Chapter 8 - Beasts and Claws
The cutting September breeze swept across the grounds of Hogwarts, carrying an unusual chill for that time of year. In previous years, autumn brought mild warmth, inviting students to spend their days outdoors, enjoying the last rays of sun before winter's arrival. But now, the heavy sky foretold a storm. The wind stirred the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, drawing whispers from its twisted branches—sounds that seemed part of an ancient language, forgotten by time.
Harry pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he crossed the wooden bridge leading to Hagrid's hut. The creaking of the planks under his feet blended with the distant murmur of students in the castle gardens. He glanced over his shoulder at the imposing silhouette of Hogwarts outlined against the gray sky. Inside, Ron and Hermione were probably still at the Gryffindor table, engaged in a conversation that did not include him.
Lunch had been strange. Silent.
Harry ate alone, idly twirling his fork on the plate. Ron, still upset over the morning argument, kept his arms crossed, his face closed. Hermione, always the mediator, tried to mend the damage, leaning toward Ron and whispering words Harry couldn't hear. He suspected she was trying to convince him to apologize. Or at least to understand his point of view.
But honestly, he didn't want to think about that now.
In the distance, Hagrid appeared in the open field. His figure was a mark of familiarity in Harry's world, a symbol of constancy amid uncertainty. Huge and shaggy, with his thick beard blowing in the wind, he was holding a bucket while Fang, his loyal dog, watched something intently by the fence.
Harry quickened his pace.
"Hagrid!"
The half-giant lifted his head and broke into a wide smile. His eyes sparkled when he saw him.
"Harry!" His voice echoed across the field, full of enthusiasm. He approached and gave the boy a hearty slap on the back, making him stumble a step forward. "Been worried, didn't see you at dinner last night. But then Madam Pomfrey told me… Those dementors, eh?"
The name sent a cold shiver down Harry's spine.
He looked away and rubbed his arms. "Don't even mention it."
The memory of the train, of the absolute cold, of the suffocating darkness, was still too vivid in his mind. But he pushed the thought away. He didn't want to give it power.
Forcing a smile, he raised his eyes to Hagrid.
"But what about you? Congrats on the promotion. You deserve it."
The half-giant scratched the back of his neck, a trace of hesitation on his face.
"You think?" he asked, voice lower, almost insecure. "Bit nervous. Never thought of myself as a professor…"
"You'll do great," Harry assured him. "You've got passion for what you do, and that's what matters most."
Hagrid broke into a broad smile, but before he could reply, a noise caught his attention.
Something was brushing against the wooden fence behind the hut. A low sound, interrupted by heavy steps on the damp earth.
Harry turned, intrigued.
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, inside a makeshift enclosure, creatures he had never seen before moved restlessly.
At first, they looked like horses. But as he got closer, Harry realized there was something wrong with that comparison. Their necks were long and ended in a curved beak, their front legs had sharp talons, and the wings folded against their flanks trembled slightly, as if ready to open at any moment.
The animals' eyes were fixed on him. Studying him.
A chill ran down his spine.
"Hagrid… what are those things?"
The half-giant puffed out his chest, proud.
"Hippogriffs, Harry! Majestic creatures! They'll be the subject of my first class. What d'you think?"
Harry studied the animals for a moment.
"They're amazing. Different from those creatures that pull the carriages… But amazing."
Hagrid frowned.
"You can see the creatures that pull the carriages?"
The serious tone in his friend's voice made Harry hesitate.
"Yes. Why?"
The half-giant dropped the bucket he was holding and turned fully toward him.
"Harry, those creatures are thestrals," he said, somber. "Only people who've seen death can see them."
The world around Harry seemed to shrink.
The cold grew stronger.
The sounds of the wind, of the forest, even the rustling of the hippogriffs' wings, all became distant, as if he were hearing them underwater.
His stomach churned. He didn't need to think long to find the answer.
"Quirrell," he murmured, feeling the weight of the name. "In first year."
Hagrid was silent for a moment. Then, he sighed.
"I… I'd forgotten, Harry…"
The boy closed his eyes for a moment.
Yes, he remembered. Remembered Quirrell's gaze fading, his fragile body consumed by Voldemort's magic, the smell of burning flesh.
But when he opened his eyes again, there was no fear in them.
"It's okay, Hagrid," he said, and his voice sounded steadier than he expected. "I've accepted it a long time ago."
And deep down, he knew it was true.
The cold breeze swept through the clearing, stirring the dry leaves scattered over the damp ground. The smell of freshly wet earth mixed with the scent of hay and the strong odor of the animals in the pen. The wind carried a promise of storm, and the gray sky cast a strange shadow over the grounds of Hogwarts.
It didn't take long for the first students to start arriving.
The murmur of voices grew as small groups gathered, their footsteps muffled by the soft earth. More students than Harry expected walked toward the clearing, some hurried, others reluctant. He recognized many Slytherins among them, but also noticed the presence of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students, which was unusual for a class that, in theory, should be more restricted.
Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe the novelty of having Hagrid as a professor.
