firecracker ???

The Monster Book of Monsters growled low from the confines of her satchel, its laced belts groaning slightly with each sway of her stride. It had taken three straps and a tight wrap of silk cord to stop it from thrashing about during breakfast, and she'd had to cast a mild freezing charm on the buckles just to make it shut up for the walk down. The thing had barked itself hoarse on the first night. Lyra, unamused, had left it wedged under her trunk until it quieted.

Now, as the class descended the sloping lawn for their very first Care of Magical Creatures lesson, the morning mist still clinging to the grass and the lake stretching pale and cold beside them, the tension among the students was palpable.

"I'm telling you," Draco said from just ahead, shifting his book bundle under one arm, "it nearly bit my hand off. If I hadn't used my Charms textbook to smash it closed, I'd be short two fingers and any future in Quidditch."

Lyra didn't bother looking at him. Her tone was dry. "It wiggled."

Draco turned, affronted. "It lunged."

"You screamed."

"I startled."

"You shrieked like the Bloody Baron."

He gave her a withering look, but she merely lifted her brow in response, composed and unrepentant. "Honestly, it was louder than the book itself."

The corner of Theo's mouth twitched, though he said nothing. Behind them, Pansy and Daphne walked together, huddled close in conversation. Blaise trailed further back, unimpressed as always. Crabbe and Goyle were stomping along behind Draco, each gripping their snarling books like they were carrying dragons on a leash.

Ahead, the paddock came into view—bordered by rough fencing and already bustling with quiet murmurs. Their classmates were gathered in a loose ring, eyeing the space beyond the gate with guarded curiosity. At the center stood Hagrid, larger than life and beaming as if the sun itself rose just to witness his lesson.

"Right then!" he called, waving a hand over his shoulder. "Got a real treat for yeh today—first lesson and all!"

The enthusiasm in his voice made Lyra suppress a sigh. There was no telling what Hagrid considered a "treat."

That question was quickly answered.

Hippogriffs.

Half a dozen of them, at least, prowled through the grass behind the paddock, feathers gleaming in the morning light, talons carving small furrows into the ground. They were magnificent, she had to admit—sleek and powerful, with proud, raptor-sharp eyes and wings like unfurled banners.

Hagrid launched into his speech, arms flailing as he demonstrated the etiquette of bowing and waiting, stressing the importance of respect and tone. His instructions weren't wrong, per se—they were simply chaotic. She already knew the proper behavior. Narcissa had made certain both Malfoy children understood the nuances of magical creature diplomacy before they were even allowed near the family owlery, let alone dangerous beasts.

No one volunteered.

Then, predictably, Harry Potter stepped forward.

He bowed without hesitation. The Hippogriff—Buckbeak—considered him with a steady, amber gaze, and after a tense moment, returned the gesture with a shallow bow of its own.

There were hushed cheers behind her. Hagrid clapped enthusiastically. Potter climbed onto the creature's back and took to the sky, circling the paddock in a slow, wide arc. The wind tangled through his hair. He looked confident. Impossibly pleased with himself.

Lyra did not clap. She watched with cool detachment.

When he landed, Draco made a soft, scoffing noise. "Of course."