Harper POV:
The air over the Highlands was a bruised, heavy grey on that Friday afternoon, the kind of light that seemed to swallow color rather than reflect it. I pulled my Gryffindor cloak tighter around my shoulders, the damp chill of November seeping through the wool. Beside me, Ron was complaining about the sheer volume of homework Snape had piled on us, but his voice felt distant, like a radio tuned to the wrong frequency.
Lately, my life felt like that.
Ever since the Dementor on the train, everything had felt thin. Brittle. The shadows in the corners of the corridors seemed a little longer, and the cold wasn't just in the wind; it felt like it had taken up residence in my bones. Every time they got too close; I felt a screaming. Not mine. Not Harry nor Hermione.
Grandmother.
"D'you think he's actually going to show us something dangerous?" Hermione asked, her voice tight with a mixture of academic curiosity and genuine concern, as she cut off my train of thought. She was clutching her copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, which was currently bound shut with a thick leather belt to stop it from shredding her bag.
"It's Hagrid, isn't it?" Ron said with a snort, a grin finally breaking through his grumbling. "Of course it'll be dangerous. But it'll be brilliant, too."
We descended the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's hut, the grass slick with a fine mist that wasn't quite rain but made everything feel heavy. I looked toward the Forbidden Forest, its ancient trees standing like silent sentinels against the sky. Somewhere out there, Sirius Black was supposed to be lurking. A murderer. A man who had broken out of Azkaban just to finish what Voldemort started. Just to kill me.
The thought made the back of my neck prickle, a sensation I was becoming far too used to.
"C'mon, now! Get a move on!" Hagrid's booming voice broke through the fog of my thoughts. He was standing by the fence of his paddock, looking nervous but excited, his giant moleskin coat flapping in the wind. Fang, his massive boarhound, was leaning against his legs, whining softly. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson ahead! Follow me!"
We followed him past his hut and toward a small clearing at the edge of the forest. There, tethered to the fence, were some of the most beautiful and terrifying creatures I had ever seen. They had the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings, and heads of giant eagles. Their cruel, steel-colored beaks and large, brilliant orange eyes pinned us where we stood.
"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand toward them. "Beautiful, ain't they?"
I felt a sharp tug of awe. They were magnificent. They looked like creatures carved from the very mountains surrounding the school—sturdy, wild, and incredibly sharp. With a quite arrogance, pride and intelligence in those burning orange eyes.
"Now, first thing yeh gotta know about Hippogriffs," Hagrid said, his face darkening with uncharacteristic seriousness, "is they're proud. Easily offended, Hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do."
Malfoy, standing a few feet away with Crabbe and Goyle, let out a low, theatrical snigger. He was leaning against the fence, looking bored, his pale face twisted into its customary mask of pure-blood disdain. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, preferably somewhere where he could complain about the "low quality" of the teaching staff.
"You always wait for the Hippogriff to make the first move," Hagrid continued, oblivious to Malfoy's posturing. "It's polite, see? Yeh walk towards 'em, yeh bow, and yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh can touch him. If he doesn't… well, get out of the way quick, 'cause they've got sharp claws."
Hagrid looked around the group, his eyes landing on me. There was a desperate sort of hope in his gaze. He wanted this to work. He needed his first lesson as a professor to be a success, to prove that he belonged here just as much as Flitwick or McGonagall.
Especially because of what happened with the basilisk and Chamber of Secrets last year...
"Who wants to go first?" Hagrid asked.
The class took a collective step back. I felt the weight of mine and Harry's name pressing down on me. I didn't want to be the a sister of the Boy who Lived. I didn't want to be brave today. I wanted to be one of the people in the back, shielded by the crowd. But Hagrid's face was falling, and I couldn't bear to be the reason his smile disappeared.
"I'll do it," I said, stepping forward before Harry could.
"Attagirl, Harper!" Hagrid beamed, his chest swelling with pride.
I climbed over the fence, the wood cold and damp under my palms. The grey Hippogriff at the end—Buckbeak—turned its head to watch me. Its eyes were like burning coals. I felt my heart hammering against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Every instinct I had was telling me to run, to climb back over the fence and hide in the Gryffindor common room.
"Keep it slow, Harps," Hagrid whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "Low bow… that's it. Show 'im yeh mean no harm."
I stopped about ten feet away. The Hippogriff's beak clicked—a sharp, metallic sound that made me flinch. I took a breath, forcing my shoulders to drop, and bent at the waist.
The silence in the clearing was absolute. I could hear the wind whistling through the pines and the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. I stayed down, staring at the muddy grass, my eyes fixed on a small patch of clover. I waited. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours. I felt incredibly vulnerable, my neck exposed to those razor-sharp talons.
Then, I heard it. A dry, rustling sound, like heavy silk being dragged over stone. I looked up slowly. Buckbeak had bent his scaly knees and was sinking into a deep, clumsy bow.
