cxi. magical creatures
"Stop looking at the doors."
A guilty flush rose in Hermione's cheeks when Elara said those words because she had, in fact, been staring at the Great Hall doors. She'd been staring at the doors from the moment she sat down to breakfast, and now she returned to stirring her cold porridge around in its bowl and pretended nothing was amiss. "I'm not staring. I'm simply checking."
"Continuously checking. Which could also be construed as staring."
Glowering, Hermione gave up fussing with her food and leaned forward. "I'm just concerned," she hissed to Elara across the table. "Shouldn't she be here by now?"
"Pomfrey probably fed her in the infirmary," Elara replied, sipping a cup of orange juice, the picture of cool, unruffled ease. "You needn't be so worried."
"How can I not be worried? What if she stumbled into another secret chamber or—or oubliette, or bloody hidden trench?"
Elara arched a brow. "If Harriet managed to find certain doom before breakfast, we'll invest in a leash or something. Either we will, or Snape."
Hermione glanced toward the High Table at the mention of the Potions Master and found him absent from his seat. Instead, there was an empty chair between Professor Slytherin and the new History of Magic instructor. As Hermione watched, Slytherin lifted his red eyes from his untouched tea to look the drab wizard over, then turned away, unimpressed.
Hermione concentrated on her breakfast and her patience was rewarded when one of the Great Hall's doors creaked open far enough to admit Harriet. Snape arrived seconds after, a foul look on his face as Harriet darted forward, head down, and all but ran to the Slytherin table—not that it spared her the attention of the amassed horde. She didn't have time to sit down before Malfoy called out, "Poor little Potter, did you get frightened by the big bad Dementors and faint?" Accipto Lestrange cackled and Lucian Bole must have muttered something obscene that Hermione didn't catch, as the older Slytherin boys continued to howl with laughter.
"Bugger off, Bole!" Harriet snarled. "And you too, Malfoy! I didn't faint!" Given she flushed scarlet to her roots, Hermione wagered she had, in fact, fainted.
"Oh, Harriet," she muttered as the other witch settled, furious and scowling, leaning her elbows on the table. "Are you all right? We were terribly frightened. We saw that new History of Magic professor—Professor Lupin—carrying you to the castle and we didn't know what to think—."
"I'm fine!" Harriet stabbed the serving spoon into a bowl of scrambled eggs and heaped them on her plate, though she showed little interest in actually eating them. "I didn't faint. That—that thing startled me and I fell out of the carriage, hitting my stupid head on the ruddy ground." She glared along the table toward Malfoy, who caught her eye and swooned with a dramatic hand placed on his brow. "First bloody night here and they made me stay in the infirmary despite there being nothing wrong with me. I missed the whole feast!"
"Well, you didn't miss much. Just the Sorting and Professor Lupin's introduction."
"Did Dumbledore talk about what in the hell that thing was? Because neither Snape nor Pomfrey would tell me anything."
Hermione glanced again at the High Table. Professor Dumbledore savored his morning tea despite the teetering stack of letters being dropped near his plate by impatient owls. As Hermione watched, the wizard spoke and a house-elf appeared, gathered up the notes, and disappeared once more. Snape assumed his seat, pointedly ignoring the new wizard seated to his left.
"It was a Dementor, one of the guards from Azkaban. They're outside the grounds on the Ministry's orders." Nervous dread swelled in Hermione's chest as she remembered her own encounter with the monster and she couldn't stop the sudden stream of words coming out of her mouth. "A Dementor is an amortal non-being, a very dangerous Dark creature not even recognized on the quintuple-ex beast scale—which is what a Horned Serpent is rated, by the way. Known wizard-killers and un-domesticated beings—."
"Hermione."
"Yes—yes, 's not much known about Dementors—where they came from or how they breed or come into existence, but it is known that they feed upon positive emotions and memories: joy, excitement, erm—pleasure. Pulling these from people leaves them no buffer to their negative memories and feelings. It's a barbaric law but various Ministries have been using Dementors in their Wizarding prisons for centuries as a means of 'repentance,' the thought being their suffering can be a form of rehabilitation." Hermione fidgeted. "If a Dementor Kisses you…well. There's no coming back from that."
Harriet stopped destroying her breakfast and stared, horrified. "What?! If it kisses you?!"
"Not a normal kiss, mind. A Dementor's Kiss. They suck out their victim's soul."
"Great. Real great—perfect idea having those ghastly things hovering outside the fucking gate."
