13. A Hippogriff and a boy
Lyra blinked, standing frozen at the threshold of the common room, her gaze flickering between Astoria and the group of first years gathered in front of her. The entire group was standing stiffly, eyes darting between one another with a clear air of unease. Most of the lower-ranking purebloods were sulking, their expressions a mix of petulance and discomfort, while the half bloods seemed no less pleased, as if whatever was about to unfold was beneath them. Daphne Greengrass, Astoria’s older sister and a third-year, stood by her side, her sharp eyes observing the group with an air of quiet expectation. Flint, the prefect, was also present, his posture rigid as he waited for the first years to do what they clearly did not want to.
Lyra tilted her head slightly, arms folded across her chest, her impatience already beginning to show.
“...I haven’t done anything,” she said, her voice tinged with confusion. She looked around at the group, brows furrowing. “So… if you’re planning on, like, exiling me from Slytherin…” Her voice trailed off, half sarcastic, half bored. Flint scoffed loudly in response, cutting her off before she could finish her thought.
“You won’t be exiled. Not yet,” Flint said with a smirk playing on his lips, though his eyes remained hard. He quickly schooled his face into something more serious, his voice turning commanding. “I’m here, with the other first years, to oversee a proper apology.” He glanced at them briefly, as though daring them to protest. “They’ve failed to deliver one so far, and despite multiple warnings from the prefects and older students, they’ve continued their behaviour. So, this is the next step.”
Lyra let out a low, knowing hum, feeling a flicker of amusement stir inside her, though it quickly turned to exasperation.
“...Riiight…” she said, her tone dripping with disbelief. She glanced at the first years, who all shuffled their feet uncomfortably, unwilling to meet her eyes. There was an air of forced submission, as if they weren’t quite sure how to handle this, but knew they had no choice but to go through with it. “Can this be done quickly? I’ve got to let Siri out for his morning run. Unless you want him to pee down here,” Lyra added, reaching beside her to absentmindedly stroke the large, black Grim lying at her feet. Flint wrinkled his nose, eyeing the dog with distaste before turning back to the group.
“Well?” he demanded, his voice sharp. Daphne Greengrass was the one who spoke next, her voice cold and cutting, piercing through the tension.
“Astoria Dove Greengrass.” She said her sister’s full name, and it felt like an order rather than a suggestion. Astoria looked like she’d rather be anywhere else, but she stepped forward, casting a furtive glance at Lyra before reluctantly muttering her apology.
“I… apologise for ostracising you,” Astoria said stiffly, her tone clipped and formal. “It was petty and uncalled for, especially when the mistake you made was due to a lack of knowledge, not ignorance.” She glanced at her older sister, but the look Daphne returned was unreadable, almost neutral. Astoria, clearly uncomfortable with the situation, quickly looked down. The other first years offered similar half-hearted apologies, their voices lacking any real sincerity, further confirming that they were only going through the motions, forced into this by Flint’s presence.
Lyra’s gaze hardened, and she couldn’t help herself. The frustration bubbled up and leaked out in her next words, sharper than she intended.
“Honestly,” she said, her voice scathing, the words catching everyone off guard. The common room fell unnervingly quiet, the other students clearly watching the scene unfold. “I’ve heard better apologies from a bedraggled Kneezle than that. Is that really the best you can do?” Her eyes flashed as she glanced at Astoria and the others, an unamused look on her face. “I’m ashamed for you. I truly am. A bunch of upstarts making such a fuss over a simple miscommunication, and you, Astoria, of all people, encouraging them?” Her tone became more biting, the disdain in her words evident. “I’m shocked that you thought a half-hearted apology would fix this.”
The group of first years paled, the weight of her words settling heavily over them. Lyra didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let them off easily. Daphne’s voice broke through the awkward silence, quiet but insistent.
“What would you like as retribution?” Her eyes flicked between Lyra and her sister, and there was something almost calculating in the way she looked at her, like she was waiting for Lyra’s next move.
Lyra narrowed her eyes at Daphne, the question hanging in the air between them. She had several ideas, but one in particular would hurt their egos the most. With a calculated tilt of her head, she spoke with icy precision.
“I want them to write formal apology letters-ones that actually mean something. And I want them to be taught a lesson on where they stand in the hierarchy of society. I may be a half blood, but I am second in line for a Noble and Ancient house. I stand with just as much influence as your sister,” she snapped, crossing her arms and staring at them all with growing contempt. “And yet, I was treated like some lowborn mutt. You should all be ashamed.”
