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As a child Harry was isolated. Isolated, lonely, or endangered children often awaken to accidental magic faster and more thoroughly than those children who are not any of those things. Harry was all three.

At age six, Harry built his first friend using Ms. Figg’s spare parts in her garage: a clockwork kitten. A touch of something alongside the gears and springs and wires allowed her to move like any other cat, and Ms. Figg was absolutely delighted with her newest, immortal pet.

“Oh, she’s darling, Harry!” She’d exclaimed as she watched Click settle into her new home, tail twitching side to side with the occasional clicking sound.

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At age eight, he’d saved enough spare coins to buy his own materials so Ms. Figg didn’t have to. She’d begun selling his clockwork animals and eventually they were well-known enough in the richer areas that he’d receive commissions. He once had research a giraffe for a pre-paid project, and painted the spirals and dips of a peacock’s silvery tail feathers with a shiny clear glaze so they’d sparkle in the sun. He was well paid for his work but most of it went to reimburse Ms. Figg, who spent her own money buying his supplies so it didn’t get back to his relatives.

He built her another cat in thanks, this time named Crackle for how it would stretch its joints and purr deep in its metal throat.

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At ten he was going by the pseudonym Swansong and any of his works that didn’t bear that name scratched into it somewhere (often an animal’s foot or on the feather of a bird’s wing) were considered to be false. He’d just finished a dual project for a previous customer of two dragons (thankfully small enough to both fit in Ms. Figg’s garage together) and his own beast, a long, beautifully glazed snake with slitted eyes and a flickering tongue. It seemed to frighten Ms. Figg, the way he’d made it as life-like as possible and even covered it in a thin but sturdy layer of silvery scales. It was a pale white thing with red eyes and a thoughtful face, and when it coiled together in its great loops its head would rest around his knees, and he’d decided to name it Lilla, after his mother. Lilla the snake would protect him the same way Lily the mother would have, if she’d been alive.

Then he was eleven, and letters were flying through the chimney and the mail slot and into the eggs in the egg carton and he knew, whatever the storm, that Lilla would be with him.

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He’s a wizard. That something that brought his beasts to life, that showed him how to fit the gears that powered his beasts’ lives, was magic. Lily had been magic too, and his father, James.

Hagrid’s birthday cake was suddenly the second best present he’d ever received.

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In Diagon Alley, his beasts are apparently well-known: several people walk down the streets with them at their sides. A blonde pair walk proudly beside a clicking peacock, and the boy at their sides is trailed by his dragons, the two he’d just shipped off.

He’d forgotten that they’d recognize him, his beasts, and so he’d smiled when Thrakos (the Asian dragon) had sidled over to him and cooed softly, a metallic, hissing groan that Harry repeated back. It was subtle enough that the boy, peering into a shop with broomsticks for sale and chattering excitedly to his parents, and Hagrid, staring down the road at the Leaky Cauldron with a look of longing, don’t notice. Then they’re past, and Thrakos stays by his boy’s side as Harry walks away, Lilla pressing into the dirt beside him and forging a trench in the dust.

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Hedwig is nice. She’s the same glossy, well-kept white as Lilla and the two get on famously. Hedwig will perch on Lilla’s coils and fluff up her feathers, knowing the snake isn’t real, isn’t going to eat her. None of Harry’s clockwork beasts eat, made of gears and shifting metal as they are, and several people had mistakenly fed their beasts and had to return them. There wasn’t a refund: there was a warning when the beasts were first sent, and of course the animals themselves showed little to no interest in eating anything, so the only way they’d eat something would have to be a malfunction or being forced to eat by worried owners who didn’t read the instructions on caring for the beast.

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“You can’t create life out of inanimate objects!” Someone tells Ms. Figg, tittering, and the old woman thinks about her Click and Crackle, how yesterday they’d chased a moth like kittens and lain against each other purring in the evenings and twined against her legs when she came home.

“Hmm,” she says, sipping her tea and forgiving someone who doesn’t know any better.

