Okay so I've decided that I am NOT going to do the time turner thing for every single day of classes. Way too much. I may have her do some reflection of her work or speak about being tired, however, I can't do it deformed every single time. I will do her actually wrestling with the stresses of the time turner and other things, but not every single time. Mess got me feeling like I'm actually using one.

Also, work with me. Trying to get these times right lol.

Another thing: I don't want Ron and Hermione's thoughts to completely be the same, as they are both two different people. Sometimes it'll be the same, but sometimes Hermione will be thinking he's upset at one thing, when it's really something totally different.

I shouldn't be explaining all this lol.

Anyways, on with the fic!

Chapter 53: Of Hippogriffs and Butterflies

The storm from yesterday had finally passed, leaving the sky a soft, pale gray, stretched thin and empty. The grass beneath my feet was still damp, the scent of rain lingering in the cool morning air. The ground gave a little under each step, making a soft squelching sound as we walked.

I wasn't speaking to Ron, and he certainly wasn't speaking to me. Not that I cared. I knew exactly why he was upset—he was still sulking over my perfectly reasonable dismissal of his nonsense about Trelawney's grim predictions and that ridiculous black dog.

It wasn't logical.

The wizarding world had many unexplainable elements, I would give it that, but the idea that merely seeing a dog could somehow predict your untimely death? That was absolute rubbish. And frankly, I was a little disappointed that Ron, who could usually spot a con when he saw one, was actually buying into it.

Harry walked between us, uncharacteristically quiet, probably unsure of whose side he should take, or if he should say anything at all. Smart choice.

We made our way down the sloping lawns toward Hagrid's hut, its wooden walls darkened from the storm. But what caught my eye wasn't the hut itself, but the three very unwelcome figures walking ahead of us. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Even from a distance, I could see Malfoy animatedly talking, his pale hands moving dramatically, setting off waves of laughter from his two trollish companions. It wasn't hard to guess what he was talking about.

I felt Harry tense beside me.

Hagrid stood waiting at the door of his hut, Fang at his heels, looking impatient to start the lesson.

"C'mon, now, get a move on!" he called as we all approached. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!"

Hagrid strode off toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest, leading us down a muddy path toward a fenced paddock. The fence itself looked sturdy, but beyond it... nothing.

I glanced around, expecting to see some sort of creature already waiting for us, but the paddock stood completely empty.

"Everyone gather 'round the fence here!" Hagrid called, his voice booming over the chatter. "That's it—make sure yeh can see—now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books—"

A snide, drawling voice cut through the air.

"How?" Malfoy asked lazily.

Hagrid blinked. "Eh?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, holding up his textbook, which I noticed had been bound shut with a length of rope.

"How do we open our books?" he repeated, smirking.

A few other students took out their copies of The Monster Book of Monsters—some had theirs strapped shut with belts, others crammed into bags so tightly that the books couldn't wriggle free. Mine still had Spellotape wrapped around it, looking just as feral as the rest.

Hagrid looked around at all of us, his bushy brows knitting together. "Hasn'—hasn' anyone bin able ter open their books?"

We all shook our heads.

"Yeh've got ter stroke 'em," Hagrid said, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Look—"

He took my copy, carefully peeling off the Spellotape. The moment it was free, the book snapped at his fingers, but Hagrid simply ran a giant forefinger down its spine.

The book shivered… then relaxed, falling open like a tamed animal.

I blinked. That was it?

Before I could say anything, Malfoy's mocking voice filled the air.

"Oh, how silly we've all been!" he sneered. "We should have stroked them! Why didn't we guess?"

A few Slytherins snickered behind him, and I felt my fists tighten around my bag strap.

Hagrid shifted uneasily, looking between me and Harry. "I—I thought they were funny," he muttered uncertainly.

Malfoy snorted. "Oh, tremendously funny!" he said sarcastically. "Really witty, giving us books that try to rip our hands off!"

I hated to say it, but for once, I agreed with Malfoy. I had spent the morning wrestling with that book, trying to keep it from destroying my desk, my notes, and even my bedsheets. There was nothing remotely funny about it.

"Shut up, Malfoy." Harry snapped.

I caught Hagrid's hopeful glance toward me, and I forced a small, reassuring smile. But inside, I was mildly exasperated.

This lesson wasn't off to the best start.

