章 18: Chapter 17
Bellatrix Lestrange, flanked by Sirius Black and Kingsley Shacklebolt, marched up to Gringotts like she was on a mission straight out of an action flick. The marble facade of the wizarding bank loomed above Diagon Alley, looking all high-and-mighty in the sunlight. Inside, the cool air and the rhythmic clacking of their shoes on the floor made everything feel tenser than a Quidditch match during the final game of the season.
Bellatrix, wearing her best "I've got this" face, approached the front desk where a goblin with a nose sharp enough to cut through metal was manning the counter. His eyes, if they could be any sharper, would probably need their own spell to avoid poking someone's eye out.
"Madam Lestrange," the goblin said, eyeing Bellatrix with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "How may Gringotts assist you today?"
Bellatrix took a deep breath, as if she were about to give a TED Talk on why she should be allowed into her own vault. "I need access to my vault."
"And these two?" the goblin asked, his gaze flickering toward Kingsley and Sirius as if they were a pair of overgrown kittens.
"They're here to help me," Bellatrix said, sounding like she was presenting her backup singers for a big performance.
The goblin's curiosity was piqued, but he wisely kept his questions to himself. With a snap of his fingers that could rival any magician's grand finale, he summoned a second goblin to guide them to the carts that would take them into the bowels of Gringotts.
As they clambered into the cart, Sirius kept his eyes peeled for any signs of impending doom. Kingsley, on the other hand, had that look of a seasoned pro who was ready for anything—like someone who knew he might have to dodge a few curses before lunch.
The cart shot down the tracks with all the subtlety of a roller coaster, the wind whipping through their hair and the sounds of wheels clanging against rails echoing off the walls. It was a thrilling ride, though not the kind you'd find in a theme park.
When they finally arrived at Bellatrix's vault, the goblin guide swung open the door with the kind of flourish usually reserved for stage curtains. Inside, the vault was a treasure trove of glittering gold, sparkling jewels, and, of course, a small, ornate cup sitting on a pedestal like it was waiting for its moment in the spotlight.
Bellatrix stepped forward with the kind of determination usually reserved for final boss battles. Kingsley placed a hand on her arm, looking like he was about to deliver some sage advice. "Careful," he warned. "We don't know what kind of protections might be on it."
Sirius, ever the practical one, pulled out a small bag that looked like it might be magical but definitely wasn't from any old shopping spree. "Let's grab the cup and get out of here before the vault decides it wants to redecorate with us."
As they carefully retrieved the cup, Kingsley and Sirius exchanged a glance that said, "This is going to be one of those stories we tell later with dramatic pauses and lots of 'you had to be there' moments."
Bellatrix, though outwardly calm, was a whirlwind of emotions inside. Forced into the Death Eater ranks by a cursed marriage contract, she was now helping the very people she'd once seen as enemies. The irony wasn't lost on her, but it was her chance to make things right.
"Let's move," Kingsley urged, his voice steady and reassuring.
The trio made their way back to the surface, their nerves buzzing as if they were about to step into a high-stakes game of hide-and-seek. Each shadow seemed to whisper promises of danger, and the cart ride back felt like a prelude to an epic showdown.
Emerging from Gringotts, Kingsley kept a firm but gentle grip on Bellatrix, leading her through the bustling streets of Diagon Alley toward a secured apparition point. Bellatrix's gaze occasionally darted to the cup, her resolve as unwavering as ever.
With a quiet pop, Kingsley and Bellatrix disapparated, heading straight to the Ministry of Magic. Sirius took a deep breath, readying himself for the next stage of their mission. With another pop, he vanished, aiming straight for the Bones Family Estate. The race was on, and the stakes couldn't have been higher.
---
At the Bones Family Estate, the air was thick with tension. In the cozy drawing room, Amelia Bones stood tall and stoic, her eyes flicking from Remus Lupin to Harry Potter, who sat on a plush chair beside her niece, Susan Bones. Harry was calm—well, mostly calm. Drakor, his symbiote dragon, was currently wrapped around him like a living, iridescent scarf, blending seamlessly into his skin. Every now and then, Drakor's scales shimmered, giving Harry an almost magical glow, which was entirely normal... for him.
Sirius Black suddenly popped into the room with a quiet crack, holding a small, fancy cup like it was a ticking time bomb. Spoiler alert: it basically was.
Amelia rose from her seat, her voice firm. "You have it."
