OK - some authors notes - Chapter 3 as promised - I have the next few ready to go - No Gideon in this chapter so it is more of a slow burn - he turns up again in Chapter 5 which has been one of my favourites so far. If you do read this please do leave me a review - always happy to hear what you guys have to say.

CHAPTER THREE

The Bowtruckles

Moody woke sweating, the ghost of a dream clinging to him as the stark daylight spilled through the window, fracturing the shadows across the dormitory walls. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, pressing his hands to his face in an attempt to shake the lingering chill.

By the time he reached the entrance hall, the murmur of students in the Great Hall was already loud. Moody stepped through the doorway cautiously, scanning the Gryffindor table for a spot that didn't feel too exposed.

"Alastor! Over here!" Hagrid's booming voice cut through the din, accompanied by an enthusiastic wave. The third-year Gryffindor was wedged awkwardly on the bench and everybody seemed to be giving him a wide berth too, his massive frame almost comical compared to the slight figures on his left. "Saved yeh a spot!" he called, patting the bench to his right with a hand the size of a dinner plate.

Moody hesitated, then made his way over, his mood lightening slightly at Hagrid's grin. "Mornin'!" Hagrid said cheerfully, shoving a plate of bacon toward him. "Yeh look like yeh could use a good meal. Know yeh love bacon; nothing like a full breakfast ter chase off the gloom, eh?"

"Morning," Moody muttered, sliding into the seat. He glanced around quickly. Some heads turned toward him—curious, wary—but the conversations around the hall continued, less charged than he'd feared.

"Yeh missed out on the porridge," Hagrid said, piling sausages onto his own plate. "But the kippers're brilliant today. Try 'em!"

Moody managed a faint smile as he buttered a slice of white bread, preparing a bacon sandwich and Hagrid launched into an animated tale about a magical fox he'd spotted over the summer, Moody allowed himself to relax—just a little.

"We've got Care o' Magical Creatures first thing," Hagrid said suddenly, his enthusiasm causing him to spray the prefect sitting in front of him with bits of sausage.

"Careful, runt!" snapped Amelia McLaggen, brushing the crumbs off her pristine robes with an irritated glare.

"Come off it," Hagrid mumbled sheepishly, his cheeks reddening. "See?" he said, fishing his timetable out of his pocket. "It's fifth and third-year Gryffindors together, look."

"Come on," Moody said, grabbing his bacon sandwich as he leaned over to glance at the timetable. Something about the pairing struck him as odd. How many students had stayed home this term? And why had the years been combined? "I want a good view."

"Course," Hagrid replied, cramming a handful of sausages into the pocket of his robes.

"Really?" Moody scowled, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" Hagrid said innocently, shoving back the bench with a scrape and lumbering to his feet. "Can't go hungry now, can I?"

Before Moody could respond, a familiar voice called out, "Moody! Wait up!" He turned to see Ethel Blythe, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, striding toward him. Her auburn hair was tied back in a messy bun, and her eyes wide with admonishment.

"Blythe," Moody greeted cautiously, biting into his sandwich. Hagrid paused mid-pocketing another sausage to listen.

"You're coming to tryouts tonight, right?" Ethel asked confidently. "We need a Beater—I saw you last year. Don't think I've forgotten you were damn close on the try-outs just your nerves held you back."

Moody hesitated. "I didn't sign up."

"Doesn't matter," Ethel said firmly, crossing her arms. "You've got instincts, strength, and guts—exactly what we need."

"What about Audrey?" Moody asked. "She's still mad at me."

Ethel's grin faltered. "Yeah, I know. She's not letting this go anytime soon."

"Because she's wrong," Moody said sharply.

Ethel sighed. "She thinks she's being noble—believing those badges are about heritage and pride, not Grindelwald. Between us, she's being a real cow about it. Honestly, I think she's lost the plot; I even heard her mention something about revenge."

"Revenge?" Moody frowned.

Ethel snorted, "I know! Listen, she's got it in her head you embarrassed her and she needs to set things straight. It's mostly talk, but sometimes…" She trailed off, her expression darkening.

Moody barked a laugh, but Ethel's eyes narrowed. "Don't be stupid. Focus on Quidditch and show people what you're made of. Audrey'll burn herself out eventually. Just stay one step ahead."

She clapped his shoulder lightly. "Tryouts tonight. Don't make me hunt you down."