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September 1st rolls around quickly. Harry has packed his gears and tools and hugged Ms. Figg goodbye with a promise to write (and that hadn’t been nearly so shocking, hearing Ms. Figg knew about the something that brought his beasts to life) so he is completely ready to go when Uncle Vernon’s car spurts into Ms. Figg’s driveway, fancy and loud and barely off of the old woman’s grass.

“That ruddy tail,” says Uncle Vernon grouchily, his face a shade of red Harry hadn’t seen before. He just nods to show his understanding; he’d thought he’d have to take a bus to London. What with the commissions he’d finished this past week, he had plenty of money for such a thing.

The gate is easily found by Lilla, who slithers through apparently unnoticed by the muggles, though a few children who also appear to be heading towards the Hogwarts Express point and exclaim over her. Harry tries his best not to mind them, but it’s difficult. The train’s station is crowded, and there he is alone, with a magical albino snake and a cart overflowing with luggage.

He boards the train as fast as he can and hides in the nearest empty compartment, already waiting for the day to end. He decides to take a nap instead of listening to the gossip outside the window.

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He wakes suddenly, to Lilla’s angry, crushed hiss. His clockwork beasts don’t make sound like living things do; any noise they make comes from a special way they grind the gears in their throats, so it all comes out like a shriek of metal on metal. Already, the intruder to his compartment, close enough to touch Harry’s arm, is cringing away with his fingers over his ears.

“Blimey!” He says, “Turn it off, would you?”

Harry’s heart is pounding. He’s afraid to be rude to someone he’s never met, but he’s not ready for other people yet.

“Get out, please!” He begs, loud enough to be heard over Lilla’s fervent attempts at hissing, throat dry from nervousness. The boy stomps out, cursing quietly under his breath and not looking back.

Lilla communicates (somehow, he doesn’t know how but he just knows ) the boy spotting him through the window and sneaking in to try to touch his head. She’d bit him on the leg, not deeply, and began to hiss threateningly so the boy would leave Harry well alone.

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When he disembarks the train, his luggage disappears from the overhead racks along with Hedwig, but Lilla is anchored by the way she’s looped over his ankles and swaying with the motion of the braking vehicle. He clambers out, Lilla wound about his shoulders to avoid being stepped on, and cautiously steps through the crowd to Hagrid, who’s calling out for first-years to board the boats (“No more’n three!” He shouts). Far to his left, the boy from earlier is scanning the crowd. Harry ducks his head to avoid being seen and Lilla snuffles into his ear softly, an exhalation of her metal-tinged breath.

Hagrid smiles when he sees them and ushers them into a boat with a slightly pudgy boy with brown hair and a girl with mousy ginger hair cut into a bob. The boy has an amphibian’s cage from the magical pet store on his lap and gazes forlornly back at the train all the way across the lake, until they come into view of the castle.

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The boy’s toad is found in one of Hagrid’s pockets and they are ushered into the Great Hall. Harry can feel his heart rate spiking even through the thick soft fabric of his new robes but Lilla brushes her tail over his chest like the swinging of a pendulum, a rhythm that helps him breathe again, and it slows. It isn’t that he’s scared, really (with Lilla he could do anything ), but with everyone staring at him and whispering in loud voices about his scar- he wants to be back in Ms. Figg’s garage, tinkering with his gears and playing with any of the uncommissioned beasts that hadn’t been sold yet. He hopes Click and Crackle are holding up okay, and tells himself that he’ll write Ms. Figg that night and make sure. Maybe he’ll send her another cat; she likes them, and he likes it when she smiles.

He’s calm now, thinking about Ms. Figg, and her cats, and her garage where all his gears and springs and coils had their own little buckets and everything was in its place, and Lilla curves up to rest her head on top of his and hums, letting him feel the vibrations of her metal skeleton through his skull like a lullaby rocking him to sleep.

