Chapter 27 - Registration and Reactions

POV: Amos Diggory

The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Level Four of the Ministry of Magic, was as quiet as it ever got. The usual rhythm of rustling parchment, hooting interdepartmental owls, and clattering boots was still there—but hushed, like the building itself knew who was coming.

Amos Diggory had been in this office for nearly fifteen years, and he knew how the Ministry moved. How it bent for some names. How it stalled for others. But even in this world of posturing and parchment, there were a handful of wizards whose presence cut through red tape like fiendfyre through frost.

And Alistor Marshall was one of them.

He stood in Amos' office now, lean and silent, his eyes tracking the runes inscribed around the ceiling without comment. His cloak was plain, but finely woven. He wore no jewelry, no insignia—nothing that announced who he was. He didn't need to.

Henry Marshall stood beside him, posture relaxed but focused. Amos had always liked Henry. Grounded. Quiet. A man who spoke only when necessary and meant what he said.

The file on Amos' desk bore only two words in silver ink:

STORM: BREED CLASSIFICATION REQUEST

"You know what this means," Amos said, steepling his fingers.

Henry nodded. "We do."

"There hasn't been a magical crossbreed of two apex species in recorded British history. Certainly not one this stable. You understand the panic this could cause?"

Alistor spoke, voice low and sharp. "That panic will never reach the public. Unless the Ministry fails to manage it."

Amos sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Matilda Grinsworth is going to fight this. Hard. So will the ICW."

"The ICW," Alistor said, turning slowly toward the window, "has already been informed."

Amos blinked. "What?"

"I contacted the Supreme Enchanter of the International Confederation three days ago," Alistor said. "He owes me a favor."

Henry added, "Newt Scamander has submitted an international affidavit declaring Storm not only stable but worthy of magical protection under global beast preservation laws."

Amos opened the folder and skimmed the attached documents. Sure enough, stamped with ICW sigils, was a sealed letter from Supreme Enchanter Vassiliev affirming that the breed, now officially designated as Sleipnir, posed no threat and required no monitoring.

"We've already made our terms clear," Henry continued. "Storm will not be monitored. Not tagged. Not tracked."

Amos frowned. "That goes against Regulation Nine. All high-magic-class hybrids must have passive auric monitoring."

Alistor turned fully now, and for the first time, his full presence filled the room.

"Regulation Nine was written in 1872 by a committee of blood purists who couldn't transfigure a pebble between them. It was designed to oppress magical anomaly, not manage it. Storm will not be tracked. And if the Ministry insists otherwise, I'll ensure that oversight hearings are held. Publicly."

"Alistor—"

"You forget, Amos," Alistor continued, stepping closer, "I was on the review board that rewrote the Beast Sentience Codes. I have three seats on magical ethics councils across Europe. I built half the international doctrine your department still uses to define magical sapience. If I push, half your senior staff will spend the next six months testifying before the Wizengamot."

Amos exhaled. He glanced again at the scrolls. It was airtight. They had the backing. The documentation. The bloodline bonding report from Diana. Even Scamander's signature.

"Fine," he said. "But I need a safeguard."

Henry nodded. "The Marshall family will take full custody of the Sleipnir breed. Breeding rights will be exclusively restricted to our estate."

"And if anyone else tries to replicate it?"

Alistor's voice was like frost. "We will stop them. Personally."

Amos didn't ask what that meant. He knew.

"We'll invoke the Bloodline Protection Clause," Henry added. "The unicorn line we care for has existed under Marshall stewardship for nine generations. Any attempt to breed Sleipnir without our oversight will be considered a threat to an ancestral magical line."

"And the ICW?" Amos asked.

"They'll approve it," Alistor said. "Vassiliev has already confirmed. The breed will be registered as Sleipnir: Marshall Lineage Variant One."

Amos picked up the quill.

He signed.

The scroll glowed gold for a moment and sealed with a Ministry emblem.

"It's done," he said. "Storm is official. And Sleipnir belongs to the Marshalls."

Henry nodded once, and for a brief moment, something like gratitude flickered across his face.

Alistor turned for the door.

Amos watched them go, the parchment still warm beneath his palm.

The world had just changed. Quietly.

But completely.

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The registration of a new magical breed had never been a quiet affair.

But this wasn't just any breed.

A thunderbird and a unicorn. Natural mating. A viable, stable offspring. A creature both sacred and volatile, storm-charged and soul-bound.

And it had chosen a boy.

The news reached the right ears with deliberate care—filtered through tightly controlled channels, trusted hands, and very old owls.

