Thursday, September 2, 1993

  Today marked my first official css as Professor of Care of Magical Creatures.

  One would think such an occasion would be met with universal excitement, eager anticipation, perhaps even a modest round of appuse.

  Instead, it was being greeted by Hagrid sulking like an overgrown child.

  The man, no, the half-giant, stood a few paces away from me at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, arms crossed, beard bristling, radiating disappointment so thick it could have been bottled and sold as a potion ingredient.

  “I’m jus’ sayin’, Professor,” Hagrid grumbled for what had to be the fifth time. “Third-years’re old enough fer hippogriffs. Buckbeak’s a beauty. Gentle as anythin’ if yeh show ’im respect.”

  “Yes, Hagrid,” I replied patiently, for the fifth time as well. “And I am absolutely looking forward to introducing hippogriffs ter in the year.”

  He shot me a look that suggested this was not nearly good enough.

  “But,” I continued smoothly, “perhaps it’s wise to first establish whether our dear students can behave responsibly around creatures that won’t disembowel them for a mispced sneeze.”

  Hagrid opened his mouth, then shut it again, clearly wrestling with the unfairness of logic.

  “Hypogriffs are proud creatures,” I added. “They demand respect. And while I have every faith in Hogwarts students… I would rather not spend my first week expining to parents why their children are missing limbs.”

  Hagrid huffed. “They’d’ve been fine.”

  “I’m sure,” I said kindly. “But let’s save Buckbeak for when the students have proven they can follow instructions without turning it into a contact sport.”

  That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say, as he went back to sulking.

  We were stationed at the familiar clearing just outside the Forbidden Forest, the boundary marked clearly enough to discourage the reckless without ruining the atmosphere. Preparations for the lesson were complete, enclosures set, wards checked, everything arranged exactly as I wanted it.

  Hagrid and I had worked side by side for the better part of an hour.

  The results, however, were… visually distinct.

  Hagrid was covered head to toe in dirt. His coat looked like it had fought the ground and lost. Mud streaked his boots, his hands, even his beard, though how that happened was anyone’s guess.

  I, meanwhile, was immacute.

  My robes were pristine. My sleeves spotless. My boots gleamed faintly in the sunlight. Even my nails, despite having helped dig, lift, and arrange, remained perfectly manicured.

  Hagrid eyed my hands suspiciously. “How d’yeh do that?” he muttered.

  “Good habits,” I replied. “And excellent personal charms.”

  Students began arriving in clusters, voices carrying ahead of them. Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs trickled in together, Ravencws followed shortly after, already discussing what creatures they might be seeing today.

  The Slytherins, of course, arrived as one unified group, as they always do.

  A single, coordinated entrance, all cool expressions and measured strides, presenting a perfectly polished front to the rest of the school. I knew better than most that inside their common room, it was political warfare and social maneuvering at its finest, but outwardly? United. Efficient. It was honestly impressive.

  What truly caught my attention, however, was the number of students.

  Every single third-year had shown up.

  Not a single one missing.

  Care of Magical Creatures had always been popur but never this unanimously. In fact, it was unprecedented. I knew for a fact that several students had dropped Divination, Muggle Studies, Arithmancy, and even Ancient Runes the moment word spread that I would be teaching this course.

  Fame, when wielded responsibly, was a powerful educational tool.

  I straightened slightly, csped my hands behind my back, and surveyed the growing crowd with a satisfied smile.

  …

  Once everyone was here, I cpped my hands lightly, drawing the students’ attention.

  “Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome to your very first Care of Magical Creatures lesson of the year,” I said warmly. “Before we begin, allow me to introduce my assistant, the one and only Rubeus Hagrid.”

  Hagrid gave an awkward wave, still dusted head to toe in soil, and muttered a bashful greeting that sounded suspiciously like a cough.

  “Today’s topic,” I continued smoothly, “is the ever-fascinating Niffler.”

  A ripple of interest ran through the css.

  “Now then,” I said, folding my hands behind my back, “who can tell me what a Niffler is?”

  As expected, Hermione Granger’s hand shot up so fast I feared she might dislocate her shoulder.

  “Yes, Miss Granger.”

  “A Niffler is a long-snouted burrowing creature,” she recited promptly, “often described as a cross between a ptypus and a mole. They’re attracted to shiny objects and are frequently used in treasure hunting. They also have a pouch on their bellies that works like an Undetectable Extension Charm for them to store their treasures.”

  “Excellent,” I said approvingly. “Five points to Gryffindor.”

  Hermione beamed.

