Carina Malfoy held many people in contempt, but if pressed to name just one above all others, Rubeus Hagrid would be the first name off her lips.
The Malfoys despised those who lacked dignity. Those who stagnated through sheer laziness earned her contempt. And for those who had already been left behind by the world yet continued to lean on others' goodwill—toward them, she harbored something approaching genuine hatred.
Rubeus Hagrid satisfied all three conditions.
He had the build of someone you'd believe was half-giant, his appearance and dress were utterly without refinement, his conduct was childish, and he possessed no discernible competence to speak of.
A man who simply drifted through each day on Dumbledore's charity.
And this man had been given a Care of Magical Creatures class?
Connections might be a form of power, but they only opened doors—they didn't prove you worthy of walking through them. If he failed to demonstrate ability, it would ultimately reflect poorly on Dumbledore himself. His authority would erode, and in the gaps left behind, other things would begin to creep in.
Connections, reputation—both were consumables in the end. Those who had never possessed them tended to forget that.
'At least it's Care of Magical Creatures. If it had been any other subject, I'd have boycotted the class entirely.'
Not that she trusted Hagrid, of course. Loving animals and being capable of teaching about them were entirely separate matters.
This would be his last chance.
If a man who so dearly loved animals couldn't even manage Care of Magical Creatures, what reason was there for him to remain at Hogwarts at all?
"Right, first thing—open yer books!"
"And how exactly are we supposed to do that?"
Malfoy made no effort to conceal her displeasure.
"I nearly lost a finger trying to read it before term started. Isn't it rather irresponsible to force students to purchase something like this? Shouldn't there at least have been a warning?"
"Ah... well, if yeh stroke the spine, the book'll open right up."
Hagrid ran a hand along the Monster Book's spine. The book shuddered violently, then went still. Malfoy murmured under her breath.
"My. You have to stroke a book to read it. How delightful."
"Er—yeah! Isn't it fun?"
"I was being sarcastic. Do you enjoy watching students suffer through your little jokes? Tormenting people for amusement is something one ought to have grown out of by now. Unless—"
Malfoy fixed Hagrid with a cool, cutting stare.
"You never quite managed to—"
She was a breath away from finishing that sentence—*graduate*—when Harry Potter lifted his own book and cut in.
"Shh, Malfoy. Are you throwing a tantrum because you couldn't open yours?"
"What? A tantrum?"
What utter nonsense.
She was making a perfectly legitimate criticism of a preposterous textbook for a preposterous class. Every Slytherin had been tormented by the Monster Book—that was simply a fact—and from the look of things, Gryffindor hadn't fared much better.
If he was taking Hagrid's side out of personal loyalty, that only made her angrier.
Reputation and fame were consumables. His meagre supply of either wouldn't be enough to protect Hagrid.
Just as Malfoy was drawing breath to deliver a proper retort, Harry Potter opened the Monster Book in plain view.
"I figured out how to open it and read ahead. I also read the foreword by Edwardus Lima, the author. Apparently the reason he put a biting jinx on the book was to teach readers that magical creatures are living beings too, and ought to be approached with a gentle hand."
Harry finished speaking and snapped the book shut with a decisive thud. Malfoy caught his meaning at once and let out a low, involuntary sound.
There was no way Rubeus Hagrid had chosen the book with that philosophy in mind. He'd almost certainly picked it for a laugh, exactly as she'd said.
But now that Harry Potter had opened it—and explained why—she had no ground left to argue from.
"Whether it's a Monster Book or a textbook, isn't working out how to use it the first test?"
"Ngh—!"
Malfoy bit her lip. If no one had managed to open the book, that argument would have been nothing but hollow deflection. But as things stood—this was an unambiguous defeat.
She had dismissed the textbook as grotesque and left it untouched. She had forfeited any right to berate Hagrid.
Malfoy had been glaring at Harry with burning eyes, but she turned that gaze on Hagrid, who was hovering uncertainly, and snapped.
"...What are you staring at? Get on with the lesson. Professor Hagrid."
"Oh! Right! Hold on—I'll go fetch 'em!"
Hagrid gave Harry a broad thumbs-up and disappeared into the forest. Meanwhile, Malfoy smoothed her wounded pride and began scratching the Monster Book's spine. The book growled, then gradually went limp, yielding itself to her. She flipped through the pages with a short, sharp click of her tongue.
'It was this simple all along. I never even thought to touch it...'
Again. She had lost to Harry Potter again. Malfoy stared daggers at her book, her pride smarting, when Harry Potter turned toward her with an insufferably easy smile.
"Why are you pouting like that? Is there something you'd like to kiss?"
Malfoy nearly stumbled. She caught herself, wheeled on him, and shrieked.
"K—ki—kissing?! What on earth are you on about?!"
"Well. If you'd given the Monster Book a gentle little kiss, maybe it would have opened its heart and let you in."
