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[Hogwarts] Ch 129: A True Slytherin
🕑 Added 2025-08-07 19:23:45 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
The Thunderbird was a massive, majestic creature with three pairs of wings and feathers that shimmered like swirling clouds.
Its head resembled that of a Hippogriff, regal and fierce.
Thunderbirds could summon rainstorms in their wake as they flew. Their emotions could influence the weather itself, and their very presence struck fear into the hearts of those with evil intent.
Because of this, many wizards viewed Thunderbirds as a symbol of justice.
There were even rumors that Thunderbirds and Phoenixes were distant relatives—but whether that was fact or fiction, no one could say for sure.
Either way, the moment Tom laid eyes on the Thunderbird, he felt it was the perfect match for his elegant sense of aesthetics. That pure white body? Definitely his style. It looked like justice incarnate—just like him.
Still, as beautiful as it was, he wasn't thinking about taking it home.
Thunderbirds were wild creatures, better suited for open skies, after all.
"Time to flash."
Tom leaned forward on his broom, ready to speed up and get closer, but Newt quickly raised a hand to stop him.
"Tom, wait! Don't rush in. We need permission first."
"Permission? From who? Are there Aurors here?" Tom raised an eyebrow.
"No, just follow me. You'll see."
Newt pressed down on his broom and veered off at a 45-degree angle, flying away from the Thunderbird's location. Tom had no choice but to follow.
They didn't go far before they spotted a cluster of thatched huts spread out across a plain, looking like a small village. As they approached, the locals below noticed them and began pointing and shouting.
These people held spears, wore feathered headdresses, and had strange paint markings across their bodies.
"Indigenous people?" Tom's brows rose in recognition.
Back when Christopher Columbus stumbled upon the "New World," he mistook it for India and lumped all the native peoples together under the term "Indians"—a name steeped in error and prejudice. But long before Columbus ever set sail, wizards had already discovered the American continent and maintained contact with its magical communities.
Wizards, naturally, used more respectful terms. Once immigration to the continent increased, the more accurate name—"Indigenous Peoples"—became the norm.
"Don't talk for now. Just let me handle everything. These folks are good people, just… cautious," Newt said as he gestured for Tom to descend with him, repeating the advice.
Newt had met all sorts of powerful wizards in his time. The ones who'd left the strongest impression were, without a doubt, Grindelwald and Dumbledore. Most people thought those two were polar opposites, as incompatible as fire and water.
But Newt had seen a lot of similarities between them—and now, he was starting to see the same traits in Tom.
All three were fiercely proud at their core. Dumbledore just hid it better. Tom, on the other hand, would never tolerate being disrespected.
That's why Newt needed to make it clear that these people meant no harm—just in case.
Tom understood and gave a little smirk, miming zipping his lips shut.
...
The village down there was surrounded by a wooden palisade, with four watchtowers at the corners.
As Tom and Newt landed just outside the entrance, several muscular warriors raised their spears and took aim, ready to throw at a moment's notice.
Tom let Newt handle things and didn't seem fazed by the hostility at all. In fact, he seemed more interested in checking out the female warriors nearby.
Their faces weren't anything to write home about, but their bodies were... impressive. Curvy, toned, and coated in a sheen of oil that made every muscle line stand out. Very aesthetic.
Seeing Tom stay calm, Newt relaxed a little. He began speaking in a strange language.
Before long, several elders leaning on walking sticks came out from the village.
They clearly recognized Newt, shouting something over to their people. The tension in the air vanished as the warriors lowered their weapons and began looking at Newt with visible respect.
Newt greeted one of the elders with a warm hug and exchanged a few words. A moment later, all the elders turned to look at Tom, then back at Newt, and gave a slight nod.
Soon after, a woman brought over two flower garlands and handed them to Newt. He spoke briefly with the elders, then returned to Tom's side.
"We're good to go," Newt said.
He slipped one of the garlands over his head and handed the other to Tom.
Tom obediently put it on. With that, the two of them mounted their brooms and took off again. The villagers returned to their daily business.
Tom had a general idea of what had happened, but he still wanted the full story. "So… what was all that about?"
Newt didn't keep him guessing. "It's a long story," he began the story without making it short.
The summary though was:
Aside from magical creatures, the Arizona sanctuary also housed a few native tribes—three, to be exact. Each tribe considered the Thunderbird a sacred totem. When Newt had returned the Thunderbird named Frank years ago, they'd mistaken him for a poacher. Things had nearly gotten violent.
Luckily, Newt had a patient temperament. Even after getting captured, he explained the situation over and over again. Eventually, once the Thunderbird showed affection toward Newt, they understood it had all been a misunderstanding.
Later on, when the sanctuary was being established, Newt personally intervened to stop the Magical Congress from relocating the tribes. Not only did he protect their land, he arranged for them to become official protectors of the Thunderbirds. Every year, they even received a supply of resources from the Congress in return.
These tribes weren't just armed with spears and bows either—they had shamans. Wizards, basically. And they were strong. Poachers who tried to harm the Thunderbirds were often caught… and once caught, they weren't handed over to the authorities.
They became... sacrifices instead.
What Newt had just done was formally request permission for him and Tom to approach the Thunderbird's territory. Normally, Newt wouldn't have needed to bother—but with a newcomer like Tom, he had to follow protocol.
The garlands they wore now were basically passes. So long as they had these on, the warriors guarding the Thunderbird area wouldn't attack them.
So yeah—Tom had definitely made the right choice going to Newt first instead of charging in on his own. Otherwise, it'd be a very different story right now.
After hearing all this, Tom couldn't help but sigh.
"Even the natives are into bureaucracy now? Can't people just be simple?"
"Oh, stop complaining."
Newt chuckled. "That garland's actually good for you too. It helps the Thunderbirds warm up to you faster."