The first years muttered under their breath, clearly annoyed at the prospect of going through lessons and writing proper letters, but neither Flint nor Daphne seemed particularly upset. If anything, they seemed oddly relieved.
“Done,” Flint said instantly, his voice firm and unquestionable. “Myself and another prefect will review the letters before they’re delivered to you, to ensure they’re properly written and address the issues that have been raised.” His eyes narrowed as he added, “If I hear word of you being excluded again for no reason, I will ensure that the Slytherins in your year face consequences.” His glare swept over the first years, making them shrink back slightly.
One boy, seemingly braver than the rest, tried to speak up.
“But she-” he began, but Astoria quickly elbowed him, cutting him off with a sharp look.
“She’s right,” Astoria said with surprising maturity, her voice steady now. “That was a terrible apology. We should be thankful she didn’t demand something worse, like a boon or a much harsher punishment.” Her tone was resolute as she met Lyra’s gaze. “...I’m truly sorry, Lyra,” she added, her voice softer this time, more genuine, before swiftly turning and leading the others out of the common room.
The first years filed out quickly, leaving Lyra alone with Daphne, who lingered a moment longer, her gaze unreadable. She tilted her head to an abandoned alcove, away from the others. Lyra followed her quietly.
Daphne studied Lyra with a sharp, calculating gaze, her expression neutral yet thoughtful. After a moment of silence, she spoke, her voice calm and composed.
“I see what Draco meant,” she said, almost as if coming to a quiet conclusion. “You’re not like your brother, and you can understand the intricacies of society well enough to recognize when you’ve been slighted.” There was a subtle shift in Daphne’s demeanour, a slight softening around her eyes, as if some weight had been lifted. It was clear she appreciated that Lyra hadn’t pushed for more than what was due. Lyra met Daphne’s gaze evenly, the corners of her mouth quirking upward in a small, knowing smile.
“Discovering my place in society has been a new venture, and I’m still learning,” she replied, her tone straightforward yet thoughtful. Daphne tilted her head slightly, as if considering her words carefully.
“There were rumours,” she began, her voice measured, “that you and your brother were muggle-raised.” She watched Lyra closely, eyes searching for any flicker of reaction. “Are they true?” Lyra held her gaze for a beat longer, assessing the older girl’s intentions. She didn’t sense any malice, only a quiet curiosity, so she gave a single nod.
“We were. We won’t be returning to them,” she said, her voice neutral, not leaving room for further elaboration. It wasn’t something she cared to discuss-at least, not now. Daphne continued to observe her for a few moments, as if weighing something in her mind. After a quiet sigh, she spoke again, this time her tone softening with a touch of resolve.
“Friday evenings at four, meet me in the Library,” she said, her words purposeful. “Myself and a few others will help you catch up on what you should know about Slytherin-and society, in general.” Lyra’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity and caution in her eyes.
“Why?” she asked, her voice laced with both intrigue and wariness. She wasn’t used to such offers, and the sincerity in Daphne’s tone only added to her confusion. Daphne’s lips curled into a faint but decisive smile, her eyes gleaming with a quiet sense of pride.
“Simple,” she said, her voice almost too smooth. “We can’t have a Slytherin fall behind.”
With that, Daphne turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Lyra standing in the alcove with Sirius at her side, his large form a silent, comforting presence. Lyra watched her go, the offer still lingering in the air. Her mind churned, contemplating Daphne’s words and what exactly the older girl expected from her. Was this an invitation to join something greater, or simply a gesture of necessity?
The silence stretched between them, but Lyra couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much more complex than she had anticipated.
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Harry half-listened as Hermione ranted about Trelawney's latest prophecy, still seething over the prediction of Harry's death. Her words tumbled out in a rush as they walked toward their first Care of Magical Creatures lesson. He knew if he focused on her, he’d only feel her whirling emotions and he couldn’t handle that right now.
“If you ask me, Divination is complete nonsense. Honestly-who can see the future in a teacup, of all things?” Hermione grumbled, her frustration palpable. She didn’t seem to notice the quick glance Harry sent her way, or if she did, she ignored it. Harry was half-tempted to mention Lyra’s Seer abilities, but he bit his tongue as he noticed the others around them. "Now, Ancient Runes, that’s a real subject. That’s something worth learning."
“Ancient Runes? How many classes are you taking, exactly?” Ron asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly both surprised and sceptical. Harry mirrored the expression, unsure how Hermione could juggle so much.