"You think something opens its heart and lets you in for something as trivial as that?!"
"I was talking about the Monster Book."
"You—!"
Before Malfoy could finish, Pansy Parkinson—a Slytherin boy built like a small gorilla—shoved himself between them.
"Stop talking to Carina, you coward, Potter."
"Oh, coward. That's a new one."
"I heard you fainted on the Hogwarts Express. Scared of a Dementor, were you?"
The fact that Harry Potter had collapsed on the Hogwarts Express had spread to every corner of the school. Naturally, the students most delighted by the news were the Slytherins who had suffered under him for two years. They crowed that they'd finally found Harry Potter's weakness. Malfoy didn't agree with that assessment, but she hadn't bothered to say so. Whatever the reason, the fact that Harry Potter had fainted was real enough.
"A coward who faints at the drop of a hat, and yet he managed to open a Monster Book? How very brave of you, Coward Potter?"
Parkinson wore the face of a victor as he taunted Harry—but Harry looked entirely unbothered.
"Wow. The rumour spread that far? I wonder if the other rumour made the rounds too. The one about what happened before the Dementor's kiss—"
*Say it and I will end you.* Malfoy fixed Harry with a look that communicated exactly that. Harry caught it, let out a quiet smirk, and changed course.
"Right. I'm just easily frightened by ugly things. In that sense, you're scarier than any Dementor, Parkinson... ugh. You're worse-looking than whatever's under a Dementor's hood."
"Wh—what?"
Malfoy exhaled slowly.
It was always like this. No matter how creative an insult Slytherin brought to bear, they could never quite match what Harry Potter produced. Parkinson's face had gone an alarming shade of red, and still Harry pressed on, as though determined to make it burst.
"Sorry, but could you not open your mouth? I think the smell is worse than a sewer drain... I'd sooner kiss a Dementor than you. Any girl in the world would vomit at least once before letting you near her lips. Look—even Malfoy's making a face."
"You little—!"
Parkinson, patience exhausted, swung a fist at Harry. Harry sidestepped it with the ease of someone who'd seen it coming, and in the same motion brought the Monster Book against Parkinson's arm. The book sank its teeth into his forearm.
Parkinson stared at the book clamped to his arm and screamed.
"AAAAAAH!"
Hagrid, who had just emerged from the trees leading a Hippogriff, came sprinting over in alarm.
"What's happened?!"
"The—the book ate my arm! My arm!"
"That can't be right! Once a book's been opened, all the teeth disappear!"
"...What?"
At Hagrid's words, Parkinson stopped screaming and looked down. The Monster Book was gnawing away at his arm—but there wasn't so much as a tooth mark on it. Not even a crease in his robes.
Parkinson grabbed the book with his free hand. It came away without the slightest resistance.
The moment he understood he'd been played, his face went scarlet.
"Harry Potter—!"
"Yes, that's my name. Thanks for remembering, Gorilla Parkinson."
Even Parkinson couldn't throw a punch in front of Hagrid. He stood there, burning with humiliation.
Harry Potter smirked at him and walked toward Hagrid.
"Those are Hippogriffs, aren't they?"
"Hm? Oh—yeah, they are."
"I read ahead, so I know how to approach them. Would it be all right if I demonstrated?"
"Would yeh? Thanks, Harry!"
Harry Potter strode toward the Hippogriffs with unhurried confidence. One of them turned to look at him. He held its gaze, then bowed with easy grace.
"Hello, Hippogriff. Magnificent beak you have. Would you give me the honour of a kiss on the neck?"
Malfoy flinched at the word kiss. The Hippogriff rose slowly and dipped its head toward Harry. With permission granted, Harry approached at a leisurely pace and stroked its feathers. The Hippogriff pressed its head against him, apparently quite pleased.
*It ought to bite him*, Malfoy thought. Clearly animals had no judgment when it came to people.
"May I ride you? Thank you."
Harry Potter swung himself onto the Hippogriff's back in one fluid motion. The creature let out a great cry and spread its wings.
The sight of him riding through the air looked like something out of an old legend—a knight astride a dragon. It was surely his first time, and yet Harry Potter circled overhead with the ease of long practice. He completed a short flight, brought the Hippogriff back to earth, gave its head a single stroke, and dropped lightly to the ground.
Not a moment's hesitation in any of it. Harry Potter finished the flight as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Wounded pride aside, even Malfoy found herself thinking, for just a moment, that it was impressive.
Crabbe and Goyle began clapping without quite meaning to. Malfoy shot them a sharp look and they stopped at once, suddenly very interested in the middle distance.
'Hmph. All because he read the book first.'
The only difference between Harry and herself was whether or not they'd read it. She had simply lacked the information. Given the same knowledge, she could have done exactly the same.
Harry Potter, back on the ground, brought his face toward the Hippogriff's nose. He appeared to be about to kiss it. Malfoy's eyes narrowed.
