In LOTR with Harry Potter system

Since both the Eagle and Gandalf served under Manwë, the King of the Valar, perhaps their essences were more attuned, making the feather a compatible core for Gandalf's new wand.

If not… the only other option Sylas could think of was the Balrog in the depths of Moria. But the Balrog's power was immense and terrible. Even Gandalf, at the height of his strength, had only managed to defeat it at the cost of his life. Sylas wasn't confident that such a violent, dark essence could be used to forge something as noble and balanced as Gandalf's wand.

He could only hope the Eagle's feather would suffice. If not, then the road to reforging Gandalf's wand would be long and uncertain.

The Eagle, understanding human speech, tilted his head thoughtfully. After a pause, he reached back with his beak, plucked a feather from his tail, and presented it to Gandalf.

Gandalf accepted the gift with a smile, gently stroking the majestic eagle's feathered head. "Thank you, my friend."

The Eagle chirped softly and nuzzled Gandalf's hand before spreading his wings once more and soaring into the sky, leading the other Giant Eagles as they returned to the Misty Mountains.

Gandalf watched them depart, then turned to Sylas and handed him the feather. "I'll leave it to you, Sylas."

Sylas accepted it carefully. The feather shimmered faintly, its metallic sheen catching the light. He could feel the magic flowing through it, alive, steady, noble. He nodded with satisfaction. "How does it feel, Gandalf? Is it compatible?"

Gandalf closed his eyes for a moment, sensing the feather's aura. Then he opened them, a soft smile forming beneath his beard. "It welcomes my magic. That's all I could hope for."

"Thank goodness," Sylas exhaled with relief.

Suddenly, a shout came from behind. "Gandalf! Sylas! Hurry!" one of the Dwarves called, alarm in his voice. "Something's wrong with Thorin!"

Gandalf and Sylas rushed over to where the others were gathered. Under their anxious gazes, Thorin Oakenshield lay motionless on the rocky ground, his breathing shallow, eyes still closed.

"Let me see," Gandalf said, immediately kneeling beside him. He examined Thorin carefully, his expression darkening. "His wounds are deeper than I expected."

He raised a hand to cast a healing spell.

But Sylas gently stopped him. "Gandalf, let me handle it."

From his bag, Sylas pulled out a small, shimmering vial and handed it to Balin. "This is Wiggenweld Potion, it's excellent for healing injuries."

"I almost forgot you had Potions, Sylas," Gandalf said, his eyes lighting up with relief. "This will work far better than any spell I could manage right now."

He stepped back without protest, letting Sylas take over.

Balin and the other Dwarves treated the potion like sacred treasure. With anxious hands, they scooped it out and slathered it generously over Thorin's wounds, so generously, in fact, that Sylas winced.

"They're using it like stew!" Sylas muttered under his breath, heart aching. "That bottle took weeks to brew... and they just dumped half of it in one go!"

But the effect was undeniable. Almost at once, Thorin's wounds began to close, the gashes knitting together before their eyes. Within moments, the Dwarf King stirred, his eyes fluttering open.

He blinked at the anxious faces around him. "What happened...?"

"Azog is dead," Balin said softly. "Sylas struck him down."

Thorin's expression froze. For a long moment, he lay in silence, stunned by the weight of that sentence.

Azog, the Orc who had slain his grandfather, Thrór. The one who had driven his father Thráin to madness and disappearance. Azog had been more than an enemy; he was a shadow that had haunted Thorin's bloodline for generations.

Now he was gone.

When the realization finally sank in, Thorin sat up slowly and turned to Sylas with unexpected solemnity. "Thank you," he said, his voice heavy with meaning. "You have avenged my house."

Then he looked to Bilbo. "And you… you saved my life. Without your courage, I'd be long dead."

For the first time in their journey, Thorin's proud and stubborn demeanor softened. There was no arrogance in his eyes, only gratitude. And with that, the company felt an unspoken shift. The bitterness that had once hung between them began to lift.

They rested briefly at Carrock before setting out again, heading south along the banks of the Anduin River. Their plan was to cross into Mirkwood through the Old Forest Road and eventually reach the Lonely Mountain.

