In LOTR with Harry Potter system

Sylas let out a quiet sigh of relief when he realized the Great Eagle had no intention of attacking him.

Then a new thought struck him, his eyes widened with surprise. "Wait… you can speak? Or is it that I can understand you?"

The Great Eagle gave him a sharp, amused look.

"I am a messenger of Manwë, High King of the Valar and Lord of the Winds," the great bird replied. "King of all Eagles and ruler of the skies. Of course I can speak with all winged creatures."

He paused, narrowing his eyes curiously. "But you… what exactly are you? You wear the shape of an owl, yet you carry the scent of a human."

"I'm Sylas, a Wizard. I crossed the Misty Mountains once with Gandalf and the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. You and your kin gave us a lift, remember?"

Recognition lit in the Great Eagle's eyes. "Ah, yes, I remember you now. The Wizard who fought beside Gandalf. You slew Azog the Defiler that day, the Orc who led the warbands."

"That was me," Sylas said, nodding with a hint of pride.

"But why are you now in the form of a bird?" the Eagle asked, puzzled. "You were a man then."

"This is a form of transformation magic," Sylas explained. "It allows me to become an animal."

"Ah," the eagle rumbled, intrigued. "A bit like a skin-changer, then."

The revelation only seemed to deepen the great eagle's interest. A Wizard who could become a bird and speak the language of the skies, this was something the Eagle King had never seen before.

"I would like to hear more," the eagle said. "Come, be our guest at the Eyrie."

At his invitation, Sylas followed the great bird to their roost. The Eyrie was nestled high on a sheer cliff face near the High Pass, not far from the shattered remnants of Goblin-town. A broad stone shelf jutted from the mountainside, where massive nests were built from thick, woven branches.

Each nest was layered with finer twigs and padded with feathers, and, to Sylas's surprise, some even lined with whole Warg pelts.

When he landed in one of the larger nests, Sylas suddenly felt like a child in a world of giants. Towering eagle sentinels gazed down at him, their golden eyes full of curiosity and cautious respect.

"Welcome, sky-shifter," the Great Eagle said, his voice echoing across the cliffs.

Though the Great Eagles were wise and could understand Elvish and the tongues of Men, they rarely spoke aloud to mortals. Yet with Sylas in owl form, able to speak their language directly.

They welcomed him warmly, offering fruits native to the Misty Mountains, sweet berries and alpine apples. One enthusiastic young eagle even brought in a half-dead Warg as a "gift," which Sylas politely declined.

The hospitality of the eagles, while earnest, was a bit overwhelming.

As Sylas explored the nest, he noticed several eagle chicks nestled within. Despite being newly hatched, they were each larger than he was, chirping noisily and flapping oversized wings with excitement.

But then he spotted one chick huddled alone near the edge of the nest. It was much smaller and weaker than the others, its chirps faint and tired. Its feathers were still patchy, and it struggled even to lift its head.

Unlike the others, this chick seemed to be ignored entirely by its parents, left to fend for itself in silence.

Sylas frowned. He knew well that in the wild, nature could be cruel, only the strong survived. In some eagle nests, the weakest were even pushed aside or devoured to ensure the survival of the stronger siblings.

But these were no ordinary eagles. These were the Eagles of Manwë, noble and wise beyond mortal measure. Would even they abandon the weak?

Still, Sylas hesitated to speak. This was, after all, a matter of the Eagle Kings' own kin, and he felt it wasn't his place to interfere.

But the Eagle King, wise and perceptive, seemed to sense the conflict in his heart. He gave a long, heavy sigh.

"We of the Great Eagles dwell in the highest crags of the Misty Mountains," the king said gravely. "Each day we battle Wargs, Orcs, and fouler things that prowl these peaks. Only the strongest among us survive. That is the law of this land."

He glanced toward the frail chick with a flicker of sadness in his golden eyes.

"The weak… they are often taken by the cold or the claws of beasts. Perhaps returning to the embrace of Manwë early is not a punishment, but mercy."

Then he turned his gaze back to Sylas. "But you, Wizard Sylas, if your heart is moved with pity, you may take this little one with you. Perhaps, in your world, he might find a new beginning."

"Me? Take him?" Sylas blinked, stunned. 

The Eagle King nodded solemnly.

Even the chick's parents offered no protest. They neither approached nor objected, their gaze as indifferent as mountain stone.

Sylas looked at the frail, downy chick curled in the nest, so much smaller than his robust siblings. For a moment, he was speechless.

Then he knelt down and gently asked, "Little one… would you like to come with me?"

Shifting back into human form, Sylas reached into his cloak and pulled out a strip of dried meat, holding it out.

Though the chick was said to be under three years old, eagle-kind matured slowly, but it was still intelligent enough to understand his words.

The little eagle's eyes flashed red with hunger. Just as one of its siblings lunged toward the food, it darted forward, snatched the meat, and gulped it down with desperate greed.

Then it turned back toward Sylas. For the first time, there was light in its eyes.

It looked at him, then back at its family, the parents who had barely acknowledged it, and the brothers and sisters who pushed it aside.

At last, the little eagle gave a firm nod.

And just like that, Sylas had a companion.

To keep it safe, he expanded the inner space of his enchanted money pouch using the Undetectable Extension Charm, he could manage up to a ten-meter diameter, which would be just enough to house the young eagle.

The Eagle King also gave him a nest woven from fragrant mountain wood, the very nest in which the chick had hatched. It was a rare and symbolic gift, one Sylas accepted with reverence.

