Harry Potter: Returning from Azeroth

The Grangers really knew everything.

Whether it was the things Harry Potter had done at school or that magical suitcase of his, young Hermione had excitedly talked about them at home countless times—it was hard to say if there was some hint behind the flurry of urgent letters she sent.

Like, for instance, asking one day, "Aren't your friends coming to visit?" and the next, "Tell me more about that suitcase…"

That sort of thing.

Mr. Granger desperately wanted to see a creature he'd once thought was pure fantasy but was, in fact, very real in this magical world—a dragon.

And now, he was finally getting his wish.

Mr. Granger was the first to rush into the suitcase, outpacing even Ron. When a man's heart blazed with passion, age didn't matter. So when Ron was unceremoniously shoved aside at the suitcase's entrance, his face was a picture of bewilderment.

What just happened?

As Mrs. Granger was helped down the ladder by Hermione, who'd climbed down first to steady her, Mr. Granger had already bolted out the door into a sunlit world.

"This is—absolutely incredible!" Unable to contain his excitement, Mr. Granger greedily took in his surroundings.

The grass beneath his feet was real. When he bent down to snap off a few blades, the fresh scent of greenery filled his nose.

He could faintly hear the sound of water cascading from a height, and now and then, birds soared over the distant forest. The golden sun in the sky, no matter how you looked at it, was indistinguishable from the real thing—so warm, so dazzling.

It was impossible to believe he was inside a suitcase no taller than his leg, a suitcase that contained such a vast and magnificent world.

"See, Dad! This is magic!" Hermione said proudly, hands on her hips. "I told you guys!"

Because of the restriction on underage wizards using magic outside school, Hermione was like someone hoarding treasure she couldn't spend, starving despite her wealth. No matter how curious her parents were, she could only describe things with words—and words, after all, were pale. No matter how much she said, it only deepened their curiosity and regret.

At home, Hermione could only use minor shamanic spells to satisfy her parents' curiosity. But she'd only managed to establish a connection with the earth element so far, nothing grand enough for a big display. And with small-scale magic, the earth element couldn't produce the flashy effects of other elements.

Piling up dirt with Dotty, her earth elemental, got old fast. Even Dotty, after wandering around the house for a week or two, became familiar and lost her novelty.

"Yes, yes, magic's the greatest," Mrs. Granger said with a helpless smile, tapping her daughter's nose. "Look at you, so proud. Anyone would think this suitcase was yours."

"We're Harry's best friends!" Hermione's face flushed, flustered. She spoke quickly: "And we helped Harry build this place. There are even rooms here just for us! Mum, you don't even know…"

Her words spilled out like beans from a bamboo tube, so fast it was hard to keep up.

"So, Harry, where's Ragehorn?" Ron asked eagerly. "It's been a while. She's probably grown up by now, right?"

"Er, you're not thinking of getting her to fly you around, are you?" Neville said timidly. "Just so you know, I'm not going up."

Back when Ragehorn was just a hatchling, she'd bitten Ron's hand with a venomous mouth. Ron had sworn through the pain that he'd never go near another dragon.

Clearly, Ron had forgotten his oath—but Neville hadn't.

"Hey, no worries, Neville," Ron said, clapping Neville's shoulder. "Ragehorn's been tamed by Harry, hasn't she? Trust Harry—trust him!"

"I don't mind," Harry said with a shrug. "Judging by your faces, you won't want to do anything else until you see Ragehorn. Let's go straight to her."

No one objected.

In this suitcase world, Ragehorn usually hunted her own food, but to build their bond, Harry sometimes fed her at a fixed spot. He didn't do it near the house, though—Ragehorn's table manners left much to be desired.

Despite never going hungry, Ragehorn ate with the ferocity of someone who thought each meal was her last, tearing into raw meat like a rabid beast. Unlike other dragons in this world, who roasted their food, Ragehorn loved it bloody.

The result was a gruesome scene of scattered flesh, bones, and gore… startling at first glance.

As they passed through the forest near Harry's cabin, before they'd even fully emerged, they heard a strange snuffling sound, like a massive creature thrashing about, accompanied by the sounds of flesh being torn, chewed, and swallowed…

Mr. Granger's steps halted abruptly.

"…Are you sure we're safe, Harry?" he asked, visibly nervous.

"Completely safe. Ragehorn's my partner. She won't hurt you," Harry said solemnly, defending his friend's honor.

"Alright," Mrs. Granger said, taking a deep breath. She instinctively grabbed her husband's arm, while Hermione reassuringly held her other hand.

Emerging from the forest into a clearly designated clearing, even Hermione, Ron, and Neville—who'd seen Ragehorn before—held their breath, wary of drawing the attention of the beast gorging itself ahead.

Ragehorn had grown.

She wasn't yet an adolescent, but her size already surpassed Hagrid's hut—a hut built to accommodate Hagrid's massive frame.

A rough estimate told Ron that, including her wings, Ragehorn was now about the size of two Hagrid huts. The lizard-like head that had seemed pitifully small compared to her body at birth was now enormous, large enough to swallow him whole.

Her jet-black scales gleamed under the sunlight, polished to a mirror-like sheen—likely Alfred's doing. The reflection was so bright it hurt to look at her directly.

Alfred… truly a dedicated house-elf, going above and beyond with initiative.

"My God…" Finally, since stepping out of the forest, Mr. Granger managed a faint whisper, careful not to draw the beast's attention.

But with such a commotion—and Harry's arrival—how could Ragehorn not notice?

She turned her head.

Before their arrival, Ragehorn had been eating, fed by Harry's current butler, Alfred.

Alfred's suit pant legs trembled as if electrified, his face streaked with unwashed tears and snot. Shaking, he dumped a large bucket of meat and bones before Ragehorn.