"She's right, yeh know," Hagrid said with a grin as wide as a cauldron. "Yeh'd make a great Beater."

Moody gave a small nod, but the words hung heavy. He followed Hagrid out into the brisk autumn morning, the warmth of the Great Hall giving way to the crisp bite of the outdoors. Overhead, the clouds stretched low and grey, their muted light casting the paddock in a dull, silvery glow.

Hagrid walked ahead, his broad shoulders cutting an easy path through the grass. As they followed the path to Madam Idrisu's paddock, a figure emerged from the mist—Mr. Fenwick, the groundskeeper, his sturdy jacket paired with a weathered kilt that swayed as he moved.

"Hagrid, lad!" Fenwick called warmly, his Scottish burr carrying through the mist. "Growin' taller every term, eh? Ye'll outmatch the castle soon."

Hagrid beamed, his wide grin lighting up his face. "Mornin', sir! Just headin' ter Care o' Magical Creatures."

"Aye, but I've been meanin' tae ask," Fenwick said, stepping closer and placing a steady hand on Hagrid's arm. "I was sorry tae hear about yer da not bein' well. How's he keepin'?"

The grin softened slightly, though Hagrid's tone stayed bright. "Better now, sir. He's proper tough, my Dad. Reckon he'll be back ter his old self in no time. Told me ter say hello."

Fenwick nodded, his expression easing into a fond smile. "Good man, yer dad. Tell him I said aye back when ye see him. And listen, lad—when ye've got a spare moment, pop by my hut for a cuppa, eh? The chickens've been right restless these days. Somethin's scared 'em right. Always seem tae settle when ye're about."

"I will, sir!" Hagrid puffed out his chest, his cheeks flushing with pride.

Fenwick chuckled, reaching up and clapping Hagrid lightly on the arm before turning toward the forest. "Keep at it, lad. Ye've a gift wi' creatures, an' don't let anyone tell ye otherwise."

As Fenwick strode off, his kilt swaying in time with his brisk steps, Hagrid turned back to Moody, grinning again. "See? Told yeh he's proper good, didn't I?"

Moody nodded, a pang of envy rising in his chest. How did Hagrid make it seem so easy to connect with people, to take pride in who he was? Moody's instinct was always to guard himself, to keep others at a distance. He glanced down, his thoughts drifting unbidden to Gideon and the fleeting touch on his arm earlier. The memory sent a jolt through him—a confusing mix of warmth and unease. Did Gideon feel that same weight of holding back, or was he just as open and unguarded as Hagrid? The question lingered as they walked on, the forest mist curling around them like a silent witness.

As they approached Madame Idrisu's hut, the forest loomed closer, its edge blurred by the shifting mist. The wind carried the earthy tang of damp grass and woodsmoke, rustling the long blades around the paddock, where a raven's caw broke the stillness."

Ahead the Gryffindors shuffled around the hut in a loose, uneasy line, murmuring and shivering in the cold mist. Some glanced at the small crates covered in blankets and most kept their distance from Moody and Hagrid, who caught snippets of their conversation—"Potter," "Pure"—each word like a sharp jab to his chest. Each word a reminder that outside of Hogwarts Grindelwald was gaining power.

His jaw tightened, the muscles clenched against the sting of familiarity. At least none of them were wearing those insufferable Keep Hogwarts Pure badges. Small mercies, he thought, though the sour taste of frustration lingered.

Only Cecily Figg, a short, wiry girl with a shock of untamed ginger hair, stayed close, her steps brisk as she glanced between Moody and Hagrid with open curiosity. "You're the one who brought flobberworm models to Transfiguration last year, aren't you?" she said suddenly, tilting her head to look up at Hagrid.

Hagrid chuckled, his cheeks reddening slightly. "Aye, that was me. Thought it'd be interestin' to show Dumbledore what they're really like." His grin widened.

Cecily giggled, falling into step beside him. "I thought it was brilliant. You're funny aren't you."

Moody's frown deepened as he looked her over. "You a Weasley?" he growled, the words blunt.

She turned her bright green eyes on him, raising a brow. "Nope. Figg. Why? Disappointed?" Her grin was quick and cheeky, but Moody didn't miss the slight edge to her tone.

Hagrid's laugh was hearty, and he clapped Moody lightly on the back. "No need to snap, Alastor. Yeh don't want ter scare her off already."

"I'm not scared," Cecily said quickly, squaring her shoulders as though daring them to try. "But thanks for the concern."

