Hippogriff
Chapter 6: Hippogriff
After Arithmancy, Draco walked to lunch with Theo who had also found the class not only informative, but extremely intimidating. They had been used to words and wand movements, whereas Arithmancy was all numbers and equations. Granger seemed to do exceedingly well, naturally, which irritated Draco even further. It was as if she had already learned parts of Arithmancy before even taking the class.
Sitting in the Great Hall, the boys ate quickly and quietly. They checked their timestable again for their next class. Care of Magical Creatures. They finished, and went back to the dormitories to swap out their morning books for their afternoon ones and meet up with Pansy before heading to class.
Yesterday’s rain had cleared and the sky was a clear, pale gray, matching Draco’s eyes and lighter mood. The grass was springy and damp underfoot as they set off for their first ever Care of Magical Creatures class.
They walked down the sloping lawns with Greg and Vince to Hagrid’s hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was only when he spotted three only-too-familiar backs stomping down the hill behind them that he realized they must be having these lessons with the Gryfindors. Draco made a comment to them about how maybe the Weasel was one of the magical creatures they would be studying. Theo rolled his eyes at the dig, but Greg and Vince chortled along.
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, Draco 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?” Draco drawled.
“Eh?” said Hagrid.
“How do we open our books?” Draco 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 had belted their book 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 Granger’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!” Draco sneered. “We should have stroked them! Why didn’t we guess!”
“I — I thought they were funny,” Hagrid said uncertainly to Granger.
“Oh, tremendously funny!” said Draco. “Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Potter quietly snapped, looking toward Hagrid.
“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,” Draco said loudly. “That oaf teaching classes, my father’ll have a fit when I tell him —”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Potter repeated.
“Careful, Potter, there’s a Dementor behind you —”
“Oooooooh!” squealed Lavender Brown, pointing toward the opposite side of the paddock.
Trotting toward them were a dozen of the most bizarre creatures Draco had ever seen. 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 terrifying. 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.
“Gee 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?”
Draco couldn’t figure out what Hagrid meant. The sun glinted through the trees on 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. They were horrendously freakish and intimidating. Their size alone was enough to make someone piss their pants.
“So,” said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, “if yeh wan’ ter come a bit nearer...”
No one seemed to want to. But of course, the golden Gryffindors approached the fence stupidly. Granger don’t you dare . As if she could hear his thoughts, she glanced in his direction, hands fidgeting like she didn’t want to go along with that particular move, but she wouldn’t stand by and watch her two “friends” get mauled.
“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.”
Draco was hyper-focused on Granger and her proximity to the beast. He turned to Greg to whisper, “This bloody idiot is going to get a student killed with one of these monsters strutting around!”
Greg looked back at him with sympathy, it had become common knowledge among the Slytherin boys in their year that Draco had a soft spot for Granger.
“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 Potter, Weasley, and Granger 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.
“I’ll do it,” said Potter.
There was an intake of breath from next to Draco, and both Lavender and Parvati whispered, “Oooh, no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!”
Draco laughed, those dumb bints actually believed anything Trelawney told them! It took him half a moment to realize she had foretold Potter’s downfall, and Draco gleefully hoped maybe she would be right, just this once.
Potter ignored the class and climbed over the paddock fence.
“Good man, Harry!” 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. Draco narrowed his eyes maliciously, hoping just maybe Potter’s luck would run out for once.
“Easy now, Harry,” said Hagrid quietly. “Yeh’ve got eye contact, now try not ter blink... Hippogriffs don’ trust yeh if yeh blink too much...”
Buckbeak had turned his great, sharp head and was staring at Potter with one fierce orange eye. “Tha’s it,” said Hagrid. “Tha’s it, Harry... now, bow.”
The raven-haired boy gave a short bow and then looked up. The Hippogriff was still staring haughtily at him. It didn’t move.
“Ah,” said Hagrid, sounding worried. “Right — back away, now, Harry, easy does it —”
But then, to everyone’s surprise, the Hippogriff suddenly bent its scaly front knees and sank into what was an unmistakable bow.
“Well done, Harry!” said Hagrid, ecstatic. “Right — yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!”