Sirius nodded, looking like he'd just finished running a marathon. "Yup, but we need to be very, very careful with this thing. It's... well, it's evil."
Drakor's voice slid into Harry's mind.
Pfft, evil? Please, I've eaten worse things for breakfast.
Drakor, Harry mentally sighed, not the time.
Always the time, Potter. Besides, I'm about to save the day... again. Drakor was practically preening in Harry's mind, already gearing up for the dramatic flair he'd no doubt use to destroy the Horcrux.
Amelia turned to Harry, her face stern but not unkind. "Harry, we need Drakor to destroy this. It's too dangerous to handle any other way."
"Right," Harry said, as if they were discussing what to have for tea. "Drakor, it's all yours."
Drakor, who had been mentally flexing in the mirror of Harry's mind (yes, Drakor gave himself mental muscles), straightened up. About time. Watch and learn, mortals.
Drakor unraveled from Harry's neck, taking his full, sleek dragon form. He gave a toothy grin, his scales shimmering with excitement. With a single fluid motion, he snapped up the cup, his jaws closing around it. There was a tense moment where his scales flickered, and dark, ominous energy pulsed around him like some cheesy movie villain's aura.
Oh, this tickles! Drakor thought to Harry with a laugh, though his tone shifted a little. Okay, yeah, I'm going to need a second here… this thing's feisty.
A few seconds passed, and then with a final shudder, Drakor's body glowed, the dark energy absorbed into his being. He let out a dramatic growl, his eyes gleaming.
"It is done," Drakor announced with the gravity of someone who'd just won an award for Best Horcrux Slayer. Seriously though, I deserve a trophy.
Harry felt the weight lift off his shoulders as Drakor reattached himself, turning back into that familiar scarf-like form. A surge of strength filled Harry, and he smiled. Thanks, buddy.
Anytime. Just don't forget to feed me later. Evil artifacts are great, but a snack wouldn't hurt.
Sirius let out a breath of relief, rubbing his face. "With the cup and the diary gone, we've got three more to go."
"Salazar Slytherin's Locket, Marvolo Gaunt's Ring, and Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem," Remus recited with the energy of someone listing chores. Fun, dark, cursed chores.
Amelia folded her arms, ever the no-nonsense type. "We already know where they are, thanks to Drakor."
Drakor puffed up a little at that, mentally patting himself on the back. I'm pretty much the star of this show. Don't worry, I'll make sure you all get autographs later.
Drakor, you're not that famous. Harry quipped internally.
Excuse you, Potter. I am legendary.
Remus' eyes brightened as a hopeful tone crept into his voice. "Then let's get to it. We can't let Voldemort rebuild his strength."
Amelia, always the practical one, added, "The locket and the ring are warded with powerful curses. We'll need a Cursebreaker."
"Bill Weasley," Susan chimed in. "He's a Cursebreaker for Gringotts, remember?"
Remus nodded, clearly impressed. "He's young, but he's one of the best."
Sirius clapped his hands together. "I'll talk to him first thing tomorrow. We can't waste any time."
Amelia gave a firm nod. "While Sirius arranges that, the rest of us can prepare. We need to be ready."
Drakor, still basking in the glow of his recent triumph, whispered into Harry's mind. I'm telling you, Potter. Once this is over, we're writing a book. 'Harry Potter and Drakor: The Dynamic Duo.' It's going to be huge.
Right, Harry chuckled internally. Maybe we'll even get a movie deal.
Only if I get to do my own stunts.
—
Meanwhile, in some musty, dimly lit room that probably hadn't seen a cleaning spell since the 1800s, a ragtag bunch of Death Eaters sat huddled together like kids planning a prank—except, you know, with way more malicious intent. These weren't your top-tier Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy was probably sipping expensive wine in a prison cell somewhere, but these guys? They were the scrappy leftovers who managed to slip through the cracks, like that piece of toast you can never get out of the toaster.
Scabior, who had the kind of gleam in his eye that said, I'm definitely up to no good, leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "We need to hit back," he hissed, his grin as crooked as the rest of him. "Show 'em they didn't break us. We gotta avenge our mates who got pinched."
A guy with a scar so big it looked like it had its own postcode grunted in agreement. "Yeah, but how? The Ministry's got everyone on lockdown. We can't just waltz in there like it's a day at Diagon Alley."
Scabior's eyes darted around the group. Clearly, he thought of himself as the brains of the operation. "The Bones family," he said, smiling like he'd just figured out how to cheat at wizard chess. "Big names, respected, but not Ministry or Hogwarts level of security. We take them out, we send a message."