Hagrid's gaze softened, and he smiled down at her. "Good ter meet yeh, Cecily."

Before Cecily could respond, the door to the hut creaked open. Madame Idrisu emerged, her commanding presence immediately silencing the students' murmurs. She swept her sharp gaze over the gathered class, the air thickening with quiet anticipation.

"Eyes front!" Madame Idrisu barked, her voice crisp as cut glass. The students snapped to attention. With a swift, practiced motion, she pulled the sacks from the cages, revealing the Bowtruckles perched like sentries on their branches. The tiny creatures stared back with unblinking eyes, their twig-like bodies taut and bristling with watchful tension, ready to defend their territory at the slightest misstep.

"Bowtruckles," she began, her voice crisp and firm, "are guardians of wand-quality trees—fragile in appearance but formidable in purpose. They demand trust and will not tolerate clumsiness or deceit. Only those with steady hands and steadier hearts can earn their cooperation." Her sharp gaze swept over the students. Then without warning she smiled, and bent down so her face was close to the bowtruckles sharp arms.

"Approach them with confidence," she said, softly, "and respect—true confidence, born of knowing yourself. You see, if you falter, they will remind you of your place. But if you earn their trust, these guardians can become loyal allies."

As if sensing the shift in her demeanor, a Bowtruckle on a nearby branch relaxed, its twig-like fingers flexing cautiously. With deliberate movements, Madame Idrisu extended her hand. The creature hesitated for a moment, then stepped gingerly onto her palm, eliciting a soft ripple of applause. She smiled faintly, her voice quieter but no less steady. "This is not merely a lesson in patience. It is a test of character."

Moody straightened slightly, her words resonating with a bitter edge. Trust yourself, he thought grimly. Easier said than done. Yet, as his gaze lingered on the watchful Bowtruckles, a flicker of determination stirred. Perhaps this is just what I need.

The students hesitated before shuffling toward the cages in clusters, their low murmurs mingling with the rustle of wind through the grass. Moody stood rooted in place for a moment longer, her words echoing in his mind. Trust yourself. For once, he thought, he might try.

As Moody joined Hagrid and Cecily, his gaze flicked toward the other Gryffindors further down the paddock. Their indifference felt like an impenetrable wall—a world apart he couldn't touch.

"Well," Moody said, his voice low but laced with frustration, "we make a right trio, don't we? The outcasts."

He turned toward Cecily, his tone softening slightly. "That why you're stickin' with us? You an outcast too?"

Cecily's jaw tightened, and for a moment, Moody thought he'd overstepped. She kept her eyes fixed on the Bowtruckles, her fingers tugging at the edge of her sleeve. "I told myself I'd make new friends this year," she murmured. There was no bitterness in her voice, just a quiet determination. Moody caught the faintest tremble in her hand, but before he could say anything, Hagrid cleared his throat.

"Aye, maybe we're outcasts," Hagrid said, his tone thoughtful but steady. "But there's nothin' wrong with that, is there? It's good fer me an' you, Moody. Gives us space ter be ourselves. Don't have ter try so hard ter fit where we don't belong."

"No, it isn't!" Moody snapped, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He turned on Hagrid, his eyes flashing. "There's nothing good about being an outcast. They even call you runt, Hagrid! Like it's some joke."

Hagrid blinked, his expression softening but his voice steady. "Aye, they do," he said, his tone quiet but firm. "An' maybe it don't feel good. But I've found me place, haven't I? With creatures that don't care about all that rubbish. And you will too, Alastor. You're stronger than yeh think, even if yeh don't see it yet."

Moody clenched his fists, his chest tight as he looked away. He wanted to argue, to push back against Hagrid's optimism, but the words wouldn't come. He glanced at Cecily, who crouched closer to the Bowtruckles, her focus unwavering despite the tension.

"You'd think something this small wouldn't be so judgmental," she muttered, tilting her head as she studied the tiny creatures. Her voice carried a quiet defiance, as though daring the Bowtruckles—and maybe the world—to overlook her too.

Moody huffed, his anger still simmering but tempered by the warmth in Hagrid's words. Maybe being an outcast wasn't the worst thing, he thought bitterly. But it didn't feel like a good thing either. He jabbed at the Bowtruckle with a sprig of leaves, but it swatted them away sharply. "It hates me already," he grumbled.

"Yer too tense," Hagrid said, shaking his head. "Relax, Alastor. Patience."

