The Hogwarts Express pulled into the station.
After parting ways with Professor Lupin, Hermione couldn't wait to ask, "Harry, do you know what spell Professor Lupin used back there?"
"The Patronus Charm," Harry said, helping Hermione into an empty carriage. "Dumbledore told me it's the commonly known spell for dealing with Dementors."
"Commonly known?" Hermione's curiosity piqued. "So there are other ways to fend off Dementors?"
"Exactly. The Patronus Charm only works for people with love in their hearts," Harry said, drying the rainwater off them with a quick spell. "Voldemort doesn't seem like the type to use it, but no one would say he can't handle Dementors."
"So there must be other spells, just not public ones," Harry added with a shrug.
Hermione nodded. Just like the censored versions of spells in textbooks, plenty of magic wasn't shared with the masses.
---
In the Great Hall, the four House tables were packed with returning students. Professors sat at their high table, while nervous first-years huddled behind the Sorting Hat.
Harry noticed Hagrid's seat had moved from the end of the staff table to the middle, right next to Professor Lupin from the train. The two clearly knew each other, chatting animatedly.
When Dumbledore stood, the hall fell silent, even the floating ghosts pausing their antics.
"Welcome back to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, his voice warm yet commanding. "Before we begin the feast, I have two new professors to introduce."
He gestured to his side. "First, our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for this term—Professor Remus Lupin."
The tired-looking wizard from the train stood, giving a slight bow.
The applause was sparse.
"Next," Dumbledore continued, "taking over from Professor Kettleburn as Care of Magical Creatures professor—Rubeus Hagrid."
The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers. Hagrid's face turned beet red as he rumbled a gruff "Thanks, everyone," his fingers nervously twisting his worn coat. Harry grinned—Hagrid had finally gotten his dream job.
Hermione whispered, "Told you it'd be Hagrid."
Harry didn't respond; the feast had begun.
Roast chicken and pudding appeared endlessly on the plates. Ron, mouth stuffed with drumstick, mumbled, "Hagrid teaching Magical Creatures? He won't bring a dragon to class, will he?"
"Probably not," Seamus said hesitantly.
Ron swallowed, eager to share a tidbit he'd heard from Fred—Hagrid was keeping a Norwegian Ridgeback in the Forbidden Forest.
"I'm telling you, Hagrid's got a—"
Harry coughed discreetly, and Ron remembered Fred's warning: keep it quiet. He wisely dropped the subject.
Hermione, overhearing, shivered as she recalled The Monster Book of Monsters.
Seeing her worry, Harry leaned in. "Don't stress. Hagrid knows what he's doing."
---
The next morning, owls swooped into the common room with shiny new schedules.
Harry glanced at his—Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Herbology… about the same as last year, except for two new classes: Divination and Care of Magical Creatures.
He'd considered Ancient Runes, but Dumbledore had other plans for him, so he skipped it.
Turning to Hermione, he saw her schedule crammed with course names.
"How many classes did you pick?" Harry leaned over, nearly dizzy from the overlapping time slots. "Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Herbology, History of Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts… Hermione, you can't possibly take all these at once!"
Hermione quickly covered his mouth, glancing around, then whispered, "Professor McGonagall said it's fine. Percy did it."
Harry recalled McGonagall pulling Hermione aside briefly in the Great Hall yesterday.
"What'd she give you?"
"A Time-Turner."
Hermione pulled a small, gleaming hourglass from her robe pocket, its gem-encrusted chain catching the sunlight. "McGonagall got it approved by the Ministry. She said my grades made a strong case."
Harry raised an eyebrow, impressed by her ambition. "What, just because I beat your second-year grades, you're taking this many—ow!"
Hermione pulled back her fist, deadpan. "Don't be ridiculous. It's not about grades. I'm just curious about these subjects."
"Hope the schedule doesn't drive you nuts," Harry teased.
"Better than missing out on useful classes," Hermione said, folding her schedule and tucking it into her notebook. "By the way, first period's Divination. We should grab good seats."