“We both take Runes, but I’m pretty sure Muggle Studies is at the same time-” Harry started to explain, but Ron cut him off.
“You’d have to be in two places at once for that to work-” Ron said at the same time, but Hermione was already walking ahead, brushing them off.
“Don’t be silly. How could anyone be in two places at once?” she replied, the condescension in her tone making Harry’s skin prickle, though he kept quiet. She wasn’t finished though. As she marched ahead, her voice took on a mocking lilt. “Broaden your minds, children. Use your inner eye to see the future,” she imitated Trelawney, twirling in the way only Hermione could. Her exaggerated mockery made both boys laugh, despite themselves.
It didn’t take long to reach Hagrid’s hut. The giant man waved them over, his enthusiasm as uncontainable as always. Harry looked around, noting the number of students gathered for the class. The group was huge-larger than most classes at Hogwarts. Care of Magical Creatures seemed like a popular subject, at least this year.
“That’s it. Come on, now. Gather 'round, less talking if you don’t mind!” Hagrid’s deep voice boomed, cutting through the chatter of the students. His long, dark beard fluttered slightly in the wind as he beamed at them. “I’ve got a real treat for you today. A great lesson! Follow me!” he called, holding up a large bag that clinked softly. Whatever was inside, Harry couldn’t quite make out.
The class trailed after him as he led them through the grounds to a small building that housed paddocks filled with magical creatures. But Hagrid didn’t stop there. With a gleam in his eye, he veered off toward a wooded area closer to the Forbidden Forest, the air buzzing with his infectious excitement. The students whispered among themselves as they followed him deeper into the trees, entering a small clearing where Hagrid finally turned to face them.
“Right, you lot. Less Chattering. Form a group over there.” he said, grinning broadly, pointing towards a rather mushroom covered stump. The air was full of anticipation, and Harry felt his own excitement begin to match Hagrid’s. What was the treat? What creatures would they be studying today? “Oh! And open your books to page forty-nine!” He added as the students moved, he made his way further away from them as they did so.
“Exactly how do we do that?” Draco’s voice was drawn out, dripping with an air of condescension, as he followed the others. Harry suppressed an exasperated sigh at having the insufferable Slytherin in his class. Could he ever escape Draco’s pompous presence?
“You just stroke the spine, of course. Goodness me, is it really that difficult?” Hagrid’s deep voice rumbled with a shake of his head, his tone tinged with both exasperation and a touch of amusement. He moved ahead, clearly expecting the rest to follow. Harry was certain Draco had more to say, but before he could open his mouth, one of the other Slytherins nudged him in the ribs, silencing him.
Small mercies, indeed.
Harry quickly turned his attention to the book in his hands, petting the spine as instructed, shuddering at the odd sensation of fur beneath his fingers. He couldn’t help but imagine what Lyra would think if she were here. The idea of a creature with eyes that resembled a spider’s would probably send her into an outright panic.
“I think they’re funny.” Hermione’s voice cut through his thoughts as she carefully opened her book, her tone confident as she shot a look at Harry and Ron, daring them to disagree.
Before either of them could respond, Draco’s derisive laugh rang out, sharp and unmistakable.
“Oh, yes, absolutely hilarious,” he drawled, his voice thick with sarcasm. “A real laugh riot. This place has truly gone to the dogs. Just wait until my father hears that Dumbledore’s got this oaf teaching Care of Magical Creatures.” His words were laced with disdain, but there was something else in his tone-an unmistakable edge of genuine frustration, maybe even a tinge of disappointment. He could even feel it. Harry paused, a flicker of realization flashing through him.
Was Draco… upset? Was this about something more than just Hagrid’s teaching?
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Ron snapped, his voice harsh, his face red with barely-contained irritation. Harry blinked in surprise. It wasn’t often that Ron took on Draco directly, but today, it seemed, he’d had enough.
For a moment, Harry found himself conflicted. As much as he hated Draco’s arrogance, he couldn’t deny that Kettleburn-previously the Care of Magical Creatures instructor-had been well-liked and extremely knowledgeable. In comparison, Hagrid, for all his good intentions, was still very much an unorthodox teacher. But was that really what Draco was upset about? Or was there something else?
The Slytherins, of course, had a field day with the exchange. A chorus of “Oohs” rose from their ranks, but Harry barely registered it, his attention fixed on Draco, who was now glaring at him with something like an unspoken challenge.
Then, as if on cue, Draco’s expression suddenly changed-his eyes widened in terror, his hand darting behind Harry’s back.