Tom grinned. "Well in that case, connections are great. Might as well use them."
---
An hour later, the two of them landed on a mountain slope, about halfway up.
Flying straight to the Thunderbird's nest from the sky would've been a bad idea—it would be seen as a threat, an invasion of their airspace. So they had to land here and hike the rest of the way up.
Surprisingly, Newt wasn't grumbling about being old or stiff-legged. In fact, he moved faster than Tom. And sure, Tom had excellent physical stats, but… his legs were short. He was barely over 5'3" right now, so for every two steps Newt took, Tom had to take three, shuffling along just to keep up with the old man.
"SKREEEEE!"
As they neared the summit, the sky suddenly darkened, storm clouds rolling over the peak.
A sharp cry split the air as a massive Thunderbird dove straight toward them—this one noticeably bigger than the others they'd seen.
Tom glanced at Newt's face and immediately guessed the bird's identity.
Yep. As expected, the giant Thunderbird swooped down and landed gracefully in front of Newt, lowering its proud head so the old man could scratch its feathers more easily.
The two—man and beast—seemed to share a quiet conversation. After a while, Newt turned and motioned for Tom to approach. He still couldn't touch the bird, but getting closer was fine now.
Soon enough, Frank—the Thunderbird—took off again, disappearing into the clouds.
"Don't rush things," Newt advised as they resumed their climb. "Your goal for the next few days is to build trust. Get the Thunderbirds to accept you. That's the only way you'll ever get near the hatchlings."
Tom nodded. He understood the importance of taking his time. He wasn't in a hurry—he could be patient when it counted.
...
At the top of the mountain, five Thunderbirds had made their home: Frank, his two mates, and two young chicks born just last year. Those chicks were Tom's target.
Frank was considered the king of all Thunderbirds in the sanctuary (lucky Tom, maybe?).
Anyway, win Frank over, and the others would follow.
So Tom and Newt set up camp right there on the summit. Each had a tent of their own, and of course, Newt's definition of a "tent" was borderline absurd—his came with three bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, even a fish tank.
Under Newt's guidance, Tom focused on preparing food that Thunderbirds liked. Twice a day—morning and evening—he delivered their meals. When the birds went out for a stretch or flight, Tom would tag along behind them like a polite stalker.
That's when Newt learned something new: When Tom said he wanted to "race Thunderbirds in the sky," he didn't mean using a broom—he meant using his own flying spell.
Tom even taught Newt his improved version of the Andros Flying Charm, which saved the old man a lot of effort.
As for Grindelwald's version of the spell? No chance. If Tom ever shared the spells Grindelwald had poured his soul into creating, the man would probably cough up blood from rage.
...
A few days passed, and Tom officially earned his spot in the Thunderbird social circle.
On the seventh day, Newt headed back to the village to restock supplies, and Tom finally got to meet his two fluffy targets, one-year-old Thunderbird chicks.
Most birds can fly within days or weeks of being born. But Thunderbirds were different—more like giant eagles. It took at least three months for them to gain flight capability.
The chicks weren't very big yet, with wingspans just over a meter. Their parents still kept them in the nest, away from the open skies. But Tom watched them fluttering around, flapping their tiny wings inside the nest—and he knew he was in.
From that moment on, Tom went into full doting mode—absolute helicopter mommy energy. He even looked after the chicks like they were royalty.
If Nova and Usaki saw him right now, they'd probably call him a traitor.
A few months ago, they were his precious little angels. Now? They were probably saying, "Ugh, look at this jerk. Typical man!"
Still, Tom had another mission besides bonding: He needed to learn to communicate with the Thunderbirds.
Dumbledore could understand over a hundred non-human languages. And Newt wasn't far behind. When magical beasts spoke, their chirps and growls practically translated themselves in Newt's head. Thunderbird language was one of the dialects he'd mastered.
Under Newt's coaching, Tom picked it up surprisingly fast. The language itself wasn't complex—no big vocabulary or grammar—but the challenge was in recognizing subtle differences in their calls. One sound could mean "friend" or "foe" depending on tone. One wrong chirp, and you might end up fried.
Eventually, Tom decided it was time to go full motivational speaker on the Thunderbird parents.
Standing in the nest, he began his pitch.
"You know, there's a saying: No storm, no rainbow. If a Thunderbird never wrestles with nature, how can it be a real Thunderbird?"
He pointed dramatically at the two chicks. "You're protecting them now, sure. But can you protect them forever?"
"Kids need training from an early age! Keeping them cooped up in the nest every day? That's no good! You're going to spoil them rotten!"
The two adult Thunderbirds blinked, clearly confused.
They were raised this exact way. What was the problem?
Tom pressed on, turning up the charm.
"Where I come from, there's a saying: The early bird catches the worm. If your chicks start flying earlier than the others, they might grow stronger, faster. Maybe even become the next King of Thunderbirds."
He leaned in.
"Tempting, isn't it?"
"SKREEEEE!"
That last part definitely hit a nerve. Every creature has that buried instinct—the desire to see their children surpass them.
Tom could tell they were hooked.
"How about this," he said. "Let me race them. If they can't even beat a human in flight, do they really deserve to be kings of the sky?"
The adult Thunderbirds bristled. The arrogance! No way their kids would lose to a human.
With a whoosh of their wings, they sent the chicks tumbling out of the nest and flew them over to a cliff edge.
Tom crouched down and explained the rules to the two confused baby birds.
Once everyone was ready, a high-pitched cry rang out.
Tom spread his wings—literally—his body glowing white with magic, and blasted off like a cannon.
By the time the two chicks figured out what was happening and took flight, Tom was already a dot on the horizon.
He looked back midair. The gap was widening. Fast.
He grinned.
"Haha... No wonder I ended up in Slytherin."
.
.
.
