By the time dinner rolled around, the Great Hall was abuzz with scattered gossip and murmured conversation. Golden light spilled from the enchanted ceiling, where twilight clouds drifted lazily, casting an amber hue over the four house tables. Cael sat alone at the Gryffindor table, halfway through a roasted chicken leg and some mashed potatoes, when he noticed something strange—every few minutes, students from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables would glance his way and whisper.
At first, he thought nothing of it. He was used to being the subject of rumors by now. But something in their tones made him confused .
He leaned slightly toward the twins sitting farther down the table. "What's going on?" he asked Fred.
Fred glanced at him. "You haven't heard yet?"
"About what?"
Just then, the Great Hall doors opened, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped inside. They didn't go to their usual spots immediately. Their heads were low, their faces drawn tight. Hermione looked pale, Ron was fuming, and Harry—Harry looked like he might punch through the next solid surface he saw.
They walked over and sat beside Cael without a word.
"What happened?" Cael asked quietly, setting down his fork. "I've been hearing whispers since I came in. Something about Hagrid?"
Hermione was the first to speak, her voice tight and quiet. "It's Malfoy. He—he ruined everything."
Ron snorted angrily. "He completely overreacted. Guy's always looking for a reason to get someone in trouble. And now Hagrid's a wreck."
Harry slammed his hand on the table suddenly, making several first-years jump. "It was going perfectly fine until he showed up."
"Start from the beginning," Cael said calmly, though his voice was edged. "What happened?"
Hermione clasped her hands in front of her and inhaled deeply. "Hagrid introduced the Hippogriffs just like he did with your class. He brought out Buckbeak, and everything was going well—Harry even rode him."
Cael's brows lifted. "You did?"
Harry nodded stiffly. "Yeah. He was amazing. We connected right away. It was actually one of the best moments I've had this year."
Hermione went on. "But then Malfoy took his turn. He didn't bow properly, Cael. He mocked Buckbeak—called him names. Called him a great ugly brute and said Hagrid was showing off a useless creature."
Ron jumped in, voice rising, "Buckbeak warned him. It even pawed the ground like it was upset. Malfoy kept pushing it. And then—well, Buckbeak lashed out."
Cael went still. "What did he do?"
"He scratched Malfoy's arm. Just a scratch," Harry said bitterly. "Nothing that couldn't be healed in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey fixed him up in five minutes."
"But," Hermione added darkly, "Malfoy started screaming bloody murder. Cried out like he was dying, claiming he'd been mauled."
Ron growled under his breath. "He milked it. Played it up in front of everyone. The Slytherins started shouting, saying the creature was dangerous and needed to be destroyed."
Cael looked down at his plate, appetite gone.
"And Hagrid?" he asked.
Hermione's eyes shimmered. "He's devastated. Thinks he's going to be sacked. When we went to see him after class, he was crying into a bucket of ferret food."
"He kept saying, 'I shoulda never done it… shoulda never brought 'em out first day…'," Harry murmured. "It wasn't his fault. Malfoy knew exactly what he was doing."
Cael clenched his jaw. "Of course he did."
Just then, the doors to the Great Hall swung open again. Draco Malfoy strutted in, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. His arm was bandaged in layers of white linen, held in a sling like he'd been hit with a Bludger. He walked dramatically, wincing with every step as if he had just come from battle.
"Oh, look who's here," Ron muttered, eyes narrowing.
"He's laying it on thicker than a mountain troll," Harry hissed.
Malfoy passed the Gryffindor table, throwing a smug glance at Harry and deliberately pausing near their seats. He turned his injured arm slightly toward them, as if to show it off.
"I suppose not everyone can handle dangerous creatures," he drawled in his usual theatrical tone. "Some of us weren't raised in the company of monsters."
Ron stood up abruptly, knocking over his goblet. "It was a scratch, Malfoy! You're acting like he bit your arm off!"