Harry stood close to his Gryffindor classmates, but his gaze was drawn to the other side of the group. Daphne, Blaise, and Tracey walked together, slightly apart from the rest of Slytherin.
That surprised him.
He had never noticed how those three seemed to keep their distance from Malfoy and his gang. Maybe because Malfoy, with his arrogant and theatrical presence, always overshadowed the other Slytherins.
For a moment, his eyes met Daphne's. Harry gave a slight nod — a discreet gesture, almost imperceptible. Blaise returned it with a neutral, assessing look, while Tracey gave a quick smile before turning her gaze back to the hippogriffs in the pen.
The feeling was strange.
The field was silent, but there was tension in the air, an invisible thread connecting everyone there. The wind howled through the trees of the Forbidden Forest, like a whispered warning. The closed sky seemed to watch the scene, with no promise of sun or warmth.
Malfoy's voice broke the stillness.
"What are those creatures?"
He stood at the front, arms crossed, a disdainful gaze fixed on the imposing beasts inside the pen. Around him, the other Slytherins followed, their expressions ranging from boredom to thinly veiled interest.
Hagrid, without losing his patience, gave the boy a genuine smile.
"These are hippogriffs."
The sound of the word echoed in the momentary silence that followed.
The animals, scattered throughout the makeshift pen, remained alert, their immense and majestic bodies forming dark silhouettes against the cloudy sky. Hagrid stepped forward a few paces, puffing out his chest with pride. He pointed to the largest of them, which stood out from the others, like a general leading a silent army.
"This one is the leader," he said, his voice filled with reverence. "Buckbeak. Isn't he a beauty?"
Harry watched the creature in fascination and felt a chill run down his spine.
Buckbeak stared back at him.
The animal had a metallic gray color, reflecting the daylight in an almost hypnotic way. The feathers around its neck were darker, contrasting with the silver wings that trembled slightly in the wind. But what really captured attention were its eyes.
Yellow. Deep. Intelligent.
There was something conscious in that gaze, something that made Harry feel small before it.
Hagrid, clearly enchanted, took a small dead animal from the bucket and threw it into the air. Buckbeak reacted instantly, his wings opening with a powerful snap. He leapt, too fast for something his size, and caught the prey with his sharp talons. The movement was so swift, so precise, that Harry felt his heart race.
Hagrid smiled, satisfied.
"They are incredibly proud animals," he explained, his voice gaining a graver tone. "If offended, they can be dangerous. But if they earn your respect… well, they'll respect you too."
Harry took in those words.
These animals were not just fascinating. They were powerful and demanded respect.
In the middle of the crowd, Hermione raised her hand, her eyes shining with curiosity.
"I thought these animals were only found on the continent, mostly in Greece," she said, her voice full of interest.
Hagrid nodded, pleased with the question.
"You're right, Hermione," he said. "Most hippogriffs live in warmer regions. But this herd was rescued by Dumbledore years ago. Many were trapped in circuses or being hunted for the black market. Their feathers are rare, valuable… even used to make wands."
His tone hardened, and a shadow crossed his face.
"But here they're safe. Here, no one can touch them."
The silence that followed was different from before.
Now, it wasn't just curiosity hanging in the air, but a deeper understanding. The hippogriffs weren't just exotic creatures — they were survivors.
Hagrid looked at the students, his eyes shining with excitement.
"So… who would like to approach?"
The question hung in the air.
Glances crossed, hesitant. Malfoy and his group let out muffled laughs, clearly with no intention of participating. Ron and Hermione exchanged a worried look. The wind kept blowing, bringing the scent of wet earth, and for a moment, it seemed no one would dare take the first step.
Then, Harry raised his hand.
At first, he didn't know why he had done it. An impulse, maybe. Or the desire not to leave Hagrid hanging. But when he realized all eyes were on him, the weight of the decision hit him.
Hagrid smiled, satisfied.
"Very well, Harry. Approach slowly."
Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped forward.
Every movement seemed amplified by the silence around him. The muddy ground gave slightly under his feet, but he didn't care. His eyes were fixed on Buckbeak, and he felt the weight of what he was about to do.
"What do I do?" he asked, his voice slightly tense.
Hagrid tilted his head.
"First, make a bow."
The instruction seemed simple.
But looking at the immense creature before him, Harry felt his hands sweat. Bow? It seemed like a trivial gesture. But if there was one thing he had learned over the years, it was that Hagrid knew these creatures better than anyone.
Taking a deep breath, he bent slowly.
His legs trembled slightly as he lowered his head. The movement wasn't just a gesture — it was an act of respect.
Time seemed to stretch.
Buckbeak didn't move.
The wait was agonizing. Then, suddenly, the hippogriff inclined his head.
He returned the bow.
Relief washed over Harry like a warm wave.
"Very good!" Hagrid exclaimed, excited. "Now, you can touch him. Gently."
Harry hesitated for a second.
Then, slowly, he reached out his hand.
The hippogriff watched the gesture, his luminous eyes analyzing every detail. When Harry's fingers finally touched Buckbeak's feathers, a shiver ran through his body. The animal was warm, warmer than he expected. The feathers had a soft texture, but at the same time firm.
