In LOTR with Harry Potter system

As Sylas lowered his wand, the broken city wall before them was suddenly mended, stone rejoining stone with seamless precision. It happened so swiftly that everyone nearby froze in stunned silence, eyes wide with awe.

Only Bilbo looked unsurprised. Having witnessed Sylas's magic many times before, he stood nearby with a proud little smirk, clearly pleased by everyone's reaction.

But Sylas wasn't finished. With his robes brushing against the dusty ground, he moved deeper into the city, wand raised. Wherever he passed, collapsed walls straightened, shattered beams mended, and crumbled homes reformed as though time itself were turning backward.

The spectacle was nothing short of miraculous. Across Dale, displaced townsfolk emerged from tents and shelters, watching the quiet wizard as though witnessing the work of a God. Many bowed their heads in silent reverence.

When the repairs were finally complete, Sylas let out a deep breath and lowered his wand.

"There," he said, surveying the newly mended structures. "It's livable now."

The city still bore scars from the dragon's past attack, but it no longer looked like a ruin. Some houses, spared from fire, now stood fully restored. No longer would families have to brave the cold nights beneath tattered canvas.

Bard stepped forward, emotion heavy in his voice. He bowed deeply.

"I can't thank you enough, Sylas. Your generosity has brought hope back to our people."

Sylas smiled and shook his head.

"I'm glad I could help. But I'm afraid I can't do anything about the sections burned by dragonfire. You'll have to patch those by hand."

"That's more than enough," Bard replied gratefully.

Just then, a deep voice rumbled behind them. "Perhaps I can assist."

Bard turned toward the speaker, surprised. "And who might you be?"

"This is Beorn," Sylas said. "He lives west of Mirkwood, near the Anduin. He's joined us to fight against the Orcs."

At that, Beorn removed his cloak and, without hesitation, shifted into his true form. His body surged upward, limbs thickening and fur erupting from his skin until a massive black bear, as tall as the city wall, stood where the man had been.

A ripple of alarm swept through the nearby crowd, but when the great bear remained calm and didn't attack, their fear turned to wonder. Some even bowed, recognizing him as a guardian spirit of the wild.

Bard stared, eyes wide. "Incredible…"

Beorn lumbered over to a pile of stones and, with ease, began lifting massive boulders, placing them into the remaining gaps in the wall. Bard quickly rallied the workers to assist, shouting for ropes, scaffolds, and mortar.

Sylas, satisfied that things were in good hands, turned and returned to his quarters. He had something important to finish, a wand for Beorn.

Bilbo lingered to help where he could, handing out tools and carrying buckets of water for the workers.

Time passed quickly.

Before long, Sylas emerged from his workshop, holding a long, beautifully crafted wand.

"Sixteen inches," he said with a chuckle, handing it over. "Warg heartstring for the core, and old oak from Mirkwood for the body. It's the longest wand I've ever made, nearly a staff."

Beorn accepted it reverently, eyes shining. He gave it an experimental wave.

Instantly, green shoots sprouted from the wand's tip. Tiny branches formed, then leaves, and finally a single, shimmering acorn ripened and dropped into his palm.

Beorn stared in amazement, holding the acorn as though it were treasure.

"This… this is wondrous," he whispered.

He tucked it carefully into a pouch, already imagining where he might plant it in his garden back home.

Sylas beamed with joy at the sight of Beorn's success.

"Congratulations," he said warmly. "It looks like you've found the wand that was meant for you."

In that moment, Sylas finally understood what Ollivander must have felt each time a wand found its ideal owner, the deep satisfaction that couldn't be put into words.

Beorn gently ran his fingers along the wand's polished grain, holding it as though it were something sacred. His voice was sincere with gratitude.

"Thank you, Sylas, for making this wand for me."

Sylas chuckled and waved off the thanks.

"There's no need for that, we're friends, aren't we?"

Beorn smiled. "Yes, we are."

Sylas then spent the rest of the morning teaching Beorn a few basic spells. To his delight, the skin-changer quickly picked up Incendio and Aguamenti, conjuring small flames and clean streams of water with ease. Watching Beorn's earnest expression as he practiced, Sylas felt a surge of pride. It was the kind of joy a teacher might feel seeing their first student succeed.