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The boy who’d lost his toad, Neville, goes to Gryffindor, the House of the Brave seemingly, and the girl, Susan Bones, goes to Hufflepuff, of the Loyal and Hardworking. They’d seemed nice enough on the boat, but he didn’t know about joining them just yet. There was no guarantee they’d be friends even if they ended up in the same House.

At the staff table, a man with chin-length black hair is glaring. Lilla flickers her tongue at him and huffs onto Harry’s hair in displeasure when the man doesn’t glance away.

“HARRY POTTER,” calls the stern woman in the green robes by the Hat.

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“Harry Potter,” says the Hat, “I had wondered when you’d arrive. All that chatter about you in the other children’s minds! But no matter. Let’s have a look…”

There was a moment of silence. Harry tried not to fidget.

“...plenty of loyalty in here. Ms. Figg, eh? Lucky woman to have earned such a thing. And your thirst for knowledge is quite strong too, but not simply for the knowledge itself, you want to apply what you learn, use it.” Another moment where the Hat gave the impression of pursed lips as if thinking intently. “You’re brave, but with that snake of yours, that talent, you’d stick out like a sore thumb. Those two things would do the same in the clever house, but for opposite reasons.”

Harry held his breath. I just want to have someone to rely on , he thought quietly. Someone to trust, like Ms. Figg.

The Hat drew breath. “Well, in that case, better be-”

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“SLYTHERIN!”

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He went to sit amidst the sound of silence. No one applauded how they had for the others. No one was grinning at him in commiseration, or whistling and catcalling excitedly. Around the room, the other students had frozen. Several of the Slytherins had let their mouths fall open, though they quickly corrected themselves.

Professor McGonagall ushered him off the stool and plucked the Hat off his head. “Thank you, Mr. Potter,” she said briskly, and glanced down at her list. Harry wasn’t paying enough attention to hear the next person’s name be drawn. He was advancing in slow motion to the Slytherin table, eyes darting to each student seated therein. Where would he sit? Who would talk to him? Was there some sort of etiquette he was expected to know but didn’t thanks to the Dursleys?

The boy with the dragons from Diagon Alley, pale and aristocratic, slid to the side with a slight squeak. Harry gratefully sat down, gaze on the table, and let Lilla watch everyone for him while he closed his eyes.

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The common room was lovely, all greens and muted silvers; he daydreamed of setting up shop right there and tinkering, but the sheer amount of people gathered around dissuaded him. He’d find an unused room and settle in there. Maybe he’d sell some of his beasts to desperate students? He’d have to write Ms. Figg tonight and ask her thoughts, perhaps have her ship some of the animals: the finch, definitely, and maybe the dogs.

One of the older boys had noticed Lilla.

“Not real, is it?” He asked loudly, drawing the attention of his mates. They came closer, boxing him in against one of the walls. Lilla raised her head in a swaying threat, a hiss nearly escaping her mouth at their close proximity.

“Of course she is,” Harry replied, perplexed. Did they think Lilla had been stuffed? She quite obviously was not.

“A genuine swansong , then?” The boy sneered, and Harry blinked. “Don’t they run a few hundred galleons each?”

Harry wasn’t sure, but that seemed like a lot more money than he’d been receiving for commissions. He’d include that in his letter to Ms. Figg.

“...” he shuffled his feet. “Would you like one? I could make one for you, any animal you wanted.”

Their eyes nearly bugged out before they began laughing. “A firstie like you?” One of them gasped from his perch kneeling on the floor. Harry huffed. Was this why Ms. Figg had suggested a pseudonym be used? Obviously he was a child, but did that really mean anything if his animals were truly genuine?

Apparently it did.

“Never mind, then,” he said, and stalked off to bed with Lilla hissing agitatedly over his shoulder all the way up the stairs to bed.

