draco Malfoy away a few moments earlier. Something was amiss, and Theo’s usually guarded demeanor hinted at underlying concerns that Blaise couldn’t quite grasp. The secrecy surrounding Draco’s sudden departure only added to the tension building in Theo’s posture.

Blaise felt a strange thrill at this nervous energy emanating from Theo. It was infectious, and his hand itched for the familiar handle of his whip hidden under his robe—an instinctual reaction, his body preparing for a potential conflict even though his mind told him they were just spectators. He remembered his mother’s words about always being ready, about how a true Slytherin knows when to strike and when to hold back.

Deciding it was best to stick close to Theo, Blaise leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Do you think something's planned? Something... more than just the Tournament?" His eyes darted around, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of something amiss in the shadows of the stands.

Theo glanced at him, his expression taut with anxiety. "I don’t know, Blaise. But something feels off. Snape wouldn't have pulled Draco for no reason. Keep your eyes open, and stay sharp," he murmured back, his gaze returning to the maze with a hardened look.

As they both refocused on the maze, the air suddenly felt heavier, the sky darker. Their eyes met as a strong ache filled their chests and a white light surrounded them. Theo moths opened and spoke a few words that Blaise was dreading to hear “Soul Scream” and in a blink, they disappeared from the grandstands.

-----------    Hogwarts Grandstands – Gryffindor Section --------------------

                 In the Gryffindor grandstand, the mood was a vibrant mix of excitement and nerves. Neville Longbottom, along with Fred and George Weasley, was fully engaged in discussing Fred and George’s latest prank products in hushed tones, chuckling softly as Neville, ever the cautious one, warned them about getting caught by a professor. Despite his caution, Neville was known for his bravery when it came to standing up for his friends, especially this year. The three of them had grown close, often holding late-night study sessions to support Harry through the challenges of the tournament.

A few seats away, Charlie Weasley was enjoying the event with his partner, Oliver Wood. Charlie, who usually resided in Romania working with dragons, had returned to England for a visit. His relationship with Oliver had been flourishing despite the distance, their dynamic strong and complementary. Charlie, as King in a Gheyo suite, and Oliver, a Prince, had proven to be a formidable pair. They were considering a move to Nevarah, a place where they hoped to find a full suite to join, symbolizing their commitment and shared path forward. For now, though, they were soaking in the rare quality time together in England, watching the tournament unfold.

As the final task progressed, the atmosphere in the stands thickened with tension. The audience was on edge, their eyes fixed on the maze as they waited for a victor to emerge. Suddenly, the whole stadium was stunned when a brilliant white light erupted, not from the maze, but seemingly from nowhere, engulfing the grandstands in a blinding flash.

When the light dissipated, Neville, Fred, George, Charlie, and Oliver found themselves no longer in the familiar confines of the grandstand but in a chilling, fog-filled graveyard. Disoriented and confused, they quickly rallied together. Neville, despite his initial shock, stepped up, ready to face whatever this new challenge might be, his sense of duty to his friends as strong as ever.

Fred and George, ever the quick thinkers, began scanning the area for clues or tools that might be useful. Their prankster minds were adept at quick adaptations, and though this was no laughing matter, their skills in creating and understanding unique situations were unexpectedly pertinent.

Charlie and Oliver, used to coordinating in high-stress environments, especially from their mock battles and training in the Gheyo suite, instinctively took protective stances, ready to defend their group.

Together, they all waited, hearts pounding, as the fog slowly began to lift, revealing the grim reality of their location. Quickly all five brought forth their Draken features, wings arching high above them as they jumped into action.

Charlie and Oliver quickly jumped into the fray of death eaters' landing killing blows; they made their way toward the raging alpha in the center of the graveyard. Fred and George quickly recognized the ruffled golden-brown hair of Cedric kneeling on the ground with his brown scaled wings cocooning the person that had called for them. They rushed to the other pair's side. George the softer of the twins and medic in training carefully wiggled his way into Cedric’s wing circle. Neville and Fred took defensive stances covering the other's backs and using shield spells to keep the three that were on the ground safe.  

Once George was able to enter the protective wings of Cedric he came face to face with the celery-confused and frightened newly inherited Pareya and the limp form of their submissive Draco Malfoy. “What spell?” George snapped out not willing to waste time on pleasantries and hoping that Cedric would just trust his instincts.    

Cedric whispers as if afraid to wake Draco “Unforgivable...the torture curse” his body cringes as if remembering the pain.