Hagrid was nervous, which wasn't exactly reassuring. He kept shifting from foot to foot, his enormous hands wringing together as he glanced between us and the dark tree line.

"Righ' then," he said, voice unsteady. "So—so yeh've got yer books an'… an'... now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I'll go an' get 'em. Hang on..."

With that, he turned and strode off toward the forest, disappearing into the shadows of the towering trees.

"God, this place is going to the dogs," Malfoy's drawl cut through the low murmuring of students, bored and full of disdain. "That oaf teaching classes—my father'll have a fit when I tell him."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry snapped again, his tone sharp.

Malfoy only smirked. "Careful, Potter, there's a Dementor behind you!"

I rolled my eyes, but before I could snap at him, Lavender let out a shriek. "Oooooooh!" she gasped, pointing across the paddock.

My heart jumped as I turned quickly—but what I saw made me freeze.

A dozen creatures trotted toward us, and they looked as though they had stepped straight out of an enchanted medieval tapestry. They were huge, each one standing tall and rippling with lean muscle beneath coats of sleek feathers that transitioned seamlessly into fur. Their front legs—razor-sharp talons glinting like polished steel—moved with an effortless grace, wings tucked tightly against their powerful frames. Their heads—eagle-like, with hooked beaks that looked deadly enough to snap through bone—swiveled sharply as they took us in, their brilliant orange eyes piercing as they scanned the gathered students.

They were majestic. Frightening. Beautiful.

I stepped back instinctively, even though they were still tethered by thick leather collars.

"Gee up, there!" Hagrid bellowed as he came jogging into the paddock behind them, shaking the chains to urge them forward. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"

I wasn't sure if I'd call them beautiful, not in the conventional sense, but they were undeniably captivating. Their coats varied in color—some a deep, smoky gray, others a rich, burnished bronze—and the way they moved, so fluid and full of quiet power, was mesmerizing.

"So," Hagrid rubbed his enormous hands together, his excitement barely contained, "if yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer..."

No one moved.

I hesitated, glancing at Harry and Ron. Then, carefully, the three of us took a few steps forward.

"Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' Hippogriffs is, they're proud," Hagrid explained. "Easily offended, Hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do."

At that, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle exchanged snickering glances, clearly not listening.

"Yeh always wait fer the Hippogriff ter make the first move," Hagrid continued, his eyes flicking between us and the nearest creature. "It's polite, see? Yeh walk toward 'em, an' yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed ter touch 'im. If he doesn' bow—get away sharpish, 'cause those talons hurt."

I swallowed. Of course they did.

"Right—who wants ter go first?"

Silence.

Most of the class backed away, some even behind their classmates as though that would keep them safe.

I felt Ron tug at my sleeve, edging backward, and for a split second, I wanted to listen to that instinct and retreat. The Hippogriffs were tossing their heads, flaring their wings, clearly restless. They did not like being restrained.

"No one?" Hagrid looked hopeful, almost pleading.

Then, from beside me, Harry's voice rang out.

"I'll do it."

I inhaled sharply.

Lavender and Parvati let out twin gasps, whispering urgently—"Oooh, no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!"—but Harry ignored them, climbing over the paddock fence before I could stop him.

"Good man, Harry!" Hagrid roared, beaming. "Right then—let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak."

Hagrid untied one of the chains, leading forward a striking, storm-gray Hippogriff. He removed its collar, and the creature shook out its wings, ruffling its feathers.

Everyone held their breath. Even Malfoy had gone silent, though his expression was smug, as if he expected this to go horribly wrong.

"Easy now, Harry," Hagrid instructed softly. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink...Hippogriffs don't trust yeh if yeh blink too much..."

Harry's entire body was tense, his green eyes locked onto Buckbeak's fierce, orange gaze.

I stood rigid, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. The air between them felt charged, like one wrong move would set off a reaction we couldn't stop.

"Tha's it," Hagrid encouraged. "Tha's it, Harry... Now, bow."

I held my breath as Harry hesitated. Then, ever so slowly, he tilted forward in a short, deliberate bow.

No one moved.

For a heart-stopping moment, Buckbeak remained still, staring Harry down with an almost imperious look. Then—a sharp, warning cry.

I jumped back, startled, and my hand instinctively shot out, gripped Ron's arm, my hand sliding down it to his. I didn't even realize what I had done until I felt his fingers tighten around mine in response.

