Lily woke before dawn because she always did now, slipping past sleeping first-years and down the tower stairs. She'd been practicing stillness every morning for three weeks, sitting motionless by the lake until her legs cramped and her breath moved slower than the water. But this morning, the ground shook. A sound like thunder rolled across the grounds, and Lily ran toward it instead of away. She found the crater at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, trees knocked flat in rings around the impact point. In the center lay a Thunderbird, larger than she'd imagined from the drawings. Its feathers were blue and gold and copper, brilliant even in the grey dawn light. One wing stretched out at the wrong angle, broken. The creature's eyes found hers, sharp and golden, and Lily went completely still. She had studied every account, practiced for this without knowing when it would come. The Thunderbird didn't move. Neither did she. After a long moment, it tucked its good wing closer to its body and closed its eyes. Lily took one careful step forward, then another. She was six feet away when she knelt in the dirt. The Thunderbird's breathing was shallow and quick. She could see now where blood matted the feathers along its side. This was her chance, but only if the creature survived. She pulled off her cloak and moved closer, slow as sunrise, and draped it over the wounded wing. Something glinted near the Thunderbird's talons. Lily reached for it without thinking, her fingers closing around a small glass vial. Inside, crystalline powder glowed faint purple even in the dim light. The cork was covered in moss that didn't grow anywhere near Scotland. She turned the vial over and saw a label in handwriting she couldn't read. Whatever this was, the Thunderbird had been carrying it when it fell. She slipped the vial into her pocket and looked back at the creature. Its eyes were open again, watching her. The Thunderbird made a low sound in its throat, not quite a cry. Blood seeped through her cloak where it covered the broken wing. Lily knew she had minutes, maybe less, before professors arrived to take over. Before they moved the Thunderbird somewhere she couldn't follow. She pressed both hands against the ground and made herself as still as stone, letting the creature see she meant to stay. The Thunderbird's head lowered until its beak nearly touched the earth. Its breathing slowed to match hers. When voices shouted from the castle, Lily didn't move. She had found her Thunderbird, and she wasn't leaving it behind.

The professors arrived with stretchers and floating charms, but the Thunderbird wouldn't let them close. It spread its good wing and shrieked, a sound that split the air and made the ground trembling. Lily stayed perfectly still, and the creature folded itself around her like she was something it needed to protect. Professor McGonagall convinced the others to let Lily help move the Thunderbird to the hospital wing, but only because the creature wouldn't calm for anyone else. They levitated it on a conjured platform while Lily walked alongside, one hand resting on its neck. The vial in her pocket grew warmer with each step, then began to pulse like a heartbeat. By the time they reached the castle entrance, it burned hot enough that Lily had to press her palm against her robes to hide the glow seeping through the fabric. She glanced back toward the forest and froze. Past the crater, barely visible through the morning mist, stood a carved stone altar she'd never seen before. Dark feathers covered its surface, and broken glass glinted in the pale light. Someone had been there recently. Someone who knew about Thunderbirds. The vial pulsed again, brighter now, and Lily understood: whatever was in this vial, someone had left that altar as a marker to find it again. They would come looking, and when they did, they would find her instead. Lily made her choice before they reached the hospital wing doors. She told Professor McGonagall she needed the bathroom, then slipped away down an empty corridor. The vial burned against her skin as she ran toward the tower she'd spotted from the entrance, a dark stone building that rose past the treeline like a spike. She'd never noticed it before, which meant it was either very old or very hidden. The vial's glow brightened as she got closer, pulsing faster, and Lily knew she was right. Whoever built that altar worked from this tower. She stopped at the base of the stairs and buried the vial under a loose stone in the wall, covering it with dirt and moss until no light showed through. Let them come looking. They'd find an empty hiding spot and a first-year who knew how to be still enough to watch them search. The Thunderbird needed her more than this vial did, and she'd already learned the most important thing: someone else was trying to use Thunderbird blood for something, and now she knew where they worked.

