Harry Potter and the HQL - Chapter - 19

It was a warm autumn morning at Hogwarts, the kind where the breeze carried the earthy scent of falling leaves, and the sun was just bright enough to make outdoor classes bearable. Harry, Hermione, and Neville made their way across the lawn toward Hagrid’s cottage, books and parchment tucked under their arms.

The last time they had Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid had introduced them to unicorns, and it had gone smoother than anyone could’ve hoped. Naturally, Harry thought the gentle start would continue.

But he should have known better.

He had known Hagrid for nearly five years, and if there was one thing Hagrid couldn't resist—it was a dangerous magical creature with questionable logic and terrifying anatomy.

“I have a feeling,” Harry muttered to Hermione, “that today isn’t going to be unicorns.”

Hermione glanced sideways. “Why do you say that?”

Harry sighed. “Because I know Hagrid. And if he starts with unicorns, you can bet he’s going to follow up with something that can bite, claw, or set us on fire.”

They rounded the final corner and found Hagrid already waiting by the paddock just outside the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Hagrid was positively beaming, dressed in his patched brown coat, a leather falconer’s glove on one arm, and his signature pink umbrella poking out of one pocket.

“Mornin’, everyone!” he bellowed. “Hope yeh all brought yer respect and yer manners today. 'Cause today, we’re meetin’ someone real special!”

Hermione paled. “Oh no.”

Harry blinked. “Is that… a Hippogriff?”

There, tethered to a large post behind Hagrid, was a magnificent Hippogriff.

Its front half shimmered with eagle-like plumage, claws like sharpened sickles, and golden eyes that followed their every movement. Its hindquarters were the powerful body of a horse, its silvery-gray tail twitching as it sniffed the air.

And behind that one, Harry realized, were more.

A whole row of Hippogriffs—at least ten of them—stood in the paddock, some preening, others pacing restlessly.

“Blimey,” Neville whispered. “There’s more than one.”

“Thirty,” Harry confirmed. “He brought ten Hippogriffs.”

“Has he lost his mind?” Hermione whispered frantically.

“No,” Harry said grimly. “Just being Hagrid.”

Hagrid cleared his throat and spread his arms wide.

“Now I know what yeh’re thinkin’. They look scary. But Hippogriffs are proud, noble beasts. Very smart. Very loyal. But only if yeh treat ’em with proper respect.”

He pointed to the closest one—a silvery Hippogriff with amber eyes.

“This here’s Stormfeather. She’s a bit feisty, but she likes polite folk.”

The students eyed Stormfeather like she might launch into the air and swoop down claws-first.

“Everyone take notes—approach slow, no sudden moves, bow nice and low, and wait. If she bows back, yeh’re good. If not—don’t push yer luck.”

Hermione raised her hand hesitantly. “Hagrid… are they all as... spirited as Stormfeather?”

“Some even nicer!” Hagrid beamed. “And don’t worry—I’ve trained ’em meself!”

Harry exchanged a look with Hermione. That wasn’t comforting.

As the class reluctantly followed Hagrid’s directions, Harry sidled up to him.

“Hagrid, I thought we agreed harmless creatures for third-years.”

Hagrid looked mildly sheepish.

“Aye, I know, Harry. But I couldn’t resist! They were lookin’ so majestic this morning, stretchin’ their wings… and yeh know I raised Stormfeather meself. Thought it’d be a treat.”

Harry gave him a tired smile. “This better not be about Norberta needing attention again.”

Hagrid looked innocent.

Too innocent.

“Norberta’s doin’ just fine,” he said casually. “She and Sapphira are roamin’ the deeper parts o’ the forest. Lovely pair, really. Hardly set anythin’ on fire this week.”

Harry choked. “You still have both of them in the forest?!”

“They’re happy!” Hagrid insisted. “Sapphira keeps Norberta calm. They’ve built a new nest!”

Hermione overheard, turned pale, and whispered, “We are doomed.”

“Right then!” Hagrid called cheerfully. “Who wants to fly a Hippogriff first?”

Silence.

The rustling of nervous students shifting in place filled the air. Every time Hagrid's eyes passed over a student, they took a half-step back—even the Slytherins, who usually strutted with too much pride to show fear, were inching away.

Harry, however, stood still.

But only because he wasn’t moving at all.

Which, unfortunately, made it look like he’d stepped forward.

The class fell quiet, all eyes shifting to him.

Hagrid's face lit up.

“Atta boy, Harry! Knew yeh had guts. Come on, then!”

Harry blinked. “Wait, what?”

Hermione whispered, “We all stepped back… and you didn’t.”

“Go on!” Neville hissed. “You’ve got Hippogriffs at Runestone Castle anyway, right?”

“Yes, but I’ve never ridden one—” Harry began.

But Hagrid was already motioning him forward excitedly.

Hagrid led Harry toward the far side of the paddock where a large, storm-gray Hippogriff stood alone. Its wings twitched with agitation, and its sharp amber eyes followed Harry like a hawk sizing up prey.