Feeling the taste of bitter disappointment, Draco hoped that Potter would make a serious misstep and irritate the supposedly violent creature. Instead, Potter patted the beak several times and the Hippogriff closed its eyes lazily, as though enjoying it.
The Gryffindors in the class broke into applause.
“Righ’ then, Harry,” said Hagrid. “I reckon he migh’ let yeh ride him!”
This was apparently more than Perfect Potter had bargained for. He was backing away just as Hagrid walked up behind him and started to usher the stupid boy closer to the wild beast.
“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...”
Potter put his foot on the top of Buckbeak’s wing and hoisted himself onto its back. Buckbeak stood up. Of course Potter’s great with stupid magical creatures. He’s good at everything and gets everything he could possibly want. Everybody loves him and no one’s afraid to be friends with him in public. It’s disgusting.
“Go on, then!” roared Hagrid, slapping the Hippogriffs hindquarters.
Without warning, twelve-foot wings flapped open and Draco found himself taking another step back. The thing reared up on its hind legs and took off. From a bystander’s perspective, at least, it looked extremely uncomfortable to ride on, and Draco was grateful for whoever invented brooms.
Buckbeak flew the other boy once around the paddock and then headed back to the ground. Potter looked like he might be sick.
“Good work, Harry!” roared Hagrid as all of the Gryffindors cheered like it was some amazing feat. “Okay, who else wants a go?”
Emboldened by Potter’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. Longbottom ran repeatedly backward from his, which didn’t seem to want to bow to the coward. Weasel and even Granger practiced on the chestnut, while Potter looked on.
Vince and Greg convinced Draco to come with them to have a go with Buckbeak. The giant bird had bowed to Draco, who was now patting his beak, looking nervously at it. I swear I’d this thing bites me I’ll have it killed, he thought with gusto. Just as he turned his head, Draco spotted Potter nearby watching him with an angry glare. Yes, Potter, you’re not as special as you might think, wanker.
“This is very easy,” Draco announced with a false bravado, loud enough for Potter to hear him. “I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it... I bet you’re not dangerous at all, are you?” he said to the Hippogriff. “Are you, you great ugly brute?”
The moment the words slipped out, Draco knew he had made a grave error. It happened in a flash of steely talons shredding through his forearm like butter. Draco let out a high pitched scream and the next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at the blonde boy, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes. His breathing came in ragged gasps as the earth spun on either side of him. The sounds around him were muffled and his vision was closing in on itself.
It was painful, of course, but Draco was in shock and all he could think of was if he played his cards right, he could put an end to this oaf teaching classes and piss off Potter all in one fell swoop. Instead of holding onto any sense of pride his father had instilled in him, Draco let out everything he was feeling and then some.
“I’m dying!” Draco yelled as the class panicked. “I’m dying, look at me! It’s killed me!”
“Yer not dyin’!” said Hagrid, who had gone very white. “Someone help me — gotta get him outta here —”
Granger ran to hold open the gate, her face gaunt, as Hagrid lifted Draco easily off the ground. When they passed, Potter got a good look at the crimson blood gushing from his arm. Seeing the other boy’s face go white as a ghost, Draco took a look at his wound as well and saw that there were long, deep gashes with shreds of tissue dangling between cuts. Below him, blood splattered the grass as Hagrid ran with him, up the slope toward the castle.
From what he could see over the half-giant’s shoulders, the class followed behind them at a walk. The Slytherins were all shouting about Hagrid.
“They should sack him straight away!” said Pansy Parkinson, who was in tears.
“It was Malfoy’s fault!” snapped Dean Thomas. Greg and Vince defensively turned on the Gryffindor.
Draco missed the rest of the altercation as the man carrying him put more and more distance between himself and the class behind them due to his extraordinarily large legs.
It was only a few minutes after Draco had reached the infirmary that a distraught Pansy appeared at his side.
“Oh, Draco! How bad is it?” She squawked.
“I don’t know, Pansy, Madam Pomfrey hasn’t been over, yet,” Draco spit through the pain that was now radiating up his arm and through his shoulder. If the mediwitch didn’t appear soon, he was going to pass out, that he was sure of.
The woman in question began approaching from her office in the back of the infirmary just as Draco swayed and flopped back on the cot, unconscious.
