33. Talons and Tea Leaves
Hope's tiny legs stumbled as her mother dragged her through the cottage door, the slam echoing through the small house. The evening sky had darkened, casting long shadows that clung to the corners of the room. Arabella's face was pale, her light eyes wide with fear. She didn't speak, only pulled Hope along, her grip tight and trembling.
"Upstairs, sweetheart. Quickly," Arabella urged, her voice low but urgent. She practically carried Hope up the creaking staircase, each step loud in the tense silence. The air in the house felt heavy, thick with something Hope couldn't name, but it twisted her stomach.
They reached her small bedroom, the familiar stuffed animals scattered across the bed offering no comfort. Arabella knelt, cupping Hope's face in her trembling hands.
"Listen to me, darling. You stay here. Hide. No matter what you hear, you don't come out. Do you understand?" Her voice cracked, but she tried to smile, smoothing a stray lock of Hope's hair.
Hope's lip quivered, confusion swirling in her chest. "Mummy, what's happening?"
"Just promise me, Hope. Promise you'll stay hidden."
Hope nodded, her small heart pounding painfully against her ribs.
Arabella kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment, then pulled away. She stood and turned toward the door, her movements quick but hesitant. Just as she began to pull the door shut, a thunderous bang echoed through the house, shaking the walls. The sound of splintering wood followed — the front door, Hope realized. Her heart pounded, her breath catching as fear crawled up her spine.
Arabella froze. The shadows in the dim hallway seemed to stretch and flicker. Then came the footsteps. Heavy, hurried, and unrelenting, they thudded against the floorboards below, ascending the stairs with terrible purpose.
Hope scrambled under her bed, clutching the worn quilt hanging from the sides. She pressed her hands over her mouth, her tiny chest rising and falling in quick, shaky breaths.
Through the narrow gap, she could see the sliver of the hallway beyond her door. Her mother stood with her back straight, hands clenched at her sides. Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, clumsy and hurried.
The footsteps grew louder, closer. Hope's eyes burned with unshed tears. Her mother's voice rang out, shaking but defiant.
"I was right. It was you."
Hope's eyes flew open. She bolted upright, her chest heaving as sweat dampened her hair and clung to her forehead. The dormitory was dark, the soft sound of her roommates' even breathing filling the silence. The heavy crimson hangings around her four-poster bed enclosed her in a cocoon of shadow. She forced herself to take a shaky breath, her pulse still racing.
Just a dream.
Her trembling hand brushed her forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat. The echoes of her mother's voice lingered, wrapping around her like a ghost that refused to let go.
The mattress shifted slightly. Hope startled, but then a familiar warmth pressed against her side. Crookshanks, Hermione's ginger cat, had leapt onto the bed, his large, tufted paws kneading the blanket. He curled up beside her, purring softly.
Hope managed a faint smile, her fingers trailing gently through the cat's thick fur. The rhythmic hum of his purring soothed the lingering fear that clung to her.
"Thanks, Crookshanks," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.
She lay back down, the cat nestled against her. Though her eyes fluttered closed, sleep did not come easily. The memory of the dream loomed, twisting in the shadows behind her eyelids. But with Crookshanks beside her, the night didn't feel quite as dark.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
The next morning, Hope jolted awake as Hermione shook her shoulders.
"Hope, come on! It's morning," Hermione's voice cut through the lingering haze of restless sleep.
Hope groaned, blinking against the soft sunlight filtering through the curtains. Her body ached from tossing and turning, and the remnants of her nightmare clung to her like a heavy fog. With a sluggish sigh, she rubbed her hands down her face, trying to push the unsettling memories away.
Hermione hovered by her bed, already dressed and looking expectantly at her. "You don't want to miss breakfast."
"I'm up, I'm up," Hope mumbled, though every part of her protested. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, the cool floorboards sending a shiver up her spine.
After reluctantly pulling herself together, she dressed quickly, the weight in her chest lingering. She knew Hermione had noticed—her friend's concerned glances said as much—but Hope didn't offer an explanation. Not yet.
By the time she made her way down to the common room, Hermione was waiting by the fireplace. The Gryffindor common room buzzed with the usual morning chatter, the flames crackling warmly. There, by the large window, stood Harry and Ron, engaged in some conversation that Hope didn't quite catch.
Ron looked up first, flashing her a grin. "Morning, Hope. You alright?"
"Yeah," she replied, forcing a small smile. "Just tired."
Harry's gaze lingered for a moment, his brow slightly furrowed. Hope could tell he was wondering if something more was bothering her, but he didn't press. Instead, he nodded.
"Well, breakfast should help," Hermione chimed in, her tone a little too cheerful in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Come on, before all the good stuff's gone."
Hope gave a nod, adjusting the sleeve of her robe as they headed toward the portrait hole. The memory of the dream still lingered at the edges of her thoughts, but she pushed it away.
When the four entered the Great Hall, the first thing they saw was Draco Malfoy, who seemed to be entertaining a large group of Slytherins with some exaggerated story. As they passed, Malfoy did a ridiculous impression of a swooning fit, sending a roar of laughter through the group.
"Ignore him," Hermione said from behind Harry, her voice low. "Just ignore him. It's not worth it."
