— — — — — —
After the success of last week's class, Hagrid's confidence had inflated to about the size of his body. Teaching didn't seem so hard anymore. The students had listened, nobody had died, and the practical work had gone surprisingly well.
Naturally, Hagrid decided he was ready for the real deal.
He wanted to show them something cuter this time—something that fit the official lesson plan. Hogwarts' grounds were full of magical creatures, and today's pick was one of his personal favorites: the majestic Hippogriff.
"Give me just a minute, everyone. Take out your textbooks first!"
Hagrid waved from a distance, leading the Hippogriff into a fenced enclosure before calling the class over.
"Alright, open your books to page—" He froze mid-sentence.
Because what greeted him was a scene straight out of a nightmare.
For third-year students studying Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid chose The Monster Book of Monsters as the standard textbook.
But now—
Some students had their books tied up with rope. Others had glued theirs shut. One copy looked like it had been through a duel—it was covered in whip marks.
"What've you done to your books?" Hagrid asked, horrified.
Draco sneered. "Tied it up, obviously. Unless you wanted it to bite me again?"
Parvati Patil held up her book gingerly. "I glued its mouth shut. Are you sure this is supposed to be a textbook?"
Rosier snorted. "Mine wouldn't behave until I smacked it a few times. Works fine now."
"Same here," Zabini said, giving her a thumbs-up. "Great minds think alike."
Nott winced. "You guys sound like trauma survivors, not students."
Hagrid stood there speechless, listening to their chaotic explanations. This… can't be right.
"This isn't… how you're supposed to handle them," he said helplessly. "You just give the spine a gentle stroke—like this—and they'll calm right down."
Pansy Parkinson looked ready to explode. "Then why didn't you say that earlier?! Do you know how many of my new robes this stupid book destroyed?"
"I… thought you knew…" Hagrid mumbled awkwardly. Still, once the students tried his method and saw their books relax, they started to believe him again. Hagrid breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to lead out his prized creature.
A wave of wild, dangerous energy filled the air. The students immediately backed up several steps. The Hippogriff's eagle eyes gleamed with predatory sharpness; no one dared meet its gaze.
"Don't be scared!" Hagrid said quickly, gripping the chain tighter. "He won't hurt you! Buckbeak's a real sweetheart!"
Unfortunately, Hagrid's reputation as an authority figure wasn't exactly solid. His words didn't do much to calm the class. The students didn't stop retreating until they were at least ten meters away.
Hagrid sighed and gave up trying to close the distance. "Alright, we'll do it from here then. Can anyone tell me what this creature is?"
Tom raised his hand, and Hagrid beamed. "Tom! Go ahead."
"The Hippogriff is a Class XXX magical creature," Tom began smoothly. "It's the offspring of a griffin and a mare. They feed mainly on small animals and birds, have extremely sharp eyesight and talons, and are natural-born hunters. Only skilled wizards can properly train them."
He subtly emphasized that last part, though Hagrid didn't seem to catch the hint.
"Excellent! Twenty points to Slytherin!" Hagrid announced proudly.
A few groans rippled through the crowd. Normally, answering correctly would earn one or two points at most. But everyone had long since gotten used to it—no one even bothered to complain anymore. Ever since Tom showed up, the House Cup might as well have been pre-assigned to Slytherin.
That was one of Tom's main reasons for taking this class: easy points.
He couldn't help but sigh inwardly. "Ah, the good old days of Quirrell and Laos... simpler times."
"Harry!" Hagrid called suddenly. "Come up here and show everyone how to approach Buckbeak. It's simple, really." He patted Harry on the shoulder and whispered, "Help me out here, will ya?"
Well, with that kind of plea, Harry couldn't exactly refuse.
Following Hagrid's instructions carefully, he managed to win Buckbeak's trust and even got to ride the creature. The class watched in awe as he soared gracefully over the grounds, looping around the castle under the bright morning sun.
Watching Harry fly freely through the sky, everyone's fear started melting into envy and excitement.
To be fair, the Hippogriff was gorgeous—broad wings, gleaming feathers, regal and powerful. Both the boys and girls were captivated.
Tom had seen a few of them before in the Forbidden Forest, but since they weren't useful for potion ingredients, he'd never bothered interacting with them.
When Harry landed, several students eagerly volunteered to try next. Hagrid's grin was wide enough to split his beard as he hurried off into the forest and returned with ten more Hippogriffs he'd prepared earlier.
"See? Nothing to it!" he said proudly.
Draco, watching the others succeed one after another, snorted. "They're just beasts. Why should I have to bow to one?" He stepped forward arrogantly.
"Draco."
Tom's calm voice stopped him in his tracks. Draco turned, frowning slightly.
"You know what real pride is? It's knowing when not to pretend you understand something you don't. If Hagrid tells you to do it this way, there's a reason. Don't be clever for the sake of it—you'll only end up in trouble."
Draco didn't fully grasp what Tom meant, but he understood the tone well enough. Shrinking his neck a little, he nodded quickly. "Got it, Tom."