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None of the Slytherins will speak to him after that. The blonde boy from the night of the Sorting Ceremony will walk next to him to class, staring curiously at Lilla when he thinks Harry isn’t looking, his two dragons stepping carefully beside him. There are other boys with them, orbiting the blonde, and even a few girls. Together they make a wall across the hall, but it didn’t matter. People stop to stare at Harry anyway, ducking into the corners of the hallways and peeking out, bright eyes gleaming in the shadows. The other Slytherins don’t say anything about it, but they close ranks around Harry and sneer at the other Houses as they passed. Harry’s head hangs low. He isn’t used to so much attention that couldn’t decide if it was negative or positive, and the whispering makes him nervous. Lilla, wrapped about his neck like a wonderful, cooling scarf, is so very helpful. She keeps quiet today, no hissing, just contemplative tongue flicking. Every once in a while she’ll rear up, and when she does the other Slytherins will all glance at him, waiting, but she never does anything more than that.

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His classes seemed interesting. Transfiguration had some of that something he was used to using; Charms not as much; Herbology’s plants and leaves inspired him so much that in History of Magic with Binns he built a creeping mouse with swirling patterns on its back. On its head, a little leaf hat was tilted charmingly. The blonde boy, Malfoy, had watched in shock as the little mouse inspected the table and sniffed Harry’s hands.

He wasn’t approached immediately after that, but that was when it began.

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Potions would be wonderful; Harry had read the textbooks and felt that tingle in his body of excitement. Not because of Professor Snape; the man was tall and cold, and when he spoke Harry’s name to the room there was a slight… pause, as though he was rolling it in his mouth. Harry glanced up at this and caught the man watching Lilla shift on the back of his chair, with the room too shadowy in that area to catch even the color of his eyes. The room held its breath and to Harry’s left, Malfoy made a low hissing sound. Lilla perked herself, attention caught by the great dungeon bat, and then!

They had moved on to the next child on the professor’s list.

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Flying lessons were something new. Lilla didn’t want to go into the sky with him; she said the height made her nauseous and the wind hurt her ear-holes. Harry acquiesced and boarded his broom alone.

Within the first ten minutes, Neville Longbottom, a nervous, forgetful Gryffindor, fell off his uncontrollable broom and hurt his wrist. Before he could make it up the stairs into the castle, Lilla was slithering forward with his Remembrall in her mouth, careful not to crack or swallow it. When Madam Hooch returned, all of the children were safely on the ground, and if one or two of them looked a little windswept, it wasn’t Harry. He didn’t want to fall the way Neville had; that wrist had been a funny color and angle as the boy stuttered up the steps. Lilla heartily approved.

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It’s the second week of classes when Harry’s approached. He’s under a tree in the courtyard getting an essay done, Lilla laying blissfully on the branches above, basking in the easy sunlight. The air hasn’t yet gained the teeth of an approaching autumn but they’re both aware it’ll be soon.

A girl slowly climbs the hill below them. Harry looks up as she settles in next to him, back to the trunk, but she doesn’t initiate conversation so he doesn’t either.

After a moment, she sighs. “They don’t like me,” she says, and promptly begins to cry.

Harry panics. What is he supposed to do? At the Dursleys’, if he’d cried they’d have had him in his cupboard so fast he’d get whiplash, and he’d mostly stopped that a few years ago.

He settles for rubbing her back in silence. He doesn’t offer any platitudes. He doesn’t know any to offer her, because no one has ever given them to him.

“I saw you in History of Magic, the first day when you made that mouse,” she sniffles, and suddenly he can place her. She’s a Gryffindor, one of the smartest of the lot, and she’s gained animosity from the others through her tactless suggestions and derision to others’ study habits. He winces.

Then he brightens.

This girl needs a friend, that’s obvious enough. What better friend than something to be with you forever, always on your side, always believing in you?

He scoots away from her, opening a pocket on his bag that Professor Flitwick had helpfully Enlarged Internally for him. Inside was intended to hold the animals he’d made at school, and could even reach through to the animals he’d left at Ms. Figg’s house. From it he brings the plant mouse, its delicate plant hat perched jauntily forward on its head now. He holds it out to her.