Hagrid demonstrated, holding the leaves steady in his palm. With deliberate, slow movements and a low murmur, he coaxed the Bowtruckle closer until it snatched the leaf and began nibbling. "See? Once yeh show 'em yeh mean no harm, they'll come 'round. Now, Cecily, yer turn."

Cecily hesitated, glancing at Hagrid. "What if it claws me?" Her voice wavered slightly, betraying real apprehension.

"It won't, not if yer calm," Hagrid assured her. "Just keep yer hand steady."

She drew a deep breath and extended her hand, her palm flat and trembling slightly. The Bowtruckle eyed her warily, its twig-like arms still folded. For a moment, it seemed to relax, but then its tiny claw darted up suddenly, sharp and poised. Cecily flinched, her hand jerking back instinctively as a gasp escaped her lips.

"Steady, steady," Hagrid said gently, crouching beside her. "It's testin' yeh. Just keep still. Slow an' easy, remember."

Cecily swallowed hard, her breath unsteady, but she managed to steady her hand again. The Bowtruckle's claw hovered for another tense moment before lowering, its antennae twitching. After a long pause, it sniffed the air and leaned forward cautiously, brushing her palm with its twiggy fingers.

"It's okay," Cecily whispered, her voice shaky but steadying. The Bowtruckle hesitated, then stepped onto her hand, its movements deliberate and light. Her eyes widened as she stared at it in amazement. "It's on me!" she said, a mix of triumph and disbelief coloring her tone.

"Well done!" Hagrid said proudly. "See? Yeh've got the touch."

Cecily let out a shaky laugh, relief and pride mingling on her face. "Alright, little guy, you're not so bad after all. Though you definitely make people work for it."

"Let it step back now," Hagrid instructed. "Nice an' easy."

Cecily followed his guidance, and the Bowtruckle hopped back to its branch with a soft chitter. She beamed at Hagrid. "That was amazing. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Just takes patience," Hagrid said warmly. "An' yeh've got plenty, even if yeh don't know it."

Moody crossed his arms, his lips twitching slightly in reluctant amusement. "Guess I'll let you two be the Bowtruckle whisperers. It's clear I'm not cut out for it."

"Not so fast, Mr. Moody," a sharp but calm voice interjected. Madame Idrisu had approached, her presence commanding immediate attention. Her dark eyes locked onto him, and for a moment, Moody felt as if she could see through every wall he'd ever built. "You'll find that dismissing a challenge too quickly is a habit best unlearned."

Moody straightened, his stomach tightening as the attention of the group shifted to him. Cecily shot him an encouraging grin, while Hagrid gave a small, supportive nod.

"Approach," Idrisu instructed, her voice calm but leaving no room for refusal.

Reluctantly, Moody stepped closer to the Bowtruckle's perch. The tiny creature's beady eyes seemed to assess him with suspicion. His palms felt clammy, and the weight of Idrisu's watchful gaze bore down on him like a heavy mantle.

"Patience, steady hands, and trust," she said, her tone even. "Remember, Mr. Moody, the creature senses your intent more than your actions."

As the Bowtruckle hesitated, its tiny claws twitching, Moody couldn't help but think of Gideon's hand lingering on his arm the night before. Trust yourself, Madame Idrisu had said. But trust wasn't something Moody knew how to give—or take. Not with Bowtruckles, and certainly not with people like Gideon, whose easy confidence always felt just out of reach. The memory stirred a weightlessness in his chest that teetered uncomfortably between hope and doubt.

He inhaled deeply, extending a hand with a sprig of leaves resting on his palm. The Bowtruckle tilted its head, inching closer with cautious movements. For a moment, Moody felt a flicker of hope as the tiny claws reached out.

But his nerves betrayed him. His hand wavered slightly, and the Bowtruckle skittered backward with a sharp chitter, retreating behind the branch.

Moody's stomach dropped, and heat rose to his face. He pulled his hand back, shoving the leaves into his pocket with a frustrated jerk. "I don't know why I bother," he muttered under his breath, his voice tight and bitter.

"Because you care," Madame Idrisu said calmly, stepping closer to him. Her voice was steady, free of reproach. "Even if you do not see it yet, trying—especially when it feels impossible—is what sets you apart."

Moody hesitated, his frustration warring with the unexpected kindness in her words. He didn't look up, but the edge of his shoulders softened slightly.