"If I were at Hogwarts," Sylas mused, "maybe I'd make a decent professor."

With Beorn's first lesson complete, Sylas turned his attention to something else, a far more delicate matter.

He unfastened the enchanted pouch at his waist and gently reached inside, carefully lifting out a small, fluffy creature nestled within.

"A great eagle eaglet?" Bilbo and Beorn said in unison, eyes wide with surprise as they saw the downy hatchling.

Bilbo looked scandalized. "Sylas… you didn't steal it, did you?"

Sylas gave him an incredulous look. "Of course not. The Great Eagle King entrusted it to me."

Beorn visibly relaxed. "That's a relief. The eagles rule the skies around here. If you'd abducted their young, they'd have been hunting you down by now."

He leaned in to inspect the chick more closely. "But it does seem… underdeveloped. Is it sickly?"

Sylas nodded, his brow furrowed. "Exactly. That's likely why they let me take it. The little one was born frail, and couldn't compete with its siblings. It's been starving since the moment it hatched."

He waved his wand gently, casting a diagnostic charm. The results only deepened his frown.

"The hatchling's magical and physical vitality are both very low," he muttered. "It wouldn't have lasted much longer."

He looked into the chick's round, dark eyes, filled with confusion and trust, and softly promised, "Don't worry, little one. I'll help you grow strong. Someday, you'll soar higher than the clouds."

The chick chirped softly in reply, a sound light and clear like a flute, as if trying to respond to his kindness.

Seeing the need, Sylas rummaged through his enchanted satchel again and withdrew a small glass vial.

"This is the last of my Soothing Potion," he sighed. "Let's see if it helps."

The eagle chick, perhaps sensing Sylas's intent, obediently opened its tiny beak. It drank the bitter liquid without resistance, eyes blinking but trusting.

Almost immediately, the change was noticeable. Its feathers brightened just a little, and it stood a bit more steadily in Sylas's hand. The chirp it gave was clearer and stronger than before.

Beorn crossed his arms and grinned. "I think it's accepted you, Sylas. Seems like you've earned yourself a new companion."

Sylas smiled back, his eyes still on the little eagle as it nuzzled into his chest, fluffing its wings affectionately.

The Soothing Potion was helpful, but not enough to counter the eagle's innate frailty. He would need to brew stronger draughts next: blood-replenishing potions, recovery Potions, and other healing Potions.

However, some of the ingredients needed for the Potions only existed in Harry Potter world, so he would have to identify suitable substitutes in Middle-earth.

For that, there was no better person to consult than Radagast the Brown, the reclusive wizard known for his unparalleled knowledge of herbs and magical flora.

"By the way, Sylas," Bilbo asked curiously, observing the eaglet who already stood taller than himself, "have you named this little fellow yet?"

Sylas thought for a moment, then smiled softly.

"Thorondor. I hope he can live up to his namesake and one day soar through the skies with the strength and majesty of his ancestor."

Beorn's eyes widened slightly. "Thorondor?" he echoed, clearly surprised. He hadn't expected Sylas to give such a storied name to a fragile hatchling.

In the ancient histories, Thorondor, King of the Eagles, was the mightiest of all the Great Eagles. He fought in the War of Wrath, helped destroy Morgoth's fortress of Angband, and rescued the Elven King Turgon from peril.

To bestow such a name was no small gesture. But the chick, oblivious to the weight behind it, accepted the name without hesitation. It puffed up its tiny chest and chirped proudly.

To keep the young Thorondor from growing bored, Sylas let him roam freely and entrusted his care to Bilbo.

Bilbo was delighted. Caring for a baby eagle, even one larger than himself, was a task he embraced with enthusiasm. He fed him regularly, even purchasing large portions of meat from Lake-town traders using his own stash of gold coins. In truth, Bilbo doted on the chick more than Sylas himself did.

With the eagle now in good hands, Sylas finally returned to his studies, specifically, to The Book of Abraham.

The book contained knowledge of Alchemical Runes, ancient magical theories, and most notably, the elusive method of creating the Philosopher's Stone.

