Now that all those rescued creatures were here, Slytherin Castle wasn't just a fortress anymore — it also turned into a sanctuary.
They split work without arguing. Everyone already knew what they were doing.
Charles, Joseph, and David handled relocation and fencing. Jason and Cassia handled wards. Sam and Regina handled people. Cassandra helped whenever she could. Harry handled everything that wasn't covered.
The first priority was the dragon.
They have a dragon here. Not a pet. A real fire breathing dragon.
That alone would've gotten every single one of them in deep trouble if the Ministry really knew.
So they needed to make sure the dragon don't cause any trouble.
They picked a spot just inside the treeline, on the edge of the old forest behind Slytherin Castle. The ground there sloped into the earth, and below the roots and rock there was already a natural hollow. The Court widened it. With magic, with muscle, with help from house-elves who could move stone like it was bread dough.
By the time they finished, it wasn't a hollow anymore. It was a lair.
A cavern big enough for a dragon to stretch inside without brushing a wingtip. Ceiling arched like a cathedral. Floor smoothed and reinforced with layered stone and charms. The entrance was angled and wide — a sloped tunnel leading out into the open where the dragon could launch easily.
Charles had taken the lead there. He wasn't a scholar. He wasn't noble-born. He didn't complete Hogwarts. But he'd fought for a long time, and he watched. He learned. He remembered.
"Dragons don't like open space," he told everyone. "They like dens. They like defensible ground. Somewhere they choose, not somewhere they're put. Caves are territory — caves mean power."
So the lair wasn't built like a pen.
It was built like a throne.
Harry was the one who chose the name.
They were all standing at the mouth of the cavern when the dragon finally went inside for the first time. The huge creature — green-scaled, young but already lethal, wings broad and ragged from restraint — dipped its horned head and stalked forward quietly, tail moving with slow, deliberate weight.
Harry stepped forward and reached out, letting his palm rest against the dragon's jaw. The bond still lingered between them. Not full — not the raw merged-consciousness from the harbor — but enough that Harry could feel what the dragon felt if he focused.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Relief.
"You need a name," Harry said softly.
The Serpent Court watched him, waiting.
"Salazar," he said. "You'll be Salazar."
No one argued. No one said it was strange that he was naming a dragon after Salazar Slytherin.
They all just… accepted it. Like it was obvious.
Jason nodded first. "Fitting," he said quietly. "The founder would approve."
Cassia smirked. "Let's hope the founder also approves of a dragon flying patrol over his castle."
The name settled in like it had always belonged. Salazar.
[You have named a bonded creature: "Salazar."]
[Relationship Updated: Salazar the Dragon — Status: Loyal | Territory-Bound]
[Passive Effect Unlocked: Castle Guardian – While within Slytherin Castle grounds, threat level against allied members decreases by 40%.]
Salazar rumbled in approval — a deep chest sound that shook the air.
From that day onward, the dragon stopped sleeping out in the trees. It took the cavern as its den, curled its body around a raised mound of smoothed stone like a cat tucking around a pillow. It scraped lines into the floor — claiming it. Marking it.
And every evening, just after dusk, Salazar would leave the lair.
Harry watched from the battlements the first time.
Huge wings unfolded in the moonlight. The dragon stepped forward, crouched low, and then launched, beating upward hard enough to send leaves and loose dirt flying across the clearing.
Salazar circled the ruined edge of the old forest. Then the treeline. Then the castle.
Not attacking. Not hunting.
Patrolling.
By morning, Salazar was always back in the cave — quiet, coiled, watchful. And the house-elves had already learned the pattern.
"Master Harry, sir," one of the elves piped up nervously, wringing her hands, "Salazar is wanting meat. A lot of meat. Three cows last night. Four maybe tonight, Master Harry, sir."
Harry didn't even hesitate. "Feed him," he said. "Fresh. Clean. No tainted cuts."
"Yes, Master Harry," Tilly said, eyes shining so bright she was nearly glowing. "Tilly will look after the dragon. Tilly is not scared at all. Tilly is only… respectfully cautious."
