The baby Hippogriff was born healthy, and Hagrid was over the moon. To celebrate, he decided to throw a small bonfire party.
Hagrid, bless him, wasn't cut out to be a chef. Giants and humans have slightly different ideas about what counts as gourmet, but his hut was bursting with top-notch ingredients.
Professor Kettleburn rummaged through Hagrid's stash and pulled out a slab of tender beef, a pumpkin big enough to double as a carriage, a pile of delicious dried fruits, and even a massive tub of Hagrid's homemade cheese.
The Weasley twins zoomed off on their broomsticks like they were escaping a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Lockhart figured they were dodging Hagrid's questionable taste in food, but they soon returned with a haul of quirky snacks—apparently "borrowed" from the Hogwarts kitchen.
By the time they got back, Hagrid was lugging a wriggling, two-meter-long fish he'd somehow caught, its tail flapping wildly in his grip.
Lockhart contributed two crates of Muggle glass-bottled cola, bags of crisps, and other snacks. He'd bought them on a whim from a Muggle street, nostalgic for his old life, but barely touched them, stashing them in his ring. Compared to the house-elves' cooking or the Mandrake's brews of venomous snakes and bugs—pure, natural delicacies he rarely got to enjoy in his past life—these processed treats didn't hold up.
To his surprise, everyone loved his snacks. Hagrid was all about the Muggle beer, Kettleburn couldn't get enough of the cola, and George and Fred devoured everything except the beer.
Lockhart's little crew joined in too. Hagrid roasted some mystery animal head for the Thestral, and you had to hand it to him—he knew exactly what magical creatures craved. The Thestral munched away happily.
The Thestral was kind of a sad case. Aside from the occasional gourmet scraps Lockhart cleared from his memory, it usually ate whatever he had on hand—often less tasty than what the Hogwarts owls got. At least, that's how the Thestral saw it. Unlike the Niffler, who was just greedy and could go a century without eating, the Thestral would starve without food.
It was a joyful bonfire party. Laughter carried far on the forest breeze.
Before they knew it, midnight had crept up. The twins, who'd snuck sips of Hagrid's homemade firewhisky, were a giggling, drunken heap. Kettleburn was fast asleep, snoring against an old cartwheel. Hagrid sprawled on the ground, still cradling the baby Hippogriff protectively.
Lockhart stretched, yawning, and waved his wand to enchant the bonfire. He pulled blankets from his ring to cover everyone, then settled by the fire and drifted off.
The Soul Bonfire spell had a unique way of soothing the mind, healing the subtle wear and tear on a wizard's spirit from overexerting emotions or willpower.
But it wasn't just a simple healing charm for the soul.
Among all the spells the Forest Witch mastered, this unassuming one was her most-used. It connected her to nature and its creatures, building a bridge to deeper communion with the natural world's spirit.
In Lockhart's book Voyages with Trolls, based on the Forest Witch's adventures, this spell was key to winning the trolls' loyalty.
Sadly, her greed for the bustle of Muggle cities drew her away from nature, the forest, and her troll companions.
Connecting with nature's spirit was a wondrous thing.
The Mandrake instinctively tried to slip back into Lockhart's mind but was gently yet firmly pushed out by a vast, unyielding force.
She tilted her head, puzzled, watching Lockhart.
Soon, she sensed a familiar earthy power—not pure earth, but a forest magic tinged with it.
"Guji!"
The Niffler popped up from Lockhart's lap, glaring warily at the Mandrake.
It was always like this, guarding Lockhart against even its closest allies.
The Mandrake shook her head at it, floating closer to study Lockhart. Her jagged, toothy maw whispered, "You'd better not disturb him right now."
She began to glow, pink tendrils like jellyfish tentacles extending from her, swaying as if sensing something.
"Niffler, step back. I think he needs my help."
"Guji?" The Niffler hesitated.
"Listen to her!" The Boggart, awake now, exploded into a towering, upside-down deity holding a cross-shaped axe, standing guard. "We care about him just as much as you do. You can't keep treating us like outsiders, acting like you're the only one he trusts."
"Guji!" The Niffler puffed up proudly, gesturing to its golden fur.
The Boggart fumed. "What, you think him naming you means he trusts you most? Dark creatures don't need names—that's a human thing!"
But the Niffler just smirked.
Suddenly, the Mandrake flared with pink light, earthy yellow dust swirling within, faintly resonating with the power radiating from Lockhart.
