Starlit Death ✹ harry potter (on hold)

𝖝𝖝𝖝𝖛𝖎𝖎. a sight for sore eyes

              It was with a certain amount of apprehension that Ascella, Harry, Ron and Hermione headed down to Hagrid's on Tuesday, heavily muffled against the cold. Ascella was worried, not only about what Hagrid might have decided to teach them, but also about how the rest of the class, particularly Malfoy and his cronies, would behave if Umbridge was watching them. Hagrid had a habit of teaching them about some dangerous creatures, and she wished that he would be smart and teach them something safe and, even, boring.

              However, the High Inquisitor was nowhere to be seen as they struggled through the snow towards Hagrid, who stood waiting for them on the edge of the Forest. He did not present a reassuring sight; the bruises that had been purple on Saturday night were now tinged with green and yellow and some of his cuts still seemed to be bleeding. Ascella could not understand this: had Hagrid perhaps been attacked by some creature whose venom prevented the wounds it inflicted from healing? As though to complete the ominous picture, Hagrid was carrying what looked like half a dead cow over his shoulder.

              "We're workin' in here today!" Hagrid called happily to the approaching students, jerking his head back at the dark trees behind him. "Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark."

              "What prefers the dark?" Harry heard Malfoy say sharply to Crabbe and Goyle, a trace of panic in his voice. "What did he say prefers the dark — did you hear?"

              "Scared, Malfoy?" taunted Ascella, smirking mockingly. "Need someone to hold your hand?"

              "Fuck off, Black," snapped Malfoy, tinging with pink.

              "Ready?" said Hagrid cheerfully, looking around at the class. "Right, well, I've bin savin' a trip inter the Forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an' see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studyin' today is pretty rare, I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train 'em."

              "And you're sure they're trained, are you?" said Malfoy, the panic in his voice even more pronounced. "Only it wouldn't be the first time you'd brought wild stuff to class, would it?"

              The Slytherins murmured agreement and a few Gryffindors looked as though they thought Malfoy had a fair point, too.

              "Course they're trained," said Hagrid, scowling and hoisting the dead cow a little higher on his shoulder.

              "So what happened to your face, then?" demanded Malfoy.

              "Mind yer own business!" said Hagrid, angrily. "Now, if yeh've finished askin' stupid questions, follow me!"

              He turned and strode straight into the Forest. Nobody seemed much disposed to follow. Harry glanced at Ascella, Ron and Hermione, who sighed but nodded, and the three of them set off after Hagrid, leading the rest of the class.

              They walked for about ten minutes until they reached a place where the trees stood so closely together that it was as dark as twilight and there was no snow at all on the ground. With a grunt, Hagrid deposited his half a cow on the ground, stepped back and turned to face his class, most of whom were creeping from tree to tree towards him, peering around nervously as though expecting to be set upon at any moment.

              "Gather roun', gather roun'," Hagrid encouraged. "Now, they'll be attracted by the smell o' the meat but I'm goin' ter give 'em a call anyway, 'cause they'll like ter know it's me."

              He turned, shook his shaggy head to get the hair out of his face and gave an odd, shrieking cry that echoed through the dark trees like the call of some monstrous bird. Nobody laughed: most of them looked too scared to make a sound.