Respectfully cautious meant she squeaked every time Salazar breathed too loud, but she still marched trays of raw meat right to the edge of the lair and bowed.
The dragon accepted the service.
The dragon accepted them.
That mattered.
Because for all the Serpent Court's plans and talk and strategy, the truth was simple:
They were sitting on something the Ministry would kill to control.
They were sitting on something pure-blood lords would kill to own.
They were sitting on something wizards would kill just to say they killed it.
Cassandra had been buried in Auror work for days, but even she stopped when the moon turned silver. It was the full moon — and Lycan's Refuge was alive.
Hundreds of footsteps echoed through the marble halls of the Zeus Hotel. Cloaked figures passed the front desk one by one, their eyes dim yet filled with anticipation. The Serpent Court members froze when they saw the crowd.
[Event Triggered: Full Moon Assembly]
Estimated Werewolves Present: 302
For most of them, it was the first time witnessing so many werewolves in one place. Yet the atmosphere wasn't hostile — it was communal. Old rivals greeted each other with nods; laughter mixed with howls of recognition.
In the open hall of Lycan's Refuge, cauldrons steamed with Wolfsbane Potion, the air thick with bitter herbs and silver mist. The Serpent Court helped distribute the doses — Sam, Regina, Jason, and Cassandra managing the queues.
Those who could afford it paid in gold; those who couldn't were quietly covered by others. Among the werewolves, generosity ran deeper than coin.
Faction: Lycan's Refuge
Reputation: +75
Status: Allied
Rumors spread in hushed voices through the crowd. They spoke a name with reverence, one that carried equal parts awe and loyalty:
"Loki Wolfmoon."
That was what they called Harry — their savior.
Even without commanding them, Harry had already built an army. More than three hundred werewolves who would bare their fangs against anyone who threatened him. Yet Harry himself never ordered them; he only brewed their freedom.
As the cauldrons cooled and the moon hung high, Regina shared her story.
She spoke of the night she first met him — the night of her curse. How a young boy had stopped her rampage, bound her in moonlight, and helped her instead of a killing.
"He didn't run," Regina said softly. "He stayed with me until sunrise.
It started with one cauldron.
Now Harry brewed thousands of doses each month, each sealed in the Inventory and distributed by The Serpent Court. Every potion made with care, every vial a quiet rebellion against cruelty.
The following three days passed in a blur of silver light and exhaustion.
The Serpent Court had worked without rest—helping distribute wolfsbane, tending to the transformed, and managing the flow of nearly three hundred werewolves through the hotel.
When the moon finally waned and the Refuge emptied, silence returned to the Zeus Hotel.
For the first time in days, everyone could breathe.
Harry sat in the lounge, sipping tea while the house-elves cleaned up crates of empty potion bottles. Cassandra approached him quietly, her hair tied back and eyes tired yet determined.
"Harry," she said softly, "I wanted to ask… may I stay at Slytherin Castle for a while? There are so many empty rooms, and—well, my friend's getting married. They'll be moving into the flat I've been sharing."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"So you're getting evicted by matrimony?"
She chuckled nervously.
"You could say that."
Harry set the teacup down, considering her request. The castle indeed had rooms—dozens of them—but Slytherin Castle wasn't a place for guests.
"You can't stay there," he said finally. "Slytherin Castle's wards are still ancient and unpredictable. Even I haven't explored every section yet."
Cassandra looked disappointed, but Harry wasn't finished.
"But," he continued, "I do have another place. A small property here in Knockturn Alley. Quiet. Secure. You can use it as long as you like."
[Potter Residence – Knockturn Alley]
Type: Private Safehouse
Security Rating: B+
Wards Active: Anti-Apparition, Anti-Scrying, Blood Ownership Seal
Harry escorted her through the twisting alleys of Knockturn. Lanterns flickered, hags whispered in shadows, and the faint smell of potion fumes hung in the air. Finally, they arrived at a narrow townhouse tucked between two crooked potion stores.
The inside was surprisingly warm — polished wood floors, silver chandeliers, and faint green runes glowing along the walls.
"It's… beautiful," Cassandra whispered.