Hermione pursed her lips in disapproval but didn't say anything. Harriet let out a low, ragged sigh.
"I'm sorry. I hate the hospital wing and couldn't get to sleep. The daft woman tried to keep me through the morning, d'you know that? There's nothing wrong with me. I must have drunk a gallon of hot chocolate."
Reaching out to touch her arm, Hermione gave it an idle squeeze. "There's no shame in having an adverse reaction to a Dementor—not that I'm saying you did!" she hurried to say when Harriet's face flushed with new anger. "I'm only saying there's no shame if you did! I know for a fact Malfoy over there came into the castle white as a ghost and Elara—."
A foot slammed into Hermione's shin and she yelped. Right, she told herself, wincing as she reached down to rub the throbbing bruise. Elara has enough problems this year without me telling the whole of Slytherin House she sicked up in the carriage. Still, her acquiescence of the possible foolish mistake did not stop Hermione from narrowing her eyes at the quiet witch picking at her French toast.
"Can we not talk about this anymore?" Harriet grumbled. "Merlin knows I'll hear enough from people like Malfoy for the rest of the week. Have our schedules been given out yet? I need to grab my books and check on Livi still."
"Not yet, no."
Hermione spoke too soon, for Snape came down the aisle a moment later and started shoving sheets of parchment into waiting hands. He paused long enough to exchange bitter scowls with Harriet before turning to Hermione.
"Granger, I don't appear to have your schedule."
"Oh, that's fine, sir." Snape's scarred brow rose and Hermione cleared her throat, hiding her twitching hands in her lap. "Professor McGonagall gave it to me last night."
"Is that so?" He moved off, unbothered and unquestioning. Harriet scrutinized her schedule while Elara studied Hermione, who again fought her unhelpful urge to fidget. The skinny gold chain hiding under her collar felt hotter than it should.
"We've got Care of Magical Creatures first thing today!" Harriet reported with sudden cheer. "Then Transfiguration. No Defense or Potions! And History of Magic with the new professor after lunch and a free period before dinner. Hmm. I'll have to thank—Professor Lupin, was it? I didn't get a chance last night."
Elara leaned in her seat to read Harriet's schedule. "I've a second free period this morning."
"What? You're not taking Care of Magical Creatures?"
"Considering I can't even care for a house plant, I decided it better not to tempt fate."
"…You might have a point there."
They finished breakfast and hurried down to the dormitories, Harriet quick to placate her irritated familiar with a bit of sausage stolen from the table while Elara made good on an idle threat from that morning to go right back to sleep. Hermione couldn't help but envy her, considering how bad her own dreams had been the night before. Nevertheless, she put on a brave face and marched back upstairs. She and Harriet rejoined the student body than the whispering and pointing began in earnest.
"Bunch of prats," Harriet muttered, hands shoved into the pockets of her robes, bag slumping off her shoulder. "I bet half of them cried like ninnies when they saw that thing. I thought I heard someone screaming before I pa—fell."
Hermione uttered a noncommittal hum. She hadn't heard any screaming—a few loud exclamations and sniffling by first-years, but no screaming, no other bodies falling from their carriages. But, the rain had been loud, so who was to say Harriet was wrong? Perhaps Hermione only missed the sound. Her own senses had been…impaired by the Dementor. She'd suddenly felt like a child again, sitting alone, chastised by her parents, teachers, peers. It had been as if every tiny barb uttered in her presence had been repeated in an instance and it had weighed heavily on Hermione's mind all through the evening and night. So, maybe she didn't hear the screaming. Maybe.
Following the lingering train of their classmates brought the pair of witches nearer the Forbidden Forest, not terribly far from the track Harriet ran on for Quidditch. Harriet looked more and more green as they neared the edge of the grounds and Hermione quickly nudged her arm to spur the witch forward. "They're supposed to be posted by the gates," she whispered. "I'm sure Headmaster Dumbledore would never allow them anywhere near a class."
"Yeah, no offense to the Headmaster, but I'm sure he didn't allow that Basilisk to have a go at the Muggle-borns last year and it still did."
Hermione sighed. She's not wrong, a small voice in the back of her mind said. The best intentions are, at times, ineffectual against reality.
She shook her head.
"Hey, Granger! Potter!"
Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein jogged over, the former the one who called out their names.
"'Lo," Harriet replied, distracted.