Even with the handwritten notes and annotations by Nicolas Flamel himself, the material was daunting. Sylas found himself rubbing his temples in frustration more than once.

Naturally, he was most intrigued by the chapter on the Philosopher's Stone. But without any real foundation in Alchemy, it felt like trying to fly before learning to walk.

So, reluctantly, he began from the basics.

Thankfully, he had long ago received a Rune Dictionary from the system, and since then, he had never stopped studying magical runes. This gave him just enough foundation to begin deciphering the more accessible parts of the Book of Abraham.

But before he could finish the introductory material, a sudden stir outside interrupted his focus.

Gandalf had returned.

And with him came King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, along with a full legion of golden-armored Elves.

Sylas stepped outside and looked toward the city gates. There, beneath the crisp sky, the Elven host stood in perfect formation, their armor gleaming like sunlight through autumn leaves. At their head rode Thranduil, majestic atop his great elk, his pale hair flowing like moonlight.

Sylas turned to Gandalf, raising a brow.

"You actually convinced Thranduil to come?"

Gandalf let out a dry chuckle and shook his head.

"Hardly. He didn't come for the alliance. He came to reclaim a necklace, a white jewel heirloom once entrusted to the Dwarves for crafting."

Bard looked astonished. "He brought an army... for a necklace?"

"It's not just any trinket," Gandalf explained patiently. "It was a gift from his late wife. The last memory of her. Its sentimental value is... beyond measure."

There was a pause before Gandalf added, "Still, he agreed to an alliance with the Men of Lake-town, and brought enough provisions to carry you through the winter."

Bard's concern quickly melted into gratitude. The food shortage had weighed heavily on him for weeks, but now, with Thranduil's arrival, his people might just survive the coming cold.

Wasting no time, Bard organized the townsfolk to go out and formally receive the Elven King.

As Thranduil approached, the crowd parted with cautious reverence.

"Your Majesty Thranduil," Bard greeted, bowing slightly. "I did not expect you would come in person."

Thranduil sat tall upon the back of his majestic elk, his posture regal and his gaze sharp with quiet pride.

"I heard you were in need," he said coolly, raising one hand. "So I brought a few supplies."

At his signal, a line of Elven carts rumbled forward, drawn by sleek deer and laden with sacks of grain, baskets of vegetables, and bundles of salted meats.

The sight left Bard stunned. "A few supplies?" he murmured. This was far more than expected, enough to last Lake-town's people through the entire winter, with surplus to spare.

"You've saved us. I don't even know how to begin thanking you," Bard said, his voice thick with emotion.

"There's no need," Thranduil replied, his expression unreadable. "I did not come for gratitude. I came for what is mine, something the Dwarves have withheld for too long."

Though Bard made no comment on that, he still stepped forward courteously, bowing slightly.

"You and your company are welcome here. Please, come inside and rest."

Thranduil nodded, dismounting with silent grace. A retinue of guards followed him as he strode into Dale alongside Bard. His eyes swept over the city walls and newly repaired buildings, and for a moment, his usually composed face betrayed a flicker of surprise.

"This place was in ruins after the dragon's attack. When did you find craftsmen skilled enough to rebuild stonework so swiftly?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Bard smiled, pride glinting in his eyes. "That credit belongs to the wizard Sylas. His magic restored the city in an instant, as if the stones themselves remembered their shape. And Beorn, in his beast form, helped haul the great stones into place. Without them, we'd still be sleeping under broken roofs."

Thranduil gave a faint nod of understanding, though his surprise deepened visibly. Such magic was rare, even among the Elves.

Just ahead, Sylas stood waiting with Beorn and Bilbo beside him.

"Your Majesty Thranduil," Sylas greeted with a pleasant smile. "It's good to see you again."

Thranduil stepped forward, eyes fixed on him with open respect. "And I am surprised in turn. The one who brought down the fire-dragon… The Black-Robed Wizard who commands beasts and rebuilds cities with a wave of his wand. Your name has reached even the heart of Mirkwood."

Thranduil approached Sylas with measured steps. For once, his eyes held no coldness, only admiration.