The others nodded, clearly loving this idea way too much. A woman with dark hair and an expression like she smelled something bad chimed in. "Amelia Bones is one of the Ministry's best. Hurting her family? That'll make 'em feel it. Real personal."
Then, from the back of the group, the lankiest Death Eater—seriously, this guy looked like he hadn't eaten since the first wizarding war—piped up. "And don't forget, Harry Potter's staying there now." His grin was all teeth and no warmth. "Take him out? Biggest win ever."
Well, that did it. The group practically buzzed with excitement now, like they were about to storm a Quidditch pitch instead of someone's house. Scabior's grin stretched even wider, as if he'd just been handed the winning ticket to the Dark Mark Lottery.
"Alright, then," Scabior said, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain. "Tonight, we make an example of the Bones family. And if Potter's there? Even better."
The room filled with nods and murmurs of agreement as they prepared for their little "mission." If they were any more pumped up, they'd probably start chanting. Wands? Check. Dark cloaks? Check. Lack of moral compass? Absolutely.
They Disapparated to a dark, secluded area near the Bones estate, and let's be real—this lot was about as stealthy as a herd of trolls. The estate loomed in the distance, quiet and peaceful. Too bad that was about to change. Scabior, now in full villain mode, gave them one last pep talk.
"Quick and hard, no mercy," he growled, because obviously no one here had any plans for subtlety. "We'll leave them a message they won't forget."
With spirits high and brains, well, not so much, the ten Death Eaters moved toward the estate, each step echoing their thirst for revenge. They were ready to make a statement—and hopefully, for them, not the kind that ended up with them in Azkaban.
—
The group of ten Death Eaters crept toward the Bones family estate like a bunch of sneaky toddlers sneaking cookies. Except, you know, with a lot more dark magic and evil intent. Scabior, their fearless leader, was in front, probably feeling like a low-rent Voldemort. He raised his wand, trying to bypass the estate's wards with the confidence of a guy who's hacked a few Wi-Fi passwords in his day.
Spoiler: He was not that guy.
The second his spell touched the wards, the entire property lit up like Diagon Alley at Christmas. A shimmering wall of magic flashed, and an alarm went off so loud it probably woke up Merlin from the grave. The Death Eaters froze. The night that was supposed to be quiet and sneaky was now full-on rave mode.
"Bloody hell!" Scabior hissed, his plan unraveling faster than a cheap sweater. "We've triggered the wards! Move fast, before someone comes to ruin the fun!"
Fun, apparently, was subjective.
Inside the Bones estate, Amelia Bones and company were already in motion. Amelia looked like she was ready to take on an army, which was pretty much accurate. "Prepare to defend!" she shouted, her voice sharp and steady. In any other situation, that would've been a total mic-drop moment.
But, of course, when you've got a dragon-symbiote situation going on, things tend to escalate quickly.
"Actually, we've got this," came a voice so calm it could've narrated a meditation app. Drakor. You know, the Klyntar Symbiote Dragon attached to Harry. Because, why not?
In seconds, Harry began to shift. His body elongated, sleek black skin covered him like some seriously intense armor. Wings sprouted from his back, and oh yeah, a massive dragon head emerged. Just a casual Tuesday transformation. A bright red and gold symbol flared on his chest, like a personalized logo that screamed, "I mean business, but also, I'm fabulous."
Amelia, Sirius, Remus, and Susan? Jaw meet floor.
Inside Harry's head, Drakor's voice piped up, "I know, I know. We look amazing. You're welcome, by the way."
Harry rolled his eyes mentally. "Can we just handle this?"
Drakor snickered. "Relax, partner. We'll have these guys running back to their mummy in no time."
Without another word, Harry/Drakor burst out of the house, smashing through the front door like it was tissue paper. The Death Eaters, who were still trying to figure out which way was up after the whole "magic alarm" situation, stared in absolute horror.
"W-What is that?!" one of them screeched, because, you know, Death Eaters aren't exactly known for their bravery when things get weird.
"Attack it!" Scabior shouted, trying to regain control of the rapidly disintegrating situation. Spells flew through the air, lighting up the night like a wizarding laser show.
"Aw, they're trying so hard," Drakor laughed in Harry's head, swatting spells away like they were annoying bugs. "Ten points for enthusiasm, zero for execution."