"It's functional," Harry corrected, though a faint smile tugged his lips. "The fireplace connects directly to the hotel floo network. And the basement's warded. Don't use the back door; it leads to a Cursed chapel."
Harry guided Cassandra through the house, stopping before a polished mahogany door opposite his own bedroom.
"This will be your room," he said. "Right across from mine. If you need anything, the wards will respond to your touch."
Cassandra's trunk was already in her pocket — shrunk to the size of a matchbox. With a wave of her wand and the word Engorgio, it returned to its normal size and landed neatly beside the bed. The trunk opened itself, unpacking robes, scrolls, and a few old Auror manuals.
As she arranged her belongings, Cassandra asked, half-amused, half-curious:
"Harry… or do I have to call you Lord Blackfyre? How does someone your age own a castle, a hotel, and a safehouse in Nocturne Alley?"
Harry smiled faintly, standing by the doorframe.
"Let's just say… I had great amount of luck. I'll explain when things calm down. For now—"
He paused, turning serious.
"I actually need your help."
Cassandra looked up, confused.
"My help? You already solved my housing problem."
"Exactly," Harry said, walking closer. "Now you'll solve mine."
He sat on the edge of the desk, arms folded.
"You see… from the Ministry's point of view, I'm still an underage wizard. Which means they can drag me back to my muggle relatives anytime they want—or worse, hand me over to someone I don't trust."
Cassandra frowned. "They wouldn't—"
"They would," Harry interrupted quietly. "I've seen how they work. They'll do what's legal, not what's right."
There was a brief silence between them. The lamplight flickered, casting long shadows across the room.
"So what do you want me to do?" she asked.
"I want you to be my magical guardian. Discreetly. Just enough paperwork to keep the Ministry away."
Cassandra blinked, stunned by the request. "You want me to… adopt you?"
Harry shrugged lightly.
"Only on parchment. You'd be my legal guardian in the wizarding world. It won't change much otherwise—but it'll make me untouchable from the Ministry's side."
Cassandra hesitated. "That's… a lot of responsibility, Harry."
"I know," he said softly. "But you're the only person I know, who's inside the Ministry."
She sighed, running a hand through her hair.
"You really do know how to make people say yes, don't you?"
"That's the plan," Harry replied with a smirk.
When Cassandra returned from her Auror duties the next day, the aroma of warm food filled the little house. She opened the door to find Harry waiting at the dining table, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a silver pan. Steam curled upward, laced with butter and spice.
[Cooking Skill +1]
[Cooking Lv. 15 → Lv. 16]
The moment she tasted the meal, her eyes widened. The texture, the flavor — everything was perfection.
"This is divine," Cassandra muttered between bites. "If you keep cooking like this, I'm never moving out."
Harry smiled faintly, resting his chin on his hand.
"Good to know. I'll use that as leverage later."
After dinner, they sat together in the quiet. The lantern on the wall flickered softly as Cassandra explained what she'd done that day.
"I went to the Ministry," she began. "Filed the forms, spoke to Records, even slipped a few galleons to the right people. Everything's ready. All that's left is the signature — yours and mine. Once that's done, you'll be legally under my guardianship."
Harry's eyes brightened.
"So … it's done?"
"Almost," she replied. "Tomorrow morning, we go sign. That's all."
They sat in silence for a while before Cassandra tilted her head curiously.
"You know, Harry, you've been living here in Knockturn Alley for almost a year. No Ministry raids, no relatives showing up. Why worry now?"
Harry leaned back, expression darkening.
"Because they found me."
"They?"
"The Weasleys," he said quietly. "They were my parents' friends — part of the same old Order. They'll tell Dumbledore … and once he knows, he'll try to move me. Either back to the Dursleys or under some 'safe' guardian I barely know."
He looked at her, voice low but steady.
"I'm not letting anyone cage me again, Cassandra. That's why I need the adoption — to make sure the Ministry has no legal claim over me."
Cassandra sighed, half-amused, half-resigned.
"You really do plan three moves ahead, don't you?"
"Only when survival's part of the game," Harry said, a small smirk forming.
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