Third year was becoming pathetic. After Draco's encounter with the Hippogriff, Buckbeak, he felt out of place in his own comfort zone. The boy was, after all, fond of magical creatures and their treatment, but sympathizing with that chatterbox of an gamekeeper and, most importantly, accepting him as a decent professor was impossible.
Right. Perhaps the Malfoy boy had learned a lot from Hagrid, as much as he could take from the half-giant's poor English; nevertheless, his taste for those classes was a detail nobody should acknowledge.
For the sake of appearances Draco should despise other types of beings or beasts, holding no respect for nobody at all. But wasn't it pathetic to play the proud kid who would act stupidly? Maybe he got a bit over the edge as he saw Potter being the chosen one once more, outshining everyone else. Scarhead would get the honor of meeting the remarkable Hippogriff just because he stood at the front with that idiotic face of his. The Gryffindor, with all his might delivered the most wretched - not to say shittiest - bow Malfoy had ever seen, which was accepted by that chicken so easily that he could only laugh. Logically, the whole bunch of fools cheered when Potter got back from his brilliant flight.
Well, if he wasn't to put a fight with Potter for now, he would at least discount his frustration on somebody else. The bird instantly came to Draco's mind, his vision blurred and suddenly he realized he was already under Buckbeak's legs, whilst the creature moved them furiously. And did he really screamed he was dying? For Merlin's socks, how ridiculous he felt afterwards.
Malfoy finally managed to sneak away from the nursery room as the clock struck midnight, hiding in the shadows as he moved along the many corridors of the castle. He descended the little hill west towards Hagrid's Hut, the moon his only witness casting its silver light over his slim figure. Draco's blond hair looked ghostly-like outside in the dark.
"Look, I am not saying I am sorry for calling you chicken, but your wings are truly majestic though", he said apologetically. Buckbeak squeaked harshly as he scowled at Draco. Good, now the creature was lecturing him for his bad manners. The Hippogriff seemed to approve the half-apologies as he mirrored Draco in his bow. "What about a quick night flight? I'll probably have to head back to the castle before Madame Pomfrey notices my absence."
They flew over the Great Lake, Buckbeak making sure water would splash all over the Slytherin student as a payback. Draco could bet the freaking bird had made sounds of joy. The weather was chilly and the wind blowing carelessly against their bodies seemed to make the wetness sink in their skin like frost. Nevertheless, the sensation was still pleasant for Malfoy and the cold made him sober from all the intoxicating thoughts he was having. Of course, he wouldn't ruin Buckbeak's little moment of glory so, as they landed, Draco's smile faded and he frowned at the creature.
"Very smooth. Thank you for the bath, idiot bird!"
The Hippogriff agitated his wings and half-squeaked, half-roared, his hooves soon hitting the ground.
"Ok! Calm down. I was an asshole too. Got it!" Buckbeak, however, seemed to still hold a grudge for the boy. Only time would heal his wounded pride. Looking at that perspective the Hippogriff and the Slytherin even shared some similarities. Surely both of their heads were held high, nose and beak pointed at the sky.
Draco tied Buckbeak once more, being careful enough not to wake Hagrid up, or that dog of his. Then, the wizard made his way to the castle, being watched closely by Buckbeak, whose head already rested on long, crossed, feathery legs. Perhaps such encounter could happen again in the future, but most importantly, Buckbeak wouldn't tell about it to anyone.