“This here’s Buckbeak,” Hagrid said, his voice softer now. “She’s a right temperamental lass. Beautiful, though. But not too fond of strangers.”

Harry gave a knowing smile. “It’s alright, Hagrid.”

“Yeh sure?”

“I’ve got a few Hippogriffs of my own,” Harry replied, stepping calmly forward. “Some are even moved to a private Island for breeding and protection. I just… never tried flying one before.”

Hagrid’s jaw dropped, but he grinned proudly. “Well, then, show us how it’s done.”

Harry took a deep breath, stepped toward Buckbeak, and bowed low, one arm across his chest, wand sheathed at his side. He held the bow perfectly—firm, respectful, and without a hint of fear.

Buckbeak eyed him warily for a moment.

Then she dipped her head in a graceful, measured bow.

The class gasped.

“Did you see that?” someone whispered.

“She actually bowed back!”

Hagrid, practically glowing with joy, walked over and with surprising gentleness, picked Harry up like a child and put him back of Buckbeak.

“Go on, then! Take ’er for a spin!”

And without warning, he smacked Buckbeak’s flank with his palm.

“Fly, girl!”

Buckbeak gave a shrill, indignant screech—and leapt.

Harry’s stomach dropped as they launched into the sky, wings stretching wide, lifting higher and higher.

He clung to the feathered neck, but within moments, the fear vanished.

All that remained was exhilaration.

Hogwarts fell away beneath him—the shimmering lake, the swaying trees of the Forbidden Forest, the gleaming castle towers. The wind rushed through his hair, cool and alive. Buckbeak soared with powerful flaps, circling the castle grounds and skimming the surface of the lake.

“Merlin,” Harry whispered aloud, grinning. “What a fool I’ve been, not trying this before.”

He leaned into the turns, guided gently by the movement of his knees and the shift of his weight. He could feel the raw magic of the creature beneath him—wild, proud, and free.

Students looked like specks below, pointing and cheering as Buckbeak soared over the Quidditch pitch and swept past the Astronomy Tower.

After a few more graceful loops, Buckbeak glided back to the paddock and landed with a heavy thump. Harry slid off, heart pounding, face flushed with joy.

Hagrid rushed over.

“How was it?”

Harry looked up at him, still breathless. “That… was unbelievable.”

The rest of the class, now much braver, clamored with excitement.

“Can we try too, Professor?”

“Does Buckbeak let others fly?”

“That was amazing!”

Hagrid beamed.

“One at a time! But yeh’ll all get a go. Only if she bows back!”


The excitement of riding Buckbeak hadn’t yet worn off, but Harry had long since learned to stay vigilant—especially when it came to Draco Malfoy. If there was one thing Draco couldn’t tolerate, it was Harry getting attention that he couldn’t match.

So, Harry kept a close eye on him.

Even now, as the class gathered in smaller groups near the paddock to talk about their experience or write down their notes, Harry noticed Draco pacing by himself—eyes locked on Buckbeak, jaw tight, and fists clenched.

“He’s going to do something stupid,” Harry muttered to Hermione, who had just finished sketching a Hippogriff feather in her notebook.

“What makes you think that?” she asked, looking up.

“Because he’s Draco Malfoy,” Harry replied simply. “And I just rode a Hippogriff.”

Sure enough, Draco squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest, and started striding straight toward Buckbeak.

“You’re not so dangerous,” Draco sneered loudly, drawing the attention of a few students. “You took Potter for a ride like a show pony. Bet you’ll take me too, eh?”

Harry’s stomach twisted.

“Malfoy, don’t—” he called, but Draco ignored him.

“You’re just a filthy bird,” Draco continued, standing too close to Buckbeak now. “Look at you. Dumb feathers. I don’t see what the fuss is about. I’ve seen owls more threatening than—”

Buckbeak let out a shrill, angry screech.

The creature reared back, wings spreading wide, talons slicing the air, eyes glowing gold with fury.

“Malfoy, move!” Harry shouted, breaking into a sprint.

Draco froze.

That was all it took.

Harry lunged forward just as Buckbeak struck.

He tackled Draco hard to the ground, rolling them both out of reach of the full brunt of the attack. But a sharp pain sliced through Harry’s back like fire.

Buckbeak’s claw had caught him—deep.

Crimson soaked the back of Harry’s robes as he gasped, teeth clenched.

“Harry!” Hermione shrieked.

“Oh no—oh no—” Neville cried, rushing over.

Hagrid, pale with shock and panic, quickly calmed Buckbeak with quiet, firm words and gentle strokes. The Hippogriff huffed, ruffled its feathers, and backed off.

“Didn’t mean it,” Hagrid muttered. “She was just scared. Provoked.”

Harry was half-conscious by the time Hermione and Neville helped him up. His legs felt like jelly, and pain pulsed through his back with every breath. But he never once let go of Draco, who was stunned, speechless—and completely unharmed.

They rushed Harry to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey immediately started treating the wound with antiseptic charms and a thick, shimmering salve.

“You’ll live,” she said. “But it’ll scar. Magical creatures’ wounds tend to leave a mark.”