“Dementor! Dementor!” Draco cried out, his voice high and frantic, but Harry didn’t turn. He didn’t even flinch. The familiar chill of fear didn’t ripple through him the way it had with the others.
Because he didn’t feel that terror.
He didn’t feel it at all.
The Slytherins behind him reacted immediately, gasping and clutching at their cloaks as they fumbled to pull their hoods over their heads. Their collective laughter followed in waves, but Harry didn’t join in. He simply stared at Draco, unmoved, before giving a long-suffering sigh.
“Are you done?” he asked flatly, his tone as neutral as he could manage. Draco opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione, ever the mediator, grabbed his arm and yanked him back with surprising strength. Her whisper was sharp, her face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration as she mumbled something about ignoring them. Harry could feel her discomfort; she’d likely believed Draco for a moment, just as everyone else had.
But Harry wasn’t fooled.
“Neville, mate. You’re supposed to stroke it, not-” Ron’s voice broke through the tension, drawing Harry’s attention. He glanced over just in time to see Neville, looking utterly frustrated, dropping his book onto a large rock with a thud. The poor boy’s robes were in tatters, torn and hanging off him in shredded pieces, and he stood there, glaring at the creature like it had personally wronged him.
Harry couldn’t help but feel the wave of embarrassment and annoyance that radiated off of Neville. Harry winced at the mix of emotions and instinctively reached for his wand, his hand moving almost without thinking.
“Vestima Repario,” he muttered under his breath, watching as the fabric of Neville’s clothes miraculously mended itself, the torn edges stitching back together in a neat, seamless repair. The relief in Neville’s expression was palpable, but Harry couldn’t miss the stunned stares he received from not just Neville, but Hermione, Ron, and a few others. A faint blush crept up Harry’s neck.
"Lyra... demanded I learn it," he mumbled awkwardly, his eyes flicking away from their wide gazes. It felt like everyone was waiting for him to explain further, but Harry didn’t really have much else to say about it. Both he and Lyra had practiced and learned a few house-hold spells when the professors were away, Lyra’s constant insistence had led to him mastering the spell in the first place. It hadn’t been easy, but it had definitely been necessary.
"Thanks, Harry," Neville whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with genuine gratitude. His face was still flushed, a mix of embarrassment and appreciation, but the tension in his posture had eased. Harry smiled awkwardly in response, still feeling that nagging sense of sympathy for his friend.
Moving away from Hermione’s glare-she either wasn’t pleased about Harry stepping in or the fact he knew a spell she didn’t, he couldn’t care right now. Harry nudged Neville gently with his elbow.
“It’s no problem,” Harry said, trying to lighten the mood. “Honestly, the first time I opened the book, I had to hide out on top of my bed with Lyra because it tried to eat me. They’re vicious little things.”
Neville’s lips twitched upward, and for the first time since the lesson began, a genuine, small smile appeared on his face. Harry felt a sense of relief wash over him, a weight lifting from his shoulders. Seeing Neville’s mood improve, even just a little, felt good. Humour-light and easy-was just what they needed.
Before Harry could say more, Hagrid cleared his throat loudly, drawing everyone's attention as he waved his arm in the air to refocus the class. The moment of camaraderie between Harry and Neville, though brief, lingered in the air, a quiet reminder of the small, human connections that made even the hardest lessons bearable.
“Tah-tah-dah-dah!” Hagrid’s voice rang out, light-hearted and full of excitement as he beamed with pride. The large creature that trotted into the clearing from the paddock was unlike anything Harry had seen before. Its grey-and-white feathers were sleek, and its sharp beak snapped in the air, making strange, chittering noises as it approached. There was a bird-like quality to its movements, but its eyes—sharp and intelligent—spoke of something far more complex.
The tension in the class was palpable. Harry could feel it like a weight in the air: a mixture of anxiety, curiosity, and hesitation radiating from every student around him. It made his own nerves flare up, an uncomfortable sensation that tangled with the emotions of the others.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” Hagrid asked, his voice full of admiration. Harry had to admit—there was something striking about the creature. It was a strange blend of elegance and danger, but undeniably handsome in its own way. Harry nodded in agreement, still slightly unnerved by the undercurrent of unease that seemed to fill the clearing.
Without a second thought, Hagrid reached into his bag and pulled out a ferret, tossing it carelessly to the Hippogriff. “Say hello to Buckbeak,” he said with a grin, his tone full of pride.