“Take it,” he tells her firmly, and her mouth opens. “I’m giving this to you, may you be bound for life.” The words feel right, and they ring in his bones. The girl shudders and stares at him, but she takes the mouse.

“What’s its name?” She asks, petting a finger down its back gently. The vain thing preens and presses into her, giddy.

“Hasn’t got one,” Harry says, refocusing on his essay. But he should tell her. It could improve her life. “Erm, before you go. Maybe. Tone down the information output? It comes off as obnoxious rather than helpful.”

She blinks at him thoughtfully. He shrugs. “Maybe sit with the Ravenclaws today, at dinner? They’re always raring for a good, opinionated debate complete with facts.”

She nods, pets her mouse, mutters “plantain” under her breath, and takes a deep breath. Her shoulders thrown back, she strides out from under the tree’s canopy. Lilla gives an approving groan of metal, and Harry smiles a bit as he goes back to his essay.

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Word of his kindness spreads amongst the Ravenclaws, the girl (Hermione’s) new friends. They appreciate her adherence to facts and textbooks but also her fiery nature and willingness to see things from the other point of view. They also admire her mouse (“Plantain”). It is a Ravenclaw who first notices the swansong insignia etched into Plantain’s foot. Hearing that she’d watched quiet, Slytherin Potter make it and it had been given as a gift, they all decided they wanted one.

In exchange, they said, they’d be his eyes and ears around the castle. Nothing would happen without his knowledge, and nothing gets past a determined Ravenclaw and their legion of helpful, dependable Hufflepuffs. This was acceptable to Harry. One of them showed him to a room that would have anything he needed in it whenever he wanted.

(And this was how Harry quietly conquered half through school using only a mouse and word of mouth.)

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It is a table of astounded Slytherins who are privy to Harry Potter’s sudden rise in popularity. The shy boy doesn’t seem to know how to handle the Ravenclaws running up to him in the halls, clockwork animals close behind, and whispering well-kept secrets into his ears. The Hufflepuffs pat him on the back and kindly knuckle into his hair with an approving Ravenclaw watching over them.

There is chaos the first time a Ravenclaw accidentally gets her clockwork cat with a Cutting Curse and it simply- doesn’t hit. The curse slides off her cat’s back like rainwater off of Hogwarts' roof. This prompts a round of furious spellcasting, and the Ravenclaws discover that all of Harry’s beasts are impervious to magic. They cannot be harmed by spells, they cannot be lifted or flown or swindled or destroyed. However, they are able to sense spells on objects or people; a dummy full of straw, enchanted by an upperclassmen to attack the younger ones (of course there were medics on immediate standby), was savaged by a previously well-mannered grizzly bear when the dummy got too close to the bear’s charge. The singular praying mantis released a paralyzing venom into the dummy, and the cats grew claws several inches longer than a living cat could have. When questioned, Harry rubbed the back of his head and said that some people, particularly heads of their families or something similar, wanted protection for their family, their spouses and children and parents, that didn’t appear threatening. The beasts weren’t a weapon. They would be there for you all your life, so they should make sure that your life was long, shouldn’t they?

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It’s distracting for the professors to have all of these large beasts in their classrooms. There is a school-wide notice that all beasts must stay in the hallways or common rooms. The students and the beasts do not take this well. Several of the students with influential parents write home to complain, and several beasts are much closer to their charges than they had been before, as though daring someone to try to remove them. There was no real retaliation, however, until the first Hogsmeade weekend. A Ravenclaw boy is followed to the school afterwards by his father’s stalker and attacked just before he can enter the building. The teachers are out of shouting range and the attacker has blocked them from their sight anyways. Things look bleak for him until she reaches for his arm, going to grab him or cut him with a spell, when the boy’s garden snake, looped unassumingly around his wrist, opens its mouth wide and reveals fangs of an unnatural length. The witch stumbles back, surprised, but the boy’s snake is already springing from his wrist to her neck and taking her down with a bite. The paralyzing venom works quick enough for the boy to scramble up the hill with his snake and find a teacher.