We turned to look at each other, wide-eyed. Then, as if realizing at the same time, we snatched our hands away, both awkwardly stepping apart.

I felt my face grow hot, but I couldn't tell if it was from the shock of Buckbeak's cry or... something else entirely. A strange tingle lingered in my fingers, one I really didn't have time to think about.

"Ah," said Hagrid, his voice tightening with worry. "Right—back away, now, Harry, easy does it—"

My breath caught in my throat, my fingers gripping the wooden fence so tightly my knuckles ached. Buckbeak's sharp eyes remained locked on Harry, his massive, deadly talons flexing against the earth. Every muscle in my body tensed, prepared for disaster—

Then, suddenly, the Hippogriff bent its scaly front knees and sank into a deep, unmistakable bow.

Relief flooded through me so quickly my legs almost gave out. Beside me, Ron let out a loud exhale, glancing at me with wide eyes before we both let out breathless, nervous laughs. My cheeks burned, though I wasn't sure if it was from the tension finally breaking or the way Ron had looked at me just then.

"Well done, Harry!" Hagrid beamed, clapping his huge hands together. "Right—you can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!"

Harry moved agonizingly slow, his hands hesitant as he reached out toward Buckbeak. The moment his fingers brushed against the Hippogriff's beak, the massive creature closed his orange eyes lazily, feathers ruffling slightly in what I could only assume was contentment.

The class broke into applause, relieved and impressed—well, all except Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who stood sulking as if they'd just been personally offended.

"Righ' then, Harry," said Hagrid, looking downright gleeful. "I reckon he migh' let yeh ride him!"

Harry's face fell comically fast, his eyes going wide.

"Yeh climb up there, jus' behind the wing joint," Hagrid explained, "an' mind yeh don' pull any of his feathers out—he won' like that…"

Harry hesitated, then awkwardly swung his leg over Buckbeak's back, gripping onto the creature's sleek, silvery feathers with both hands. He barely had time to adjust before—

"Go on, then!" Hagrid suddenly slapped Buckbeak's hindquarters.

The enormous wings flared open, and in a mighty surge, Buckbeak launched himself into the sky, dragging Harry along with him.

A collective gasp rang through the paddock as Harry yelped, barely managing to cling to Buckbeak's neck as they soared higher. But then—his fear melted into something else. I could see it even from down here. The sheer thrill of flying took over his expression, his grip loosening slightly as Buckbeak glided in a graceful arc over the paddock.

"Amazing!" I shouted without thinking, my hands still clutching the fence. My heart pounded with excitement. It looked… exhilarating. More thrilling than flying on a broomstick, somehow.

Buckbeak swooped back down, landing with a heavy thud.

The class erupted into cheers—except, of course, Malfoy and his cronies, who were still standing stiffly with identical expressions of thinly veiled jealousy.

"Good work, Harry!" Hagrid roared. "Okay, who else wants a go?"

Harry dismounted, slightly wobbly but grinning ear to ear. Seeing his success, the rest of us gathered our courage, cautiously stepping into the paddock. Hagrid moved down the row of creatures, untying them one by one. Soon, students were bowing nervously all across the paddock.

Neville was struggling the most, backing away so many times it was starting to look like an elaborate dance.

Meanwhile, Ron and I approached a chestnut-colored Hippogriff, its amber eyes glinting with curiosity.

"She's beautiful," I murmured, reaching out and trailing my fingers along her smooth, feathered neck. I wished I had a camera. My parents would love to see this.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushing toward Buckbeak. The Hippogriff that had just flown Harry safely around the paddock.

Buckbeak bowed to Malfoy. I frowned. That was a mistake. Buckbeak clearly needed a better judge of character.

"This is very easy," Malfoy drawled, just loud enough for us to hear. His tone was dripping with mockery. "I knew it must have been if Potter could do it… I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" He patted Buckbeak's beak in a disgustingly condescending way. "Are you, you great ugly brute?"

It happened in an instant.

A furious shriek ripped through the paddock.

Malfoy let out a high-pitched scream, stumbling back as Buckbeak reared up, wings flaring, talons slashing through the air—

Then a sickening rip of fabric.

Malfoy hit the ground, clutching his arm, his robes soaking through with blood.

The class erupted into chaos.

"I'M DYING!" Malfoy shrieked, flailing dramatically. "I'M DYING, LOOK AT ME! IT'S KILLED ME!"

