The grounds of Hogwarts were awash with golden afternoon light, filtering softly through the thinning canopy of the Forbidden Forest. Autumn had begun to whisper at the edges of the leaves, and with it came a crispness to the air that tugged at cloaks and made cheeks pink. It was during this perfect weather that Hagrid's first official Care of Magical Creatures class took place.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron gathered with the rest of the third-years near the paddock, wands tucked away, chins high with anticipation.
"He's late," Ron muttered, glancing toward the forest path. "Think he forgot?"
"No," Hermione said with certainty. "He's been preparing for this all week. Look—here he comes."
Sure enough, Hagrid came trudging down the hill, a broad smile under his wiry beard and a huge leather-bound book under his arm. "Yeh lot are gonna love this," he called out, enthusiasm lacing his every step. "Got somethin' real special for yeh."
Draco stood at a distance from the trio, arms crossed, eyes scanning the open field beyond the paddock. He wasn't frowning, exactly—but there was a thin tension to his expression. Every time Harry so much as spoke to Hermione or Ron, Draco's gaze flicked toward them for a half-second too long.
And Harry noticed. Again.
He wasn't sure when it had started—maybe after the Hogsmeade permission issue, or maybe before—but there was a kind of… weirdness about Malfoy lately. Less snide remarks, more silence. Less arrogance, more guarded looks.
"Come on," Hagrid was saying, waving everyone toward a fenced area. "No need to crowd, there's plenty o' room."
Inside the paddock, a group of creatures shifted restlessly—huge, proud beasts with eagle heads, massive wings, and the hindquarters of horses.
"Are those…?" Harry whispered.
"Hippogriffs," Hermione said, her eyes wide.
Draco finally stepped closer to the trio, hands in his robe pockets. "Fantastic," he said coolly. "Flying chickens with horse legs. What's next? Fire-breathing sheep?"
"Shut it, Malfoy," Ron snapped.
But Draco wasn't even looking at Ron. His eyes were on Harry again.
Harry tried to ignore it. "They're brilliant," he said to Hermione, though his attention shifted to Hagrid as he explained how to approach them—bow first, show respect, don't insult them unless you want your liver pecked out.
When it was time for a demonstration, all eyes turned to Harry.
"Give it a go, Harry," Hagrid encouraged, clapping him on the back.
Draco's eyes narrowed.
Harry stepped forward, heart thumping, and gave a deep bow to the majestic Buckbeak. The creature stared for a long moment before bowing back, feathers ruffling.
"He likes yeh!" Hagrid beamed. "Go on, climb on."
Flying on Buckbeak was like nothing Harry had ever experienced—powerful gusts of wind, the rush of air, the vastness of the sky spread out beneath him. It was terrifying and wonderful and freeing.
When he landed and stumbled off—laughing, heart racing—Draco was watching him in a way Harry couldn't ignore.
"You look like you actually enjoyed that," Draco said, dry but almost... soft.
"I did," Harry said.
There was a pause. Draco's eyes flickered to Buckbeak, then back to Harry. "Of course you'd get the perfect magical beast to adore you straight away."
Harry tilted his head. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Draco blinked, as if surprised he'd spoken aloud. "Nothing."
But Harry didn't believe him.
Later that night, Harry sat in the common room, pretending to read his Transfiguration homework. Hermione was scribbling next to him, and Ron was dozing. But Harry's mind wasn't on homework. It was on Draco. And Snape.
Professor Snape had been different lately. Not in the ways Harry used to notice—no extra sneers, no favoritism. Just… quieter. Almost protective. At breakfast, Snape had actually warned him about upcoming shifts in class schedules, even giving him an extra copy of the new rota. And during Potions, when Harry had nearly dropped a vial of salamander blood, Snape had caught it without a word and handed it back.
Weird.
He wasn't mean. He wasn't friendly either. Just… aware. Watching. Aware in the way Dumbledore sometimes was, and that was almost more unsettling.
"What d'you think Snape's up to?" Harry asked suddenly.
Hermione looked up. "Up to?"
"Yeah. He's... different."
"Less of a git?" Ron offered groggily.
"Sort of," Harry said. "But not really. He still acts like himself. Just... I don't know. He gave me tea last week."
Ron dropped his quill. "Tea?"
Hermione looked thoughtful. "He's definitely behaving... unusually."
Harry exhaled. "And Malfoy's being weird too."
"Oh please, he's always weird," Ron muttered.
"No," Harry said, a bit more seriously. "Different weird."
Hermione stared at him. "You think there's a connection?"
Harry didn't answer. Instead, his thoughts drifted back to the way Snape's eyes had lingered on him in class today—almost searching for something. And the way Draco's jealousy wasn't cruel anymore, just... confused.
There was something beneath the surface. And Harry was going to figure it out.