After that, things went smoothly. Draco obediently followed the steps, earned the hippogriff's approval, and even took a short flight himself.
When he landed, he muttered that it wasn't such a big deal, but his feet carried him right back into line for another turn.
Riding a magical creature was far more thrilling than a broomstick—it felt real, like the sky itself had accepted you.
Just as Tom thought the class might end peacefully, something went wrong.
Zabini had just landed, grinning ear to ear. But in his excitement, he accidentally yanked out a few feathers from his hippogriff's flank. The beast shrieked in pain, reared up, and flung Zabini into the air.
Gasps filled the field. The students could only watch as Zabini tumbled toward the ground—until an invisible force caught him midair and set him down safely beside Tom.
"Thanks, Tom," Zabini said shakily, still pale. "I thought I was about to break every bone I've got."
"No harm done," Tom replied, brushing it off.
Hagrid rushed over, panting, his face tight with worry. "Zabini! You all right? Merlin's beard, what happened to Buckbeak? Why'd he go crazy like that?"
Zabini didn't answer. He just opened his palm impatiently—where a few long feathers still stuck between his fingers.
The moment Hagrid saw them, he froze, then let out a heavy sigh of relief. "Ah. Okay. No harm done then, no harm done." He patted his chest, then glanced at Tom with gratitude. "Slytherin, twenty points!"
When class ended, Tom told Hermione and Daphne to head back to the castle first. He stayed behind, waiting until Hagrid returned from leading the hippogriffs back to the forest.
The half-giant looked surprised to see him still there. "Tom? Something wrong?"
"Not with me," Tom said, tone dry. "You're the one in trouble."
Hagrid blinked. "What? Trouble? You saved Zabini! Everything turned out fine!"
Tom's patience was thin. "This time, yes. Next time? Maybe not. You're the professor, Hagrid, not me. What if Zabini had fallen and broken his neck today? You think his mother—the Black Widow of the Zabini family—would've just let it go?"
Hagrid's face drained of color. Tom pressed on, his voice cold and steady. "If the Ministry got involved—and it would—the purebloods would demand your head. You wouldn't just lose your job. You'd be lucky if Azkaban didn't come calling."
Hagrid stammered, "I—it can't be that serious, can it? He didn't mean to, I didn't mean to, it was all just an accident—"
Tom cut him off. "When a student and a creature get into a fight, it's always the creature's fault—or yours, if you're the one teaching."
He glanced toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where the shapes of the hippogriffs were still faintly visible through the trees. "Hagrid, neither Zabini nor the hippogriff did anything wrong. The one who messed up is you. You can't run a class safely, and that's your job."
His voice softened just slightly—but it was the softness of a blade pressed against skin. "I helped today because Zabini's working for me. And because you've helped me with materials and the Acromantula colony. But if something like this happens again—especially when I'm not there—you'll be lucky if a prison cell is all you get."
Leaving those words behind, Tom turned and walked away.
Hagrid stood rooted to the spot, his enormous frame trembling, shirt soaked through with sweat. Fear and shame twisted in his heart.
He wasn't stupid. Slow, maybe—but not beyond saving. The success of last week's class had clearly gone to his head. Now that Tom had spelled it out for him, even Hagrid could see how close he'd come to disaster.
And he knew Slytherins well enough: if Zabini had been seriously hurt, neither he nor Buckbeak would've heard the end of it.
He shivered, every ounce of false confidence draining away. Without another word, he lumbered back into the forest to find safer, gentler creatures for next time.
...
The next day, the fourth-years came back from Care of Magical Creatures practically glowing with delight.
That day's lesson was on fire foxes—tiny, bright-furred creatures that looked like living embers. Every girl in class fell in love instantly, cooing and scribbling notes in their journals, while the boys took advantage of the chaos to chat up their crushes. Everyone left the lesson happy.
"Why does it feel like Hagrid has something against us third-years?" Daph pouted. "Why don't we get to take care of the fire foxes?"
Tom chuckled. "Maybe next time. Don't worry about it."
She grumbled a bit but let it go. Tom could only sigh inwardly—now he understood why Dumbledore always seemed tired after staff meetings. If Hagrid weren't the only one besides himself who could walk freely in the Acromantula nest, Tom would've washed his hands of him entirely.
Still, one warning was enough. If Hagrid messed up again, it wouldn't be Tom's problem anymore. He could always pack up the giant spiders and ship them off to his dear Newt Scamander.
When he stepped into Defense Against the Dark Arts that afternoon, the students were already seated, books and quills neatly lined up. The chatter died down as Professor Lupin entered the room, carrying a battered suitcase and wearing a mild, friendly smile.
He set the case on the desk, dusted his hands, and looked up at them.
"Good afternoon, everyone," he said warmly. "You can put your books away. Today's a practical lesson—you'll only need your wands."
That one sentence sent a ripple of excitement through the class.
It was the exact same kind of opening their last professor, the amazing Laos Wilkinson, used to give.
Could it be? Another legendary professor?
The students leaned forward eagerly, anticipation buzzing in the air.
.
.
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