Geroge quickly pulled a potion out of his pocket glad that he had lined his robe with an extension spell to hold the entirety of his medical training kit. While spelling the potion into Draco’s stomach he re-makes eye contact with Cedric, “Anything else? Are you hurt?”

Cedric quickly shakes his head no, “What is happening?” he asks confusion pinching his face.

“Just don’t move and everything will be explained once the fighting is over,” said Gorge reaching out to hold Cedric's hand. He could feel it trembling in his grasp.

---------    Nevarah – Royal Quarters ----------------------------

In the stately Royal Quarters of Nevarah, the atmosphere was typically one of calm scholarly debate and regal discussions about the realm. Ethan Hartwood, a Royal Scholar known for his profound knowledge and analytical skills, had arranged a meeting with several key figures of the realm: Raspen, the Crown Earth Prince; Perryton, the Air Prince; and Riven, a Mage Realm Walker known for his potent magical abilities and his capacity to navigate different realms.

As they settled around the heavy oak table, prepared to delve into matters of state and magic, Ethan suddenly felt an inexplicable pull on his soul. It was a sensation that gripped him profoundly, resonating deep within his chest. He instinctively reached up, pressing his hand above his heart, a subtle look of concern crossing his face.

Noticing Ethan's actions, Perryton, whose sensitivity to air currents often made him aware of shifts in energy, rasped out, "You feel that too?" His voice was tight, a clear indication of his discomfort.

Before any further discussion could ensue, Riven stood abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he pulled out his staff. "I think we are about to be called in by a soul scream," he declared, a frown etching his features as he sensed the magnitude of the call. "Get behind me," he ordered the princes firmly.

Raspen and Perryton didn’t hesitate, quickly moving to position themselves behind Riven as instructed. They trusted Riven's judgment implicitly, especially in matters involving potential threats from other realms. As they took their positions, Ethan unfurled his oversized brown wings, a majestic and protective gesture designed to cover their backs, shielding his companions from whatever was about to come.

Just then, a blinding white light flashed through the room, momentarily disorienting everyone. When the light faded, they found themselves standing in a cold, fog-filled graveyard, far from the safety of the Royal Quarters.

The sudden transition left them momentarily stunned, but Riven, staff in hand, was the first to recover. He scanned the area quickly, his eyes adjusting to the dim light as he sought to understand their new surroundings. Around them, the fog began to lift, revealing not just the eerie tombstones and ancient trees of the graveyard, but also a group of young Dragel’s from a different world—Neville, Fred, George, Charlie, and Oliver—who seemed just as perplexed and on guard as they were.

----------------    Nevarah – General Healing Center --------------------

In the normally serene General Healing Building of Nevarah, where the sick and wounded came seeking the restorative prowess of the Kalzik Healing Circle, Quinn was a standout figure. Not just for his renowned healing abilities but also for his striking physical features—pale blue wings and scars crisscrossing his body, remnants of an event that had cruelly taken his voice.

During a brief pause between patients, Quinn was preparing for his next consultation when a vague unease prompted him to rub his chest unconsciously. Suddenly, a sharp, intense tug yanked at his soul, a sensation that defied explanation, considering the powerful protective wards he'd placed to avoid such invasions.

Wikhn, his dark fae Gheyo assistant, instantly perceived the shift in Quinn's aura. With sharp instincts homed in many battles, Wikhn drew his sword—not out of perceived threat but as a precautionary measure to protect Quinn from potential unseen dangers. His gaze swept the room, poised for confrontation.

However, before they could further assess the situation, a brilliant burst of white light enveloped them both. Chaos erupted in the healing center as the healer and assistant vanished without a trace.

Reappearing in a cold, foggy graveyard, the shift from the controlled environment of the healing center to this ominous setting was jarring. Wikhn, sword still drawn, adopted a defensive posture, scanning the murky landscape as Quinn struggled to comprehend the failure of his magical defenses.

As the fog began to clear, revealing the shadowy outlines of tombstones and gnarled trees, they noticed they were not alone. A group comprising members from the Royal Quarters—Ethan, Raspen, Perryton, and Riven—stood nearby, looking equally disoriented. Accompanying them were several young Dragel’s from another realm, their expressions a mix of confusion and determination.

Before any introductions could be made or alliances formed, the eerie silence of the graveyard was shattered by the sounds of combat. Dark shapes emerged from the mist, their intentions clearly hostile. The group barely had time to react before they found themselves thrust into a chaotic battle, with enemies attacking from all sides.