…
Draco woke an hour later to find his arm bandaged up to his shoulder, rust brown blood stains seeping through the ivory gauze. He found he couldn’t feel the entire right side of his upper body. Sitting up quickly, he heard a soft alarm sound and Madam Pomfrey shuffled quickly into the infirmary, tossing the curtains around his bed aside.
“Mr. Malfoy, how are you feeling?” She lit the end of her wand with a silent lumos and checked his pupils’ responses.
“I can’t feel anything on this side,” he tried to raise his right arm, but nothing happened.
“That will be the isolated immobilization charms and chelidonium miniscula. You’ve also had a few calming draughts as you went into shock when I came over to assess you, and I’ve worked some murtlap essence into your bandages before wrapping your arm. They’ll need to be changed every few hours to prevent infection from setting in,” the woman said the last bit with a distasteful grimace. “I’ve not got a lot against magical creatures, but they carry some nasty diseases.”
Draco paled at the thought of having caught some incurable ailment from the beast that surely lived in its own filth. He shuddered to think he may very well die from such a fate.
Madam Pomfrey caught the look of terror on his face, and hers softened significantly. “Oh, deary, not to worry, I’ve checked you over and placed several antibacterial and antiviral salves on the wounds. The scars, however, I won’t be able to completely heal. They may fade over time, but for now they’ll be rather prominent,” she searched his face for more panic or perhaps to see if he would go back into shock.
When neither happened, she gave him a stern nod and went back to tending to a first year who had apparently fallen into the disappearing step and twisted her ankle.
Draco closed his curtain tightly and swung his feet off to the side of his cot. So far, the only part of his body not moving was from his shoulder down on his right arm and the upper part of his torso. He slid to his feet and took a few test steps. No major discomfort or issues. The small bedside table held his robes, wand, and—he checked the pocket of his robes to find his time turner still exactly where he had left it. A sigh of relief escaped him—Croaker wouldn’t have had any qualms about tossing him in Azkaban for losing a Ministry-borrowed artifact… he’d probably tell everyone I stole the damned thing.
Draping his black robes over his right arm first, then tucking his left arm into the sleeve and fastening the clasp, Draco stuck his wand in his pocket and grasped the time turner. Wonder what Granger thinks about today’s class… Draco tipped the hourglass back two turns and waited.
This time, out of his slightly open curtains, Draco watched time rewind around him. Madam Pomfrey scurried around the infirmary at an impossible pace and visitors came and went in the blink of an eye. Greg and Vince flew in and out of the chairs next to his bed followed by Pansy, then Draco himself was carried backwards by Hagrid back out the infirmary doors. After what felt like only seconds, Draco found he was now two hours in the past.
Peeking through the curtains to spot the mediwitch and any of the other students in the Hospital Wing—it was empty. Draco raced out the doors and down the corridor, twisting and turning until he came to the edge of the lawn. Looking about, he spotted Potter, Weasley, and Granger coming out of the Great Hall.
The Gryffindors walked in silence, Draco following behind at a safe distance. Once they got close to the hut, Draco crept around to the backside of it while Hagrid was busy greeting the other students. He followed along the length of the class, even more boring and disappointing the second time around. Draco cringed hearing his own attitude to the half-giant, but shrugged it off. Hagrid’s not even a real person though—he’s half a creature—
Draco’s train of thought was interrupted by the applause of Potter landing with the Hippogriff. The blonde huffed and rolled his eyes, increasingly annoyed by the other boy’s apparent good fortune at everything he attempted. Draco looked back at the scene just in time to see himself put up his right arm to block the onslaught of talons from reaching his face and neck.
Pain seared in the boy’s arm, and his stomach lurched at the sight of the attack from an outside view. He saw Granger gasp and grab Weasley’s arm before jumping into action and running to open the gate for Hagrid.
Very shaken, the Care of Magical Creatures class followed at a walk. The Slytherins were all shouting about Hagrid.
“They should sack him straight away!” said Pansy Parkinson, who was in tears.
“It was Malfoy’s fault!” snapped Dean Thomas. Crabbe and Goyle flexed their muscles defensively.