The parent reaction is immediate and astonishing. The witch is apprehended by Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, the smaller man bristling with rage, and the boy is handed over to Madam Pomphrey. When he’s released into his common room, he rushes up the stairs to write his father, who writes other parents in his horror, one of whom writes the Prophet and exposes the story to the wizarding world.

The ban on beasts in classrooms doesn’t go down, but it’s highly contested.

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Halloween has nearly arrived when Harry is informed of a door in the forbidden third floor corridor, a door with a great three-headed dog behind it standing over a trapdoor. He hums noncommittally, but the idea of a three-headed dog beast is interesting to work with, true.

(It must look odd to those who don’t know the circumstances, Harry sitting under the tree he’s always favored, holding court above light-heartedly bickering Ravenclaws and peacefully curious Hufflepuffs doing homework and awash in the latest, truest, gossip in the castle.)

At times they will be joined by enterprising Slytherins, but Harry’s court takes their positions seriously. Any attempt to shoulder in on the power is quickly shut down and removed. Malfoy sits often at his side, writing essays to send to his father. By placing himself on Harry’s side, he has a finger on the pulse of Hogwarts itself, and that is a useful thing to have.

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When the troll is released into the castle on Halloween, most of the students have beasts purchased for them by their parents. They still cannot have them in classrooms, but the real concern is between classes. These students do not panic. The extensive test results released by Ravenclaw House with permission from Harry Potter (whom no one outside the school knows is swansong ) have assuaged most of their fears. Even the insect beasts have plenty enough venom inside their bodies to knock out a moderately-sized troll. Dumbledore does not order them to their common rooms. Harry Potter stands before he can, reaching into his bag and pulling out the animals he’d left at Ms. Figg’s: a honey bee, a turtle, three dogs, a finch, two lions, and a wild boar. He sends them out among the school as extra protection for any students not informed of the troll’s appearance.

Later that evening, Hermione Granger and her beast mouse, Plantain, are found in an alcove near the girls’ restroom, silent and panting and in shock but with a triumphant Plantain wriggling against her chest. Inside the restroom, the troll is stretched out on the floor, a sink and several stalls smashed to shards. It’s estimated that the only reason she survived the night is due to Plantain throwing himself at the troll bodily and biting it multiple times before herding the girl from the room. The Howlers sent to the Headmaster’s office increase by at least twenty percent.

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The Christmas holidays roll around with rumors among the Ravenclaws of a mirror enchanted to show your heart’s greatest desire. The remaining ones held a viewing party.

It was the first time Harry had ever seen his parents, had ever seen any of his family besides the Dursleys. The Ravenclaws could only drag him away by promising to help him find some wizarding photos of them.

(That night, with the curtains around his bed fully drawn, he cried into his pillow. Lilla, unable to console him, coiled herself against his back and made no sound until the morning.)

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Of course by this point the Gryffindors had realized that their power was quickly escaping their grasp. The end of the school year was fast approaching, their quidditch team was at best average despite Captain Wood’s best efforts, and the Ravenclaws had managed to sneak a powerful patron right from under their noses. Some of the younger of their number had managed to lose a significant portion of points each for a thoughtless jaunt through the forbidden third floor corridor without even the protection of a beast among them.

It was at this point that Percy Weasley does what will later be known as the first betrayal against his family and their staunch Dumbledore devotion: he approaches Harry Potter, Master and Guardian of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and asks to join his network for the same price as the Ravenclaws: a beast to call his own. An owl, inconspicuous and unnoticeable. Harry obliges, waiving the normal price he’d charge because he likes Percy, likes his ambition and willingness to do what he feels he must.

Percy gives the owl to his little sister. She’s starting Hogwarts next year, didn’t you know? As though he’d let her go without protection. He doesn’t tell her what it is, though. She’d want to know where he’d gotten that much money and he wouldn’t have an answer to give her besides: I’ve chosen a different Lord from our parents, Gin, because I’m going to make it . He’ll be there beside her, but you can’t tell your brother things you’d tell your owl. The owl that will protect her for the rest of her life.