"Are you taking Care of Magical Creatures as well?" Hermione asked, her enthusiasm making up for Harriet's inattention.
"It was either this or Muggle Studies," Terry admitted with a shrug. "I'm not exactly keen on the subject."
"Oh, but there's been so many exciting inventions and innovations in Muggle society, especially in the last few years!"
"I know, I know—but Muggle Studies covers stuff like the function of a spring and Velcro. They pass around a bit of plastic to glory over." Terry laughed. "My brother took it a few years back."
To be honest, the news didn't surprise Hermione, though she still felt a niggling worm of disappointment. She'd gotten over the absence of Muggle things in her life rather quickly—magic did, in many ways, match or exceed Muggle advancements—and though she wished for simple biros from time to time, the ability to Transfigure and spell magical ink made up for the hassle. More than anything, Hermione missed the familiarity of Muggle things and had hoped to find a sliver of comfort in Muggle Studies. It sounded as if she'd only feel more alien and off-put.
Hermione rubbed at her sternum and the delicate, golden timepiece resting over her heart.
"It's an experiment the Department of Mysteries has agreed to try with the Headmaster and the Board of Governors," Professor McGonagall said as the last of the chain slipped into Hermione's trembling hand. "It was agreed to use a younger student to make certain any failures wouldn't interfere with later O.W.L and N.E.W.T studies. It took quite a bit of cajoling, but you are a perfect candidate, Miss Granger. It's a lot of responsibility, however, and its usage with be monitored."
"Yes, Professor."
She hadn't used it yet—not yet, but the itch was there, the curiosity. Soon, Hermione told herself, pulse fluttering. Soon.
Anthony's voice pulled Hermione out of her thoughts. "I think this is us, isn't it?"
Others in their year had gathered at a wooded paddock with a short, gray-haired witch manning the gate. Some had climbed up the fence's rungs but a stern warning from their prospective professor kept anyone from getting cheeky and jumping over. "Hurry yourselves along, now. Class is about to begin."
The bell rang, the peels echoing over the long, sweeping lawns and rolling hills, and the witch gave her head a firm, expectant nod.
"Now! Good morning, class. I am Professor Grubbly-Plank, your Care of Magical Creatures instructor. This is third form, correct?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Welcome to your first Creatures class. It is a truly fascinating and practical study that will benefit all of you long after your years at Hogwarts come to an end. That being said, we will be working with many different beasts and beings over the years and I require all of my students to treat every creature presented to them with the proper care and respect. One instance of hexing or slipping a Bowtruckle Wizochoc and I'll send you right off to your Head of House and you won't be welcomed back. Am I understood?"
Scattered agreements drifted in from the students lining the paddock fence. Professor Grubbly-Plank jerked her pointed chin upward.
"Best remember that. Let's stop dallying and get on with our lesson. Our groundskeeper has assisted me in procuring a few subjects for today." Grubbly-Plank unlatched the gate and held it open. "I'm going to ask the ladies to come forward while the lads stay a step back."
The class exchanged puzzled glances—but not Hermione. Girls first? It must be…. She lifted her gaze to scan the sparse, skinny saplings growing in the paddock until she spotted the tell-tale glow of white fur peeking through the greenery. She let out a soft, surprised breath.
The girls—and several of the boys—cooed and gasped as the three unicorns came carefully picking their way through the wispy underbrush. Two appeared to be foals, one still sporting its golden, downy coat, the second pure white but its horn yet stumpy. The third was full-grown and regarded the accrued humans with eerily intelligent—and distrustful—eyes.
"Can anyone tell me what we have here?"
"They're unicorns!" Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff blurted out. Her friends Megan and Susan giggled.
"Correct, but do remember to raise your hand next time. Why did I ask the lads to stay back?" Hermione raised her own hand when Hannah shook her head but the Professor called on Terry instead. "Yes, Mr…?"
"Boot, ma'am. Unicorns, particularly the breed that lives in the United Kingdom, are more distrustful of wizards than they are of witches, especially as the respective unicorn or witch or wizard ages. The legends say it has to do with purity and—um—virginity."
A few boys snickered.
"Yes, yes. Thank you, Mr. Boot. Three points to—?"
"Ravenclaw, Professor."
"Three points to Ravenclaw, then. There is some credence to those legends as unicorns react more favorably to the fairer sex—young maidens especially, and those untouched by Dark magic."