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. The Slytherins, still muttering about Hagrid, headed away in the direction of their dungeon common room; Harry, Ron, and Hermione proceeded upstairs to Gryffindor Tower.
Draco followed the Gryffindors, Disillusioned a few steps behind.
“You think he’ll be all right?” said Hermione nervously.
Draco’s heart swooped in his chest, the pain in his arm forgotten. She cares. She actually cares!
“Course he will. Madam Pomfrey can mend cuts in about a second,” said Harry, who had had far worse injuries mended magically by the nurse.
“That was a really bad thing to happen in Hagrid’s first class, though, wasn’t it?” said Ron, looking worried. “Trust Malfoy to mess things up for him...”
Draco was tempted to grab at the ginger’s foot and trip him, but the gong-like clanging of the castle’s large clock reminded him he needed to get back to the Hospital Wing. Tip-toeing down as quickly as he could without making too much noise as to draw attention from the Gryffindors behind him, Draco hurried along the corridors, stopping just short of the doors.
He only had to wait about three minutes before he saw himself slip out of the Hospital Wing and down the hall. Before the door even closed, Draco slid back into the infirmary and onto his cot, closing the curtain around his bedside tightly. As he laid back, exhaustion from his overexertion washed over him, and his arm began to ache, the charms and salves wearing off having gone through the same time loop Draco had. Stupid. I didn’t even think of that. I’ll have to wait a good two hours until Madam Pomfrey comes by to check on them and reapply anything. She’ll definitely get suspicious if I ask now…
Draco, firmly set on the idea that sleep would be the only way to escape the discomfort until the mediwitch made her rounds again, let his head sink further into the pillow and closed his eyes. Sleep came quickly, thanks to his little adventure, and the last thought that registered before his mind emptied completely was: she cares about me—she’s WORRIED about ME.
…
Draco spent the entire next day in the infirmary, with Madam Pomfrey and Pansy taking shifts at keeping watch over him. His cuts had turned a nasty greenish hue, and once the mediwitch discovered this, he was no longer able to have any visitors, insisting that one of them was the cause of the infection.
I guess time travel isn’t the best for open wounds then…
Theo passed his homework to Madam Pomfrey after classes and she set it on the nightstand for him to pick at at his leisure. During dinner, Draco spotted a bright blue flash, and his pulse quickened.
“Come to visit me, Granger?” He wasn’t sure why he said it, especially in that swaggering tone, but it was too late now. Arguing it is.
“Oh, yes, coming to check on the poor invalid trying to get someone sacked over their own stupidity!” She snarled back as she flung his curtains open.
Draco felt a sting in his chest, but not on the right side this time. He smirked up at her, “I’m sure you were quite sick with worry over how I’m healing, but I assure you, Pomfrey’s taken good care of me.”
“I hope you know, when you ran to tell dear old daddy about it all, he put in an inquiry and now Buckbeak is going to have an official hearing!” She screeched.
He cringed at the shrillness of her voice, but didn’t back down. He honestly didn’t know what she was talking about, he’d been unconscious or time traveling nearly the entire time since the attack, but a Gryffindor like her would never believe something that didn’t fit their narrative.
“Right, well of course he did. That man shouldn’t be teaching children—he’s not qualified! Not to mention he brings a murderous beast out to strut about in front of us? I saw your face, Granger, you thought it was a stupid idea too, so don’t lie to me,” he growled back.
“ I am not trying to get someone sacked and I am not trying to get some poor innocent creature executed !”
Draco sputtered in astonishment. “POOR?! INNOCENT?! Granger! Look at my bloody arm, literally!” He shouted back, wincing as he waved his arm in her face.
She paled, face blanching to a translucent white when she noticed that the bandages were off to let his skin breathe…well, what little skin was left. Madam Pomfrey had finally gotten rid of the greenish infection, but that left them back at the start, having to regrow tissue layer by layer, which was an incredibly slow, agonizing process.
“Draco,” she exhaled, reaching a hand out before thinking better of it and pulling away. “I didn’t—“
“Yeah, well, now you know what my bones and muscles look like,” he spat. “If you don’t mind, I’m supposed to eat my dinner and go back to sleep.”
He didn’t look up, but through his lashes, he thought he saw something glistening on her cheek. The brunette sniffled as she backed away, turned on her heel and ran out of the Hospital Wing.