  “Anyone care to add something?” I asked, scanning the css.

  To my genuine surprise, a thick finger rose from the Slytherin side of the clearing.

  Gregory Goyle.

  For a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause.

  “Yes… Mr Goyle?” I prompted, keeping my tone neutral.

  “They’re used by curse breakers too,” he said slowly, as if double-checking each word before releasing it. “To find hidden vaults and treasures. Some of ’em are trained for surveilnce, followin’ enchanted metals an’ all.”

  Silence.

  Every student stared at him as though he’d just revealed himself to be a disguised Ravencw using Polyjuice Potion. Even Draco Malfoy looked faintly betrayed.

  I blinked once.

  Then smiled.

  “Marvellous answer, Mr Goyle,” I said sincerely. “Five points to Slytherin.”

  Goyle froze, eyes widening in pure disbelief.

  I could have sworn he looked around, as if expecting someone to tell him it was a joke.

  Judging by his expression, it might very well have been the first house points he’d ever earned in his Hogwarts career.

  And honestly?

  Good for him.

  …

  I turned toward Hagrid with a flourish of my hand. “Rubeus, if you would do the honours?”

  Hagrid perked up immediately, sulk forgotten, and reached for the rge wooden crate at his feet. It was reinforced with iron bands and riddled with breathing holes, the wood subtly vibrating with movement from inside.

  “Right then,” he said cheerfully, hauling it forward and setting it down with a solid thump. “Gather ’round, everyone. Don’ be shy now. They won’ attack… ’less you try nickin’ their treasure, o’ course.”

  That earned a few nervous ughs.

  Hagrid undid the tches and lifted the lid.

  Inside were eight Nifflers, snuffling and squeaking, their long snouts twitching excitedly as the lid opened. Four were glossy bck, two a warm earthy brown, and two a striking teal shade I rarely saw outside specialized breeders. Several immediately began pawing at the crate’s edges, clearly offended at the ck of gold within arm’s reach.

  A collective gasp rippled through the css.

  “Magnificent creatures,” I said proudly. “And very motivated ones.”

  I csped my hands behind my back and raised my voice just enough to recim everyone’s attention. “Now then, today’s lesson will include a small… competition.”

  That single word did wonders.

  “Hagrid and I,” I continued smoothly, “have hidden one thousand golden Galleons within the warded area behind us.”

  The reaction was instantaneous.

  Eyes widened. Mouths fell open. Ron Weasley made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a strangled squeak.

  “Yes, yes,” I said indulgently. “I know. Do try not to faint.”

  I gestured toward the Nifflers. “You’ll be divided by house and gender. Each house gets two Nifflers: one assigned to the girls, one to the boys.”

  I pointed out the colored ribbons tied neatly around each Niffler’s neck. “Green for Slytherin, yellow for Hufflepuff, red for Gryffindor, and blue for Ravencw. The second ribbon indicates group assignment, pink for girls, blue for boys.”

  The Nifflers, blissfully unaware of the academic framework being imposed on them, continued snuffling and pawing at the crate.

  “The goal,” I went on, “is simple. Whichever Niffler gathers the most Galleons wins. You may guide them, encourage them, reposition them, but no magic, and no stealing coins from another group’s Niffler.”

  Ron Weasley’s hand shot up like a rocket.

  “Yes, Mr Weasley?” I prompted.

  He swallowed. “Er… is there a prize for the winning team?”

  I chuckled, because honestly, the boy walked right into it.

  “Of course,” I said lightly. “The winning team may keep the Galleons their Niffler collects… and divide them amongst themselves.”

  The clearing erupted.

  Cheers, gasps, frantic whispers. Several students immediately began doing mental arithmetic. I caught a few boys sharing conspiratorial grins.

  Not everyone was celebrating, though.

  Hermione Granger’s brow furrowed, lips pursed as she eyed me with suspicion. Daphne Greengrass wore much the same expression, cool and calcuting, already assessing angles and probabilities rather than coin totals.

  I smiled to myself.

  A lesson involving magical creatures, teamwork, observation, restraint… and a healthy incentive?

  Honestly, I was beginning to think Care of Magical Creatures had been tragically underestimated as a subject.

  …

  I cpped my hands once, sharply. “Alright then, treasure hunters. Release!”

  Hagrid opened the crate, and eight Nifflers spilled out like furry cannonballs, snouts twitching as if the very air offended them by not already being gold. The moment their paws hit the forest floor, they froze, heads snapping in unison toward the warded area.

  Then chaos erupted.

  They dug.

  Merlin, did they dig.