Neville sat beside Harry’s bed, pale-faced.

“You might end up with a big one,” he said softly. “A proper Hippogriff scar.”

Harry, still lying face-down, smirked into the pillow.

“Better than having my pride clawed to bits like Draco Malfoy’s.”

Later that evening, it was announced that Draco Malfoy received detention for endangering himself and insulting a professor’s creature.

When Hagrid confronted him after the incident, trying to explain how reckless it was, Draco rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“What would you know? You’re still just a half-giant groundskeeper pretending to be a professor.”

That remark didn’t sit well with anyone—especially not with the students who had seen Hagrid’s passion, his effort, and the magical trust he shared with his creatures.

As night fell and most students returned to their dormitories, Harry lay on his side in the infirmary bed, bandages wrapped around his torso. The dull ache was still there, but fading.

Hermione sat in the chair nearby, reading quietly.

Neville had fallen asleep in another chair, snoring softly.

“Reckon this scar will be as famous as my forehead?” Harry asked, voice low.

Hermione looked over her book.

“You mean the one you got because you saved Malfoy’s life?”

“Yeah.”

“Only if he ever tells the truth about it,” she said dryly.

Harry chuckled.

The pain would linger.

But so would the memory—of loyalty, instinct, and standing between danger and someone who wouldn’t have done the same for him.


The warm glow of late afternoon filtered through the enchanted windows of the Hospital Wing, casting long golden beams across the polished floors and white linen beds. Harry Potter lay stretched on his side, half-propped against pillows, feeling far better than he had the night before.

The sharp pain from Buckbeak’s talon had dulled into a bearable soreness, and Madam Pomfrey's expert healing had left the wound clean and bandaged. Still, she had insisted Harry remain for one full day under observation.

Not that Harry had much choice.

Every time he so much as swung his legs over the edge of the bed, Madam Pomfrey materialized beside him like a bat out of hell.

"You are not going anywhere, Mr. Potter. You might feel fine, but magical creature injuries are unpredictable."

If that wasn’t enough, she had banned all visitors except staff and prefects, after what she described as “the entire castle trying to turn my hospital wing into a common room.”

That didn’t stop the Stars Club from trying.

Throughout the day, Harry heard the soft click of the door opening, followed by a hushed reprimand:

"Out. Unless you're carrying coursework or a title, you're not stepping one foot in."

Fred and George, he’d overheard, had been escorted out under floating “Get Well, Scarface!” banners. Neville had tried sneaking in with a potted Mimbulus plant “for morale.” Even Luna had wandered in claiming she was delivering a rare anti-Sting Nargle charm.

But only one person made it through.

Hermione Granger, arms full of textbooks and parchment, entered the hospital wing in the early evening.

Madam Pomfrey gave her a narrow look.

“Schoolwork, Miss Granger?”

“Essays, assignments, and reading lists,” Hermione said sweetly. “Professor Babbling specifically asked Harry to keep up with Ancient Runes.”

Madam Pomfrey harrumphed, but let her through.

The moment the nurse disappeared behind her office curtain, Hermione dropped the pile onto Harry’s bedside table and leaned in.

“You would not believe what I’ve just heard.”

“Something good?” Harry asked, already knowing the answer from her expression.

Hermione lowered her voice.

“Theo and Blaise told me that Draco sent a letter to his father—last night. Detailed everything. And guess who’s already outraged?”

“Lucius Malfoy,” Harry said flatly.

Hermione nodded. “They said he’s furious. Not that Draco was nearly clawed to death, but that a 'dangerous beast’ was allowed near the students. And we both know he already has it in for Hagrid.”

Harry leaned his head back against the pillow and sighed. “Of course he is.”

“Theo said Lucius has been itching for an excuse to go after Hagrid ever since last year. Now that Draco has a victim narrative, it’s practically a gift.”

“And Malfoy will definitely milk it,” Harry muttered. “Even though I was the one who got the scar.”

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. “No one expects Lucius Malfoy to care about facts.”

“Is Dumbledore saying anything?”

“Nothing yet. But I’m sure he knows. He always does.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, wincing slightly. “It’s not fair. Hagrid finally got his chance. He loves teaching.”

“That’s exactly why they’re going after him,” Hermione said softly. “Hagrid isn’t what the Malfoys want in a professor—he’s kind, unpolished, and not afraid of getting his hands dirty.”

> “And they don’t like seeing someone like him succeed,” Harry added bitterly.

Hermione gave a tight nod. “We’ll fight it if we have to. You have witnesses. The whole class saw what really happened. Draco insulted the Hippogriff first.”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, “but they saw me flying too. He’ll just say Hagrid plays favorites.”

Hermione paused, then reached for the parchment she brought.

“For now, just focus on healing. We’ll deal with Malfoy later. You’ve got an essay on ancient Nordic glyphs to keep you company.”

Harry groaned. “The Hippogriff was better.”

Hermione grinned.

As Hermione left under the approving eye of Madam Pomfrey, Harry lay awake a little longer, eyes on the darkening window.

If the Malfoys wanted a fight, then Harry would give them one.