Hagrid had already leapt forward, grabbing Buckbeak's chain and yanking him back.

"Yer not dyin'!" Hagrid shouted, his face turning chalk-white. "Someone help me—gotta get him outta here—"

I was already moving, running ahead to hold open the paddock gate.

Hagrid scooped Malfoy up effortlessly, his large arms cradling the whimpering Slytherin as he rushed toward the castle. Blood splattered onto the grass as he ran.

The rest of the class followed at a stunned distance.

Pansy Parkinson was sobbing like she'd just lost a loved one.

"They should sack him straight away!" she wailed, sniffling dramatically.

"It was Malfoy's fault!" Dean shot back, crossing his arms.

Crabbe and Goyle flexed their fists like they were about to start a fight, but Dean looked completely unbothered.

As we reached the castle steps, Pansy broke into a run, nearly tripping over herself as she sprinted to the hospital wing. The Slytherins stalked off toward the dungeon, muttering darkly.

Ron, Harry, and I climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower.

"You think he'll be all right?" I asked, still feeling a little shaken. Not for Malfoy, but for Hagrid.

"Course he will." Harry shrugged dismissively. "Madam Pomfrey can mend cuts in about a second."

Ron scowled. "That was a really bad thing to happen in Hagrid's first class, though, wasn't it? Trust Malfoy to mess things up for him."

After changing out of our school robes, we rushed down to the Great Hall for dinner, hoping—half-expecting—to see Hagrid sitting at the staff table, tucking into a plate of food as if nothing had happened. But his seat was empty, and the longer I stared at it, the heavier my stomach felt.

"They wouldn't fire him, would they?" I asked, unable to keep the worry out of my voice.

"They'd better not," Ron muttered, poking at his mashed potatoes with his fork but not actually eating them.

"They simply couldn't," Harry said with certainty. "Malfoy provoked Buckbeak. We were all there. We saw it."

I wasn't sure it was as simple as that. The way Malfoy had screamed, the blood on his robes… It was dramatic, sure, but convincing. If his father got involved, things could spiral quickly.

"Well, you can't say it wasn't an interesting first day back," Ron said, though he didn't sound the least bit amused.

After dinner, we headed up to the crowded, noisy Gryffindor common room, where students were scattered around in various states of exhaustion and distraction. Some were chatting loudly about their first lessons, others were already dozing off in armchairs, and a few were actually working on their assignments.

I pulled out my Transfiguration textbook, but I couldn't focus on a single word. Every time I tried to concentrate, my eyes drifted toward the tower window, scanning the grounds. I could tell Harry and Ron were just as distracted, their parchment lying mostly blank in front of them.

Then, suddenly—

"There's a light on in Hagrid's window," Harry said, his voice breaking the silence between us.

Ron and I immediately looked up. Sure enough, in the distance, a warm glow flickered from inside Hagrid's hut. A small comfort—but still, he hadn't come to dinner.

"If we hurry, we could go down and see him," Ron suggested. "It's still quite early."

I hesitated. Technically, there was nothing wrong with going, but… I wasn't sure if sneaking down there was the best idea.

"I don't know," I said slowly, glancing at Harry.

He caught my look and frowned slightly, voice sharper than before. "I'm allowed to walk across the grounds. Sirius Black hasn't got past the Dementors yet, has he?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Okay then, let's go," Harry said, grabbing his things with finality.

I sighed but closed my book without further protest. There really was no arguing with Harry when he was in this mood.

We shoved our books back into our bags and left through the portrait hole, stepping into the quieter corridors. As we made our way down the stairs, the air felt noticeably cooler, the castle's stone walls chilled from the night air creeping in.

By the time we stepped outside, the sky was a deep, velvety indigo, scattered with a few faint stars peeking through the lingering clouds. A thin mist clung to the grass, swirling slightly around our ankles as we moved.

We walked quickly, our footsteps muffled against the damp ground, the only sounds around us being the distant hoots of owls and the occasional rustling from the Forbidden Forest.

Hagrid's hut loomed ahead, the light inside glowing against the darkness like a beacon. I felt my nerves tighten as we approached.

Ron knocked firmly on the door.

For a moment, there was nothing. Then—

A deep, gruff voice rumbled from inside.

"C'min."

We exchanged a look before Harry pushed the door open.