  Earth flew in every direction as the Nifflers vanished underground with delighted squeaks, reappearing seconds ter several feet away like particurly greedy moles. Students shouted advice at once.

  “Over there!”

  “No, that way!”

  “Stop, stop, don’t eat it, grab it!”

  I stepped back beside Hagrid, folding my arms, and allowed myself a proud smile. Engaged students. Educational chaos. Controlled danger. Textbook perfection.

  The Gryffindor boys’ Niffler immediately proved itself a menace, surfacing with three Galleons already stuffed into its pouch and diving again before Ron could even finish cheering. The Hufflepuff girls’ Niffler, slower but methodical, dug in neat little spirals, resurfacing every so often to deposit coins like it was bancing a checkbook. Ravencw’s pair seemed to be… thinking, pausing frequently, heads tilted, before digging with unnerving precision.

  And then there were the Slytherins.

  Draco Malfoy stood with his arms crossed, scowling down at the sleek bck Niffler assigned to the Slytherin boys. It had surfaced empty-pouched, sniffed disdainfully at the soil, and wandered off at its own pace.

  “Well?” Draco snapped. “Are you broken or just stupid?”

  Several heads turned.

  I raised an eyebrow but didn’t intervene. This was, after all, a learning experience.

  The Niffler stopped.

  Then slowly, very slowly, it turned its head and looked up at Draco.

  Then, with an offended little chuff, it lunged.

  “Hey!”

  Too te.

  The Niffler’s snout shot straight into Draco’s robes and reemerged a second ter with a handful of jingling coins, Draco’s pocket money, by the sound of it. With a triumphant squeal, it dove underground again, leaving Draco staring at his suddenly lighter robes in stunned silence.

  Crabbe leaned over. “Uh… Draco?”

  “My money,” Draco hissed. “It took my money!”

  I cleared my throat pleasantly. “Mr Malfoy, do remember, Nifflers are attracted to shiny objects and they don't shy away from stealing. Insulting them tends to make you qualify as a potential victim.”

  A few snickers rippled through the css. Even some Slytherins failed to suppress their smiles.

  Meanwhile, the hunt intensified.

  Hermione was kneeling beside the Gryffindor girls’ Niffler, calmly directing it with short, precise instructions, while Lavender pointed out disturbed soil patterns. Their Niffler began resurfacing with arming regurity, storing coin after coin into its pouch.

  Daphne Greengrass, to my mild delight, was doing something simir for the Slytherin girls, quietly analyzing where the wards subtly bent magic and pcing their teal Niffler accordingly. Sharp girl. Very sharp.

  By the thirty-minute mark, Hagrid blew a horn loud enough to startle birds from the treetops.

  “Time’s up!”

  One by one, the Nifflers were gently coaxed back into the crate, some reluctantly, some proudly clutching their final winnings. Hagrid and I counted the coins, stacking them neatly while the students craned their necks.

  “Alright,” I announced, tapping the st pile into pce. “Results.”

  I gestured down the line.

  “Hufflepuff boys, fifty three galleons, a respectable showing.”

  “Ravencw boys, seventy five galleons, impressive strategy.”

  “Slytherin boys…” I paused, gncing at Draco, who was still gring at the crate. “Fourty one galleons, but only eleven count, since thirty were taken from Mr. Malfoy’s pockets, a valuable lesson in etiquette.”

  A few ughs followed.

  “Gryffindor boys, a hundred and seven galleons, very strong performance.”

  Then I turned to the girls’ totals.

  “And the winners…”

  I stepped aside, revealing the rgest pile by a very clear margin.

  “Gryffindor girls, with a total of one hundred and ninety galleons.”

  The clearing erupted.

  Parvati looked stunned. Hermione went pink with pride but tried to hide it. The Gryffindor table-to-be erupted into cheers, while Ron looked torn between pride and profound injustice at not being on the winning team.

  “Well done,” I said sincerely. “You may divide the winnings amongst yourselves, as promised.”

  Hermione opened her mouth, clearly about to argue ethics, fairness, or inftion, but one look at the other girls clutching handfuls of Galleons shut her right back up.

  Ron stared at the pile, mouth open. “That’s, that’s loads!”

  I smiled wider.

  “Oh, by the way,” I added casually, as if mentioning the weather, “I did forget to say, those are Leprechaun gold galleons.”

  The reaction was immediate.

  “What?”

  “They’re fake?”

  “They’ll vanish?!”

  A few seconds of stunned silence followed.

  From the Slytherin side, I heard a quiet, vindicated mutter.

  “I knew it,” