Meet the Beast
Charles
When Charles, Ron, and Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next day, the first thing they saw was Draco Malfoy, who seemed to be entertaining a large group of Slytherins with a very funny story. As they passed, Malfoy did a ridiculous impression of a swooning fit and there was a roar of laughter.
"Ignore him," said Hermione, who was right behind Charles. "Just ignore him, it's not worth it..."
But that wasn't what had upset Charles. It was that Lyra was sitting at the same table as them, and unlike in the past, she wasn't really sticking up for him. His only comfort was that she wasn't laughing with them either.
"Hey, Potter!" shrieked Pansy Parkinson. "Potter! The dementors are coming, Potter! Woooooooooo!"
Charles dropped into a seat at the Gryffindor table, next to George.
"New third-year course schedules," said George, passing them over. "What's up with you, Charles?"
"Malfoy," said Ron, sitting down on George's other side and glaring over at the Slytherin table.
George looked up in time to see Malfoy pretending to faint with terror again.
Harry stood up angrily and shouted, "Fifteen points from Slytherin for disrupting breakfast and passing crude remarks!"
The young snakes instantly shut up and paled as the older Slytherins glared at them.
"That little git," Fred huffed. "He wasn't so cocky last night when the dementors were down at our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn't he, George?"
"Nearly wet himself," George agreed with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy.
"I wasn't too happy myself, mind," Fred sighed. "They're horrible things, those dementors... Sort of freeze your insides,"
"You didn't pass out, though, did you?" Charles countered in a low voice.
"Forget it, Charles," Harry said bracingly. "I and Ech fainted too; you weren't the only one. And Sirius was in bad condition as well. They suck the happiness out of a place, dementors. Most of the prisoners in Azkaban go mad."
"Anyway, we'll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match," Fred grinned. "Gryffindor versus Slytherin, the first game of the season, remember?"
Charles frowned. "I thought Lyra would play?"
"Not decided yet, Adrian says." Harry shrugged.
Hermione was examining her new schedule. "Oh, good, we're starting some new subjects today," she said happily.
"Hermione," Ron frowned as he looked over her shoulder, "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."
"But look," Ron laughed, "see this morning? Nine o’clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o’clock, Muggle Studies. And –" Ron leaned closer to the timetable, disbelieving, "look – underneath that, Ancient Runes, nine o’clock. I mean, I know you’re good, Hermione, but 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 –"
"Pass the marmalade," said Hermione.
"But –"
"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."
Just then, Hagrid entered the Great Hall. He was wearing his long moleskin overcoat and was absent-mindedly swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand. "All righ’?" he said eagerly, pausing on the way to the staff 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 at them and headed off to the staff table, still swinging the polecat.
"Wonder what he’s been getting ready?" said Ron, a note of anxiety in his voice. The Hall was starting to empty as people headed off towards their first lessons. Charles checked his timetable. "We’d better go, look, Divination’s at the top of North Tower. It’ll take us ten minutes to get there…"
They finished their breakfast hastily, said goodbye to Harry and the twins, and walked back through the hall. The journey through the castle to the North Tower was a long one. They took a shortcut, as Charles had studied the map and knew his way around the school pretty well.
They emerged on an unfamiliar landing, where there was nothing but a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on the stone wall. Charles was watching the painting, though. A fat, dapple-grey pony had just ambled onto the grass and was grazing nonchalantly, and he felt something was missing... just then a short, squat knight in a suit of armor clanked into the picture after his pony. By the look of the grass stains on his metal knees, he had just fallen off.
"Aha!" he yelled, seeing Charles, Ron, and Hermione. "What villains are these that trespass upon my private lands?! Come to scorn at my fall, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!" They watched in astonishment as the little knight tugged his sword out of its scabbard and began brandishing it violently, hopping up and down in rage. But the sword was too long for him; a particularly wild swing made him overbalance, and he landed face down in the grass.
"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, moving closer to the picture. Charles and Ron exchanged an incredulous look behind her back. Was she really asking the painted knight if he was alright?
"Get back, you scurvy braggart! Back, you rogue!" The knight seized his sword again and used it to push himself back up, but the blade sank deeply into the grass and, though he pulled with all his might, he couldn’t get it out again. Finally, he had to flop back down onto the grass and push up his visor to mop his sweating face.
Charles just shook his head in irritation and grabbed his friends by their arms. "Just come."
The three climbed the tightly spiraling steps, getting dizzier and dizzier, until at last they heard the murmur of voices above them, and knew they had reached the classroom. They emerged onto a tiny landing, where the class was starting to assemble. There were no doors off this landing; Ron nudged Charles and pointed at the ceiling where there was a circular trap door with a brass plaque on it.
"Sybill Trelawney, Divination teacher." Charles read. "How’re we supposed to get up there?" As though in answer to his question, the trap door suddenly opened, and a silvery ladder descended right at Charles' feet. Everyone went quiet.
"After you," Ron grinned, and Charles rolled his eyes and climbed the ladder first.
He emerged into the strangest-looking classroom he had ever seen. In fact, it didn't look like a classroom at all, more like a cross between someone's attic and an old-fashioned tea shop. At least twenty small, circular tables were crammed inside it, all surrounded by chintz armchairs and fat little poufs. Everything was lit with a dim, crimson light; the curtains at the windows were all closed, and the many lamps were draped with dark red scarves. it was stiflingly warm, and the fire that was burning under the crowded mantelpiece was giving off a heavy, sickly sort of perfume as it heated a large copper kettle. The shelves running around the circular walls were crammed with dusty-looking feathers, stubs of candles, many packs of tattered playing cards, countless silvery crystal balls, and a huge array of teacups.
Ron appeared at Charles' shoulder as the class assembled around them, all talking in whispers. "Where is she?" Ron asked.
A voice came suddenly out of the shadows, a soft, misty sort of voice. "Welcome," it said. "How nice to see you in the physical world at last."
Charles' immediate impression was of a large, glittering insect. Professor Trelawney moved into the firelight, and they saw that she was very thin; her large glasses magnified her eyes to several times their natural size, and she was draped in a gauzy spangled shawl. Innumerable chains and beads hung around her spindly neck, and her arms and hands were encrusted with bangles and rings.
She seemed every bit as loony and strange as Harry had described.
"Sit, my children, sit," she said, and they all climbed awkwardly into armchairs or sank onto poufs. Charles, Ron, and Hermione sat themselves around the same round table.
"Welcome to Divination," said Professor Trelawney, who had seated herself in a winged armchair in front of 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."
Nobody said anything to this extraordinary pronouncement. Professor Trelawney delicately rearranged her shawl and continued, "So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you... Books can take you only so far in this field..."
At these words, both Charles and Ron glanced, grinning, at Hermione, who looked startled at the news that books wouldn't be much help in this subject.
"Many witches and wizards, talented though they are in the area of loud bangs and smells and sudden disappearings, are yet unable to penetrate the veiled mysteries of the future," Professor Trelawney went on, her enormous, gleaming eyes moving from face to nervous face. "It is a Gift granted to few. You, boy," she said suddenly to Neville, who almost toppled off his pouf. "Is your grandmother well?"
"I think so," Neville said tremulously.
"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you, dear," said Professor Trelawney, the firelight glinting on her long emerald earrings. Neville gulped. Professor Trelawney continued placidly. "We will be covering the basic methods of Divination this year. The first term will be devoted to reading the tea leaves. Next term we shall progress to palmistry. By the way, my dear," she shot suddenly at Parvati Patil, "beware a red-haired man."
Parvati gave a startled look at Ron, who was right behind her, and edged her chair away from him.
"In the second term," Professor Trelawney went on, "we shall progress to the crystal ball - if we have finished with fire omens, that is. Unfortunately, classes will be disrupted in February by a nasty bout of flu. I, myself, will lose my voice. And around Easter, one of our numbers will leave us forever."
A very tense silence followed this pronouncement, but Professor Trelawney seemed unaware of it.
"I wonder, dear," she said to Lavender Brown, who was nearest and shrank back in her chair, "if you could pass me the largest silver teapot?"
Lavender, looking relieved, stood up, took an enormous teapot from the shelf, and put it down on the table in front of Professor Trelawney.
"Thank you, my dear. Incidentally, that thing you are dreading - it will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October."
Lavender trembled.
"Now, I want you all to divide into pairs. Collect a teacup from the shelf, come to me, and I will fill it. Then sit down and drink, drink until only the dregs remain. Swill these around the cup three times with the left hand, then turn the cup upside down on its saucer, wait for the last of the tea to drain away, then give your cup to your partner to read. You will interpret the patterns using pages five and six of Unfogging the Future. I shall move among you, helping and instructing. Oh, and dear" - she caught Neville by the arm as he made to stand up - "after you've broken your first cup, would you be so kind as to select one of the blue patterned ones? I'm rather attached to the pink."
Sure enough, Neville had no sooner reached the shelf of teacups when there was a tinkle of breaking china. Professor Trelawney swept over to him holding a dustpan and brush and said, "One of the blue ones, then, dear, if you wouldn't mind... thank you..."
Charles was amazed. Harry and the others had always complained that Trelawney was a fraud, but she seemed quite a seer to him. When Charles and Ron had had their teacups filled, they went back to their table and tried to drink the scalding tea quickly. They swilled the dregs around as Professor Trelawney had instructed, then drained the cups and swapped over.
"Right," Ron said as they both opened their books at pages five and six. "What can you see in mine?"
"A load of soggy brown stuff," Charles frowned. The heavily perfumed smoke in the room was making him feel sleepy and stupid.
"Broaden your minds, my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!" Professor Trelawney cried through the gloom.
Charles tried to pull himself together. "Right, you've got a crooked sort of cross... " He consulted Unfogging the Future. "That means you're going to have 'trials and suffering' - sorry about that - but there's a thing that could be the sun... hang on... that means 'great happiness'... so you're going to suffer but be very happy..."
"You need your Inner Eye tested, if you ask me," said Ron, and they both had to stifle their laughs as Professor Trelawney gazed in their direction.
"My turn..." Ron peered into Charles' teacup, his forehead wrinkled with effort. "There's a blob a bit like a bowler hat. Maybe you're going to work for the Ministry of Magic..." He turned the teacup the other way up. "But this way it looks more like an acorn... What's that?" He scanned his copy of Unfogging the Future. "'A windfall, unexpected gold.' Excellent, you can lend me some... and there's a thin, here," he turned the cup again, "that looks like an animal... yeah, if that was its head... it looks like a hippo... no, a sheep..."
Professor Trelawney whirled around as Charles let out a snort of laughter.
"Let me see that, my dear," she said reprovingly to Ron, sweeping over and snatching Charles' cup from him. Everyone went quiet to watch.
Professor Trelawney was staring into the teacup, rotating it counterclockwise. "The falcon... my dear, you have a deadly enemy."
"But everyone knows that, " said Hermione in a loud whisper. Professor Trelawney stared at her.
"Well, they do," said Hermione. "Everybody knows about Charles and You-Know-Who."
Charles 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 Charles' cup again and continued to turn it.
"The club... an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup..."
"I thought that was a bowler hat," said Ron 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?" said Dean Thomas at once. Everyone had got to their feet, and slowly they crowded around Charles' and Ron's table, pressing close to Professor Trelawney's chair to get a good look at Charles' cup.
"My dear," Professor Trelawney's huge eyes opened dramatically, "You have the Grim."
There were a few who didn't understand. Dean Thomas shrugged and Lavender Brown looked puzzled, but nearly everybody else clapped their hands to their mouths in horror. Charles sat wide-eyed.
"The Grim, my dear, the Grim!" cried Professor Trelawney. "The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen - the worst omen - of death!"
Charles narrowed his eyes. That was ridiculous; he didn't believe in all these superstitions. Sirius was like a grim, too, in a way, but none of them had died at seeing him. Lavender Brown clapped her hands to her mouth too. Everyone was looking at Charles, 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 was tilting 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!" Charles snapped, getting very annoyed and deciding that the class was a joke. Nobody seemed to want to look at him now.
"I think we will leave the lesson here for today," said Professor Trelawney 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. Even Ron was avoiding Charles's eyes, who huffed dramatically and rolled his eyes.
"Until we meet again," said Professor Trelawney 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."
They descended Professor Trelawney's ladder and the winding stair in silence, then set off for Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration lesson.
Charles chose a seat right at the back of the room, feeling as though he were sitting in a very bright spotlight; the rest of the class kept shooting furtive glances at him, as though he were about to drop dead at any moment. His irritation was increasing. He hardly heard what Professor McGonagall was telling them about Animagi and wasn't even watching when she transformed herself in front of their eyes into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes.
"Really, what has got into you all today?" said Professor McGonagall, turning back into herself with a faint pop, and staring around at them all. "Not that it matters, but that's the first time my transformation's not got applause from a class."
Everybody's heads turned toward Charles 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," said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. "There is no need to say anymore, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?"
Everyone stared at her. Charles slowly raised his hand and growled. "I don't really belive in all this, but it's setting me on edge now, Professor."
"I see," said Professor McGonagall, fixing Charles with her beady eyes, faintly approving. "Very good, Potter. You should all know that Sibyll 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, and they saw that her nostrils had gone white. 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, and then said, in a very 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."
Charles and Hermione both laughed, but not everyone was convinced. 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. "Charles," he said, in a low, serious voice, "You haven't seen a great black dog anywhere, have you?"
"Yeah, many times," Charles lightly shrugged. "In fact, I'm quite friendly with it, as well."
"That's nice," said Hermione calmly.
Ron looked at them both as though they had gone mad. "If Charles' seen a Grim, that's - that's bad! My - my uncle Bilius saw one and - and he died twenty-four hours later!"
"Coincidence," said Hermione airily, pouring herself some pumpkin juice.
"Exactly," Charles agreed.
"You don't know what you're talking about!" said Ron, starting to get angry. "Grims scare the living daylights out of most wizards!"
"There you are, then," said Hermione 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 Charles' still with us because he's not stupid enough to see one and think, right, well, I'd better kick the bucket then!"
Charles found some logic in Hermione's theory but didn't voice it. Instead, he just nudged her lightly in the ribs to show his agreement. Ron, meanwhile, mouthed wordlessly at Hermione, who opened her bag, took out her new Runes 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."
"There was nothing woolly about the Grim in that cup!" said Ron hotly.
"You didn't seem quite so confident when you were telling Charles it was a sheep," said Hermione coolly.
"Professor Trelawney said you didn't have the right aura! You just don't like being bad at something for a change!" He had touched a nerve. Hermione slammed her book down on the table so hard that bits of meat and carrots 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 with my Runes class!"
She snatched up her bag and stalked away. Ron frowned after her. "What's she talking about?" he said to Charles. "She hasn't been to a Runes class yet."
Lyra
Lyra was pleased to get out of the castle after lunch. Yesterday's rain had cleared; the sky was a clear, pale gray, and the grass was springy and damp underfoot as they set off for their first-ever Care of Magical Creatures class.
Daphne and Blaise weren't speaking to each other due to some stupid argument they had had earlier in the day. So, Lyra walked beside Daphne while Blaise was with Theo a few steps behind them as they went down the sloping lawns to Hagrid's hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They had the lesson with Gryffindors, which Lyra wasn't really happy about, seeing as she'd been avoiding Charles with a passion since last Christmas.
Hagrid was waiting for his class at the door of his hut. He stood in his moleskin overcoat, with Fang the boarhound at his heels, looking impatient to start. "C'mon, now, get a move on!" he called as the class approached. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!"
For one nasty moment, Lyra thought that Hagrid was going to lead them into the forest. However, Hagrid strolled off around the edge of the trees, and five minutes later, they found themselves outside a kind of paddock. There was nothing in there.
"Everyone gather 'round the fence here!" he called. "That's it - make sure yeh can see - now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books -"
"How?" said the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy.
"Eh?" said Hagrid.
"How do we open our books?" Malfoy repeated. He took out his copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, which he had bound shut with a length of rope. Other people took theirs out too; some, like Lyra, had belted their books shut; others had crammed them inside tight bags or clamped them together with binder clips.
"Hasn' -- hasn' anyone bin able ter open their books?" said Hagrid, looking crestfallen.
The class all shook their heads.
"Yeh've got ter stroke 'em," said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Look-"
He took Hermione's copy and ripped off the Spellotape that bound it. The book tried to bite, but Hagrid ran a giant forefinger down its spine, and the book shivered and then fell open and lay quiet in his hand.
"Oh, how silly we've all been!" Malfoy sneered. "We should have stroked them! Why didn't we guess!"
"I - I thought they were funny," Hagrid said uncertainly to Hermione.
"Oh, tremendously funny!" Malfoy scoffed. "Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!"
"Shut up, Malfoy," Charles said quietly. Hagrid was looking downcast now. While Hagrid was Lyra's friend and she wanted his first lesson to be a success, she couldn't help but agree with Malfoy.
"Righ' then," said Hagrid, who seemed to have lost his thread, "so - so yeh've got yer books an' - an' - now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I'll go an' get 'em. Hang on..."
He strode away from them into the forest and out of sight.
"God, this place is going to the dogs," said Malfoy loudly. "That oaf teaching classes, my father'll have a fit when I tell him"
"Shut up, Malfoy," Charles repeated.
"Careful, Potter, there's a dementor behind you..."
"And there's your ego floating behind you." Charles snarled back.
"Oooooooh!" squealed Lavender, pointing toward the opposite side of the paddock.
Trotting toward them were a dozen majestic creatures. They had the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings, and heads of what seemed to be giant eagles, with cruel, steel-colored beaks and large, brilliantly, orange eyes. The talons on their front legs were half a foot long and deadly-looking. Each of the beasts had a thick leather collar around its neck, which was attached to a long chain, and the ends of all of these were held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who came jogging into the paddock behind the creatures.
"Get up, there!" he roared, shaking the chains and urging the creatures toward the fence where the class stood. Everyone drew back slightly as Hagrid reached them and tethered the creatures to the fence.
"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"
Lyra could sort of see what Hagrid meant. Once you got over the first shock of seeing something that was, half horse, half bird, you started to appreciate the hippogriffs' gleaming coats, changing smoothly from feather to hair, each of them a different color: stormy gray, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black.
"So," said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, "if yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer -"
No one seemed to want to expect Theo, who eagerly approached the fence. Lyra and Charles followed him cautiously.
"Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' hippogriffs is, they're proud," said Hagrid. "Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do."
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle weren't listening; they were talking in an undertone and Lyra had a feeling they were plotting how best to disrupt the lesson.
"Yeh always wait fer the hippogriff ter make the firs' move," Hagrid continued. "It's polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed ter touch him. If he doesn' bow, then get away from him sharpish, 'cause those talons hurt. Right - who wants ter go first?"
Most of the class backed farther away in answer. Even Charles and Theo had misgivings. The hippogriffs were tossing their fierce heads and flexing their powerful wings; they didn't seem to like being tethered like this.
"No one?" said Hagrid, with a pleading look.
Lyra hesitantly stepped forward. "I'll do it."
There was an intake of breath from behind him, and whispers emerged. Lyra ignored them and climbed over the paddock fence.
"Good girl, Lyra!" roared Hagrid. "Right then - let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak."
He untied one of the chains, pulled the gray hippogriff away from its fellows, and slipped off its leather collar. The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath. Malfoy's eyes were narrowed maliciously.
"Easy now, Lyra," said Hagrid quietly. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink... Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much...."
Lyra's eyes began to water, but she didn't shut them. Buckbeak had turned his great, sharp head and was staring at her with one fierce orange eye. "Tha's it," said Hagrid. "Tha's it, Lyra... now, bow."
Lyra didn't feel much like exposing the back of her neck to Buckbeak, but she did as she was told. She gave a short bow of her neck and then looked up.
The hippogriff was still staring haughtily at her. It didn't move.
"Ah," said Hagrid, sounding worried. "Right - back away, now, Lyra, easy does it-"
But then, to Lyra's enormous surprise, the hippogriff suddenly bent its scaly front knees and sank into what was an unmistakable bow.
"Well done, Lyra!" said Hagrid, ecstatic. "Right - yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!"
Feeling that a better reward would have been to back away, Lyra moved slowly toward the hippogriff and reached out toward it. She patted the beak several times and the hippogriff closed its eyes lazily, as though enjoying it.