Hagrid was sitting at his wooden table, his enormous frame hunched over, his sleeves rolled up. Fang rested his heavy head in Hagrid's lap, his tail thumping half-heartedly against the floor. The fireplace crackled low, casting flickering shadows across the room, but it did little to warm the heavy mood hanging in the air.

One look at Hagrid, and I knew he had been drinking—a lot. A tankard the size of a small bucket sat in front of him, and his bleary eyes struggled to focus on us as we stepped inside.

"'Spect it's a record," he slurred, finally recognizing us. "Don' reckon they've ever had a teacher who lasted on'y a day before."

"You haven't been fired, Hagrid!" I gasped, stepping forward. The idea alone made my stomach twist.

"Not yet," Hagrid said miserably, taking a deep gulp of whatever was in that tankard. "But's only a matter o' time, I'n't it, after Malfoy..."

Ron flopped into the nearest chair, scowling. "How is he? Not that I'm very much concerned." He shot me a look, daring me to scold him, but I didn't.

"It wasn't serious, was it?" Ron added, watching Hagrid carefully.

Hagrid sighed heavily, his massive shoulders slumping. "Madam Pomfrey fixed him best she could," he said dully, "but he's sayin' it's still agony... covered in bandages... moanin'..."

"He's faking it," Harry said at once, his voice firm. "Madam Pomfrey can mend anything. She regrew half my bones last year. Trust Malfoy to milk it for all it's worth."

Hagrid let out another sigh, his massive hands rubbing his face as though trying to wipe away his worries.

"School gov'nors have bin told, o' course," he muttered into his palms. "They reckon I started too big. Shoulda left Hippogriffs fer later... one flobberworm or summat... Jus' thought it'd make a good first lesson. S'all my fault..."

"It's all Malfoy's fault, Hagrid!" I said pointedly, my frustration flaring.

"We're witnesses," Harry added, his green eyes flashing with determination. "You said Hippogriffs attack if you insult them. It's Malfoy's problem that he wasn't listening. We'll tell Dumbledore what really happened."

"Yeah, don't worry, Hagrid, we'll back you up," Ron said confidently.

Hagrid made a choking noise, and before we could react, he scooped Harry and Ron up in a bone-crushing hug.

"I think you've had enough to drink, Hagrid," I said briskly, picking up the tankard and dumping the contents outside before he could stop me. The last thing he needed was to drown himself in alcohol.

"Ah, maybe she's right," Hagrid mumbled, finally releasing Harry and Ron, who staggered back, rubbing their ribs.

With some effort, Hagrid pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he looked utterly drained. I led him outside to the water pump in his garden, where the air was crisp and damp, the scent of wet earth hanging in the air.

I pumped the handle until the barrel was full of fresh, cool water and handed it to him.

"Here, Hagrid," I said gently, lifting the heavy barrel toward him. "Have a drink."

Instead of drinking it, he plunged his entire head into the water with a massive splash.

"Well, that's one way to do it," I muttered, rolling my eyes as I turned back inside, letting him compose himself.

I stepped back into the hut, wringing out the sleeves of my robe where stray droplets had hit me. Harry and Ron turned expectantly.

"What's he done?" Harry asked, glancing at the now-empty tankard in my hands.

"Stuck his head in the water barrel," I said flatly, placing the tankard back in its proper place.

A second later, Hagrid stumbled back in, his long, shaggy hair and beard dripping, sending water flying in all directions as he shook his head like a dog.

"That's better," he sighed, shaking his head like a dog. "Listen, it was good of yeh ter come an' see me, I really -"

Then suddenly he stared daggers at Harry, as if he just realized he and us were there.

"WHAT D'YEH THINK YER DOIN', EH?"

Hagrid's thunderous roar made us jump nearly a foot in the air. His bloodshot eyes locked onto Harry with an intensity I'd never seen before.

"YEH'RE NOT TO GO WANDERIN' AROUND AFTER DARK, HARRY! AN', YOU TWO! LETTIN' HIM!"

Before we could protest, Hagrid strode over, grabbed Harry's arm, and dragged him toward the door.

"C'mon!" Hagrid barked. "I'm takin' yeh all back up ter school an' don' let me catch yeh walkin' down ter see me after dark again! I'm not worth that!"

The hut door slammed behind us with a final, resounding thud as we were marched back toward the castle under the vast, inky night sky.