"Hey, Potter!" Pansy Parkinson's shrill voice echoed through the hall. "The Dementors are coming, Potter! Woooooo!"
Hope shot Pansy a glare, but before she could do anything rash, Hermione grabbed her arm and tugged her away. There was no point losing house points on the first day. Again.
Harry dropped into a seat at the Gryffindor table next to George Weasley.
"New third-year timetables," George said, sliding a stack toward him. "What's up with you, Harry?"
"Malfoy," Ron answered, glaring over at the Slytherin table.
George caught sight of Malfoy just as the boy mimicked another fainting spell. His lip curled. "That little git. He wasn't so cocky last night when the Dementors were down our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn't he, Fred?"
"Nearly wet himself," Fred said with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy.
"I wasn't too happy myself," George admitted. "They're horrible things, those Dementors."
"Sort of freeze your insides, don't they?" Fred added.
"You didn't pass out, though, did you?" Harry said quietly.
George shook his head. "Forget it, Harry. Dad had to go to Azkaban once, remember? Said it was the worst place he'd ever been. He came back all weak and shaking. They suck the happiness out of a place, Dementors. Most of the prisoners go mad in there."
George's gaze shifted to Hope, who sat quietly across from him, studying her timetable without much enthusiasm.
"You alright?" he asked, his voice softer.
Hope looked up, startled. "Yeah. Just... Malfoy," she answered. It wasn't entirely a lie. The blonde Slytherin certainly wasn't helping her mood this morning.
George didn't look convinced, but before he could press further, Fred jumped in.
"Anyway, we'll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match," Fred said, grinning. "Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first game of the season."
That seemed to cheer Harry up. The only time he and Malfoy had faced each other in a match, Malfoy had come off worse. Feeling slightly better, Harry grabbed a plate of sausages and fried tomatoes.
Hermione, meanwhile, was examining her timetable.
"Ooh, good, we're starting some new subjects today," she said brightly.
Ron frowned, leaning over to peer at the parchment. "They've messed up your timetable. Look—they've got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn't enough time."
"I'll manage. I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."
Hope furrowed her brow, leaning closer. "Mione, these overlap," she pointed out. "Look. This morning? Nine o'clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o'clock, Muggle Studies. And..."
Ron's eyes widened. "And Arithmancy. At the same time. Hermione, no one's that good. How're you supposed to be in three classes at once?"
"Don't be silly," Hermione said shortly. "Of course, I won't be in three classes at once."
"Well, then—" Hope began.
"Pass the marmalade," Hermione interrupted.
"But—" Ron started.
"Oh, Ron, what's it to you if my timetable's a bit full?" Hermione snapped. "I told you, I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."
Before anyone could argue further, Hagrid entered the Great Hall, wearing his long moleskin overcoat and absent-mindedly swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand.
"All righ'?" he said eagerly, pausing by their table. "Yer in my firs' ever lesson! Right after lunch! Bin up since five gettin' everythin' ready. Hope it's OK... me, a teacher... hones'ly..."
He grinned broadly and made his way toward the staff table.
"Wonder what he's been getting ready?" Ron muttered, a note of anxiety in his voice.
As the Hall began to empty, Ron checked his timetable. "We'd better go. Divination's at the top of North Tower. It'll take us ten minutes to get there."
They finished their breakfast hastily, saying goodbye to Fred and George. As they turned to leave, George reached out, grabbing Hope's hand. Her heart fluttered slightly at the unexpected touch.
"You sure you're alright?" he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
Hope smiled, though she wasn't entirely sure what was making her heart race — the memory of her restless night or the warmth of George's hand in hers. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, his eyes so full of care. Either way, her pulse quickened.
"I just had a bad night's sleep, that's all. I'm fine," she assured him.
George nodded slowly, his fingers lingering a moment longer before letting go. The absence of his touch left a small pang of disappointment. Hope shook it off and turned, sprinting to catch up with the others just outside the entrance hall.
The journey to the North Tower was a long one. Two years at Hogwarts hadn't taught them everything about the castle, and none of them had ever ventured inside the tower before.
"There's — got — to — be — a — shortcut," Ron panted, as they climbed their seventh long staircase. They emerged onto an unfamiliar landing, where a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hung on the stone wall.
"I think it's this way," Hermione said, peering down the empty passage to the right.
"Can't be," Ron argued. "That's south. Look, you can see a bit of the lake out of the window."
"Someone seriously needs to make a map of this place," Hope groaned, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.
Harry, however, was watching the painting. A fat, dapple-grey pony had just ambled onto the grass and was grazing lazily. Moments later, a short, squat knight in a suit of armor clanked into view, stumbling after his pony. The grass stains on his metal knees made it obvious he'd taken a tumble.
"Aha!" the knight bellowed, spotting the four of them. "What villains are these that trespass upon my private lands? Come to scorn at my fall, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!"
They all stood there, dumbfounded, as the little knight furiously yanked his sword from its scabbard and brandished it in their direction. His wild swinging quickly got the better of him. With one particularly uncoordinated flourish, he lost his balance and face-planted into the grass.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked, stepping closer to the painting.
"Get back, you scurvy braggart! Back, you rogue!" the knight roared, trying to regain his composure.
