HP: Ravenclaw's Obscurus Prodigy

Night had fallen. Streetlamps flickered to life along Diagon Alley, bathing the cobblestones in a golden haze, as if the whole street had been steeped in butterbeer—a gentle, tipsy warmth in the air.

Wyzett stepped out of the apothecary and, following the potioneer's directions, turned down a shadowy side alley.

The moment he left Diagon Alley's main thoroughfare, the lights dimmed. The air in the narrow lane was cold and damp, heavy with the scent of mildew.

Crooked brick walls loomed on either side, their surfaces crawling with patches of phosphorescent moss that glowed an eerie green, casting ghostly shadows that danced along the alley.

At the end of the passage, darkness pooled thick as ink, like the yawning mouth of the Underworld—a place that whispered of no return.

Even the most oblivious could sense there was something deeply wrong about this alley.

From its far end, a familiar roar echoed.

"Let me go! I'm not buying anymore! Leave me alone!"

A swaggering, mocking voice cackled, "What's that? Didn't we have a deal? We brought the dog, didn't we… You wouldn't want us to gut the poor thing, would you?"

Hagrid's voice thundered louder. "Don't you dare! The little darling's not even opened his eyes yet! You raised the price at the last minute—I don't have that kind of money! Just give me one more day!"

The cackling voice pressed on, "Another day? This is hot merchandise! Let us search you—if you really don't have the money, I'll sell at the original price!"

Hagrid bellowed, "No! I've only got what I brought!"

Wyzett pieced it together: Hagrid had run into trouble with some shady types.

Now was not the time to play the hero or gawk. The smart move was to double back and fetch help from Diagon Alley.

But just as he turned to leave, a cold voice hissed behind him. "Brand-new cauldron? And an owl?"

"Looks like a first-year…" A wizard swathed head-to-toe in black robes emerged, wand raised high. Its tip glowed with a sickly white light. "What's a kid like you doing here?"

Wyzett instinctively ducked his head, shielding his face with his hand to avoid being blinded.

The black-robed wizard sneered, "Lucky day—two fat fish. Come along!"

Wyzett's hand slipped into his pocket, closing around the gift from Ollivander—a fist-sized iron token, a defensive magical artifact.

Its use was simple: just rub it back and forth three times to activate the Protego charm sealed within.

He knew the token was precious, but right now, it was his only hope.

He followed the black-robed wizard deeper into the alley, and at its end, a bizarre tableau awaited.

Somewhere, a lilting Greek melody drifted through the air.

Hagrid, massive as ever, was pressed into a corner, fists clenched, eyes blazing with fury.

Three ragged men, barely up to Hagrid's waist, circled him like wolves, trapping the giant in their midst.

"Wyzett... what are you doing here?" Hagrid blurted, shock giving way to outrage. "You lot—how dare you take a child hostage!"

"So you know each other? Well, that's just bad luck for him," one of the men sneered.

The black-robed wizard gave Wyzett a shove, joining the others to surround both Wyzett and Hagrid.

Unlike Hagrid, Wyzett stayed calm. He glanced past the four men—there, sprawled across the ground, was a monstrous beast, snoring away.

It looked like a pug that had been hit with an engorgement charm a hundred times over. Even lying down, it was as tall as Wyzett.

But its most striking feature? Three heads. Each time one of them smacked its lips, a string of sticky drool oozed to the floor.

A Cerberus—a 5X-rated magical beast, native to Greece, fond of sweets, with a size and magical resistance rivaling dragons...

According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, 5X was the highest danger rating—these creatures were nearly impossible to tame.

Knowing Hagrid, for him to call something "little darling," it had to be huge and dangerous.

Wyzett asked, "Hagrid, you're trying to buy it?"

Hagrid nodded, face flushed with frustration. "I brought enough gold, but they jacked up the price—six hundred Galleons!"

The black-robed wizard shrugged. "We lost a mate getting this big fella here. Of course we want more money! That was family to us..."

"That's no excuse for breaking your word!" Hagrid spat, cutting him off.

"Breaking my word? That's right! I am breaking my word!" The man cackled. "Now that a kid knows our secret, the price goes up again!"

"Perfect—an extra kid means you can go fetch more gold! If you don't bring a thousand Galleons by tomorrow… well, you'll have a ghost to answer to!"

"No!" Hagrid flinched, waving his hands desperately. "You can't do this! You absolutely can't!"

Watching this, Wyzett rubbed his brow in exasperation.

Life in the orphanage had taught him: never back down from bullies. If you retreat, they'll only push harder.

To deal with thugs like these, you had to make them afraid.

"Cackle all you want," the four men jeered. "Go fetch the money, big guy! Whether the kid lives or dies is up to you!"

Wyzett cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, you seem to have decided everything without asking my opinion."

"My family's waiting for me. If I'm late, they'll worry. So, apologies—I won't be spending the night here."

The four stared, then burst into mocking laughter.

"Did I hear that right? Is he threatening us? I'm shaking!"

"A first-year with a cauldron—bet he just bought his wand today. What's he gonna do, Lumos?"

"Looking at those robes, he's not from a rich pureblood family… too bad. We could've asked for two thousand Galleons!"

Wyzett remained unruffled. "Do you know what an Obscurial is? Or do you read the papers?"

The four men grew impatient. "Obscurial? Stop wasting time! Big guy, go get the money!"

"Alright then…" Wyzett sighed. "Hagrid, you still have today's Daily Prophet, right?"

"Oh… right!" Hagrid fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a crumpled newspaper.

Wyzett handed it to the black-robed wizard. "Take a look."

Only the leader unfolded the paper; the others kept their wands at the ready.

The man's expression shifted from skepticism to shock.

He raised his wand, its tip glowing a warm white, illuminating Wyzett's face.

His expression twisted from surprise to terror, sweat beading on his brow.

"Born dark wizard, walking powder keg, extremely dangerous individual." Wyzett tapped his own chest. "That's me… I'm an Obscurial."

The black-robed wizard wiped his forehead, forcing a sneer. "You say so? Maybe the reporter used the wrong photo… or made it up!"

"He is Wyzett!" Hagrid snapped. "He's been getting dirty looks all day because of it!"

"Maybe you need a demonstration?" Wyzett smiled, rolling up his sleeves. Every gesture was smooth—almost elegant...

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