It was real.
And, for the first time since entering that clearing, Harry felt that, somehow, he and the creature were connected.
In the distance, the other students watched in silence.
But Harry didn't notice.
At that moment, the whole world seemed reduced to the silent touch between him and Buckbeak.
The afternoon wore on, and the sharp wind carried with it the smell of wet earth mixed with the scent of the hippogriffs. The class continued slowly, but with growing energy. Little by little, the students were learning to overcome their fear, their bows becoming less hesitant, their movements more confident.
"Now, in pairs. Be careful and repeat the gesture. Call me if you get scared," Hagrid instructed, his watchful eyes on every interaction between students and creatures.
The field, once filled with tension, was now full of excited murmurs and careful steps. Some pairs managed to approach without problems, while others preferred to keep a safe distance.
Harry walked over to where Ron and Hermione were, both standing a bit apart, their eyes fixed on the hippogriff in front of them. Ron, as brave as he was in many situations, looked uncomfortable. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and his breathing was heavier than usual.
Hermione, on the other hand, looked visibly frustrated. For someone used to relying on book knowledge, facing a creature like that up close seemed harder than she expected.
Harry suppressed a smile and tried to encourage them.
"You just need a little more confidence," he said, keeping his voice calm. "They can sense when we're nervous."
Ron swallowed hard and took a deep breath, trying to control the tension in his shoulders.
"Easy for you to say. You've already done it."
"And it worked, didn't it?"
Before Ron or Hermione could respond, an irritating voice echoed across the field.
"You're not that great, are you?" Malfoy sneered, his voice full of disdain. He was approaching Buckbeak, with his usual arrogant posture, his lips curved in a venomous smirk.
Harry felt his stomach twist.
Malfoy stopped in front of the hippogriff, his eyes assessing the creature as if he were above it.
"Just a big useless bird."
The entire field seemed to hold its breath.
There was a second of absolute silence.
Then everything happened at once.
Buckbeak rose on his hind legs, wings spreading with a deafening crash. A thunder of feathers and muscles tore through the air, and sharp talons gleamed under the dull light of the cloudy sky.
Harry didn't think.
Instinct moved him before he could consider the consequences.
He ran.
His feet barely touched the ground as he charged at Malfoy, pushing him hard out of reach of the hippogriff's claws. The shove was so forceful that both of them fell to the ground, dust rising around them.
The whistling wind passed close to Harry's ear, and then came the pain.
A hot sting cut through his skin.
He brought his hand to the side of his head and felt the wetness of his own blood.
The attack had been by a hair's breadth.
Hagrid's shout echoed through the clearing.
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"
The half-giant charged forward, his expression a mix of anger and panic. His steps made the ground vibrate, and his voice boomed like thunder.
Draco, pale as a ghost, scrambled backward, his mouth slightly open, unable to form a single word. His eyes were wide, terror written all over his face.
Hagrid turned to him, rage burning in his gaze.
"If it weren't for Harry, Madame Pomfrey would be stitching your arm back on right now!"
Malfoy swallowed, his breath shaky. His pride tried to mask his fear, but the pallor of his skin betrayed him.
Then, in a thread of a voice, he muttered:
"My father will hear about this..."
Hagrid leaned over him, his gigantic silhouette casting a shadow over the boy.
"Your father?" he repeated, incredulous. "You should be thanking Potter for not being on your way to the hospital wing in pieces!"
The silence was absolute.
Even the other Slytherins seemed to avoid looking directly at Malfoy.
"Minus twenty points from Slytherin," Hagrid announced, his voice firm and unwavering. "And detention, Malfoy. You put the whole class in danger."
Murmurs spread among the students, but no one protested. It was clear that Malfoy had crossed the line.
Hagrid let out a long sigh, rubbing his face as if trying to calm himself. He then turned to Harry, his gaze softening.
"Are you alright, boy?"
Hermione was already at his side, examining the cut on his ear with concern.
"You need to go to the infirmary, Harry," she said, her voice anxious.
Harry forced a smile.
"I'm fine," he assured her, pushing her hand away. "It's just a scratch."
Hagrid still watched him with worry.
"You're crazy," Ron muttered, shaking his head, but there was a glint of respect in his eyes.
Harry only smiled.
Hagrid shook his head, visibly relieved, but still with a hint of reprimand in his voice.
"That was dangerous, Harry."
The boy shrugged, without losing his humor.
"Let's say it was a heroic act."
For a moment, Hagrid seemed ready to argue. But then, something in his expression changed.
He smiled.
"Well, if you wanted to start the year with style, you did it."
The half-giant paused and, with a gleam in his eye, declared:
"Ten points to Gryffindor."
The murmurs among the students grew. Some looked impressed, others whispered to each other, but no one questioned the decision.
Harry exchanged a look with Hagrid and felt something different there. Respect. Maybe even a little pride. And despite the still-warm blood running down the side of his face, Harry felt that, somehow, it had all been worth it.
A/N:
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