"Oh, my dear boy," Professor Trelawney murmured, her eyes wide behind her oversized glasses. "You bear a dark omen..."
Harry shifted uncomfortably under her intense gaze, feeling a pang of guilt for no reason at all.
"It's no laughing matter—it's the Grim! A massive black dog, the harbinger of death itself!"
Her dramatic words drew Harry's eyes back to his teacup, where a few damp leaves had indeed formed a vague shape resembling a shaggy hound. He stared, heart pounding.
Argus, standing nearby, shook his head with a faint sigh. If she'd stopped at the dog, he might've bought into the tea-leaf nonsense—after all, it had hinted at Sirius Black's arrival. But calling it a symbol of death? Ridiculous. Sirius would sooner challenge Dumbledore to a duel than harm Harry. More likely, the Daily Prophet's sensational headlines about the escaped convict had primed everyone to see doom in every shadow.
Harry, of course, had no such insight. Trelawney's vague warnings sank their hooks in deep, convincing him he was staring mortality in the face. The rest of Divination passed in a haze; he barely registered the lesson, and when Ron suggested a quick game of chess later, Harry just shrugged him off.
The gloom lingered through lunch, only lifting slightly that afternoon as the third-years trudged toward Hagrid's first Care of Magical Creatures class. Things were cooler between Harry and Hagrid now compared to the old days—the betrayal with Ron had left scars, even if forgiveness had come. They were still mates, but the easy warmth was gone, like a thorn under the skin.
Ron, ever the optimist, nudged Harry as they walked. "You don't seriously buy that Grim rubbish tying into Sirius, do you? Trelawney's a right old fraud—loony as a hippogriff with a head cold."
He paused, fumbling for the word. "Anyway, what d'you reckon Hagrid's got lined up? Better not be another of his 'adorable' beasts. You know him—anything with fangs or claws is a 'sweetheart' in his book."
By then, they'd reached the paddock near Hagrid's hut, where a cluster of students milled about. Hagrid beamed from his doorstep, his massive frame dwarfing the group as he waved them over with a ham-sized hand.
"Come on, you lot! No dawdlin'. Got summat special today—proper thrilling. Follow me!"
Argus scanned the area warily, relaxing only when no suspiciously large pens or rustling crates came into view. The class trailed Hagrid to the Forbidden Forest's fringe, the air thick with pine and damp earth.
"Right, everyone, out with yer books," Hagrid boomed, his voice booming a touch too loud from nerves. He'd blanked on the lesson plan he'd rehearsed with Argus. "We're studyin' our first creature today!"
Argus flipped open his Monster Book of Monsters and caught Hagrid's eye from the front row, nodding subtly. Hagrid fumbled in his coat, yanking out his own copy with a sheepish grin.
Panic rippled through the students. Most had wrestled their books shut with spells or ropes just to carry them—undulating spines and snapping teeth weren't exactly beginner-friendly. As they struggled to open them now, chaos erupted: pages fluttered like angry bats, covers gnashed at fingers.
Ron wrestled his with one hand while loosening the binding cord, muttering under his breath. "Bloody hell, why'd Hagrid pick this nightmare? Can't even crack it open without losing a hand—forget teaching from it."
Hagrid froze, hands hovering uselessly as the pandemonium grew. He looked lost, sweat beading on his brow.
Argus drew his wand and tapped his throat lightly—Sonorus—his voice amplifying just enough to cut through the din. "Quiet down, everyone. Leave the bindings on your Monster Books for now. Professor Hagrid's got the trick to tame them."
The noise ebbed, heads turning. Hagrid shot Argus a grateful look, then lumbered forward, hoisting his book high like a trophy.
"No need to fret, yeh lot. This here's not as fierce as she seems." He flipped it over and ran a thick finger along the spine. Instantly, the book went slack, its growls fading to a limp flop—just an ordinary tome.
A ripple of awe spread through the class.
"So that's the secret! No wonder Hagrid chose it—simple once you know."
"Brilliant! Mine's been a terror—nearly shredded my Potions notes last week. Mum'll have my hide if I buy another."
"Works like a charm!"
One by one, they mimicked Hagrid, stroking the spines until their books surrendered. The clearing fell silent, tension draining away. Hagrid exhaled heavily, wiping his palms on his moleskin coat—mere minutes, and he'd already broken a sweat.
"Grand, now line up proper. Turn to page seventeen."
Ron scowled at Argus, untying his rope anyway. "Thinks he's the teacher's pet, ordering everyone about. Hagrid's the prof here—who's he to boss?"
As he reached for the spine, his book sensed freedom and lunged, teeth clamping Ron's sleeve. He yelped, flailing wildly as it shredded fabric and nipped skin.
Harry dashed over, grabbing the cover to yank it free. "Hold still—I've got it!"
Ron thrashed harder. "No, Harry—don't rip it! Mum'll kill me if I wreck another book!"
Harry paused, then stroked the spine instead. The book deflated with a pitiful whine, and Ron shook it off, nursing his arm and grumbling about "cursed textbooks."
Hagrid's face fell, the mishap throwing him off-kilter. He stood there, forgotten lesson plan swirling in his head.
Argus cleared his throat twice, stepping in smoothly. "Professor, we're all on page seventeen. What's on the agenda for today?"
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