Draco didn’t have the appetite to eat anymore. He pushed around some of the slop on his plate before just setting the tray on his nightstand and rolling onto his left side. His eyelids drooped with the weight of the last two days. His body sagging from fatigue, drifted into the in-between—not quite asleep but definitely not awake.
“Hey there, Granger, come to visit?” He smiled at the brunette sweetly.
She blushed, but moved a step closer to the bed, “well, yes, actually. How are you?”
“Just peachy, but really, Madam Pomfrey’s taking care of me. There’ll be a scar, but I’m fine I guess,” he shrugged off her worry, trying for a more playful tone.
“Can I see it?” She asked hesitantly, reaching a hand out.
“Granger, I really don’t think you want to—“ he tried to say, but she grasped his right hand and gently tugged his arm up for inspection.
She gasped. “Oh, Malfoy! It’s down to the bone! I can’t believe Hagrid ever thought it was a good idea to introduce a group of Third Years to a Hippogriff of all creatures! And in the first class! What was he thinking?!”
He smiled at her righteous anger on his behalf. It made his chest swell with pride and gratitude and maybe something more…he’d revisit that later he thought.
“Really, Granger, I’ll be fine. Got some heroic scars now to compete with Saint Potter now, eh?” He joked with a smile that she reciprocated easily.
“Oh, stop it. It’s not a competition, you know,” her smile folded into a smirk as she saw the challenge flash in his eyes. “I’m serious, Draco, it’s not a Quidditch match as to who’s the better wizard, okay? I like you both equally.”
His eyes darted to her which had widened at the admission. “So you like Potter, then?”
“Well he’s my best friend so I’d say it’s obvious,” she rolled her eyes but not with her usual zeal.
“So you like me as your best friend too?” Draco danced around the secret she was avoiding.
“I never said that,” she huffed with the annoyance of someone being misunderstood.
“Well, which is it? You either like us the same and I’m your best friend or you like Potter, or you don’t like us the same and one of us is better,” he rationalized, playing to her need to solve logic problems.
“Harry is my best friend,” Draco’s face fell at her declaration, “but I like you. Who wins then?” She asked coyly, knowing exactly what he’d say.
“I win.” Triumph shone brightly across his features and he reached out with his good hand to hold hers. “For the record, Granger, I like you too.”
Her cheeks heated with a rosy blush and she lowered her lashes as she avoided his stare. Draco grinned at the reaction and squeezed her fingers gently in his palm before placing a ghosting kiss to her knuckles…when he opened his eyes, he no longer held a soft, olive-skinned hand, but a scaled set of razor-sharp talons that sliced into his hands. Several of his fingers hit the floor below with thwaps and blood spurted out of each new slice simultaneously.
“Aaarrhhhh!” Draco screamed in a high pitch just as he was violently thrown backward by the weight of an overgrown, mass of glossy feathers looming above. His breathing grew rapid and erratic as his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. “No!” He shouted as a sharpened beak curved down toward his face. Looking over the top of it, were two blazing orange eyes glaring at him. Draco put up both of his hands in front of his face to block the next attack, but quickly realized nearly all his fingers were missing. He reached for his wand on the nightstand but it kept rolling away, out of reach—unable to get a grasp on the handle without the important appendages.
The creature reared up on its horse-like hind legs, rising to a colossal height, towering over the small boy next on the floor to the hospital bed. Draco cowered, and this was all the invitation the beast needed. Its upper body dove downwards, wings fully extended, blocking any mode of escape. The beast crowed with ferocity in the movement, graceful and lethal, aiming for any part of Draco’s head and torso. With such a large weapon, it was sure to strike true, and the boy squeezed his eyes tightly shut, in preparation for death.
Draco woke in a daze, drenched in sweat. He only had the slightest wherewithal to hold up his hands enough to check that his fingers were still fully intact before each arm flopped carelessly to the side, knocking the plate of uneaten dinner clattering to the floor noisily. At the disturbance, the mediwitch appeared at once, noting Draco’s appearance, she pulled two phials from her apron, pouring the unknown contents down his throat. He fell back into unconsciousness, and this time, there were no dreams.