Harry just sighed, his wings flaring wide as he launched himself into the fray. In a blur of claws and wings, he knocked three Death Eaters out of commission before they even knew what hit them.
Inside his head, Drakor was having the time of his life. "Y'know, for a bunch of wannabe villains, they're really squishy. Like, is it just me, or do they go down faster than—"
"Focus!" Harry mentally shouted, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his draconic mouth. It was hard to stay serious when you shared headspace with a symbiote that had the energy of a hyperactive puppy.
The Death Eaters were panicking now. Spells flying, limbs flailing, general chaos. One particularly brave (read: foolhardy) Death Eater charged at Harry/Drakor with a wild scream, wand raised.
Bad move.
Harry grabbed him with one swift motion, lifted him up, and with a sickening crunch, bit his head clean off.
"Mmm, tastes like chicken," Drakor quipped, smacking his draconic lips. "Or, I dunno, wizard? Do wizards have a flavor? Is that weird?"
Harry could almost feel the symbiote's grin. "Definitely weird, but also… kinda delicious. I'll give you that one."
The Death Eaters were officially freaking out. One of them tripped over his own feet, eyes wide with horror. "It's eating them! Merlin, it's eating them like—like—like chocolate!"
At this, Harry/Drakor paused mid-battle, tilting his massive head toward the terrified Death Eater. "Chocolate?" Harry's voice rang out, though it was darker, more dragon-like. "This is so much better than chocolate."
"Chocolate? Puh-lease," Drakor chimed in privately. "This is gourmet, baby."
The remaining Death Eaters were now fleeing in every direction, their "master plan" crumbling faster than a Slytherin's excuses when caught in the act.
Scabior, who had been watching this whole debacle from the back, finally realized things had gone south. "Retreat!" he screamed, but there was nowhere to go. Harry/Drakor swooped in, wings spread wide, and grabbed Scabior by the throat.
"Ooh, I like this one. He's crunchy," Drakor mused in Harry's mind.
Scabior, choking and sputtering, tried to beg. "Please… no…" he wheezed, his eyes wide with terror.
Harry sighed mentally, feeling the weight of the symbiote's exhilaration. "Do we have to?"
"Eh, fine. You're no fun," Drakor grumbled. But with one swift motion, Harry ended it. Scabior's body went limp, and the last of the Death Eaters was no more.
As the dust settled, Harry shifted back to his human form. Drakor, satisfied and still buzzing with energy, retreated, leaving Harry standing amidst the carnage.
"See?" Drakor whispered in Harry's mind, "I told you this would be fun. We're like the best superhero/dragon team ever. Maybe we should get capes next time."
Harry just shook his head, walking back toward the house, feeling both exhausted and victorious. Inside, the Bones family was waiting, eyes wide with awe.
Susan stepped forward, voice trembling, but her smile bright. "Thank you, Harry. You saved us all."
Drakor's voice chimed in Harry's mind, "Saved them? Pfft. We totally stole the show."
And, honestly? Drakor wasn't wrong.
—-
Sirius, Amelia, and Remus stood frozen, staring at the battlefield that had once been the Bones family's front yard. The air was thick with the smell of burnt robes and, well… things no one wanted to think about too hard. Silence stretched between them, the kind of silence that's awkward for exactly five seconds before someone has to say something.
Naturally, Sirius was the first to break. "So... I'm guessing Drakor prefers his midnight snacks extra crispy?" He gave a lopsided grin, trying way too hard to lighten the mood. He wasn't about to let a little thing like mass carnage ruin his evening.
Amelia raised an eyebrow, still half in shock, half in I'm never inviting Harry to dinner again mode. "I was under the impression dragons ate sheep... not, you know, Death Eaters."
Remus, ever the sensible one, scratched his head like he was trying to find a logical explanation. Which, let's face it, there wasn't. "It's… definitely not something you see every day," he said, his voice somewhere between weary and just another Tuesday in the life of Harry Potter.
Amelia turned to Sirius, the edge of her lips twitching in a wry smile. "Maybe you should consider opening up that candy shop you keep talking about. You know, before Drakor gets too attached to the other kind of treats."
Sirius snorted, clearly relieved they were going the humor route rather than the oh my god, Harry just ate people route. "Noted. I'll make sure to stock up on something a little less… bite-sized next time."
Remus finally cracked a smile, the tension breaking as they all shared a brief, almost ridiculous laugh. Because what else can you do after watching your best friend turn into a dragon and snack on the bad guys like they're candy?