Malfoy put a hand to his chest in mock offense. "A scratch? You call this a scratch?" He lifted the sling ever so slightly, careful to wince again. "This could scar for life. And when my father hears how Hogwarts let a savage beast loose on a student—"
"Oh, here we go," Cael muttered, standing up slowly. "Lucius Malfoy to the rescue. Must be nice having a father whose job is to bully the Ministry into doing whatever he wants."
Malfoy blinked, taken slightly off guard by Cal's icy tone. "And what would you know about the Ministry, Black?"
"I know enough to recognize a performance when I see one," Cael said calmly. "Should've joined the school drama club."
The table burst into stifled laughter, even a few Ravenclaws nearby grinning at the jab.
Malfoy's face tightened. Without another word, he turned and stormed off to the Slytherin table, where he was immediately fawned over by Pansy Parkinson and a few others.
As the noise resumed around the hall, Ron dropped back into his seat. "You'd think he survived a dragon attack."
Harry didn't sit. He stared hard at the Slytherin table.
"I'm going to talk to Dumbledore," he said at last. "Hagrid doesn't deserve this. None of it."
Hermione nodded. "We should all do something. We can't let them take Buckbeak away because of him."
Cael leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Agreed. But we have to be smart. If Lucius Malfoy's involved, he'll try to push the Ministry into an example punishment. Not just for Hagrid—but for magical creatures overall."
Ron groaned. "That's ridiculous. What are we supposed to do? Put on a protest?"
Cael didn't answer at once. His eyes were locked on Draco, who was now dramatically retelling the story to an enraptured Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott.
"No," Cael said slowly. "But we can gather evidence. Witnesses. Anyone who saw what happened. If we can prove Malfoy antagonized Buckbeak, the board won't be able to pin it all on Hagrid."
Harry looked up sharply. "You'd help?"
Cael smirked. "Wouldn't be much of a Gryffindor if I didn't and also Hagrid is my friend too ."
————
Cael sat quietly at the far end of the Gryffindor table, watching the flicker of torchlight dance along the stone walls of the Great Hall. His food lay untouched. Across the room, Draco Malfoy was still parading his bandaged arm like some tragic war hero, milking the attention of his housemates at the Slytherin table. Cael could already hear the whispers spreading, the smug smirks, the twisted version of events gaining momentum like wildfire on dry grass.
He exhaled slowly, the irritation smoldering just beneath the surface.
"All of it happened just like the books," he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough to hear himself. "Even after I warned Hagrid. Nothing changed."
A faint presence stirred beside his consciousness—like a soft breeze brushing past his thoughts. Then came the voice, low and velvety, with the cadence of someone who had watched centuries pass.
"Some events must remain," said the voice—feminine, calm, familiar. "Not because they are easy… but because they are necessary."
Cael's expression twisted into a frown. "Necessary?" he echoed sharply. "What was necessary about letting that idiot provoke a hippogriff and turn the whole thing into a Ministry affair? I told Hagrid to be careful. I warned him, and yet—here we are. Just like the script."
There was a pause before she spoke again.
"Not all warnings are enough to change what is woven deeply into the pattern. This incident… it matters. Not for Malfoy. Not even for Hagrid. But for Harry."
Cael narrowed his eyes. "Harry? Right—because letting Hagrid cry alone in his hut somehow builds character?"
"Because loss teaches what comfort cannot," she replied gently. "Because justice unearned makes one soft. Harry must learn to fight for someone else. To struggle. To feel helpless—and still choose to act. That's what forges leaders. That's what tempers hearts."
Cael leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low.
"Funny. I remember it differently," he said coldly. "If I recall, it was Hermione who did most of the work. She was the one holding everything together. Running between classes with that damn time-turner, sleeping barely two hours a night, researching case law and magical creatures, begging professors for help. Harry and Ron? They tagged along. Hermione carried the weight."
The voice was quiet for a long moment. Then—
"You're not wrong." There was a note of something like… regret in her tone. "Hermione is the unsung fulcrum. She always has been. But this story is not always about recognition. Sometimes, it's about what others learn from those who act when no one else does."
Cael's gaze drifted upward to the enchanted ceiling above, now painted in a deep, starlit velvet.