"Failure is not a verdict, Mr. Moody," she continued, her tone softening. "It is merely a step. Today, you faced the challenge. That alone is worth more than you realize."

Hagrid gave him a warm smile, clapping him gently on the back. "Yer closer than yeh think, Alastor. Yeh just don't see it yet."

Cecily chimed in with a grin, breaking the tension. "And next time, we'll make sure you nail it. Don't think you're getting out of it that easily."

As they walked back to the castle, Cecily skipped ahead, her voice bright and teasing. "Well, that was a success! For me and Hagrid, anyway. Moody, you've got some catching up to do."

Moody exhaled sharply, the frustration still lingering but softened by Idrisu's reassurance. "Thanks for the advice. Maybe next time I'll surprise you."

"Please don't," Cecily quipped with a laugh. "That might actually scare the Bowtruckle more."

Hagrid laughed, clapping Moody on the shoulder. "Smilin' ain't important. Yeh just gotta be yerself."

Cecily leaned closer to Moody as they walked. "It's probably your scowl," she said conspiratorially. "You've got that whole 'brooding loner' thing going on. Bowtruckles probably don't know what to make of it."

"Brooding loner?" Moody repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Obviously," Cecily said with a grin, though her voice carried a faint edge. "You stalk around like the weight of the world's on your shoulders, scowling at everyone. It's very dramatic."

Moody rolled his eyes, but her words settled uneasily in his chest. Brooding loner. Was that how people saw him? The thought rankled—not because it was wrong, but because it wasn't new. He'd heard whispers before, but hearing it from someone so cheerful—and so direct—left him oddly exposed. Cecily's teasing replayed in his mind, twisting into something sharper.

The Bowtruckle's rejection stung, mirroring what he already feared: that he didn't belong—not here, not even with Hagrid and Cecily.

Why do I bother? He shoved his hands into his pockets, his fists tightening.

Cecily, undeterred, fell into step beside him as they approached the castle steps. Her earlier energy had softened into a quieter kind of thoughtfulness. "You know," she began, her voice gentler now, "that lesson wasn't what I expected at all.

"No," Moody agreed as he looked at her shock of orange hair. Trust yourself. That's what Madame Idrisu had said, but how could he when it felt like nothing he did was good enough?

"Guess you enjoyed playing Bowtruckle whisperer, then?" he said gruffly, the edge in his voice sharper than he intended.

Cecily shrugged, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. "Yeah, I did. But it wasn't just about the Bowtruckles. Working with you two… it was kind of nice. Different, but nice."

"Different but nice?" said Moody, "Is that meant to be a compliment?"

"It would be if you said it," said Cecily her face getting redder by the moment.

"I mean," Moody stumbled.

"She got you there Alastor," chuckled Hagrid.

Cecily, grinned, "Yeah. I mean, you're not exactly cheerful company," she said, throwing him a teasing look, "but you're you and you know it. And Hagrid's just—well, Hagrid. It's a good balance."

"Balance," Moody echoed flatly, though his ears felt strangely warm. He thought of Gideon's words from the night before: People like you more than you think—they're just waiting for you to let them in.

Moody opened his mouth to respond, but Cecily waved a hand quickly, cutting him off, "You know," she said, "when the Bowtruckle settled, it felt like I'd earned something important—its trust." Her lips curled into a small, uncertain smile, but there was an edge to her tone that Moody couldn't ignore.

"Different but nice," Moody reiterated.

Without waiting for a reply, Cecily quickened her pace, bounding ahead up the steps. Moody lingered, watching as she paused at the top, her head tilting slightly as she pushed open the heavy oak doors. Her curiosity lit up her face, making the familiar entrance hall seem new.

Moody exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. She wasn't wrong to be upset, he realized, though the sting of her words lingered. Maybe he'd said too much, or maybe he wasn't used to people calling him out.

"She's got spirit, an' she wears it on 'er sleeve," Hagrid said fondly, his gaze following Cecily. "Good ter have people like that around, eh? Some might learn somethin' from 'em."

Moody shot him a sidelong glance, suspecting the comment was aimed squarely at him. He didn't reply, instead watching as Cecily let the door swing wide and strode inside with the same boundless energy she'd carried all morning. There was something disarming about her, as though her curiosity could turn even the ordinary into something lighter, less suffocating.

Moody huffed quietly, his lips twitching in a rare moment of amusement. Maybe the weight of the world didn't have to sit squarely on his shoulders all the time.