The inner feminist in Hermione bristled, but it wasn't as if she could march up to a unicorn and argue the silliness of virginity or the perceived purity of men versus women. She couldn't help but study Terry for a moment longer, have turned when he spoke to answer, until he caught her looking and blinked in question. Hermione straightened herself, cheeks pink.
Professor Grubbly-Plank encouraged them to leave their bags and books by the fence and they did so before creeping nearer the waiting creatures. The youngest foal had its nose on the professor's sleeve, snuffling with interest. The oldest unicorn watched, pawing the spruce needles underneath its golden hooves.
"Be careful when you approach. Extend your hand like so—. Boys over here with this youngster, he won't mind so much…."
The large unicorn seemed more at ease the farther the boys of the class drifted away, though Hermione noted how it still watched the foals close. Was it a mare? She'd read mother unicorns were warier than most of their ilk.
The mare allowed Padma Patil to approach and gently rub its nose. She stepped back and Harriet took her place—only for the mare's eyes to flash and for it to jerk its head back with a harsh snort.
"You there, girl. Back up!"
Puzzled, Harriet did as told, taking several steps backward until the mare stopped tossing its head in a threatening manner.
"Hmm," Professor Grubbly-Plank frowned as she studied the unicorn, Harriet, and then the foals. "Not quite sure what the problem is there, but it's best for you to stand back. Respect the creature's choice."
"Yes, Professor."
When Grubbly-Plank returned her attention to the line of boys, Pansy glanced over her shoulder at Harriet, a wicked grin spread on her powdered face. "Ooh, Potter. You know what that means. Have you been having it off with some unlucky bloke this summer?"
Harriet gaped and her face went scarlet. "You're disgusting. Shut it, Parkinson."
"Aw, did he have a change of heart? Or maybe take the sack off your head?"
"I said shut it, Parkinson!"
"Quiet over there," the professor warned. Pansy smirked and twirled herself back around, giggling with Runcorn. Hermione thought it quite possible Harriet might actually hex Parkinson, so she shook her head and gestured for her friend to let it go. Harriet stomped over the paddock and, with unexpected grace, leapt up to the top rail to sit, arms crossed and expression sour.
"Oh, dear," Hermione murmured. Harriet wasn't having a good start of term, it seemed. Pansy's uncouth retorts aside, Hermione did wonder why the unicorn rejected Harriet's approach. Dark magic, perhaps? Whatever residual energy resided in the curse-scar marring her neck? They'd theorized before that the old curse might be what repelled the ghosts as well, though specters and unicorns existed on opposing scales and the theory didn't hold much traction. Maybe something of Tom Riddle's magic yet lingered. Madam Pomfrey had warned that consequences of the Cruciatus Curse could present themselves long after the last of the symptoms disappeared.
Nearby, Terry had one hand on the silver foal, gently carding his fingers through the short mane. Lisa and Morag from Ravenclaw 'oohed' and a few other girls cheered. Terry gave them a sheepish smile as the foal nuzzled at his loose palm. The corners of Hermione's lips turned up to mirror his expression.
A sullen scoff rose behind her. Malfoy glared at the back of Terry's untidy brown hair as he pushed away from Goyle and Crabbe. "Big deal," he hissed. "It's just a stupid horse. Watch—."
It happened fast; Malfoy shoved past Sally Smith and stuck his hand out to the unicorn, a cocky sneer on his pointed face. The mare reared, kicking—and Hermione grabbed Draco by the collar of his robes, yanking him back a mere moment before a hoof could strike him. "Protego!" she called, wand already in hand, and the horn set on goring the fallen Slytherin glanced off the magical shield in a sudden glint of golden light. The angry mare snorted and chuffed, galloping several yards away. Professor Grubbly-Plank started to shout.
"You absolute prat," Hermione snapped, letting Draco go. He crumpled in the dirt. "What on earth were you thinking?"
Gobsmacked by the speed of things, Malfoy could do nothing but blink and stare at the witch standing above him. "I, you—."
Hermione stashed away her wand and flipped her hair back over her shoulder. "Honestly!" Some people just had no brains in their skulls!
Unbeknown to Hermione, Draco continued to stare in stunned silence as she strutted off to join a laughing Harriet by the fence. He didn't notice when the professor hauled him up by the ear for a sound telling off; he just stared at Granger as if he'd never seen the witch before.
A/N:
Harriet: "Just let me pet you."
Unicorn: "Nay."
Harriet: D:
Hermione would 100% argue with a unicorn and the unicorn would lose.
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