Divination, as it turned out, was more polarizing than I expected. Hermione looked like she was two eye-rolls away from setting her textbook on fire. "It's all fluff and superstition," she muttered as we left the tower. "Trelawney predicts at least one death every week. I give it a month before I drop it."
Personally? I didn't mind it. At Durmstrang, Divination had been slow and clinical—weeks of reading dry theory before we even touched a crystal ball. Here, we jumped straight into tea leaf reading, and though it felt vague and strange, I appreciated the immediacy. It was messy, unpredictable—like magic should be.
After lunch, I checked my schedule and smiled. Care of Magical Creatures was next, and for the first time all day, I felt my shoulders relax.
Professor Hagrid.
It had been years, but I still remembered his laugh echoing across the hut's garden when I was little. I remembered the way his beard itched when he hugged us and how his pockets were always full of crumpled sweets and biscuit crumbs.
I fumbled for the castle map McGonagall had given me during our first meeting. I'd waved her off at the time, confident I'd figure things out. Now I stood beneath a stone archway, turning the parchment upside down like that would magically orient my brain.
"You look like you're hunting treasure," said a voice behind me.
I turned to see Silvy Ikwood leaning against the wall, hands in her pockets and a knowing smirk on her face.
"Technically, I'm looking for Hagrid's hut. So, yes. Treasure."
"Lucky you. Same class. Come on."
She led the way down the sloping path toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where a small crowd had already gathered near a wooden paddock. The sky was clear, the grass still wet with morning dew.
I spotted Harry first—then Ron and Hermione—standing with a massive figure I recognized instantly.
"Hagrid!" I called, breaking into a grin.
He turned, eyes crinkling. "Peter! Merlin's beard, look at yeh! Taller'n I remembered."
He engulfed me in a bear hug, lifting me clean off the ground. "Missed you, lad."
"I see how it is," Harry said behind him. "Replaced already."
"Can't help it," Hagrid chuckled. "He was the quieter one. Gave me less grey hairs."
Hermione beamed at him. "We were just saying he's going to do great today."
"You've got this," I agreed.
Hagrid clapped his hands. "Right then, follow me."
We walked toward the paddock, books clutched under our arms. Most of us had brought our copies of The Monster Book of Monsters, and most of those books were still trying to eat their way free.
"Stroke the spine," Hagrid instructed, demonstrating. "They calm right down if you do."
Malfoy stood nearby, sneering at his book like it had personally offended him.
"For once, I agree with him," Ron muttered. "This thing's got teeth."
Malfoy finally followed the instruction. His book quieted, and his eyebrows shot up. Genuine surprise. I hid a smile.
"I thought they were funny," Hagrid admitted, watching the class cautiously.
"Oh, sure," Malfoy said, eyes glittering. "Hilarious. Absolutely charming."
Hagrid vanished behind a few trees, and that's when Malfoy struck.
"This place has gone to the dogs," he muttered to his goons. "Wait until my father hears they've let that oaf teach."
Something in me snapped. I took a step forward.
"You want to—"
Harry beat me to it. "Shut up, Malfoy."
Malfoy froze, then smirked. "Oh no, the Potters are ganging up. What now? Going to glare me into submission?"
He stepped closer. We matched him. The air between us crackled.
And then, theatrically, he gasped and pointed skyward.
"Dementor!" he shouted.
Half the class spun around.
Even Harry stiffened, his shoulders rising defensively.
But there was nothing.
When we turned back, Malfoy and his friends had their hoods up and were making ghost noises, laughing like it was the most brilliant prank ever played.
My fists clenched. "Terribly funny," I muttered. "Really witty."
Before I could say more, Hagrid returned, practically glowing.
"Now, now! No more nonsense. Feast yer eyes!"
He stepped aside—and revealed a creature that took the breath from my lungs.
It stood tall, proud, feathers gleaming like brushed steel. Its eyes were sharp, intelligent. A creature both regal and wild.
"This," Hagrid said proudly, "is Buckbeak."
The Hippogriff lifted its head and let out a low, dignified cry.
"Isn't he beautiful?"
Yes. He was.
And something told me this day was far from over.