Professor McGonagall stood at the base of the tower stairs, arms folded, her expression sharp enough to cut glass. The light from Lily's robes had faded, but the professor's eyes tracked to the exact spot where the glow had been. Lily's heart hammered against her ribs. She'd been so careful burying the vial, pressing moss into every crack. But she'd forgotten about the light bleeding through her pocket on the way here. Lily stopped just past the carved stone archway that marked the tower entrance. The archway's metal lanterns threw yellow light across McGonagall's face, making her look older and more tired than usual. "Miss Emberwick," the professor said quietly. "I watched you leave the hospital wing. I watched you run here instead of to the bathroom. And I watched something glow in your pocket bright enough to light your path." She paused. "I need to know what you're carrying." Lily's mind raced. She could lie, but McGonagall would see through it. She could refuse to answer, but that would mean losing access to the Thunderbird. She made her choice the same way she'd chosen to stay with the creature in the forest: by trusting what mattered most. "I found something near the Thunderbird," Lily said. "Someone's been using Thunderbird blood for rituals. There's an altar in the forest. I hid what they left behind because I thought they'd come looking, and I wanted to see who it was." McGonagall's expression didn't change, but something shifted in her eyes. "Show me where you hid it," she said. Lily knelt by the loose stone and pulled the vial free. It pulsed once in her palm, brighter than before. McGonagall stared at it for a long moment, then looked at Lily with something that might have been respect. "You'll help me investigate this," the professor said. "And in return, you'll be allowed supervised access to the Thunderbird during its recovery." Lily nodded, the vial's warmth spreading through her fingers. She'd lost her secret, but she'd gained something better: permission to stay close to the creature she needed to understand. But McGonagall wasn't finished. She pulled a worn leather folder from inside her robes and opened it carefully. Yellowed documents filled the pockets, handwriting Lily didn't recognize covering page after page. "Your family has a history with magical creatures," McGonagall said. "Your great-grandmother worked with Hippogriffs. Your grandfather studied Kelpies in the Highlands." She closed the folder. "I suspected you'd try something ambitious. I didn't expect it this soon, or this dangerous." Lily felt her chest tighten. McGonagall had been watching her since before she'd even found the Thunderbird. The professor knew about her plans, or at least guessed at them. "I'm not trying to hurt it," Lily said quickly. "I want to help them. All of them. There aren't enough Thunderbirds left." McGonagall's face softened just slightly. "I believe you," she said. "But wanting something noble doesn't make it safe. You're going to learn that the hard way if you keep rushing forward without thinking." The professor took the vial from Lily's hand and held it up to the lantern light. The purple powder inside swirled like storm clouds. "This is concentrated essence," McGonagall said. "Someone extracted it from living Thunderbird blood. Whoever built that altar isn't just studying these creatures. They're harvesting them." She looked at Lily directly. "If you want to protect Thunderbirds, you need to understand what you're fighting against. Starting tomorrow, you'll meet me here every evening after dinner. I'll teach you what I know about magical creature protection, and you'll tell me everything you've already learned." Lily felt something settle in her chest. This wasn't the solo journey she'd imagined. But McGonagall was offering her real knowledge, real access, and a path forward that didn't require hiding. She'd have to share her stillness technique, her notes, everything she'd worked to figure out alone. But in return, she'd learn from someone who understood the danger and still believed she could do something that mattered. Lily met the professor's eyes beneath the mossy stone archway. "I'll be here," she said.