The class broke into applause, even Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who joined in a bit grudgingly.
"Righ' then, Lyra," said Hagrid. "I reckon he might' let yeh ride him!"
This was more than Lyra had bargained for. She was used to a broomstick, but she wasn't sure a hippogriff would be quite the same.
"Yeh climb up there, jus' behind the wing joint," said Hagrid, "an' mind yeh don' pull any of his feathers out, he won' like that..."
Lyra put her foot on the top of Buckbeak's wing and hoisted herself onto its back. Buckbeak stood up. Lyra wasn't sure where to hold on; everything in front of her was covered with feathers.
"Go on, then!" roared Hagrid, slapping the hippogriff's hindquarters.
Without warning, twelve-foot wings flapped open on either side of Lyra. She just had time to seize the hippogriff around the neck before she was soaring upward. It was nothing like a broomstick, and Lyra knew which one he preferred; the hippogriff's wings beat uncomfortably on either side of her, catching her under her legs and making her feel like she was about to be thrown off; the glossy feathers slipped under her fingers and she didn't dare get a stronger grip; instead of the smooth action of her Nimbus, she now felt herself rocking backward and forward as the hindquarters of the hippogriff rose and fell with its wings.
Buckbeak flew her once around the paddock and then headed back to the ground; this was the bit Lyra had been dreading; she leaned back as the smooth neck lowered, feeling as if she was going to slip off over the beak, and then felt a heavy thud as the four ill-assorted feet hit the ground. She just managed to hold on and push herself straight again.
"Good work, Lyra!" roared Hagrid as everyone cheered. "Okay, who else wants a go?"
Emboldened by Lyra's success, the rest of the class climbed cautiously into the paddock. Hagrid untied the hippogriffs one by one, and soon people were bowing nervously, all over the paddock. Charles was next, and he was successful, too. Neville ran repeatedly backward from his, which didn't seem to want to bend its knees. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had taken over Buckbeak. He had bowed to Malfoy, who was now patting his beak, looking disdainful.
"This is very easy," Malfoy drawled loudly. "I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it..." Lyra noted how he carefully didn't mention her.
"I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" Malfoy said to the hippogriff. "Are you, you great ugly brute?"
It happened in a flash of steely talons; Malfoy let out a high-pitched scream and the next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Malfoy, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes.
"I'm dying!" Malfoy yelled as the class panicked. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"
"Yer not dyin'!" Hagrid rebuked, who had gone very white. "Someone help me - gotta get him outta here -"
Daphne ran to hold open the gate as Hagrid lifted Malfoy easily. As they passed, Lyra saw that there was a long, deep gash on Malfoy's arm; blood splattered the grass and Hagrid ran with him, up the slope toward the castle.
Very shaken, the Care of Magical Creatures class followed at a walk. Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle were shouting about Hagrid.
"They should fire him straight away!" Pansy wailed, who was in tears. Lyra grimaced in disgust; she had always hated Pansy and her fake reality.
"It was Malfoy's fault!" Charles snapped. Crabbe and Goyle flexed their muscles threateningly.
They all climbed the stone steps into the deserted entrance hall.
"I'm going to see if he's okay!" said Pansy, and they all watched her run up the marble staircase. Lyra headed to the dungeons with the other Slytherins.
"You think he'll be all right?" Theo asked nervously.
"Of course he will. Madam Pomfrey can mend cuts in about a second," Blaise said dismissively.
"That was a really bad thing to happen in Hagrid's first class, though, wasn't it?" Moon said, looking worried. "He isn't a bad person..."
"No, but he's unfit to teach," Daphne muttered. "I admit that while it was partly Draco's fault, it was still very reckless of Hagrid to bring such a creature into our first class."
Lyra sighed. "Trust Draco to mess things up..."
When they reached the Great Hall at dinnertime, Hagrid wasn't there.
"They wouldn't fire him, would they?" Moon asked anxiously, biting her lip.
Aurora Moon, Lyra's dormmate, had just recently taken to hanging out with them, seeing as she was now good friends with Theo. None of them minded this; it wasn't as if she was in their main circle. And she was nice enough, if just a touch clueless sometimes due to her upbringing.