"Harry's got a flair for the dramatic," Remus added, looking back at the mess. "But then, I suppose we always knew that."
Sirius shrugged, clapping Amelia on the shoulder. "Well, at least we know who not to mess with at the next family reunion."
Amelia chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief, but the laughter felt good. It was the kind of moment that reminded them all that, even in the darkest situations, it was the people around you—the ones who could still crack jokes when the world was upside down—that made all the difference.
—
Moody stormed into the estate like he was auditioning for the role of "Most Intimidating Entrance Ever." His magical eye was spinning like a top, taking in everything—the shattered furniture, the scorch marks, and, of course, Harry, who looked way too calm for someone who had just fought off a bunch of Death Eaters with his pet symbiote dragon.
"What in Merlin's beard happened here?" Moody growled, his voice the verbal equivalent of gravel being dumped from a truck.
Amelia stepped forward, ever the picture of professionalism. "We were attacked by Death Eaters," she said, like this was just a regular Tuesday for her. "But Harry and Drakor handled it."
Moody's magical eye zeroed in on Harry, then shifted to Drakor, who was happily lounging inside Harry's head. His expression didn't change much—let's be real, Moody always looked like he was on the verge of yelling at someone—but there was a glint of approval in his good eye.
"Good work, Potter. And Drakor," Moody added, his tone grudging but sincere.
In Harry's mind, Drakor was already doing a celebratory jig. Oh, did you hear that, Harry? Mr. Moody-Who-Looks-Like-He-Eats-Rocks gave us a compliment. I think we should get a medal. Maybe two.
Harry, as usual, ignored Drakor's commentary, though he couldn't help the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We did what we had to do," Harry said simply, trying to sound humble, which was hard when you had a dragon in your head doing cartwheels of excitement.
Moody turned to Amelia, his tone softening in a way that probably surprised even him. "Everyone alright?"
Amelia nodded. "Thanks to Harry and Drakor, we're unharmed," she said, giving Harry a look that was part gratitude, part please don't let that thing eat any more Death Eaters.
Drakor's mental voice was almost pouting now. See? Everyone's fine! And you're always so worried about my dietary choices. I only eat bad guys, okay? He paused. Well, unless you bring me some of those delicious treacle tarts you humans are always going on about.
Moody grunted his approval, but his eye was already scanning the room again, no doubt calculating how much paperwork this was going to cause. "Good. But we can't let any of this get into the official report," he said, all business again.
Before anyone could respond, Sirius piped up from the corner, a smirk on his face. "Oh yeah, that'll be fun to explain. 'You see, Minister, our best defense against Death Eaters is Harry Potter's personal dragon symbiote. He just, you know, eats them.' That'll go over so well with the press."
Amelia stifled a laugh, but the corners of her mouth twitched up. "Let's keep that between us, shall we?" she suggested, the dry humor slipping through her otherwise serious tone.
I like him, Drakor said in Harry's mind, sounding very pleased. Sirius understands me. Maybe we should ask him to join our team. I'm sure we could get him a dragon suit or something.
Harry mentally sighed. Not the time, Drakor.
Moody gave his signature grunt, which Harry took as a sign of agreement. "No need for unnecessary complications," he said. "Keep it simple, keep it clean."
He says 'clean,' Drakor muttered in Harry's mind, sounding offended. Like I didn't do a great job handling the Death Eaters. Honestly, some people don't appreciate true artistry.
Harry barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Yes, yes, you're a master artist. Now please, no more snacking on enemies, okay?
Drakor's mental tone turned mischievous. We'll see... he said, dragging out the words with way too much glee. But I'll think about it—for you, partner.
As the conversation wrapped up, Moody gave Harry one last nod, and for the first time all night, Harry felt a little bit of normalcy return. Well, as normal as things got when you had a symbiote dragon in your head who considered Death Eaters an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Sirius clapped Harry on the back, grinning. "So, what do you think, Harry? Are we calling this a win?"
Harry smiled back. "I think Drakor would call it a feast."
Darn right I would.
—
As soon as Moody stomps out the door, muttering something about constant vigilance and chocolate frogs, the room shifts into a new kind of chaos. Susan Bones and Mipsy, the Bones family's overly enthusiastic house-elf, spring into action like they've just heard the word "chocolate" was code for "life or death mission."