As they left the common room, they ran into Neville, who looked anxious. "I heard Divination's tough. Have you… prepped?"
"Don't worry, Neville," Harry said, patting his shoulder. "It's gotta be better than Lockhart."
The corridors were packed with students heading to class. As Gryffindors and Slytherins passed, Harry overheard Blaise mocking Hagrid: "A half-giant professor? Dumbledore's losing it."
Oddly, Malfoy stayed silent.
Hermione stopped, glaring back. "Hagrid knows way more than you, Zabini!"
Blaise glanced at Harry beside her and turned away.
Malfoy smirked, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle as they walked off.
Harry tugged Hermione's sleeve. "Ignore him. We'll be late."
---
The Divination classroom was at the top of the North Tower.
The moment Harry stepped in, he felt an instant dislike for the subject.
The room reeked of a strange mix, like sherry and tea leaves. Heavy curtains blocked most of the light, with only slivers sneaking through, and a roaring fire made it feel like they were worried about students catching a cold.
Professor Trelawney, draped in an odd shawl, watched each student enter like a giant moth. When class began, Harry understood his unease—she reminded him of Lockhart.
"Focus on the tea leaves, my dear students," Trelawney's voice was a breathy sigh. "Close your eyes, clear your minds… feel the flowing energy. It will guide you to glimpse the future."
Hermione frowned, clearly impatient with this "feeling-based" nonsense.
As her fingers touched her teacup, she muttered, "This doesn't follow magical theory at all. Tea leaves—"
"Shh!" Trelawney grabbed her hand, her shawl's tassels sweeping the table. "Doubt clouds your vision, Miss Granger. Magic isn't in formulas—it's in the soul."
Harry bit back a laugh, closing his eyes as instructed. All he sensed was the room's musty smell.
After a moment, he peeked and met Trelawney's magnified, bloodshot eyes.
"Oh!" Trelawney gasped, pointing at Harry's tea leaves. "Mr. Potter, do you see it? A mist!"
Harry looked. Just his blurry reflection.
"Nope, Professor."
"You must see it!"
Her voice shot up, drawing stares from the class.
"It's a shape… familiar, yet foreign. It's approaching, Mr. Potter, this term—you'll meet someone both familiar and strange, who will change your life."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Professor, that's too vague. We meet people we know every day. Who's this supposed to be?"
"Insolence!" Trelawney stood, her shawl flaring like angry wings. "Young witch, your rationality is stifling your gift! When the shadow of prophecy falls, you'll understand!"
She stormed to another table, leaving Harry and Hermione exchanging looks.
"Ridiculous," Hermione muttered, pulling out Standard Book of Spells to study instead. "Familiar yet strange? The only ones I can think of are the old headmasters in the portraits."
"Maybe she meant Lupin?" Harry suggested. "We met him on the train, but we don't really know him."
"Could be, but it's more likely she made it up," Hermione said, not looking up. "Remember the Daily Prophet? Three years ago, she predicted she'd retire early from 'overwork.' Yet here she is."
As the bell rang, Trelawney was still muttering over a Ravenclaw's teacup.
While packing, Harry glimpsed her notebook, where flowery handwriting read: Today's prophecy: Convince at least one student fate exists.
He caught Hermione's eye, and they both stifled laughs.
---
After lunch, the first Care of Magical Creatures class began.
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the air smelled of damp earth. Hagrid stood under a massive oak, holding a chain thicker than his arm, tethered to a huge creature—a Hippogriff.
It had a horse's body, an eagle's wings and head, its golden feathers glinting sharply in the sun, amber eyes warily scanning the circle of students.
"Don't be scared. It's smart," Hagrid's voice boomed, though it carried a hint of nerves. "Bow first, wait for it to respond, then approach. This is Buckbeak. He's… pretty friendly."
Hermione, who'd read the Hippogriff section in The Monster Book of Monsters, was scribbling Hagrid's tips—things the book didn't cover.
Harry, near the front, watched Buckbeak spread its wings, nearly blotting out half the sky, and swallowed hard.
