Chapter 26 - Storm and Bond

The air had shifted by evening.

The soft orange glow of sunset leaked in through the stable's upper windows, casting long, golden stripes across the floorboards. The world outside had quieted into that in-between hush, where day was slipping into rest, and the night hadn't yet gathered its breath.

Storm lay curled in a fresh bed of straw, his wings twitching as he dreamed. Small, residual sparks crackled off his feather tips, lighting the hay in brief glimmers of pale blue light. The unicorn mare stood nearby now, grazing calmly, her earlier exhaustion replaced with a serene, watchful energy.

Hector sat beside the foal without speaking. He hadn't left since morning, not even when Timmy came down with soup or when Diana gently offered to carry him back inside. He didn't want to move. Not yet.

His fingers slowly ran through the newborn's silken mane. Every now and then, Storm would shift closer, the way a sleeping creature does when it's found the shape of comfort.

Henry stood nearby, arms folded, observing the quiet. He said nothing. Diana sat a few paces behind, watching even less visibly, but more intently.

Storm stirred.

His eyes opened—not just with the dazed softness of a newborn waking, but with startling clarity. They locked onto Hector, bright and alert, and for a moment, the static in the air paused—suspended.

Then, without hesitation, Storm lifted his head and pressed his forehead gently to Hector's chest.

It was instinct. Not trained. Not coaxed.

The moment the contact landed, a pulse of magic surged outward—not violent, not bright, but unmistakably real.

Hector gasped, not in pain, but in surprise. His breath caught in his throat as a wave of something warm and deep passed through him. The sensation wasn't a rush—it was a sync. Like two notes harmonizing without effort.

The torches lining the stable flickered.

A fine line of white-blue light briefly connected Storm's wings to Hector's fingertips—thin as spider silk, but thrumming with power. It snapped, faded, and was gone.

Storm pulled back and blinked. Then lowered his head and folded in close beside Hector, wings draping like a blanket across the boy's legs.

Diana rose slowly. "It's happened."

Henry stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "That wasn't simple imprinting."

"No," Diana said softly. "That was a familiar bond."

Hector looked up. "What does that mean?"

She came closer, kneeling beside them.

"A familiar is more than a pet, more than a magical companion," she said. "It's a creature whose soul has aligned with yours. They grow with you. Feel with you. Sometimes... act through you."

Henry added quietly, "It's rare. Familiars choose. Not even all powerful witches or wizards get one."

Hector looked down at Storm. The foal was already half-asleep again, but one wing remained curled around Hector's side like an anchor.

"I didn't ask him to," Hector whispered. "I didn't do anything."

Diana smiled. "Exactly. That's why it happened."

She reached out and ran her hand gently along Storm's back, not to inspect, not to analyze—but to acknowledge.

"He's yours," she said. "And you're his."

For the first time that day, Henry crouched down to eye level with them both.

"You'll feel him," he told Hector. "Even when you're far apart. And he'll feel you. That link? It doesn't break. Not unless one of you… goes."

Hector's face went still. He nodded once, understanding more than a ten-year-old should have needed to.

He curled his hand around the base of Storm's neck, and the creature shifted closer in his sleep.

"Then I'll never let anything happen to him," Hector said.

The light in the stable dimmed as the last sliver of sun disappeared behind the trees.

And in that growing twilight, the boy and the storm-born creature rested, joined not by spell or command—but by choice.

Three days passed before the guests arrived.

In that time, Storm had grown stronger, more coordinated. His wings no longer spasmed when he walked, and the erratic sparks from his coat had calmed into gentle pulses—more like breathing than lightning strikes. His mother had recovered as well, roaming the outer pastures again with her usual poise.

Hector rarely left Storm's side.

But today, he stood on the manor's east steps, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as carriages and magical transports shimmered into view beyond the gate. A protective enchantment flared briefly, then dimmed as the wards recognized those approaching.

Alistor Marshall stood tall behind him, wrapped in a dark travelling cloak, posture ramrod straight. His expression was calm, but his eyes were alert. Sharp.

"They're here," he said quietly.

Hector turned, only slightly anxious. "Do you think they'll try to take him?"

Alistor looked down at him. "Not if they value their careers."

The boy blinked. Alistor didn't elaborate.

Moments later, the first to arrive stepped through the gates—a man with a weathered coat, streaks of grey in his hair, and a soft, curious smile.

Newt Scamander.

His limp was slight but present. His satchel hung from his shoulder, scuffed and overused. When he saw Alistor, his face lit with a mixture of fondness and anticipation.

"Alistor!" he called, stepping forward with a hand outstretched. "You still haven't written back to my last letter."

"You spelled your owl to sing," Alistor replied. "It frightened the stables."

Newt chuckled and gave him a one-armed hug. "Still no patience for joy, I see."

Alistor didn't return the embrace, but neither did he step away.

"This is Hector," he said instead.

Newt turned to the boy and crouched with a grace belying his age. "So you're the one," he said gently. "The boy the creature chose."

Hector nodded, unsure what to say.

Newt's eyes sparkled. "I've never met a familiar pair on the first week of bonding. You're a rare one."

More arrived behind him:

Professor Acacius Rombolt, a tall, severe-looking wizard from Castelobruxo, carrying a leather-bound tome and a sleek measuring rod enchanted to read magical aura density.

Matilda Grinsworth, the Ministry's assigned observer from the Beast Regulation Bureau, short and stocky with a clipboard that floated beside her as she walked.

Healer Thalindra, sent from Ilvermorny's Thunderbird Sanctuary, soft-spoken and calm-eyed, carrying a carved staff topped with a silver storm charm.

Introductions were short. Alistor led them across the grounds toward the lower meadow where Storm and the unicorn were grazing beneath a gentle containment ward.

Storm looked up as they approached. His ears flicked forward. But rather than retreat or bristle, he took a few confident steps toward them—eyes locked on Newt.

Newt smiled wide. "Oh, you are beautiful, aren't you?"

He reached out, not to touch, but to let Storm approach. The creature sniffed once, then exhaled. The wind picked up slightly around them, lifting Newt's coat with a breeze that had not existed a moment earlier.

"I'm honored," Newt murmured.

The experts gathered in a semi-circle around the creature and began their examinations.

Rombolt cast delicate, pulsing scans. "Magical core: active and stable. Wing conduction levels are within thunderbird norms. But this—" he touched the ground where Storm had stepped—"he's grounding his magic through his hooves. That's unicorn behavior."

Thalindra nodded in agreement. "Feather structure aligns with highland thunderbirds—likely the same one the Marshalls housed last season."

"Confirmed," Diana said, joining them. "He left behind a feather. My son kept it."

Storm wandered over to Hector as if on cue, nudging his side and then curling his wing loosely around the boy's shoulders.

Grinsworth scribbled something onto her floating parchment. "We're going to have a problem with classification. This is not a chimera. He's stable, but he's not a natural breed either."

"We've already given the breed a name," Alistor said flatly.

Matilda glanced up. "Oh?"

"Sleipnir."

There was a moment of stillness. Rombolt's brow lifted. Thalindra smiled faintly. Newt said nothing, but nodded in approval.

"Sounds appropriate," Rombolt finally said.

Matilda was less certain. "The Department will need records. Health charts. Magical behavior logs. And evidence that this creature poses no threat to the Statute or public safety."

Newt glanced at her. "You'll have that. And I'll personally sign the stability documentation."

Matilda blinked. "You're vouching for them?"

"I'm vouching for him," Newt said, nodding at Storm, who was now contentedly pressing against Hector's side.

Alistor gave a rare, almost imperceptible smile.