Wikhn, reacting swiftly, directed Quinn and the others into a defensive circle. "Protect the healer!" he shouted, as he parried and struck shadowy figures that lunged towards them. Quinn, though unable to speak, used his expressive eyes and gestures to direct healing energy toward any in their newly formed group who sustained injuries.

The young wizards, led by the battle-hardened instincts of Neville and the strategic thinking of Fred, cast protective and offensive spells. Charlie and Oliver, leveraging their combat experience, coordinated their movements with Riven, who wielded his mage staff with lethal precision.

                George called out from inside Cedric’s Wings “Let the Healer in! Our Submissive is injured and I am only a medic!”

George's urgent call had opened Cedric's wings just enough to allow Quinn access. The healer, with his striking pale blue wings, unfurled, moved swiftly to Draco's side. He knelt, scanning the young wizard's injuries with a professional eye while managing to avoid the chaos around him. His hands glowed softly, channeling healing magic with a focus and intensity that belied his usual quiet demeanor.

Wikhn, with sword still drawn, and Riven, wielding his staff, formed a protective barrier around the group. Their movements were synchronized, a dance of deadly intent and protective fury. Riven’s staff sent arcs of protective magic shimmering through the air, while Wikhn's blade was a blur, deflecting curses and cutting down any dark shadow that ventured too close.

As the battle raged, the stakes became clear: they had been called by a distressed submissive and their Alpha was in a full rage clawing through the crowd of Dark wizards to reach their slowly forming circle.

Wikn and Riven shared a look and you could clearly see they were both concerned about the same thing.  Where the hell was the rest of their circle's gheyos?  

-------------    Arrival of the Nevarah Gheyos---------------------

The frenzied battleground, already chaotic with the mixture of Dragel’s, wizards, and dark forces clashing under the eerie glow of the graveyard's fog, was abruptly illuminated once more by a brilliant flash of white light. This sudden burst heralded the arrival of the rest of the circle's Gheyos.

Shadow/Storm Gheyo Suite

The first to step forward from the burst of light was Hadrian, the Ace of the circle. With inky black wings that seemed to absorb the light around them, he moved with a silent, lethal grace. Known as Death’s Reaper, Hadrian's presence brought an immediate sense of dread to the dark forces. His eyes, cold and resolute, scanned the battlefield, quickly assessing the situation and positioning himself as a formidable front-line defender.

Beside him, the Queen of the circle, Ryker, unfolded his deep purple wings with an air of regal authority. As both a Storm and a Vampire, Ryker harnessed the chaotic energy of the storm with the deadly precision of a night predator. His hands crackled with electric energy, ready to unleash devastating strikes against any who dared approach.

Devrim, the Prince, possessed the unique abilities of a Were Hyena and Realm Runner. His agility and ferocious strength were evident as he leaped into the fray, his snarls adding to the intimidating aura of the circle. As a Realm Runner, he could navigate through the shifting terrains of battle with unnatural speed, disrupting enemy lines and creating openings for his comrades.

Lastly, the Joker of the circle, Teivel, with his dark blue wings unfurled, exuded an eerie calm amidst the chaos. A Shadow Necromancer, Teivel was surrounded by an aura of dark energy that seemed to whisper of the untold power at his command. His control over the shadowy realms allowed him to manipulate the battlefield, summoning spectral forces to harry the opponents and protect his allies.

Blaise Zabini, filled with a sudden and irresistible pull, moved swiftly towards the newly arrived group. His senses, honed through years of navigating the subtle politics and dangers of Slytherin house, now screamed that his true role—his true self—was amongst this powerful and dark suite, specifically as the Princess, a role imbued with its crucial responsibilities and powers.

Blaise’s approach was marked by a sense of revelation and awe, as his deep purple wings unfurled—a sight he'd kept concealed under the guise of a typical Hogwarts student. As he neared, Hadrian, the Ace, turned to acknowledge him with a nod, a silent gesture of acceptance and recognition.

Wikhn also felt an inexplicable draw towards the circle. He obviously had more hesitations than Blaise however could not help but edge closer, drawn by a deep-seated recognition of where his true allegiances and his powers could be most effectively utilized.

Water Gheyo Circle

As the intense battle raged within the eerie confines of the graveyard, a new ripple of energy coursed through the air, heralding the arrival of another Gheyo Suite mainly consisting of Water types. This group appeared with a surge of cool, damp air that momentarily altered the climate of the battleground.