"They'd better not," Lyra scowled.
Blaise nudged her in the ribs and pointed over to where a large group, including Crabbe and Goyle, was huddled together, deep in conversation. Lyra was sure they were cooking up their own version of how Malfoy had been grievously injured.
"Well, you can't say it wasn't an interesting first day back," Daphne smirked.
Charles
After dinner, Charles, Hermione, and Ron went up to the crowded Gryffindor common room and tried to do the homework Professor McGonagall had given them, but kept breaking off and glancing out of the tower window.
"There's a light on in Hagrid's window," Charles said suddenly.
Ron looked at his watch. "If we hurried, we could go down and see him. It's still quite early..."
"I don't know," Hermione said slowly, and Charles saw her glance at him.
"I'm allowed to walk across the grounds, " he said pointedly. "Black hasn't got past the dementors yet, has he?"
So they put their things away and headed out of the portrait hole, glad to meet nobody on their way to the front doors, as they weren't entirely sure they were supposed to be out.
The grass was still wet and looked almost black in the twilight. When they reached Hagrid's hut, they knocked, and a voice growled, "C'min."
Hagrid was sitting in his shirtsleeves at his scrubbed wooden table; his boarhound, Fang, had his head in Hagrid's lap. One look told them that Hagrid had been drinking a lot; there was a pewter tankard almost as big as a bucket in front of him, and he seemed to be having difficulty getting them into focus.
"'Spect it's a record," he said thickly when he recognized them. "Don' reckon they've ever had a teacher who lasted on'y a day before."
"You haven't been fired, Hagrid!" Hermione gasped.
"Not yet," said Hagrid miserably, taking a huge gulp of whatever was in the tankard. "But's only a matter o' time, i' n't it, after Malfoy..."
"How is he?" said Ron as they all sat down. "It wasn't serious, was it?"
"Madam Pomfrey fixed him best she could," said Hagrid dully, "but he's sayin' it's still agony... covered in bandages... moanin'..."
"He's faking it, " Charles said at once. "Madam Pomfrey can mend anything. She regrew half my bones last year. Trust Malfoy to milk it for all it's worth."
"School gov'nors have bin told, o' course," said Hagrid miseribly. "They reckon I started too big. Shoulda left hippogriffs fer later... done flobberworms or summat.... Jus' thought it'd make a good firs' lessons all my fault...."
"It's all Malfoy's fault, Hagrid!" said Hermione earnestly.
"We're witnesses," Charles agreed. "You said hippogriffs attack if you insult them. It's Malfoy's problem that he wasn't listening. We'll tell Dumbledore what really happened."
"Yeah, don't worry, Hagrid, we'll back you up," said Ron.
Tears leaked out of the crinkled corners of Hagrid's beetle-black eyes. He grabbed both Charles and Ron and pulled them into a bone-breaking hug.
"I think you've had enough to drink, Hagrid," Hermione said firmly as she took the tankard from the table and went outside to empty it.
"Ah, maybe she's right," said Hagrid, letting go of the boys, who both staggered away, rubbing their ribs. Hagrid heaved himself out of his chair and followed Hermione unsteadily outside. They heard a loud splash.
"What's he done?" Charles asked nervously as Hermione came back in with the empty tankard.
"Stuck his head in the water barrel," Hermione sighed, putting the tankard away.
Hagrid came back, his long hair and beard sopping wet, wiping the water out of his eyes.
"That's better," he said, shaking his head like a dog and drenching them all. "Listen, it was good of yeh ter come an' see me, I really -" Hagrid stopped dead, staring at Charles as though he'd only just realized he was there.
"WHAT D'YEH THINK YOU'RE DOIN', EH?" he roared, so suddenly that they jumped a foot in the air. "YEH'RE NOT TO GO WANDERIN' AROUND AFTER DARK, CHARLES! AN, YOU TWO! LETTIN' HIM!"
Hagrid strode over to Charles, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the door.
"C'mon!" Hagrid said angrily. "I'm takin' yer all back up ter school, an' don' let me catch yeh walkin' down ter see me after dark again. I'm not worth that!"