He grasped his sword once more, using it for leverage as he attempted to stand. The blade, however, sank deeply into the grass. He yanked with all his might, but it remained stubbornly lodged. Finally, with a defeated huff, he flopped back down and pushed up his visor to mop his sweaty face.
"Listen," Harry said, taking advantage of the knight's momentary exhaustion, "we're looking for the North Tower. Do you know the way?"
"A quest!" the knight declared, his previous frustration evaporating. He clanked to his feet, his chest puffed out with pride. "Come, follow me, dear friends, and we shall find our goal or perish bravely in the charge!"
He gave his sword another futile tug, then turned to his pony, only to fail miserably at mounting it. With an exasperated cry, he exclaimed, "On foot then, good sirs and gentle lady! On! On!"
With that, he disappeared from the frame, clanking loudly. They exchanged incredulous glances before hurrying after him. Every now and then, they caught sight of him dashing through a painting ahead.
"Be of stout heart, the worst is yet to come!" he called back, making an exaggerated show of bravery. The knight burst into a portrait of alarmed women in crinolines, who gasped and scattered at his appearance.
Puffing loudly, Hope, Harry, Ron, and Hermione climbed the tightly spiraling staircase, the dizzying ascent making their legs ache. At last, they heard the distant murmur of voices above them.
"Farewell!" Sir Cadogan cried, sticking his head into a painting of sinister-looking monks. "Farewell, my comrades-in-arms! If ever you have need of noble heart and steely sinew, call upon Sir Cadogan!"
"Yeah, we'll call you," Ron panted under his breath, "if we ever need someone mental."
They climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a tiny landing, where most of the class was already assembled. There were no doors off this landing. Ron nudged Harry and pointed at the ceiling, where a circular trapdoor with a brass plaque was set.
"Sybill Trelawney, Divination teacher," Harry read aloud. "How're we supposed to get up there?"
As if in response, the trapdoor suddenly opened, and a silvery ladder descended right at Harry's feet. They went quiet..
"You're kidding," Hope mumbled, her mouth agape. She gave Ron a light nudge. "You go first."
"No, you go first," Ron shot back, nudging her in return. Both then turned to Harry with matching grins.
"No, he goes first," Hope declared, pointing at Harry.
"After you," Ron said with a smirk.
Harry rolled his eyes but climbed the ladder. Ron followed, then Hermione, and finally Hope.
Hope emerged into the strangest-looking classroom she'd ever seen. It didn't resemble a classroom at all, more like a cluttered attic crossed with an old-fashioned teashop. At least twenty small, circular tables were crammed inside, surrounded by chintz armchairs and plump little pouffes. Dim crimson light bathed everything; the curtains were drawn tight, and the lamps were draped with dark red scarves. The air was stiflingly warm, and the fire beneath the crowded mantelpiece gave off a thick, sickly perfume as it heated a large copper kettle. The shelves lining the circular walls were packed with dusty feathers, stubby candles, tattered playing cards, countless silvery crystal balls, and a vast collection of teacups.
Hope made her way over to Ron, Harry, and Hermione as the rest of the class assembled, their voices low with curiosity.
"Where is she?" Ron asked.
A voice drifted from the shadows, soft and misty. "Welcome," it said. "How nice to see you in the physical world at last."
Professor Trelawney stepped into the firelight. She was thin and draped in a gauzy, spangled shawl. Her large glasses magnified her eyes to an unsettling degree, making them appear comically enormous. Beads and chains jingled around her neck, and her arms glittered with bangles and rings. She resembled a large, glittering insect.
"Sit, my children, sit," she said, gesturing with delicate movements. They climbed awkwardly into the armchairs, Hope squeezing between Harry and Hermione.
"Welcome to Divination," Professor Trelawney continued, settling into a winged armchair by the fire. "My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye."
No one responded to this peculiar statement. Professor Trelawney gave her shawl a delicate adjustment and went on.
"So, you have chosen to study Divination, the most challenging of all magical arts. I must warn you now—if you do not possess the Sight, there is little I can teach you. Books will only carry you so far in this field."
At this, Hope, Harry, and Ron exchanged amused glances, while Hermione's eyes widened, visibly unsettled by the news that her beloved books might not be much help.
"Many witches and wizards, talented in charms and spells, remain blind to the veiled mysteries of the future," Professor Trelawney continued, her gleaming eyes scanning their faces. "It is a Gift granted to few. You, boy," she said abruptly, her gaze landing on Neville, who nearly toppled off his pouffe. "Is your grandmother well?"
"I-I think so," Neville stammered.
"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you, dear," she said airily, the firelight flashing off her emerald earrings. Neville paled.
"This term, we will begin with the art of reading tea leaves," she announced. "Next term, we shall study palmistry. And in the summer, the crystal ball—provided we have completed our studies of fire-omens."
She smiled mysteriously. "However, I foresee classes will be interrupted in February by a severe bout of flu. I myself shall lose my voice. And around Easter... one of our number will leave us forever."
A tense silence filled the room. Professor Trelawney appeared oblivious.
"Now then, my dear," she said, gesturing to Lavender Brown. "Would you be so kind as to pass me the largest silver teapot?"
Lavender, visibly relieved at the mundane task, handed over the teapot. Trelawney accepted it with a nod, her bangles clinking.