The first to emerge from the swirling mist of their arrival was Kyrim, the Ace of the suite. With the Blood Title of Crimson Tide, Kyrim's presence was both majestic and menacing. His skin shimmered with a subtle iridescence, characteristic of his Merrow heritage, and his eyes held the deep red hue of ocean depths at sunset.

Percy, the King, followed close behind, his bearing regal and his command over water evident as droplets hovered and danced around him, ready to be called into action. His ability to manipulate water in any form made him a formidable ally in the fight.

The Queen, Kyanite, moved with a grace that belied his naturalistic power. As a Silkie, his connection to both water and land gave him an aura of serene authority. His eyes, reflecting the ocean's calm during a storm, scanned the battlefield, assessing where his powers were needed most.

Cascade, the Prince, and Tal, the Princess, both Merrow/Water types, were quick to join the ranks. Cascade’s skills were akin to the tumultuous waterfall, forceful and unrelenting, while Tal, with his Siren Singer abilities, held the power to sway the minds and hearts of those who heard his haunting melodies.

Lastly, Brishen, the Joker, whose lineage included both Water and Phyloix elements, provided an unpredictable edge to the group. He welded a golden trident and was quick to action.

Accompanying them, though not a member of the Gheyo was another man with blue scales and obviously also a merrow. He moved toward the huddled group of Pareya on the ground surrounding there submissive.

Upon their arrival, the Water Gheyo Suite quickly adapted to the chaotic environment of the graveyard. Kyrim, channeling his Crimson Tide, sent waves of pressurized water slicing through the ranks of dark wizards, disorienting them and disrupting their formations. Percy and Kyanite worked in tandem, creating barriers of swirling water that not only protected their allies but also trapped their foes in vortexes of spinning currents. Kyanite amplified these defenses, making them nearly impregnable. Cascade and Tal took a more direct approach. Cascade’s powerful water jets knocked enemies off their feet, while Tal’s siren song wove through the battlefield, sapping the will of their opponents and leading them into traps set by the allied forces. Brishen’s role was dynamic, shifting as the battle required. One moment he was healing a wounded ally with his soothing waters, the next he was scorching an enemy with steam.

The battlefield transformed under their influence, from a dry, eerie graveyard to a dynamic arena of water and mist. Their arrival brought a new wave of hope and momentum to the allied forces, turning what was once a desperate stand into a powerful offensive.

Fire/Air Gheyo Circle

As the battle for the graveyard raged on, with each faction of allies exerting their powers to the fullest, another surge of energy signaled the arrival of the final suite of Gheryo for Draco’s and Harry's Circle they consisted of Fire and Air types. This suite of fighters, known for their control over the elements of fire and air, added a new dimension of ferocity and agility to the ongoing struggle.

Leading the group was Zayden, the Ace of the circle. Bearing the Blood Title and serving as a Royal Guard, Zayden's mastery of fire was unmatched. Flames danced around him, reflecting his fiery spirit and his readiness to defend his allies with fierce determination.

Charlie made his way over and joined the newly arrived group as, the King of the suite. Along with Oliver who would be the price in this newly arrived suite. Zayden side eyed there approach but quickly realized that they too had been called by the soul scream and were simply falling into their roles within the circle.

Idan, the queen of this suite, glided in with the grace of the wind. As a flight instructor, his control over the air was both subtle and powerful, enabling him to manipulate the battlefield’s atmosphere to the group's advantage. Closely followed by his long-term soul-bonded Princess, Minh, who blended his Air and Fae heritage into a unique combat style, using her ethereal abilities to confuse and bewilder the dark forces. The two fought seamlessly side by side.

Lastly, the Joker, Fawkes arrived in a flash of golden flames. His presence was a wildcard, his abilities ranging from regenerative fire to explosive pyrotechnics.

Upon their arrival, Zayden and Charlie unleashed a barrage of fireballs and flaming arcs, cutting swathes through the dark wizards' ranks, while Idan and Oliver created updrafts and wind barriers that redirected enemy spells and cleared smoke and fog, enhancing visibility for their allies.

Minh’s fae magic added an element of mystique, casting illusions that bewildered their foes, making them easy targets for the more direct attacks of his circle mates.

In the midst of this fierce battle, Fawkes, shifted into a magnificent bird form, clutching in his talons a gleaming, red-jeweled sword — the Sword of Gryffindor. Soaring above the chaos, he navigated the tumultuous air currents, created by his own circle, towards their Alpha.