But the ripples could not be stopped.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Albus Dumbledore stood in front of the fire, staring into the flames that swirled with faint blue light. The letter from Amos Diggory lay open on his desk, weighted by an old bronze compass.

Behind him, Minerva McGonagall waited silently, arms crossed.

"You knew, of course," she said at last.

Dumbledore didn't turn. "I suspected."

She stepped forward, reading the words again for the fifth time. "A successful cross-breeding of unicorn and thunderbird is… beyond anything in the literature."

"Precisely why it would never be in the literature," Dumbledore replied softly. "Some magic does not wait for permission to be."

McGonagall frowned. "And the bond? With the child?"

"That," he said, "is what matters most."

She looked at the parchment again.

Subject: Storm, breed name: Sleipnir. Registered: Marshall Lineage, Variant One. Bonded to: Hector Marshall (Age 8).

Breed Rights: Restricted exclusively to the Marshall family by Ministry and ICW agreement.

"Do you think it's dangerous?" she asked.

Dumbledore finally turned to face her. "Not yet. But power never enters the world without consequence."

Department of Magical Creatures, MACUSA – New York

Thunderbird sightings had dropped to nearly none across the American Southwest in the past year. Magical ornithologists attributed it to seasonal shifts, but not everyone was convinced.

At MACUSA, the special affairs council had received the Storm report a week after its sealing by the ICW.

Seraphina Picquery, though long since retired, was flown in for consultation.

She read the scroll three times before speaking.

"You'll want to watch that family closely," she said, handing the document back. "Thunderbirds don't bond easily. If one did—voluntarily—it wasn't to a child. It was to something inside the child."

The room went very quiet.

International Confederation of Wizards – Geneva

Supreme Enchanter Vassiliev sealed the Sleipnir ruling with an intricate ribbon spell, the ink still shimmering when his assistant asked, "Should we notify the press?"

Vassiliev scoffed. "You want to start a breeding panic? Merlin's beard, no."

"But the bonding—"

"Is internal Ministry business. If the Marshalls say it was natural, we'll let the fire cool before stoking it."

He looked out the enchanted glass of his office, watching stormclouds roll far below the floating chamber.

"Still," he murmured, "I'd very much like to meet the boy."

The Daily Prophet – London, Editorial Floor

Rita Skeeter tapped the tip of her quill against her chin.

"They're burying it," she whispered.

Her editor looked up, frowning. "What?"

"Biggest magical genetics story in a hundred years, and no one's printing a line. A thunderbird and unicorn hybrid—documented—and a bonded child? That's a scandal wrapped in myth."

"Drop it, Skeeter," her editor muttered. "ICW sealed it. You touch that story, they'll revoke your press credentials from Geneva to Durmstrang."

Rita leaned back in her chair, smirking.

"Maybe," she said. "But someday, that boy's going to make headlines anyway. I'll be waiting."

St. Mungo's Hospital – Creature Injuries Wing

Newt Scamander walked the length of the ward with slow, measured steps, occasionally jotting notes into a scuffed leather notebook. He had returned from the Marshall Estate only a day ago, and Storm's image still burned in his memory.

He stopped outside a recovering hippogriff's enclosure and whispered to the healer beside him.

"I've seen many beasts of power," he said. "But this one… this one wasn't just born from magic. He carries intention. Like he knows he's meant for something."

The healer nodded. "And the boy?"

Newt smiled faintly. "We'll see. But I suspect they'll shape each other."

Malfoy Manor

Lucius Malfoy stared across the drawing room at the owl that had delivered the sealed update from the Ministry. His jaw was tight.

"They're allowing it," he said quietly.

Narcissa looked up from her tea. "Allowing what?"

"The Marshall breed. They've secured it legally. No oversight. Exclusive rights."

She frowned. "Can they do that?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he stood and crossed to the fireplace, feeding the parchment into the flames.

"I've always said they were dangerous. Now they've proven it."

Ottery St. Catchpole – The Burrow

Arthur Weasley read the memo aloud to Molly.

"Crossbreed? Merlin… imagine the magical signatures. A thunderbird foal? And bonded at only eight years old?"

Molly frowned. "That sounds like more trouble than blessing."

Arthur's eyes gleamed. "It's a miracle, Molly. A miracle we'll need to understand before it grows up."

And so, across quiet rooms, hidden chambers, and flickering fireplaces, the word spread—not to the masses, but to the minds that mattered.

A storm had been born.

And it already had a rider.