"Thank you, my dear. Incidentally, that dread of yours—it shall come to pass on Friday the sixteenth of October."
Lavender's hands trembled.
"Now," Professor Trelawney said with a serene smile, "pair up. Collect a teacup, and I will fill it. Drink until only the dregs remain, then swill the remains three times with your left hand. Invert the cup onto its saucer and let the last of the tea drain away. Then pass your cup to your partner and interpret the patterns using pages five and six of Unfogging the Future. I shall assist as needed. Oh, and Neville, dear—after your first inevitable breakage, kindly select a blue patterned cup. The pink ones are my favorite."
Sure enough, as Neville approached the shelf, the distinct tinkle of breaking china echoed. Professor Trelawney swept over with a dustpan and brush.
"A blue one, dear," she sighed. "Thank you."
Hope and Hermione had their teacups filled before sitting back down at the table where Ron and Harry were already drinking the scalding tea.
Hope and Hermione quickly followed suit and swilled the dregs around as Professor Trelawney had instructed, then drained the cups and swapped them.
They opened their books to pages five and six. "Uhm, alright," Hope said, looking at Hermione's cup. "Well, there's a sword, which means a quarrel between lovers... Do you have a boyfriend I don't know about, Mione?" Hope asked teasingly.
Hermione gave her a dry look. "Obviously not," she said, crossing her arms.
"Alright then—oh, you also have an umbrella, which means annoyance and trouble, and..." Hope squinted, turning the cup slightly. "A jockey. That means successful speculation. So, your nonexistent lover will be annoying... or maybe you're the one who'll be annoying," Hope mused, tilting her head. "Either way, it'll cause a quarrel, and then you're going to be right about something. Well, that one's not surprising, though I'm not sure if it's related to your lover or not." Hope finished, placing Hermione's teacup down.
Hermione looked at Hope with a raised brow. "Are you sure you read it right?" she questioned, lifting her cup and peering at the leaves.
"Yes, positive," Hope nodded.
"Well, it doesn't seem terribly accurate, does it?" Hermione muttered with a frown, then set her cup back down.
"Yeah, yeah. What does mine say?" Hope asked, intrigued.
"Broaden your minds, my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!" Professor Trelawney cried through the gloom.
Hermione rolled her eyes at Trelawney before glancing into Hope's cup, shifting her gaze between it and her copy of Unfogging the Future. "Alright, there's a serpent, which means spiteful enemies—um..." Hermione squinted at the cup. "Well, this is a bird, but I'm not sure what kind... Uh, well, that there is..." She trailed off, glancing at the book again. "A dog maybe," she mused, twisting the cup.
"Hermione Granger struggling... in class?" Hope questioned teasingly. "This is a first."
"Shut up," Hermione said with a huff. "Divination is incredibly unreliable anyway."
Hope giggled. "You know, I for one think this is a good thing. You can't be at the top of every class, that's just unfair."
Hermione rolled her eyes but held a small smile.
"Let me see it?" Hope asked, holding out her hand. Hermione handed her the cup, and Hope peered at the lumps of leaves. "There's the serpent," Hope nodded. "The bird is a raven, which means disappointment and trouble. The dog's a wolf, that means beware jealous intrigue, and a comet, which means misfortune and trouble." She frowned, furrowing her brows. "So I suppose that means a dangerous enemy responsible for death is going to bring misfortune.... Well that doesn't sound good."
She looked over at Ron and Harry. "What does yours say?" she asked, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling she got from her tea leaves.
"Apparently, I'm going to suffer, but I'm gonna be happy about it," Ron said, looking from Harry to his cup.
Hope hummed, peeking at Ron's cup. "You also have a secret foe."
"What? How can you tell?" Ron asked, his brow furrowing.
"Those are worms. Worms indicate a secret foe," Hope shrugged.
Harry squinted at Ron's cup. "I just thought those were little squiggly bits," he pointed.
"Yeah, the little squiggly bits mean worms," Hope said. "You know, I think I'm quite good at this."
"Better than me for sure," Ron mumbled, his forehead scrunched in concentration as he looked at Harry's cup. "Is this a hippo? No, a sheep..." Ron questioned, making Harry snort with laughter.
Professor Trelawney whirled around at the sound of Harry's laugh.
"Let me see that, my dear," she said reprovingly to Ron, sweeping over and snatching Harry's cup from him. Everyone went quiet to watch.
Professor Trelawney was staring into the teacup, rotating it anti-clockwise. "The falcon... my dear, you have a deadly enemy."
"But everyone knows that," Hermione said in a loud whisper.
Professor Trelawney stared at her.
"Well, they do," said Hermione. "Everybody knows about Harry and You-Know-Who."
Hope, Harry, and Ron stared at her with a mixture of amazement and admiration. They had never heard Hermione speak to a teacher like that before. Professor Trelawney chose not to reply. She lowered her huge eyes to Harry's cup again and continued to turn it.
"The club... an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup..." Trelawney continued.
"I thought that was a bowler hat," Ron said sheepishly.
"The skull... danger in your path, my dear..." Everyone was staring, transfixed, at Professor Trelawney, who gave the cup a final turn, gasped, and then screamed.
There was another tinkle of breaking china; Neville had smashed his second cup. Professor Trelawney sank into a vacant armchair, her glittering hand at her heart and her eyes closed.