It doesn’t really matter to him what he has to give up for that.

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First year ends quietly. Harry has still not spoken more than twenty words to Professor Snape. Professor Quirrell was cornered in the room under the three-headed dog’s trapdoor by some Gryffindors and a livid Professor Snape, who nearly captured the man and gave the students enough detentions and lost points to last them until the very last day. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs (and secretly, Percy) all say goodbye and vow to write him about anything and everything interesting over the summer, so he directs them to use Ms. Figg’s address instead of his own. Malfoy is the only Slytherin allowed in the compartment he uses on the train by his self-appointed Ravenclaw bodyguards, who scare everyone else off with pointed, threatening riddles they learned from the entrance to their common room. When Percy stops by to say one last goodbye and offer one last piece of information, Malfoy noticeably sneers. When Harry doesn’t react beyond a beleaguered sigh, the sneer crinkles a bit at the edges, and he sees the Ravenclaw guards glaring at him from their seats.

Percy asks Harry to come outside the compartment and, once there, gives Harry a slip of paper. On it he has written only two words in his sloping, elegant script.

The Burrow .

“I know your relatives aren’t good for you,” he whispers to Harry. His little lifelike owl is perched on his shoulder, shrewdly listening to every word, the same as Lilla. “I also know you’ve already got an escape. But sometimes a house down the street and an old, non-magical woman isn’t enough. This is my address. You’d be welcome no matter the time or the day.” He pats Harry on the shoulder, carefully avoiding Lilla’s coils. “Just think about it, okay? Just keep it in your mind for just in case. You may not ever use it, but having it is an option that you need.”

With that he walks away, leaving Harry staring down at the paper and trying to pretend he’s not crying out in the open on the Hogwarts Express for the first time in years.

END OF YEAR ONE: PHILOSOPHER’S STONE

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Headcanons for this ‘verse:

• Beasts don’t die unless they’re broken by eating something or being crushed. (Subnote: some beasts can come equipped with 'pellets' or packages of fake food for children or elderly family members who will attempt to feed something to the beast. These pellets are reusable and do not affect the inner workings of a beast, so they are safe to feed to your beast.)

• Upon their master’s death, a beast will return to Harry Potter’s side unless left in a will to a family member.

• Beasts will only obey their master and Harry Potter.

• Beasts may not attack, only defend. Their teeth, claws, and talons are all very sharp and can crush bone. Insects are equipped with paralyzing, but otherwise harmless, venom.

• Upon a master’s death, their name will appear on their beast(s). This way a record can be kept of all previous masters.

• Herbivores are just as dangerous as carnivores. Their “meat-eating” teeth are tucked up into their flat molars until they need them; the same is done with their claws on their flat, soft feet. Birds’ feathers can become razors in a pinch with free replacement if necessary, and small animals like rodents, insects, and housepets can also be armed with other small weapons on request. These include gas bombs, knives, quills like a porcupine’s that shoot out from the body, paralyzing venom, and other things, all non-lethal due to legality issues that come with selling deadly weapons to children under the legal age.

• Beasts come equipped for childcare. That is to say, your child’s beast knows not to allow your kid near electrical sockets and knives and the like, not that they could perfectly raise a human child in a way that simulates the child’s parents or caregivers. Example: they understand that unlike them, human beings need food. While being able to differentiate if something is poisonous to their charge, they have no way of detecting taste or if it’s healthy for a younger charge without allergies to eat. Beasts also come equipped with locating spells for young or elderly charges.

• Harry is magically notified upon a beast’s destruction. Emergency procedure is to send word to an Auror in case of danger.

• Beasts are impervious to magic, but they can sense it on objects or other people. Any magic malevolent to their master will set them on their guard, causing teeth to sharpen, claws to extend, or fangs to fill with venom, among other defensive changes.

 (Additions suggested by MistressCinder and qqsha; thank you for your thoughtful questions and suggestions!)