In addition, the Eagles bestowed upon him a variety of items: several sacred feathers, which could serve as potion cores; shards of eggshell with alchemical properties; and even a Warg pelt to serve as a cushion or insulation.

After expressing his heartfelt gratitude and bidding farewell, Sylas took off once again, transforming into his owl form midair and carrying the pouch containing the chick and its nest beneath his talons.

Within the magically-expanded space, the little eagle was making a glorious mess. Surrounded by food stores, berries, meat, and nuts, he buried his beak into the supplies like a starving dragon hoarding gold.

Having never known a full belly since the day he hatched, the eaglet felt no sorrow over leaving his old life behind. 

To him, the one who fed him was family.

As Sylas soared high over the Misty Mountains, he chose not to head straight for the Lonely Mountain. Instead, he banked southward, gliding down in wide circles above the forests near the Anduin.

Below him stood the tall homestead of a familiar figure. Beorn's house came into view.

Noticing the shadow overhead, Beorn stepped outside, eyes narrowing at the shape of a large raven circling overhead.

"Who goes there?" he called, though his tone remained steady.

But when the owl landed and shifted into a tall, dark-haired man in wizard's robes, Beorn's wariness melted into surprise.

"Sylas!"

"Been a while, Beorn," Sylas said with a smile.

Beorn broke into a grin. "That form, was that really you? For a moment, I thought one of my kin had learned to fly!"

Sylas chuckled and nodded. 

"I was just passing by," Sylas said with a grin, "so I thought I'd drop in for a visit."

"This is my newly mastered Animagus form. It only lets me transform into regular animals, so it's nowhere near as impressive as your transformation."

But Beorn shook his head, scoffing. I'd trade my paws for wings in a heartbeat! Flying's much cooler than lumbering around as a big bear stuck on the ground."

"Come in, come in!" he added warmly. "It's been a long while since you left these parts. Tell me everything you've been up to."

With Beorn's cheerful invitation, Sylas stepped inside the cozy wooden cottage, grateful for the hospitality. After all, he hadn't just come for a chat. He was hoping to ask Beorn for advice, perhaps even gain some insight into skin-changing that could help him evolve his Animagus abilities.

Currently, Sylas could transform into an owl, useful, but not enough. He dreamt of going beyond ordinary creatures. Magical beasts like the Phoenix, Thunderbird, or even the elusive Griffin danced in his mind. Of course, creatures like Dragons and Unicorns were off the table; his current form was a bird, after all, and there was no realistic evolutionary leap from owl to unicorn.

Still, powerful avian beasts, like the Phoenix or the storm-summoning Thunderbird, might be within reach. There was an old saying: "Even a sparrow may one day become a Phoenix." Why not an owl?

It was a long shot, certainly. But if he succeeded, the rewards would be unimaginable.

The Phoenix could rise from its own ashes, reborn even after death, even under the Avada Kedavra curse. Immortality wrapped in flame. And the Thunderbird? A creature that could stir storms with a flap of its wings, foresee danger, and bend the skies to its will…

Inside the cottage, as they sat near the hearth, Sylas recounted his recent journey. When he spoke of Thorin's descent into madness from dragon sickness, Beorn let out a disdainful snort.

"Those Dwarves," Beorn muttered darkly, "always chasing gold with blind eyes. Cursed or not, greed is still greed. No treasure, no magic could justify his choices."

He had never thought highly of Dwarves. The only reason he had helped them at all during the quest to Erebor was because they had shared a common enemy.

Thorin's madness, to him, was no tragic fall, it was expected.

But what truly caught Beorn's attention was something else.

"You… tamed the Dragon?" His eyes widened, disbelief painted across his weathered face.

Sylas chuckled at the reaction. He was used to it by now. "Yes."

Beorn blinked, then burst into raucous laughter. "Unbelievable!"

"Soon all of Middle-earth will be talking about this! What will they call you, I wonder? 'Dragonbinder'? 'Smaug's Keeper'?"

He paused, thinking. "No, no, wait! I've got it. 'Dragon Rider!' That's the one. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

Sylas smiled sheepishly, but took the opportunity to bring up what he really came for.

He explained his Animagus transformation and asked about Beorn's own shape-shifting abilities. Perhaps, Sylas hoped, there might be something to learn, some ritual, method, or insight passed down among skin-changers.

But Beorn shook his head.

"Our gift runs in the blood," he said simply. "They say our ancestors once lived in the high Misty Mountains, and the spirits of the wild, perhaps even Yavanna herself, blessed them. That's all I know."

"I didn't choose this. It just… happened. I woke up one day and I could become the Bear."

Sylas wasn't entirely surprised. Skin-changers were rare, even by wizard standards. Still, he pressed a little further.

"Would you… mind showing me?" he asked. "It might help me figure something out."

Beorn raised a thick brow. "I can, but… I'll have to take off my clothes."

Sylas blinked. "Wait, what?"

"My transformation doesn't work like your Animagus. The bear doesn't wear clothes. If I shift while dressed, I'll shred the lot."

Sylas coughed awkwardly, looking away. 

Trying to keep his eyes fixed on the rafters, Sylas waited while Beorn disrobed. Then, with a deep breath, the skin-changer began.

Muscles swelled. Veins bulged. A low, guttural growl rumbled in Beorn's chest as his bones cracked and shifted, reshaping themselves. Coarse black fur erupted from his skin, spreading like wildfire.

In mere moments, the man was gone.

In his place stood a towering black Bear, easily the size of a cottage, staring down at Sylas with eyes that were no less intelligent than before.