*He just goes around pressing his lips to anything, does he?*
There were men who would never wash their hand again if Malfoy's lips touched it—and here he was, squandering his on a beast!
Malfoy watched, bristling, to see whether his lips actually made contact.
At that moment, Harry Potter looked up and met her eyes. He grinned, pressed only the tip of his nose to the Hippogriff's muzzle, and pulled back. The feeling of having been played—again, perfectly—stung her pride, and Malfoy turned away.
Hagrid clapped his hands and called out.
"Brilliant! Ten points to Gryffindor! Right, did everyone see that? Hippogriffs are proud creatures—never be rude to one. Always wait for them to make the first move, and bow when they bow back! Go on, give it a try!"
Emboldened by Harry's success, the other students began approaching the Hippogriffs.
Neville's Hippogriff refused to bow and sent him fleeing several times. Ron and Hermione were making cautious attempts at a chestnut-coloured one.
And Malfoy, along with Crabbe and Goyle, was handed the Hippogriff Harry had ridden.
"Buckbeak? What a ridiculous name."
Malfoy muttered, eyeing the creature. She couldn't bring herself to bow to a mere beast, so she settled for a slight bend of the knees with her skirt held—still an affront to her dignity, but marginally less so.
Buckbeak studied her for a long moment, then returned the bow. Small mercy. If it hadn't, the damage to her pride would have been considerable.
'Then again, a beast that let Harry Potter on its back could hardly refuse me.'
Malfoy approached Buckbeak with her chin raised.
Outwardly, it was a rather elegant creature. Its glossy feathers ran smooth from head to hoof, and its sharp beak and eagle's eyes gave it a look of fierce composure. Malfoy reached out to stroke its neck—and her gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, to the bridge of its nose. The very spot Harry Potter had been about to press his lips to.
The thought put her in a foul mood. She looked at Buckbeak and said:
"Tch. You were fawning all over Potter like a dog. I suppose that's all one can expect from a dumb animal."
It happened in an instant. Before Malfoy could react, something flashed.
A hooked talon raked across her arm. The wound was on her arm, but her legs gave way beneath her and she went down. The pain arrived a beat late—a searing, dizzying heat that radiated from her arm outward.
"Ah—"
Blood. There was blood. Enough to soak through her robes, pouring from her arm. Her arm wouldn't move. The largest injury she had ever sustained in her life—
For someone whose worst prior wound had been a childhood scrape, being slashed by a talon was a horror beyond imagining.
"Ah—ah—"
The pain was so overwhelming that Malfoy couldn't even scream. Her mouth worked soundlessly. Tears ran down her face, and an undignified sob escaped her. Under ordinary circumstances she would have forced the tears back through sheer will—but with pain short-circuiting every rational thought, she had no such capacity left.
She hated all of it.
She hated that a mere animal had hurt her. She hated herself for sitting in the dirt, crying. She hated Hagrid for bringing the wretched thing here. She hated every last bit of it.
Hagrid was struggling to restrain Buckbeak as it lunged toward her. Everyone else stood frozen, mouths open, utterly useless.
"Bite down."
Through the pain and the humiliation, Malfoy did as the voice told her and clenched her teeth. Without a thought for the blood, someone bound her arm tightly with a cloak—and then covered her face with the remaining fabric.
There was a distinctly Muggle smell to it. Aggressively fragrant, like fabric softener poured directly from the bottle—and yet, somehow, not entirely unpleasant.
With her face hidden beneath the cloak, no one could see her. Buried in the scent of it, Malfoy let her face crumple and wept without restraint, with no one to witness her.
Someone lifted her with surprising ease and broke into a full run toward the castle.
Gasping as though his lungs might give out at any moment, Harry Potter nevertheless arrived at the hospital wing with Malfoy still in his arms. He shoved the door open and called out.
"Madam Pomfrey—patient! Her arm's been slashed by a Hippogriff's talon!"
Madam Pomfrey came rushing out in alarm.
Even after the emergency treatment was done and the bleeding had stopped, Malfoy's sobs refused to quiet. She sat with her arm bandaged, hiccupping.
"That—that beast—I'll have it killed! I'll have it killed! How dare some wretched animal do this to me? I've never bled a drop in my life—!"
"Okay. Breathe. Calm down, and use this to clean your face."
"Do I look calm to you?!"
Harry shut his mouth promptly. Malfoy wiped at her face—streaked with tears and dirt—and muttered.
"I'm writing to Father. I'll have it executed—executed! A magical creature that attacks a witch is subject to execution!"
"Isn't that a bit much? It's a wound, not—"
"Is that beast more important to you than my injury?!"
"No. That's not what I said."
There was no good answer to give. Harry exhaled quietly and dampened a cloth with water.
"All right. Let's get you healed first and think about it after. You need a clear head."
He murmured it almost to himself as he cleaned her arm. Malfoy said nothing, and let him tend to her in silence.