Lily arrived at the tower the next evening with her notes tucked inside her robes. McGonagall was already waiting, standing in the same spot as before. The professor gestured for her to sit on the stone steps, then asked to see everything Lily had written about Thunderbirds. Lily hesitated for just a moment before handing over the pages. McGonagall read in silence, her expression unchanging. Then she looked up. "You've been practicing in the courtyard near the greenhouses," she said. It wasn't a question. Lily nodded, confused about how the professor knew the exact location. McGonagall walked to the edge of the tower landing and pointed down toward the grounds. "Someone else has been watching you." She pulled something from behind a stone ledge — a shimmering cloak that caught the light like oil on water. "I found this draped over the greenhouse roof this morning. Whoever wore it had a clear view of your practice sessions." Lily's stomach dropped. She'd thought she was alone all those afternoons, working on her stillness technique where no one would see. But someone had been studying her, learning what she'd learned. McGonagall folded the cloak carefully. "Whoever built that altar knows you found the vial. And now they know how you plan to approach Thunderbirds." She met Lily's eyes. "They're going to use your own method to reach the creature before you do." Lily felt the weight of it settle over her. She'd worked so hard to earn the Thunderbird's trust through patience and preparation. Now someone else would take her technique and use it first, and the Thunderbird would choose them instead. She looked at McGonagall, her notes suddenly feeling useless in her hands. "Can we stop them?" The professor's face was grim. "Not if they're already ahead of us. But we can be ready when they make their move." She handed Lily back her notes. "Your stillness technique is sound. The question now is whether you're willing to use it differently than you planned — not to bond with the Thunderbird, but to protect it from whoever's been watching you." Lily understood what McGonagall was asking. She could keep preparing to earn the creature's trust herself, or she could accept that someone else might reach it first and focus instead on making sure that person didn't hurt it. The choice felt like giving up her dream before she'd even tried. But looking at the shimmering cloak in McGonagall's hands, Lily realized her stillness practice had never been just about her. It was about what the Thunderbird needed. And right now, it needed protection more than it needed her ambition. "I'll do it," Lily said. "Whatever keeps it safe." McGonagall nodded once, and Lily felt the path ahead shift under her feet.

Lily met McGonagall at the edge of the forest before dawn. The castle rose behind them in the gray light, its spires still dark against the sky. McGonagall carried a small silver-framed mirror that showed no reflection, only shifting light in the shape of Lily's own magic. "It will pulse brighter as we near the altar," the professor said. "Whoever built the site tied it to the vial's signature. Yours brushed against it long enough to leave a trace." Lily took the mirror and slipped it into her sleeve. They started into the trees. The altar clearing looked wrong before Lily understood why. The stones had been dragged wider apart. A second flat slab now sat beside the first, its surface still damp. Fresh feathers lay in a ring around it, longer and paler than the ones from the crashed Thunderbird. Lily crouched at the edge and held the mirror flat in her palm. The light inside it pulled toward the new slab and steadied there, bright and cold. "They expanded it," she said. "For a second creature." McGonagall did not answer at once. She walked the perimeter, counting the feathers. Lily found the mark behind the second slab. A dark pool had eaten into the stone and the packed earth around it, the edges cracked white where the residue had burned the ground. Something large had been laid there and then lifted away. The shape was wrong for a Thunderbird chick and wrong for a full-grown one. She measured it with her hands and felt the size settle in her chest. "This wasn't done last night," she said. "The burn is old. Days, maybe a week." McGonagall knelt beside her and touched the cracked rim. "Before the crash." Lily understood then what the mirror had been trying to show her. The Thunderbird she had found in the forest was not the first. Someone had taken another creature before it, drained it here, and moved on. The crashed bird had been the second attempt, and the vial in her pocket that first afternoon had been meant to carry more. The rival watching her stillness practice was not preparing for one theft. They were building a collection. She stood up slowly and looked back through the trees toward the hospital wing, where the injured Thunderbird still lay with its broken wing bound. "We have to move it," Lily said. "Tonight. Before they come back for the one they didn't finish." McGonagall folded a feather into a cloth and put it away. "The hospital wing is warded. Moving the creature will hurt it." "Leaving it will kill it." The professor looked at her for a long moment, then nodded once. Lily closed her hand around the mirror. The light inside it was still pulling, steady, toward whatever had been carried out of the clearing and was not yet done being used.