Before Harry could even blink, an entire spread of chocolate bars, truffles, and—was that chocolate-covered bacon?—appeared on the table. Drakor, his ever-present symbiote dragon buddy, let out a mental gasp that would've put a ten-year-old in Honeydukes to shame.
"Harry," Drakor's voice echoed gleefully in Harry's head, "Is this what heaven smells like? Because if it is, I'm never leaving."
Harry stifled a laugh. "You're not going anywhere anyway, remember? We're kind of… attached."
"Yeah, but attached with chocolate? I mean, who knew humans had such brilliance hidden in their brains?" Drakor sounded genuinely impressed, as though he'd just discovered the secret to immortality was a Snickers bar.
Susan grinned, clearly enjoying herself as she pushed a plate of chocolate toward Harry. "I think you both need this after… you know, saving everyone from Death Eaters and all."
Mipsy nodded furiously, her huge eyes sparkling like someone had just told her she could feed Harry all the sweets in the world. "Yes, yes! Master Harry and Master Drakor are brave! Chocolate is very good for bravery, yes, yes!" She practically hopped in place, her hands trembling as she offered up a particularly large chocolate bar.
Drakor's voice cut in again. "Bravery tastes like chocolate? I am so okay with that." His mental tone was somewhere between glee and sugar-high delirium. "More! More! You're holding back, Harry!"
Harry obliged, grabbing a truffle and popping it into his mouth as Drakor hummed contentedly in the back of his mind.
Amelia, leaning back against the wall, smirked as she watched the scene unfold. "Sirius, I'm starting to think your future as a chocolatier is inevitable," she quipped, crossing her arms. "Better to have Drakor hooked on chocolate than—" she waved a hand vaguely toward the front door, "—whatever else he might develop a taste for."
Sirius grinned, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "As long as it's Death Eater brains he's snacking on, I don't mind. But hey, chocolate's a safer option, I guess."
"Brains are overrated," Drakor interjected, sounding far too casual about it. "But if you want me to start a diet, Harry, I'll have you know that I much prefer nougat centers over brains. More flavor, less screaming."
Harry almost choked on his chocolate at that. "Good to know, buddy."
Remus, ever the voice of reason (except when chocolate was involved), raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Let's be honest, Sirius—Death Eater brains probably don't get used much anyway."
Harry grinned, trying not to laugh at the mental image Drakor immediately supplied of a Death Eater trying to perform basic math and failing spectacularly. "Brains AND nougat," Drakor mused. "Why choose?"
Amelia's expression grew more serious, her brow furrowing. "Are we really being responsible, letting Drakor… you know… do what he did?" Her concern was evident despite the lightness of the moment.
Remus's smirk faded, replaced with thoughtful nods. "Fair question, Amelia. But in the heat of the moment, we didn't have much of a choice. It was life or death."
"See, Harry? Life or death!" Drakor's voice was practically smug. "I'm a hero. A nougat-loving, Death Eater-defeating hero."
Sirius, looking more thoughtful than usual, nodded in agreement. "Drakor saved us all. I'd rather deal with a few chocolate-induced tantrums than the alternative."
"Tantrums?" Drakor sounded offended now. "I do not tantrum. I'm majestic. And chocolate-fueled." He paused for dramatic effect. "Okay, maybe a tiny bit prone to tantrums."
Amelia sighed, though a hint of a smile played on her lips. "We'll keep an eye on him, but for now, I think he's earned his victory lap. Even if it's chocolate-coated."
Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance, their usual dark humor creeping back in.
"Besides," Sirius added with a grin, "it's not every day you get to watch a humanoid dragon have Death Eaters for dinner."
Remus chuckled, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Let's just hope he doesn't develop a real taste for them. We might have a hard time keeping him on a chocolate-only diet."
Amelia's lips quirked into a smirk. "Considering what Death Eaters have done, I wouldn't be surprised if they taste like Goblin piss."
Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "Well, if Drakor starts craving Goblin piss, then we'll know we're in real trouble."
The group shared a moment of much-needed laughter, the dark humor somehow comforting in the aftermath of everything they'd just been through. Even as the chocolate dwindled and the tension of the day began to fade, they all knew that moments like this—of camaraderie and absurdity—would be what kept them going through whatever came next.
"Absurdity?" Drakor piped up in Harry's mind. "Is that what we're calling this? I'd like to call it 'victory through chocolate.' Patent pending."
Harry rolled his eyes, grabbing another piece of chocolate. "Whatever you say, Drakor. Whatever you say."
---
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