But before long, they stumbled upon something unexpected.

A vast wooden fence loomed ahead, made of thick timber posts bound with thorny branches, forming a perimeter like a fortress wall. A towering wooden gate stood open, revealing a large homestead within.

Inside, several wooden structures dotted the land, barns, stables, cattle sheds, and peculiar bell-shaped beehives with thatched roofs. A wide dirt path led directly from the gate to the main hall at the heart of the homestead.

The Dwarves stopped and stared.

"Gandalf," one of them asked warily, "do you know who lives here? Friend or foe?"

Gandalf narrowed his eyes, surveying the grounds with caution. "Neither," he said cryptically. "Or perhaps… both. He may help us. Or kill us."

The Dwarves exchanged worried glances.

"Very comforting," Dori muttered under his breath.

Before anyone could respond, the forest behind them erupted in chaos.

Bushes and trees parted with a thunderous crash. It was as if a mountain was moving through the woods, flattening everything in its path. Then came the roar, a deep, guttural sound that echoed like thunder.

From the shadows emerged a monstrous black bear, towering over the trees, its eyes gleaming and breath steaming. Each step it took sent tremors through the earth, and its growl shook the leaves from the branches.

"By Durin's beard!" Bombur gasped, nearly dropping his pack.

"Run!"

The moment the enormous black bear roared in the distance, everyone ran as fast as they could, their hearts pounding with terror.

The beast charged after them, crashing through the trees with thunderous steps, its heavy breath rolling like mist across the forest floor.

By sheer luck, or perhaps fate, they managed to reach the wooden house just in time. The Dwarves slammed the tall wooden doors shut behind them, panting and wide-eyed.

But even inside, their fear hadn't vanished.

"Gandalf!" one of the Dwarves hissed, pressing his face to a crack in the timber wall. "This house is made of wood! If that bear wants to break in, he'll smash it to bits! What do we do?"

Gandalf, however, seemed unusually calm. He brushed the dust from his robes and sat down comfortably on a nearby bench, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

"Relax," he said, "as long as we're inside this house, we're perfectly safe. He won't attack this house."

"H-he?" Bilbo blinked. "You just said he. You know that giant bear, Gandalf?"

Sylas, already examining the wooden beams and carved posts, spoke up before Gandalf could answer. "That bear must be the owner of this house," he said thoughtfully. "Which means he won't destroy his own home."

Gandalf chuckled and nodded. "Exactly. Sylas has it right. The one outside may not be fond of visitors, but he won't attack his own dwelling. So long as we remain here, he won't lay a paw on us."

He spoke so casually, it was as if they had just come in for tea.

Then, as if to emphasize his lack of concern, Gandalf kicked off his boots, stretched his legs, and leaned back against the wall.

"Well, it's late," he said with a yawn. "We've had enough excitement for one day. Everyone should get some rest. We'll speak more in the morning."

The Dwarves exchanged uneasy glances.

"Rest? Now?" Bofur whispered. "There's a mountain-sized bear growling outside like it wants to eat us!"

But Gandalf was already dozing.

To their greater surprise, Sylas followed suit. With a flick of his wand, he transfigured a patch of floor into a soft mattress, complete with thick blankets and a cushiony pillow. He dropped onto it with a sigh of satisfaction and closed his eyes.

"Don't tell me he can actually sleep at a time like this…" Kili muttered, eyes wide.

Despite their nerves, the rest of the group slowly began to settle in. Sylas's transfigured mattresses were surprisingly comfortable, and after everything they had endured, the landslide, the fight with Azog, the bear, they were simply too tired to resist.

And Sylas?

He lay with a peaceful smile on his face.

Just then, a soft chime echoed in his mind.

[Hogwarts Sign-in System: Location detected – Beorn's House. Would you like to sign in?]

His heart skipped a beat. He whispered silently in his thoughts, 'Sign in.'

[Sign-in successful. Congratulations! You have obtained: Animagus Transfiguration!]

Sylas's eyes snapped open in surprise, glimmering with excitement.

'Animagus?' he thought. 'This sign-in is incredible.'