Friday—the bell rang right on time.
Hogwarts' bell was hand-cranked by Filch; the magical bronze bell piped its chimes through ducts to every classroom and corridor. Crystal-clear inside the castle, but out in the open-air Herbology or Care of Magical Creatures fields, it got a little muffled.
Today the clearing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest was buzzing.
The scruffy half-giant clapped his massive hands, waving the third-years into a circle. He checked the elective roster—thanks to the good vibes from last class, nobody had dropped, and nobody was late.
Not a single Slytherin bailed?
Harry and Ron huddled together, whispering and side-eyeing the crowd.
Hagrid had been a Gryffindor back in the day and usually vibed with the lions. Pretty much every Gryffindor had signed up. Slytherin had a solid turnout too—guys and girls. The standout was Malfoy and his goon squad.
Plus a few familiar headaches: Pansy, Daphne, beefy Millicent (Hermione's dueling opponent from last year).
"Last class went great," Hagrid boomed. "At dinner I asked Dumbledore if I could show you something exciting. He was cool with it, but Professors Lewinter and McGonagall told me to stick to Flobberworms."
He puffed out his chest. "But they ain't Care of Magical Creatures teachers."
"So I told Dumbledore you lot rocked it—aced Defense, Duelling, Charms. You know how to handle dangerous beasts and keep yourselves safe. Today's creature isn't that dangerous—just 3-X rated, a bit bigger than an owl. Stay calm, follow instructions, and this'll be a class to remember."
"Now—follow me…"
He led them toward the paddock. The 3-X creatures came into view, and the girls squealed behind their hands.
"Hippogriffs!"
Two bizarre, majestic beasts were tethered to the fence—horse-eagle hybrids. Horse body, legs, and tail; eagle forelegs, wings, and head. Steel-sharp beaks glinted in the sun, but their orange eyes were warm and gentle.
Heavy iron chains looped through the feathers around their necks, yet they looked chill, nosing at the grass.
"Right, few ground rules. First half's theory—pay attention. If you want to ride one over the Black Lake and castle later…"
The half-giant's sales pitch was clumsy but worked. Thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds craned their necks. Girls edged back in fear; boys leaned forward, itching to try.
"Simple steps: walk up, make eye contact, bow. If it likes your vibe, it'll bow back. If it doesn't, you weren't sincere enough…"
Dumbledore and McGonagall had green-lit the demo because Hippogriff attacks were rare; their danger rating had dropped steadily. If not for the size and claws, they'd be sitting with the Bowtruckles.
Only Melvin worried Hagrid couldn't wrangle a whole herd. He'd forced the number down to two—manageable, safe.
The demo went smooth. Hagrid split the class by house—Gryffindor and Slytherin—then ranked them by participation. Eager beavers went first; slackers waited.
"Anyone wanna go first?"
Hagrid sounded nervous despite the hype.
"Me!" Harry shot up.
The skinny, bespectacled kid stepped forward, awkward but determined. He locked eyes with the orange gaze, bowed stiffly—kinda goofy.
Everyone held their breath.
Wings unfurled with a whoosh. Ron and Hermione tilted their heads as the beast bent its scaly foreknees, lowering for Harry to climb on. Then it launched—a black streak soaring over the forest.
"That is so cool," Ron muttered.
"Looks easy…" Draco's eyes glinted. "Just be patient."
Second Care of Magical Creatures class, Friday afternoon: a black Hippogriff skimmed the treetops, carrying thirteen-year-old Harry on a loop around the castle and lake.
Hagrid's class was off to a killer start.
Harry buried his hands in Buckbeak's warm neck feathers, glancing at the lake's reflection, then up at Hogwarts' spires.
One lap later, hair a windblown mess, glasses half-down his nose, he slid off with reluctance.
"Nice one, Buckbeak!"
Hagrid tossed a dried ferret into its beak. "Next—Hermione Granger, Parvati Patil."
"Next—Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley."
The rest of the period went fine. The Hippogriffs learned the hustle—no more castle loops, just a quick spin over the forest before landing for treats.
Students queued up, nervous but orderly. A few goofed off, but after Dean's failed swagger (he flicked Buckbeak's beak and nearly got punted), everyone shaped up.
"Next—Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson."
Draco debated bribing Buckbeak with a ferret strip for extra airtime. Pansy went pale, hating the idea but scared to look chicken.
"If those losers can do it, it's gotta be easy!" Pansy screeched. "This thing's not dangerous at all, right, you ugly brute?"
Before the words finished, the chestnut Hippogriff's claw shot up. Hagrid lunged, shoving a ferret in its mouth and yanking a glass jar of blue flame from his coat.
The soft, dim blue glow wasn't bright, but it was calming.
The Hippogriff blinked, froze mid-rage, mouth stuffed.