A wave of relief washed over me, so thick and sudden it made my knees weak.
"Well done, Harper!" Hagrid clapped his enormous hands, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "Go on, give him a pat!"
I approached the creature, my hand trembling as I reached out. I didn't think; I just felt. His feathers were cold and sleek, like polished stone, but underneath, I could feel the thrumming heat of his life, the powerful beat of a heart much larger than my own. It was a strange, wild connection. For a moment, the world felt aligned. The thinness I'd felt since the Dementor on the train vanished, replaced by a grounding sense of reality.
"I think he'd let yeh fly him!" Hagrid said, sweeping me up before I could utter a word of protest.
The flight was a blur of terror and triumph. Buckbeak's wings were like sails, catching the freezing Highland air with a force that nearly pulled me from his back. For a few minutes, I wasn't Harper Potter, the girl with the scar and the dead parents and the murderer on her trail. I was just a speck of life in a vast, grey sky. When we landed, my face was flushed and my hair was a bird's nest, but I was laughing.
"That was amazing!" I gasped as Hagrid helped me down.
The rest of the class, emboldened by my survival, began to climb over the fence. Hagrid untethered the other Hippogriffs, and soon the paddock was a chaos of bowing students and clicking beaks. I stayed by Buckbeak, still stroking his neck, watching Ron try to get a chestnut mare to acknowledge him.
I didn't notice Malfoy approaching until he was almost upon us. He wasn't bowing. He was sauntering, his hands in his pockets, a sneer plastered across his face. He looked at Buckbeak with a mixture of jealousy and contempt.
"This is really easy," Malfoy drawled, loud enough for the Slytherins nearby to hear. "I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it. I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you? You great ugly brute."
The air in the paddock seemed to freeze. I felt the muscles under Buckbeak's feathers bunch and tighten. The Hippogriff's orange eyes narrowed into slits, his head tilting in a predatory way that made my stomach drop.
"Draco, no!" I shouted, reaching out to grab Malfoy's arm. "You have to bow! Hagrid said—"
But Malfoy just laughed, stepping closer. He reached out a hand as if to slap the creature's beak. "Please. It's just a bird with a horse's backside. My father will hear about how pathetic this—"
Buckbeak didn't wait for him to finish. He didn't bow. He let out a piercing, screeching cry that sounded like metal tearing metal. He rose up on his hind legs, his massive, steel-colored wings unfurling like a storm cloud, blotting out the beautiful blue sky.
Malfoy's eyes widened, his bravado vanishing in a heartbeat. He tried to scramble backward, his polished boots slipping on the wet grass. He tripped over his own robes, falling hard into the mud.
"Hagrid!" I screamed, lunging forward to try and pull Malfoy away, but the Hippogriff was too fast.
Buckbeak's front talons—six inches of razor-sharp horn—flashed in the dull light. He swung a massive, feathered limb downward with the force of a falling tree.
There was a sickening thwack and a spray of crimson that looked shockingly bright against the grey grass. Malfoy let out a high-pitched, curdling scream that echoed off the stone walls of the castle.
"I'm dying!" he shrieked, clutching his arm. "It's killed me! Look at the blood! Oh, gods, the blood!"
Hagrid was there in a second, his face white with terror. He wrestled Buckbeak back, his huge arms straining as he forced the creature to settle. The rest of the class erupted into a panic; students were screaming, running for the fence, and tripping over each other in their haste to escape.
"It's just a scratch!" Hagrid panted, though his voice was thick with a fear that suggested he knew it was much more than that.
I looked at Malfoy. He was curled in a ball in the mud, his expensive silk robes torn to shreds. A long, jagged gash ran from his elbow to his wrist, and the blood was soaking into the earth, thick and dark. He was hyperventilating, his face the color of spoiled milk.
"Hagrid, he needs the hospital wing!" I shouted over the din.
"I know, I know..." Hagrid scooped Malfoy up as if he weighed nothing. The Slytherin boy was still moaning, his head lolling against Hagrid's shoulder.
"You'll pay for this!" Pansy Parkinson screamed, her face contorted with rage as she pointed a shaking finger at Hagrid. "You and your stupid chicken! You've ruined him!"
"Get back to the castle, all of yeh!" Hagrid bellowed, his voice cracking.
I stood in the middle of the empty paddock, my boots covered in mud and my hands stained with a spray of Malfoy's blood. The high I'd felt from flying was gone, replaced by a cold, hollow dread. I looked at Buckbeak, who was standing quietly now, cleaning a stray feather with his beak as if nothing had happened.
The creature wasn't evil. It was just... wild. It followed a set of rules that Malfoy had been too arrogant to learn.
As I walked back up the hill toward the castle, the first drops of cold Scottish rain began to fall. I felt Hermione's hand on my shoulder, a silent gesture of support, but I couldn't shake the feeling of impending disaster.