“Er—Hagrid?” Ron asked, his voice almost breathless, caught somewhere between fear and genuine curiosity. “Exactly what is that?”
“That, Ron,” Hagrid said, his voice lowering slightly with respect for the creature, “is a Hippogriff.” He took a slow step around the clearing, walking calmly, as if to demonstrate the creature’s docile nature. “Now, first thing you gotta know about Hippogriffs,” Hagrid continued, his tone suddenly serious, “is they’re proud. Very proud. They don’t take kindly to insults. If you offend a Hippogriff, it may be the last thing you ever do.” The gravity in his voice hung in the air for a moment before his usual smile returned. “So, who’d like to come and say hello?”
The tension in the group seemed to magnify at Hagrid’s invitation. Harry could feel it-a sudden swell of nervousness and hesitation from his classmates, an overwhelming wave of uncertainty that seemed to settle over them like a cloud. He hadn't realized that time had passed so quickly, or that everyone had taken a step back, leaving him the lone volunteer.
“Good on you, Harry,” Hagrid called out enthusiastically, his voice a beacon of encouragement. “Well done.”
Harry’s gaze flicked around the class, a flash of betrayal crossing his face as he met the eyes of his friends, who all looked away awkwardly, each of them sending him apologetic glances. He’d get them back for this, no doubt about it. Ron gave him a gentle push forward.
“Go on, mate,” he murmured with an awkward grin. “You’ve got this.”
With a resigned sigh, Harry took cautious steps toward Buckbeak, who locked its piercing gaze on him immediately. The creature was imposing up close, its sharp beak glistening in the sunlight, the air around it crackling with tension.
“You’ve gotta let him make the first move, Harry,” Hagrid instructed, his voice calm yet firm. “It’s the polite thing to do. Step forward, give him a bow, and wait to see if he bows back. If he does, you can approach. If not…” Hagrid let the sentence trail off ominously. Harry wasn’t sure if the ‘if not’ part was meant to be comforting, but it certainly didn’t ease his nerves.
Harry hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes on him. He took a deep breath and carefully lowered himself into a bow, trying to be as smooth and respectful as possible without looking like a fool. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the Hippogriff’s eyes boring into him, assessing him.
Suddenly, Buckbeak flapped its massive wings, letting out a sharp cry of warning. Harry’s muscles tensed instinctively, but he froze when Hagrid’s voice cut through the air.
“Back off, Harry. Back off,” Hagrid said in a low, serious tone. Harry hadn’t heard him sound quite like that before. The sudden shift in Hagrid’s demeanor made Harry’s stomach tighten with unease. He took a step back quickly, the dry snap of a branch underfoot only making the situation feel more fragile.
“Keep still,” Hagrid whispered urgently. Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he froze, barely daring to move, and he could feel the fear emanating from Hagrid now, too.
For what felt like an eternity, Buckbeak reared back, stamping its front feet. Harry braced himself, half-expecting the creature to charge, but instead, it let out a sharp, almost defiant chirp before finally bowing. Harry blinked in surprise, and a rush of relief flooded through him. He wasn’t sure if it was his own or Hagrid’s, but he exhaled deeply, not realizing how much he had been holding his breath.
“Well done, Harry. Well done!” Hagrid’s excitement was palpable as he tossed the ferret to Buckbeak, who eagerly snapped it up. “Now you can go ahead and pat him. Don’t be shy, he’s a big softie once you get to know him.”
Harry stepped forward slowly, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He stretched out his hand cautiously, feeling Buckbeak’s beak nudge against it, the creature’s feathers surprisingly soft under his touch. Harry could see the large bird’s eyes watching him, its gaze not quite as intimidating as it had been moments before.
Hagrid’s voice was warm with encouragement as he spoke again. “Usually, I’d let you ride him, but he’s got a wing sprain from not too long ago. So, just settle for giving him a nice pet.” Hagrid said, and Harry couldn't help but let out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful that he wasn’t expected to try and mount the creature just yet.
The rest of the lesson was relatively uneventful, though Harry did notice Draco in the distance, gearing up to make some snide comment, as usual. However, much to Harry’s surprise, one of the Slytherin girls shot him with a stinging hex before he could speak, shutting him up quickly. Harry couldn’t help but feel a flicker of curiosity.
Were the Slytherins always keeping each other in check like this? A strange thought crept into Harry’s mind—was this the same type of camaraderie he had with Ron and Hermione? The way they could read each other’s moods and hold each other accountable?
It was something Harry hadn’t really considered before. Was this something the compulsion stopped him from seeing?