Buckbeak squinted in bliss. The angry one still fumed—until Buckbeak nipped it. Suddenly both beasts crowded the jar, nuzzling like cats on fresh catnip, practically purring.
"Good thing Melvin saw this coming…" Hagrid exhaled, trying to pull the jar back. Buckbeak nudged him; ribs ached. He nearly toppled.
He surrendered, flashing the class a sheepish grin.
"You saw it—Hippogriffs aren't cooperating. Demo's over. Class dismissed."
"Homework: essay on Hippogriffs, due Wednesday."
Draco stood ten feet away, mouth open, then shut. He glared at Pansy and stormed off with his bodyguards.
Ron caught the frustration and grinned. "Malfoy's gutted. He was this close, even hid a ferret strip. Never got off the ground…"
Heh.
"Hermione, why aren't you laughing?"
"I've got nine essays this week. I can't."
"Huh?"
"Nothing…"
Hermione rubbed her temples, exhaustion creeping in. She took a deep breath and helped Hagrid pack up, soothing the Hippogriffs.
Harry and Ron swapped looks—same confused vibe.
First week of term and already weird stuff: Lupin (dad's old friend), quirky Professor Lewinter, escaped Death Eater Black… Felt like another wild year.
Ron agreed, but he had priorities. Could Hagrid give him private flying lessons?
Before he could scheme, Hagrid was patting his chest in relief. "Thank Merlin Melvin made me cut the herd from twelve to two. And thank Merlin for that magic flame, or I'd have injured a kid first week and been sacked again."
"That flame's from Professor Lewinter?"
Hermione eyed the blue fire.
"Yup. Melvin's special trick—calms any creature. Dragons roll over for belly rubs. I tried learning it, but he said I can't. Talent magic, probably."
"That's why you nearly broke your leg last summer, right?"
Heh…
Hagrid scratched his neck, thinking of his mishaps and today's near-miss. "Melvin's right—animals are animals. Not as smart as people. They snap sometimes. Shouldn't show kids risky beasts. Maybe ask Snape for potions to mellow them out."
"Snape? He'd help?" Ron scoffed. "He's praying you get fired."
"Don't say that. Snape's a pro. Most of the Hospital Wing potions are his. Sprout's weedkiller too. Even makes me bug repellent. Lately he's been brewing for Remus."
"Lupin's meds?"
Hermione's ears perked.
Harry jumped in. "Defense class needs potions? Wait—Lupin's sick?"
"N-nothing… just minor stuff." Hagrid stammered like he'd spilled state secrets. "Not serious. Monthly dose, that's all."
Realizing he'd said too much, regret flashed. He clamped his mouth shut.
Hermione's eyes sparkled; she smiled sweetly. "Hagrid, new term! We haven't celebrated you becoming professor. Weekend barbecue at your hut? I'll bring Dad's red wine."
"My mum makes fruit wine—I'll grab some!" Ron chimed in.
Even Harry caught on—these three weren't celebrating; they wanted Hagrid drunk for intel.
Too clever for their own good!
"No barbecue! No booze!" Hagrid herded them off. "You've got Duelling Club tonight, Melvin's remedial tomorrow. I've got prep. Weekend's packed—go, go, go…"
"I don't need remedial. I'll keep you company—barbecue!" Ron persisted.
"Bell's about to ring—back to the castle!"
Hagrid shooed them away, watched them leave, then slapped his own face.
Kids these days—too sharp. Can't they be a bit dim?
And me—when will I learn? Spilling secrets left and right. I'm an old Order veteran!
Must be the booze rotting my brain.
Starting today—no more drinking!
…
Friday's last class: Potions.
Snape was in full mid-life-crisis mode—moodier than last term. Stone-faced the whole lesson, rapid-fire quizzing Gryffindors on this lesson and old material.
Two-month summer break ambush—who preps for that?
Five Gryffindors, including Harry, lost nearly fifteen points total. All the gains from Defense and Creatures—gone. Even Hermione dropped three for "whispering to Harry" and "not warning Neville"—contradictory crimes.
After class, everyone filed out. Harry got stuck cleaning.
"Cheer up," Hermione said, wiping the front blackboard. "Just theory today—no cauldron scrubbing."
Ron ground his teeth in rage.
They'd stayed to help Harry—three was faster than one, and it was Friday's last period.
Harry wiped the desk. "Snape's worse than last term. Like someone's been poking him nonstop."
"Who's had time to annoy him? School just started." Hermione mused. "Maybe brewing for Lupin has him cranky?"
"Hagrid calls him kind. More like black-hearted bat."
"…"
Listening to Ron's grumbling, Harry shifted the textbook and found last year's newspaper underneath.
Front page: Order of Merlin ceremony.
Winners: Professor Lewinter and Master Potioneer Belby.
Harry shook his head, stuffed it in the drawer, and sped up wiping.
"Move it, guys—finish fast, hit the Great Hall. Duelling Club tonight!"