"My dear boy – my poor dear boy – no – it is kinder not to say – no – don't ask me..."
"What is it, Professor?" Dean Thomas said at once. Everyone had gotten to their feet, and slowly, they crowded around their table, pressing close to Professor Trelawney's chair to get a good look at Harry's cup.
"My dear," Professor Trelawney's huge eyes opened dramatically, "you have the Grim."
"The what?" Harry said.
Harry wasn't the only one who didn't understand; Dean Thomas shrugged at him, and Lavender Brown looked puzzled, but nearly everybody else clapped their hands to their mouths in horror.
"The Grim, my dear, the Grim!" Professor Trelawney cried, looking shocked that Harry hadn't understood. "The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen – the worst omen – of death!"
Harry's stomach lurched. That dog on the cover of Death Omens in Flourish and Blotts – the dog in the shadows of Magnolia Crescent. Lavender Brown clapped her hands to her mouth too. Everyone was looking at Harry; everyone except Hermione, who had gotten up and moved around to the back of Professor Trelawney's chair.
"I don't think it looks like a Grim," she said flatly.
Professor Trelawney surveyed Hermione with mounting dislike. "You'll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future."
Seamus Finnigan tilted his head from side to side. "It looks like a Grim if you do this," he said, with his eyes almost shut, "but it looks more like a donkey from here," he said, leaning to the left.
"When you've all finished deciding whether I'm going to die or not!" Harry said, taking even himself by surprise. Now nobody seemed to want to look at him.
"I think we will leave the lesson here for today," Professor Trelawney said in her mistiest voice. "Yes... please pack away your things..."
Silently, the class took their teacups back to Professor Trelawney, packed away their books, and closed their bags. Hope leaned over to Harry. "You know, Cedric said Professor Trelawney predicted his death his third year, and he's fine. Try not to let it worry you too much."
Harry gave a small smile and nod, but he still didn't feel great, especially with everyone else avoiding eye contact with him. Even Ron was avoiding Harry's eyes.
"Until we meet again," Professor Trelawney said faintly, "fair fortune be yours. Oh, and dear –" she pointed at Neville, "you'll be late next time, so mind you work extra hard to catch up."
Harry, Hope, Ron, and Hermione descended Professor Trelawney's ladder and the winding staircase in silence, then set off for Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration lesson. It took them so long to find her classroom that, despite leaving Divination early, they were only just in time.
Harry chose a seat right at the back of the room, feeling as though he was sitting in a very bright spotlight. The rest of the class kept shooting furtive glances at him, as if he might drop dead at any moment.
"Really, Harry, the twins said Professor Trelawney's practically a fraud. And if Cedric and the twins can agree on something, it must be right," Hope whispered, trying to pull him out of his stupor to no use.
He hardly heard what Professor McGonagall was telling them about Animagi—wizards who could transform at will into animals—and wasn't even watching when she transformed herself into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes.
"Really, what has got into you all today?" Professor McGonagall said, turning back into herself with a faint pop and staring around at them. "Not that it matters, but that's the first time my transformation's not got applause from a class."
Everybody's heads turned toward Harry again, but nobody spoke. Then Hermione raised her hand.
"Please, Professor, we've just had our first Divination class, and we were reading the tea leaves, and—"
"Ah, of course," Professor McGonagall said, suddenly frowning. "There is no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?"
Everyone stared at her.
"Me," Harry said, finally.
"I see," Professor McGonagall said, fixing Harry with her beady eyes. "Then you should know, Potter, that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class. If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues—"
Professor McGonagall broke off, her nostrils flaring. She went on, more calmly, "Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience with it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney..."
She stopped again, then said, in a matter-of-fact tone, "You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don't let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in."
Hermione laughed, and Harry felt a bit better, letting out a sigh of relief.
"Told you," Hope said with a satisfied grin.
It was harder to feel scared of a lump of tea leaves away from the dim red light and cloying perfume of Professor Trelawney's classroom. Not everyone was convinced, however. Ron still looked worried, and Lavender whispered, "But what about Neville's cup?"
When the Transfiguration class had finished, they joined the crowd thundering toward the Great Hall for lunch.
"Ron, cheer up," Hermione said, pushing a dish of stew toward him. "You heard what Professor McGonagall said."
Ron spooned stew onto his plate and picked up his fork but didn't start.
"Harry," he said, in a low, serious voice, "you haven't seen a great black dog anywhere, have you?"
"Yeah, I have," Harry said. "I saw one the night I left the Dursleys."
Hope nearly choked on her pumpkin juice. "Really?"
Ron let his fork fall with a clatter.
"Probably a stray," Hermione said calmly.
Hope gave her a doubtful look. "I don't know—"
"Hope, you were just trying to convince Harry not to worry. You said it yourself, Professor Trelawney isn't a real seer."
"Well, I know, but just because she's not a real seer doesn't mean there's no merit to Divination. Besides, what's that Muggle saying? The clock is wrong... the clock's doubled... The one with the clock."
"A broken clock is right twice a day," Hermione corrected.
"Yes, that," Hope pointed at her. "And you have to admit, it's a bit odd, don't you think? Harry randomly sees a black dog and then he gets the Grim."