As Fawkes approached, he released the sword, allowing it to spiral downward directly toward Harry. With the battlefield eerily pausing as if in anticipation, Harry reached up, his hand closing around the sword's hilt with a sense of destiny fulfilled. The power of the sword, combined with Harry's own burgeoning abilities, created a moment charged with potential.

With a fierce cry, Harry swung the Sword of Gryffindor in a wide arc, channeling every ounce of his pain, rage, and hope into the blow. The blade met its mark, striking Voldemort with a force that was both physical and symbolic, a blow empowered by the unity and strength of the diverse forces that had come together to support him. As Voldemort faltered and fell, defeated by the combined efforts of the newly formed Cricle, a profound silence fell over the graveyard.

Chapter Text

Harry's heart pounded as he sprinted across the battlefield, eyes locked on Draco. He knew he had changed; however, it was at the back of his mind as all he could focus on was the pale, injured form lying in the dirt. He sheathed his sword hastily, not caring that the blade still dripped with the blood of their enemies. He needed to get to Draco—nothing else mattered. A little voice in the back of his head dared to ask why Draco was so important, however it was ignored.

He dropped to his knees beside Draco, pulling him into his arms with a possessive urgency. "Draco" Harry whispered, his voice trembling. "I'm here. You're going to be all right."

A blond, pale male with distinct scarring around his neck shifted his position to be closer to Draco, continuing to heal him. Harry’s eyes snapped away from Draco, glaring and growling at the new blond he did not recognize. Their green and teal eyes met only for Harry to let out an apologetic noise when his new creature side told him the man was family.

Quinn, already casting another healing spell that glowed with a soft green light, read the resulting parchment and shook his head, looking confused. A slender hand reached over his shoulder to grasp the parchment and lifted it to read. Quinn glared at the taller man with purple eyes that smelled of rain and fog on an evening summer night.

“I am Riven, Storm Mage and royal advisor, let me assist,” said the tall man to Quinn and anyone standing near enough to hear.

Quinn seemed to roll his eyes and used some sort of sign language to communicate with Riven.

“I am not sure what is causing him to have such severe nerve damage either. It is not something I have encountered before.” Quinn's face seemed a bit smug for a moment as if saying, "I told you so," but it quickly darkened as he realized that the two healers of the group did not know what plagued the submissive.

Harry growled deeply, not able to speak at the moment. George finally stepped forward; he did not want to interrupt the new stranger who seemed to have more healing knowledge than himself. However, how they were not able to diagnose a simple Crucio was beyond him. George held out a small vial of potion.

“Here, this will ease the damage,” he pulled out another potion. “This one will help with the pain.”

Both Quinn and Riven stared at him for a few seconds. Riven quickly demanded, “Introduction?”

“George Weasley, a medic in training. Draco was hit by one of the unforgivable curses that causes you to feel pain. It is a torture curse.”

Both stepped back and allowed George to treat Draco. They watched closely and, as a result, noticed how Harry seemed to relax with George close by, even going as far as leaning forward to scent the redhead.
George moved with practiced ease, his hands steady as he administered the potions. Draco’s body seemed to respond almost immediately, the tension easing from his muscles, and a faint color returning to his cheeks. Harry, still cradling Draco protectively, watched intently, his expression softening.
Quinn and Riven exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Quinn’s earlier frustration melted away, replaced by a sense of relief. Riven, though still curious about George’s knowledge, nodded approvingly.
“Thank you, George,” Riven said, his voice genuinely appreciative.
George nodded, his attention still on Draco. “I’ve seen this curse too many times. It’s brutal, but treatable if you know what you’re doing.”
Riven stepped closer, his purple eyes studying Draco’s now-relaxed form. “We’ll need to monitor him closely. The aftereffects of Crucio can be unpredictable. But for now, he’s stable.”
Harry tightened his grip on Draco, his fingers trembling as they brushed through Draco's platinum hair. Draco stirred slightly, his eyelids fluttering open.
Draco took a moment to look at the faces hovering above him. He looked down to where Harry had his arms wrapped around his waist. Looking back up, he noticed the large dragon-like wings that hovered behind Harry. They were huge, with a green sheen in the moonlight and silver lightning strikes stretching down from the top.
Draco’s face scrunched up in confusion. "Potter..." Draco's voice was weak, but hearing it was enough to make Harry's heart soar. “What in the name of Merlin is happening….” His voice tapered off as his head swiveled to take in the others in the clearing. “Why the hell does everyone have scales?” he said, his voice raising an octave.
Theodor quickly pushed his way to Draco's side. “It's fine, it's okay, I can explain.” His left hand ran soothingly down Draco's arm. “When you were hit with the Crucio from the Dark Lord”—Harry glared and let out a growl at the name. Waving a dismissive hand in Harry's direction, Theo said, “Sush, you killed him. No need to growl.” “Anyway, it triggered a creature inheritance. Congratulations, you are a submissive Dragel.”
Draco’s eyes widened as he processed Theodor’s words, his gaze darting from one face to another in the clearing. The word "Dragel" hung in the air, its meaning slowly sinking in. His confusion was palpable, a mixture of fear and disbelief washing over him.