This was the seventh bucket—not ordinary meat, but mixed with potions Harry had brewed… or perhaps elixirs, meant to make Ragehorn stronger than her kin.

So when Ragehorn turned, they saw a head bristling with sharp spines, eyes fierce, teeth razor-sharp with blood dripping from the gaps—a dragon's head.

Gone was the almost-cute lizard-like hatchling. Ron, Hermione, and Neville couldn't connect this creature to anything as benign as a lizard. One clear thought dominated their minds: Dragon.

Mrs. Granger swayed, looking ready to faint.

"…Harry," Ron whispered, swallowing hard. "I suddenly feel a stomachache… all over my body…"

His state made Harry both amused and exasperated. On the way here, Ron had been the loudest, bragging about how chummy he was with Ragehorn. Now, faced with her, he was the first to backpedal.

"Don't be scared," Harry said, smiling at the group, who'd all stopped in unison. "Ragehorn's not the little dragon she used to be. She can at least tell friend from foe."

"You sure?" Neville's face was bloodless. He shuffled back two steps, as if wishing for a rock to hide behind, out of the dragon's sight.

"I-I think I'll just wait here," Neville stammered. "I'm not that curious about dragons."

Neville felt his curiosity and enthusiasm for dragons had peaked at the egg stage and the first week after hatching. Beyond that, he didn't even want to think about it.

"Fine," Harry sighed, realizing he wouldn't convince Neville today. He turned and waved at Alfred. "Alfred!"

Instantly, Alfred Apparated to his side.

"Let me introduce you," Harry said, gesturing for Alfred to wipe his tears and snot. Smiling at Ron and the others, he continued, "This is my new butler, in charge of looking after the Potter estate and the suitcase world. You can call him Alfred."

After cleaning his face, Alfred straightened, exuding the professionalism of a seasoned butler—though his trembling legs betrayed him. No one pointed it out.

"I am Alfred! Master Harry's butler!" Alfred bowed deeply. "Welcome to Master Harry's world. If you have any needs, just tell me, and Alfred will ensure you're not disappointed!"

"A house-elf?!" Ron exclaimed. "Harry, you hired a free house-elf?! Merlin's socks, are there even free house-elves anymore?"

Ragehorn's presence was so overwhelming that, aside from Harry, no one had noticed Alfred until now.

"Master Harry saved Alfred!" Ron's words struck a chord, and Alfred, eager to proclaim Harry's greatness, shrieked, "Master Harry gave Alfred freedom! Alfred is the happiest house-elf in the world!!!"

His words were a jumble, but that was house-elves for you.

"Alright, Alfred, no need to keep going on about it," Harry said, rubbing his temple wearily. "Could you prepare some more meat? No potions this time, just plain."

"No problem!"

With a crisp acknowledgment, Alfred vanished, leaving the curious Hermione and others no chance to ask questions.

He didn't keep them waiting long. Seconds later, Alfred reappeared with a bucket, accompanied by a pungent, bloody smell—freshly slaughtered boar, blood still bubbling hot, Ragehorn's favorite.

The fouler and bloodier, the better. Raw and primal was her preference.

Sometimes, Harry wondered if he'd raised Ragehorn to be too wild, if she might one day go berserk and wreak havoc. But whenever he worried, Ragehorn would act affectionate and obedient in his presence, so he let it slide.

"Now, Hogwarts first-years, good morning," Harry said, holding the bucket of meat and turning to the group. "Welcome to your first Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Today, I'll introduce you to a fire dragon. You can call me Professor Harry."

Technically, it should be Professor Potter, but since he wasn't a real professor and this was just for fun, he kept it casual.

"Yes, Professor Harry," Mr. Granger responded first, to everyone's surprise. "What do we need to do?"

Mr. Granger glanced at Harry's hand, noting how effortlessly he carried the heavy bucket without swaying. This kid's stronger than he looks.

Mrs. Granger stifled a laugh, while Mr. Granger stood ramrod straight, as if back in his own school days.

"Don't, Dad," Hermione groaned, covering her face in embarrassment.

"Hey, Hermione, forgot what I taught you?" Mr. Granger said, glancing at her without moving.

"Yes, 'Don't get distracted or chat in class,'" Hermione replied, dragging out her words with a heavy sigh.

Compared to Ron and the others, Mr. Granger was the most cooperative, eager to dive in—making Hermione seem more like the parent.

Gesturing and moving with purpose, Harry played the part convincingly.

"Let's begin today's lesson. The fire dragon before you is a Norwegian Ridgeback. She's still a juvenile, not even an adolescent yet…"

Though pretending to be a Hogwarts professor, Harry was thorough, explaining the habits of Norwegian Ridgebacks, introducing Ragehorn's name, and sharing stories about her.

Finally came the part Mr. Granger had been waiting for: feeding. Harry pulled a dripping chunk of meat from the bucket and casually stuffed it into Ragehorn's waiting maw. The others held their breath, terrified Harry might lose half his body to those sharp teeth.

But to their surprise, as Harry approached, the dragon—who'd been savagely devouring her meal—gentled instantly.

Not only did she not harm Harry, but after swallowing the meat, she flicked out her long tongue and licked his face, leaving it streaked with blood.

"Oh, you bad girl," Harry said, wiping his face only to smear the blood further. He chuckled, playfully patting Ragehorn's head as she nuzzled him.

Whether she understood him or not, Ragehorn lifted her head and roared at the sky.

"She's laughing," Harry said, reading her mood clearly and addressing the group, who looked alarmed by the roar. "Don't worry, she's happy."

Harry thought his example would inspire his friends and the Grangers to try interacting with Ragehorn. He was wrong. Besides Neville, who refused to go near her, Ron and Mrs. Granger now joined the ranks of those steadfastly keeping their distance.

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