The Hogwarts letter arrived. But not to a house with a fireplace. It arrived at a burrow in the Forbidden Forest, where a child with hair full of leaves was biting into snitches, thinking they were fireflies. Y/N doesn't know their surname, age, or words. It only knows the smell of blood, the taste of lies in the air, and the red scar the Wargs left to mark them as their own. Now it walks through Hogwarts without a home, without manners, and without permission. It sleeps in the towers, steals from everyone's plates, and snaps wands with their teeth because "they smell like death." For Dumbledore, is a miracle: pure magic uncorrupted by civilization. For the Ministry, is a weapon: if there is one, there can be an army of werewolf children. For Y/N, Hogwarts is just another, bigger cage. Until someone feeds you three times without asking for anything in return. They say: monsters have no loyalty. They're wrong.