Hagrid marched us back up to the castle, his massive boots squelching against the damp grass with every heavy step. I didn't dare speak. Ron and Harry were silent, too, though I could feel the tension coming off Ron in waves.

When we reached the Entrance Hall, Hagrid let go of Harry's arm and pointed a giant finger at him.

"No more sneakin' down 'ere, right? It ain't safe, an' I ain't worth the risk."

Harry sighed. "Alright, Hagrid."

"Right, off yeh go."

Without another word, Hagrid turned and stomped back out into the night, the heavy wooden doors creaking shut behind him.

The castle was eerily quiet as we made our way to the common room. The only sound was the distant crackling of torches.

"Well, that went well," Ron muttered dryly.

Harry let out a breath and ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "I'm going to bed." He said after we climbed into the portrait hole.

"Yeah, me too," I said quickly, feeling the exhaustion creeping into my bones.

Harry gave us both a lazy wave and trudged up the stairs toward the boys' dormitory, leaving Ron and me standing awkwardly in the dimly lit corridor leading to the Gryffindor common room.

I glanced at Ron. He looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure if he should.

"What?" I asked, shifting my weight.

Ron sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nothin'."

I frowned. "No, it's something. You've been acting weird since lunch, and I know it's not just because of Malfoy and Buckbeak."

Ron gave me a halfhearted glare, then sighed again, his shoulders slumping.

"Nothing."

I huffed, rolling my eyes. "Ron."

He let out a deep sigh, raking a hand through his hair. "It's just—" He hesitated, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Never mind."

"No, tell me," I pressed, leaning forward slightly. "You've barely said two words since dinner. Clearly, something's bothering you."

Ron exhaled sharply and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. "It's about earlier. At lunch."

I frowned. "What about it?"

He hesitated again before muttering, "You made me feel like I was being insensitive about my uncle."

I blinked. "Your uncle?"

"Uncle Bilius," Ron said, his voice quieter than usual. "You know, the one who saw the Grim before he died?"

It took me a second to remember what he was talking about. The Grim. That ridiculous superstitious nonsense Trelawney had been going on about.

"Ron, I—" I started, but he cut me off.

"I know it sounds mad," he said quickly, "but…he really did see it. And then he died. And maybe it was just a coincidence, but—" He shrugged, staring at the fire again. "I dunno. When you said it was rubbish, it just felt like you were saying what happened to him was rubbish, too."

Guilt curled in my stomach. That hadn't been my intention at all.

"Oh, Ron," I sighed, shifting closer to the couch. "I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't trying to be dismissive of your uncle's death, I just—" I bit my lip. "I don't believe in all that grim nonsense. But I do believe that losing him must have been really hard for you."

Ron rubbed at his face, exhaling slowly. "Yeah, well. It was a long time ago."

"That doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt." My voice was softer now, and for the first time that night, he actually looked at me properly.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

The fire crackled between us, filling the silence.

Then, before I could think better of it, I reached out and lightly rested my fingers on his forearm.

"I'm sorry, Ron," I said sincerely. "Really."

He stared at my hand like he wasn't sure what to do, then gave a small, almost shy shrug. "S'alright. You were right about one thing, though."

"What?"

His lips tugged into a smirk, but there was something softer behind it. "If I ever see the Grim, I probably won't drop dead on the spot. I'd at least make a dramatic speech first."

I laughed, rolling my eyes. "Of course you would."

Ron grinned, but then I noticed something else—his ears were turning red.

And that was when I realized...my fingers were still on his arm.

Feeling suddenly flustered, I pulled back. But before I could stop myself, I smirked slightly and tilted my head playfully.

"Well," I said, voice taking on an unintended teasing pitch, "for what it's worth, Ronald, I think you'd look rather dashing making a dramatic speech about your imminent doom."

Ron choked on absolutely nothing. His face, which had already been a bit pink, flushed deep scarlet.

I suddenly realized what I had done. Had I just flirted with Ron?

Before he could say anything, before I could make an even bigger fool of myself, I spun on my heel and practically sprinted toward the girls' dormitory.

"Night, Hermione?" I heard him say behind me, his voice a little too light, a little too amused.

I slammed the door behind me, my heart pounding. What was that? I flopped onto my bed, burying my face in my pillow.

I had flirted with Ron.

And I had liked it.

Oh, Merlin.