"No, not really," Hermione said simply.
Ron looked at Hermione as though she had gone mad. "Hermione, if Harry's seen a Grim, that's—that's bad," he said. "My—my Uncle Bilius saw one and—and he died twenty-four hours later!"
"Coincidence," Hermione said airily, pouring herself some pumpkin juice.
"You don't know what you're talking about!" Ron said, starting to get angry. "Grims scare the living daylights out of most wizards!"
"There you are, then," Hermione said in a superior tone. "They see the Grim and die of fright. The Grim's not an omen, it's the cause of death! And Harry's still with us because he's not stupid enough to see one and think, 'Right, well, I'd better pop my clogs then!'"
Ron mouthed wordlessly at Hermione, who opened her bag, took out her new Arithmancy book, and propped it open against the juice jug.
"I think Divination seems very woolly," she said, searching for her page. "A lot of guesswork, if you ask me."
"I actually kinda like it," Hope shrugged.
"There was nothing woolly about the Grim in that cup!" Ron said hotly.
"You didn't seem quite so confident when you were telling Harry it was a sheep," Hermione said coolly.
"Professor Trelawney said you didn't have the right aura! You just don't like being rubbish at something for a change!" he snapped.
He had touched a nerve. Hermione slammed her Arithmancy book down on the table so hard that bits of meat and carrot flew everywhere.
"If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omens in a lump of tea leaves, I'm not sure I'll be studying it much longer! That lesson was absolute rubbish compared to my Arithmancy class!"
She snatched up her bag and stalked away.
Ron frowned after her. "What's she talking about?" he said to Hope and Harry. "She hasn't been to an Arithmancy class yet."
Hope shrugged, looking at Hermiones retreating figure with a confused look. "She got stew on my robes," she mumbled, wiping her sleeve.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
It was nice to get out of the castle after lunch. Yesterday's rain had cleared, leaving the sky a soft, pale gray. The grass was springy and damp underfoot as they set off for their first-ever Care of Magical Creatures class.
Ron and Hermione weren't speaking to each other. Hope and Harry walked in silence between them, heading down the sloping lawns toward Hagrid's hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hope groaned, and Harry muttered an, "Oh, great," as they spotted three all-too-familiar backs ahead of them. The sinking realization hit: they'd be sharing the lesson with the Slytherins.
Malfoy was talking animatedly to Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom chortled at his every word.
Hagrid waited for them at his hut's door, his massive form clad in a moleskin overcoat. Fang, the boarhound, sat at his heels, panting lazily. Hagrid's eyes lit up when he saw them, eager to start.
"C'mon, now, get a move on!" he called. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!"
For a tense moment, it seemed like Hagrid might lead them straight into the Forest. The thought sent a chill through Hope, memories of past misadventures flashing in her mind. But instead, Hagrid strolled around the edge of the trees, leading them to a large paddock. To Hope's surprise, it was empty.
"Everyone gather 'round the fence here!" Hagrid called, gesturing enthusiastically. "That's it – make sure yeh can see. Now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books –"
"How?" drawled Draco Malfoy, his tone laced with mock innocence.
"Eh?" Hagrid blinked.
"How do we open our books?" Malfoy repeated, pulling out his copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, which he'd tied shut with a length of rope. Around him, others did the same; some, like Harry, had belted theirs closed, while Hope had jammed hers into her bag and clamped it tightly with bullclips.
"Hasn' – hasn' anyone bin able ter open their books?" Hagrid's face fell.
The class shook their heads.
"Yeh've got ter stroke 'em," Hagrid explained, as though it were obvious. "Look..."
He took Hermione's copy, tearing away the Spellotape binding it. The book snarled, attempting to bite, but Hagrid calmly ran a thick finger down its spine. The book quivered, then flopped open, docile as a kitten.
"Oh, how silly we've all been!" Malfoy sneered. "We should have stroked them! Why didn't we guess?"
"I thought they were funny," Hagrid mumbled, uncertainty flickering across his face.
"Oh, tremendously funny!" Malfoy said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!"
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, throwing Hagrid a supportive glance.
"I think they're very... unique, Hagrid," Hope added, her voice warm. Hagrid perked up a little at her words.
"Righ' then," Hagrid said, visibly relieved. "So, yeh've got yer books and... now yeh need the Magical Creatures. I'll go an' get 'em. Hang on."
He strode toward the Forest, disappearing from view.
"God, this place is going to the dogs," Malfoy said loudly. "That oaf teaching classes – my father'll have a fit when I tell him."
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry repeated, glaring.
"Careful, Potter, there's a Dementor behind you –"
Before Malfoy could finish, Lavender Brown squealed, pointing excitedly to the opposite side of the paddock.
Trotting towards them were a dozen creatures Hope had never seen before. They had the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings, and heads of enormous eagles. Their steel-colored beaks gleamed, and large, brilliant orange eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence. Long talons curled from their front legs, glinting menacingly. Each beast wore a thick leather collar attached to a chain, which Hagrid held firmly as he jogged into the paddock behind them.
"Gee up, there!" Hagrid roared, shaking the chains. The creatures stamped and tossed their heads.