She had a temper too Asclepius and St. Mungo's, and she wasn't about to back down. If the Niffler wouldn't move, she'd act.
"Hey, easy now," the Boggart interjected, trying to calm her. "We're… what's the word?"
"Family!" A cold, cruel voice cut in, startling them. A werewolf cloaked in black smoke had appeared nearby.
"Family," it repeated. "You could call it that."
It nodded toward a shimmering silver Patronus horse. "The forest's power has pushed us all out of his mind. This blasted horse claims to be a soul's guardian, yet it's useless in a moment like this."
The werewolf eyed the two-toned bonfire warily. "That fire's doing it, blending forest magic into his soul."
"I trust the forest's power, but not blindly. Humans who lean too hard on nature's strength are defenseless when it turns cruel." It looked to the Mandrake. "If you can, step in. Break the balance between him and the forest's magic. Give him something to fight with."
"I agree," the Patronus horse said, turning to the Niffler. "We're all dark creatures, but the werewolf and I better embody his will, don't you think?"
The Niffler finally nodded, stepping aside but keeping a sharp eye on everyone.
These creatures—werewolf, horse, Mandrake, Boggart, the red-cloaked figure in the sky, and the Thestral hanging upside-down in the tree—looked formidable. But the Niffler wasn't fazed. One or a dozen, it'd gut them all with its three paws if it had to.
It shot a cold glare at the Boggart, who quivered.
Boss, don't make me pick sides! You're all way too scary for me.
The Boggart glanced at the Thestral, only to see it fast asleep, lulled by the Soul Bonfire's magic, oblivious to the commotion.
Wish I'd stayed asleep too. That fire's good for me, you know.
The Boggart sighed inwardly.
The Mandrake ignored their squabble, focusing entirely on Lockhart, channeling the earth's power.
The earth was more than just the forest, holding a broader, deeper strength—technically a level above forest magic.
But she wasn't the earth itself and couldn't fully counter nature's might.
Luckily, she didn't need to. She knew Lockhart was being aided by the forest's magic; she just wanted to keep an eye on things, lend a hand if needed.
Floating midair, she spread her arms, a massive burning stake with chains appearing behind her. The earth's power surged.
Lockhart slipped into a strange dream.
He was a rabbit, an ordinary one, living in a primal forest.
The rabbit had lived there a long time, witnessing the forest's birth.
It began as a grassy hill. A bird dropped a seed, which sprouted, grew, and spread. Animals carried more seeds, and soon the hill bloomed into a forest teeming with plants and creatures.
The forest thrived through spring's vitality, summer's fullness, autumn's decay and harvest, and winter's slumber.
It endured the cycles of time, weathering rains, gales, and hailstorms—disasters that only made it stronger.
But a single lightning bolt changed everything.
On a grim day, dark clouds smothered the sky. A bolt struck a tree, igniting flames.
The fire grew, spreading with a ferocity that threatened to consume the forest.
The rabbit fled in terror, racing toward a river, following its banks to a great lake.
This should be safe, it thought.
But it underestimated the fire's wrath. Flames roared, painting the sky red, suffocating the lake's shores.
The rabbit leapt onto a lakeside rock, watching helplessly, unsure what to do.
It saw animals wailing in the flames, a desperate stampede of creatures rushing toward it.
The fire hunted everything.
Flames filled the rabbit's vision. It froze as burning beasts charged, eyes wide with dread.
I'm going to die!
The blazing animals would trample anything in their path.
It glanced back—no more rocks to flee to, and it couldn't swim. The fiery "monsters" surged closer.
Despair consumed its heart.
What do I do? What do I do?
Suddenly, the earth seemed to answer.
Oddly, nature had abandoned it, but now the earth's power stirred within.
To the earth, the forest's destruction was just part of its cycle. The death of trees and animals only stored energy for the next forest's birth.
The rabbit felt a strange detachment.
Wrapped in the earth's embrace, it sank into the ground, drawing on the forest's destruction. Its body morphed, sprouting a human torso, its fur splitting into toothy, gaping maws.
It became him. His arms rose, bound by chains to a massive wooden cross, facing the fiery forest.
What now?
As a human, he found clarity.
With unwavering will, he raised a hand, breaking the chains' hold.
Pointing at the fire, he chanted an ancient runic spell: "Fiendfyre Extinguished!"
A surge of magic swept outward, engulfing the lake, the hill's forest, and the vast earth beyond.