"Who wants to try?" Hagrid asked, rubbing his hands, scanning the students.
Malfoy stepped out from the Slytherin group, his usual smirk in place. "Just a horse with a bird head. What's to fear?"
Instead of bowing, he deliberately straightened, poking at Buckbeak's feathers with his wand.
"Malfoy, don't—!" Harry and Hermione shouted together.
Too late. Buckbeak reared, its sharp beak letting out an angry screech, its front claw slashing through the air.
Malfoy stumbled back, his robe sleeve torn, blood beading up.
"It's a monster!" Pansy shrieked.
Malfoy clutched his arm, pale and shaken, but oddly didn't make a scene.
He shot Hagrid a look, then quickly lowered his eyes—clearly remembering Hagrid's Norwegian Ridgeback.
Hagrid, flustered, tugged the chain to calm Buckbeak. "It's alright, it's alright… Malfoy, you okay? I've got some healing salve…"
"No need," Malfoy snapped, glaring at Buckbeak before storming toward the castle, Crabbe and Goyle hurrying after.
The Slytherins whispered among themselves, but no one else dared provoke the creature.
Hagrid let out a relieved breath, scratching his head awkwardly. "That was… an accident. Harry, wanna give it a go? Take it slow, just bow."
Harry took a deep breath and bowed deeply to Buckbeak. The creature eyed him for a few seconds, then lowered its head.
"Nice one!" Hagrid grinned. "See? Respect goes both ways."
Hermione set down her quill, watching as Harry cautiously touched Buckbeak's feathers. She realized that, despite his nerves, Hagrid understood these creatures better than any textbook.
Noticing Hagrid's excited expression, she decided to suggest starting with smaller creatures, like ones the size of a pumpkin juice bottle.
---
That evening in the Great Hall, Hermione, exhausted from a day of using the Time-Turner, was devouring her dinner.
Harry handed her a glass of orange juice.
She downed it in one gulp, exhaling deeply. The Time-Turner was draining, but she finally felt alive again.
Poking at the peas on her plate, she said, "Remember Care of Magical Creatures at lunch? Malfoy didn't even snitch. Normally, he'd have Madam Pomfrey write a full report for a scratched arm."
Harry, mouth full of roast chicken, mumbled, "The guy's a pain, but he's not dumb. If he makes a fuss, he might not get to see that Ridgeback."
"But a Hippogriff injuring someone isn't small," Hermione said, still uneasy. "The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures clearly states that keeping XXX-class creatures requires strict approval, and Hagrid didn't even have proper safety measures…"
"Don't worry. Hagrid's got Dumbledore's backing," Harry said, scooping up mashed potatoes. "Besides, Malfoy brought it on himself, messing with Buckbeak."
Hermione sighed, shifting topics. "Speaking of, remember what Trelawney said in Divination?"
Harry laughed. "I asked Fred. She says stuff like that all the time. Last year, she predicted George would end up with a guy."
"George and a guy?" Hermione set down her fork, suddenly serious. "At the Deathday Party, didn't George and Lockhart spend time alone?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. Could Trelawney's prophecy be real?
Seeing Harry deep in thought, Hermione backtracked. "It's probably just a coincidence."
"Trelawney's predictions are wrong nine times out of ten," she added. "I saw her misread her own teacup. She called a 'big pancake' a 'dark shadow.' It was just clumped tea leaves."
Just then, a commotion came from the Slytherin table. Malfoy was waving his bandaged arm, gesturing to Crabbe and Goyle, a smug grin on his face.
"See," Harry nodded toward him, "he's not even upset about the injury. Probably thinks it's something to brag about."
Hermione glanced over, chuckling. "Malfoy looks like a spoiled kid right now."
Harry didn't reply, just kept eating. Hermione's mention of George and Lockhart had bumped Trelawney's prophecy up a notch in credibility.
Familiar yet strange… Harry glanced at Snape, deducting points from a student nearby, and shook his head. Definitely not him.
---
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