"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid beamed proudly. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"
Hope's apprehension melted as she admired the Hippogriffs' gleaming coats, the feathers fading into silky hair. Each one had a distinct coloring – stormy gray, bronze, a pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black. For once, she shared Hagrid's enthusiasm.
"So," Hagrid said, rubbing his hands together, "if yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer..."
No one moved. Even Harry, Ron, and Hermione hesitated. The Hippogriffs flexed their powerful wings, tossing their heads impatiently.
Hope, however, stepped forward with a glint of curiosity in her eyes. Harry, seeing the slight droop in Hagrid's shoulders, sighed and followed her.
"I'll do it," he said.
A collective gasp rippled through the class. Lavender and Parvati exchanged worried looks.
"Oooh, no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!" Lavender whispered.
Ignoring them, Harry climbed over the paddock fence with Hope right behind him.
"Right then – let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak!" Hagrid cheered.
Untying the chain, Hagrid led the stormy gray Hippogriff forward, slipping off its leather collar. The class held its breath. Malfoy watched with narrowed eyes, waiting for something to go wrong.
"Easy, now," Hagrid murmured. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink – Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much."
Hope's eyes stung as she stared down Buckbeak, refusing to look away. Harry mimicked her, his nerves building. The Hippogriff gazed back, its fierce orange eyes unyielding.
"Tha's it," Hagrid encouraged. "Now, bow..."
Hope dipped into a graceful bow, her heart pounding. Harry, albeit far more nervously, followed her lead.
For a moment, Buckbeak remained unmoved. Hagrid shifted anxiously.
"Ah... Right, back away, now. Easy does it –"
But then, to their astonishment, Buckbeak bent his scaly knees and bowed deeply.
"Well done, you two!" Hagrid beamed. "Right – yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!"
Hope's grin widened as she reached out, her fingers brushing over Buckbeak's sleek feathers. The Hippogriff closed his eyes with a contented rumble. Harry, still somewhat reluctant, followed suit, patting Buckbeak's beak lightly.
The class broke into applause, except for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who looked utterly disappointed.
"Righ' then," Hagrid declared proudly, "I reckon he migh' let yeh both ride him!"
Hope's eyes lit up.
"Wicked!" she breathed, already imagining the thrill of soaring through the sky.
Hagrid gestured to Buckbeak. "Yeh climb up there, just behind the wing joint. An' mind yeh don't pull any of his feathers out, he won't like that."
Harry placed his foot on the top of Buckbeak's wing and hoisted himself onto the Hippogriff's back. He extended his hand to Hope, who reached up without hesitation. He pulled her up carefully, and she settled in behind him, her arms wrapping snugly around his middle.
"Go on, then!" Hagrid roared, slapping Buckbeak's hindquarters.
In an instant, Buckbeak's powerful wings flared open, and before Harry could prepare himself, they were soaring upward. His hands gripped the glossy feathers in front of him, struggling to hold on. Hope's laughter rang behind him, exhilarated, though she clung tightly to him as the wind rushed past them.
Flying on Buckbeak was nothing like riding a broom. The massive wings flapped beneath them, sending gusts of air in all directions. Each beat sent them rocking, and Harry felt the creature's powerful muscles working beneath him. Hope squeezed her arms tighter around him, a nervous giggle escaping her as Buckbeak twisted slightly, catching the wind with ease.
Around the paddock they flew, the ground blurring below them. Harry tried to steady his grip, but the sleek feathers provided little purchase. Hope's chin rested lightly against his back, her smile lingering even through the jostling ride.
Before long, Buckbeak circled back, his wings folding slightly as they descended. Harry leaned back instinctively as the Hippogriff's neck dipped, Hope mirroring his movements. For a moment, it felt like they might slip right over the creature's head, but with a thud, Buckbeak's hooves struck the ground. Harry barely managed to keep himself upright.
"Good work!" Hagrid boomed, his face beaming with pride as the class erupted into cheers. Well, most of the class. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle stood scowling at the edge of the paddock.
Encouraged by Harry and Hope's success, the others hesitantly approached the remaining Hippogriffs. Hagrid moved from student to student, giving instructions and ensuring they bowed properly. Neville, as expected, had trouble, stumbling backward as his Hippogriff refused to lower its head. Ron and Hermione took turns on a chestnut-colored one, giggling nervously as it lifted off the ground.
Meanwhile, Malfoy sneered as he stepped forward, his eyes locked on Buckbeak.
"This is easy," Malfoy drawled, patting the creature's beak with an air of disdain. "I knew it would be if Potter could manage it. Bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" His voice twisted mockingly. "Are you, you ugly great brute?"
In an instant, Buckbeak reared. Malfoy barely had time to react before steely talons lashed out. He screamed, high and sharp, crumpling to the grass as blood stained his robes.
"I'm dying!" Malfoy wailed, clutching his arm. "I'm dying! It's killed me!"
"Yer not dyin'!" Hagrid barked, pale with panic. "Someone help me – gotta get him up to the castle –"
Hermione sprinted to open the paddock gate while Hagrid effortlessly scooped Malfoy into his arms. The gash on his arm was long and bleeding, crimson droplets marking the grass as Hagrid rushed him away.
The class, shaken, followed at a slower pace. The Slytherins muttered darkly amongst themselves.
"They should sack him straight away," Pansy Parkinson sobbed.