“A submissive Dragel?” Draco echoed; his voice shaky. He looked down at his own body, noting the iridescent scales swirling over his hands and arms, the long-curved talons at his fingertips, and the ache in his back. He was sure that if he turned to look over his shoulder, he would find large wings like the rest of the people around him. He closed his eyes, not daring to look at the moment. Instead, he focused on the soothing warmth of Harry’s arms around him, grounding him in reality.

Harry’s grip tightened, his wings twitching slightly in response to Draco’s rising panic. “Yes, Draco,” Harry said softly, his voice a calming balm. “You’ve inherited a creature form. We all have. It’s why we have scales and wings.”

Draco’s gaze shifted to Harry’s wings, the green sheen with silver lightning strikes mesmerizing under the moonlight. He reached out a trembling hand, tentatively brushing his fingers against the soft membrane. “And you, Potter? What are you?”

“A dominant Dragel,” Harry replied, his eyes never leaving Draco’s “A dominant Dragel,” Harry replied, his eyes never leaving Draco’s. “Just like Theo and the others. We’re here to protect and care for you.”

Draco’s breath hitched, a myriad of emotions swirling within him. He felt a strange mixture of vulnerability and relief, knowing that he was surrounded by those who understood and could guide him through this transformation. “This is… a lot to take in,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Theo’s hand continued to run soothingly down Draco’s arm, his touch reassuring. “I know it’s overwhelming, but we’re here for you. We’ll help you adjust and understand.”

Harry was quick to follow up with another research. “We’ll figure it out together, Draco. You’re not alone in this.”

Draco’s pupils suddenly narrow as his creature side takes over. He lunges for Harry's neck and sinks his fangs in. Harry’s hand instinctively rises to cradle the back of Draco's head and encourage him to drink. When Draco finally unlatches his fangs, Harry is quick to reciprocate with a quick but deep bite in the same location. They both feel a shift and click in their Soul as a silver string snaps into place bridging the distance between them.

Draco lets out an inquisitive noise and Theo is quick to answer. “You just bonded with Potter, I assume he is our Alpha,” Theo sends a smirk in Harry’s direction. “That is why you bit him first, I assume your instincts will want your Beta next, you have called a large circle so I assume we will have a Rehyo and a Beta.” Theo holds his arm out “Here I am one of the betas we can decide who takes the Rehyo position later.”

Draco lets out a happy chirp as his instincts agree and latches his fangs into Theo’s forearm. Theo reciprocates and the band snaps in place for them as well.

Draco’s head snaps around seeking out his other beta as Tho and Harry have a staring contest. He notices Neville Longbottom and his creature side cheers. While Theo and Harry are distracted with each other he wiggles out of their hold to move to Neville.
While Neville started at Hogwarts as a disorganized and seemingly weak wizard. His years at Hogwarts and growing friendship with Harry had blossomed into confidence. He stood tall with a brown tee shirt that hugged his arms just right.

Draco stopped in front of him and had to look up to see his face. After his inheritance over the summer, Neville had grown very tall. “You don’t have wings or scales,” states Draco bluntly, “but my creature says you are my beta too.”

Neville smiles “That is because I am not a Dragel, I am a druid.”

Draco takes a moment to let the statement settle in his mind and nods. He reaches up and taps a finger over Neville’s heart, “I want is right there.”

Neville nods and swiftly, takes off his shirt, and kneels to the ground all the while scooping Draco into his lap. They both feel the shift and click of the bond fully forming.

“Next you will want the Pareya, they are the protectors and providers of the group in many different ways.”

Draco's eyes trace over the assembled group. He notices some pretty scary and large figures in their group holding all types of weapons. “What about them?” he asks Neville.

“That would be the Gheyos, best to leave them to the end, so that way they might have a semblance of an idea of what order you should claim them in. Don’t worry about that too much the Ace of each group will lead you through that when the time comes.”