"It was Malfoy's fault!" Dean Thomas snapped. Crabbe and Goyle glared, cracking their knuckles threateningly.
Once they reached the castle, Pansy hurried up the staircase, still wailing about Malfoy's injuries. The other Slytherins disappeared into the dungeons, leaving Harry, Hope, Ron, and Hermione to head for Gryffindor Tower.
"Think he'll be all right?" Hermione asked anxiously.
"Of course, he will," Harry said firmly. "Madam Pomfrey can mend cuts in seconds. I've had worse."
"It serves him right," Hope muttered.
"Still, it's a terrible way for Hagrid's first class to go," Ron sighed. "Trust Malfoy to ruin things."
At dinner, Hagrid's absence was noticeable. Hermione pushed her food around her plate, barely touching her pudding.
"They won't sack him, will they?" she whispered nervously.
"They'd better not," Ron said, though his expression showed his worry.
"Dumbledore will stick up for him," Hope nodded. Her eyes flicked anxiously toward the teachers' table.
Harry wasn't paying attention to his food either. At the Slytherin table, Crabbe and Goyle were hunched in conversation, undoubtedly spinning their own version of events.
"Well," Ron said gloomily, "it wasn't a boring first day back."
Later, they sat in the Gryffindor common room, homework abandoned as they stole glances out the window. Finally, a light flickered in Hagrid's hut.
"If we hurry, we could check on him," Ron suggested, checking his watch.
"I don't know," Hermione hesitated, glancing at Harry.
"I'm allowed to walk across the grounds," Harry pointed out. "Sirius Black hasn't gotten past the Dementors."
That settled it. They slipped through the portrait hole and out into the night. The grass was damp and cool underfoot, shadows stretching long in the twilight. Hagrid's hut loomed ahead, the warm glow of candlelight spilling through the small windows.
"C'min," came Hagrid's gruff voice when they knocked.
Inside, Hagrid slumped at the table, Fang's drooping head resting in his lap. A massive pewter tankard sat in front of him, nearly the size of a bucket. His bleary eyes barely focused on them.
"''Spect it's a record," Hagrid mumbled. "Don't reckon they've ever had a teacher last just one day."
"You haven't been sacked!" Hermione gasped.
"Not yet," Hagrid replied miserably, taking a large swig from the tankard. "But it's only a matter o' time after Malfoy."
"Dumbledore won't let that happen," Hope said firmly.
"Dumbledore's stuck his neck out enough for me," Hagrid said, shaking his head. "Too much, maybe."
"How is Malfoy?" Ron asked.
"Madam Pomfrey fixed him up best she could, but he's claimin' it's still agony. Covered in bandages. Moanin'."
"He's faking it," Harry snapped. "Madam Pomfrey can fix anything. Trust Malfoy to milk it for all it's worth."
"School governors've been told," Hagrid muttered. "They reckon I started too big. Shoulda gone with Flobberworms ... thought Hippogriffs'd make a good first lesson. S'all my fault."
"It's Malfoy's fault," Hermione insisted.
"We're witnesses," Harry added. "You said Hippogriffs attack if you insult them. We'll tell Dumbledore what really happened."
"And how much we loved the lesson!" Hope chimed in.
Ron nodded. "Yeah, don't worry, Hagrid. We'll back you up."
Tears welled in Hagrid's eyes. He pulled them all into a bone-crushing hug. Hermione, regaining her composure, pried the tankard from his grasp and stepped outside.
"Ar, maybe she's right," Hagrid murmured. He lumbered to his feet and followed her unsteadily. Moments later, there was a loud splash.
"What's he done?" Harry asked nervously as Hermione came back in with the empty tankard.
"Stuck his head in the water barrel," Hermione replied, setting the tankard aside.
A moment later, Hagrid returned, his long hair and beard dripping wet as he wiped the water from his eyes.
"Tha's better," he grumbled, giving his head a shake like a dog. Droplets sprayed everywhere, soaking them all. "Listen, it was good of yeh ter come an' see me, I really—"
He stopped abruptly. His gaze locked on Harry, as if only just registering his presence.
"WHAT D'YEH THINK YOU'RE DOIN', EH?" Hagrid roared, his voice echoing through the small hut. Harry and the others jumped nearly a foot in the air. "YEH'RE NOT TO GO WANDERIN' AROUND AFTER DARK, HARRY! AND YOU THREE! LETTIN' HIM!"
His glare shifted suddenly to Hope, and he jabbed a finger in her direction. "AND YOU SHOULDN'T BE WANDERIN' ABOUT EITHER, YOU KNOW!"
Hope furrowed her brows. She understood why Harry shouldn't be wandering around after dark, but why was it such a big deal if she did? Her father must have talked to the teachers — much to her dismay. His overprotectiveness was starting to become irritating.
Hagrid's frustration rolled off him in waves. There was fear behind it — the kind that came from caring too much. His chest heaved, his massive hands clenching at his sides. Harry could tell this wasn't just about rules. It was about something deeper.
Without another word, Hagrid stomped forward, grabbing Harry's arm firmly.
"C'mon!" he barked, his voice low but fierce. "I'm takin' yeh all back up ter school, an' don' let me catch yeh walkin' down ter see me after dark again. I'm not worth that!"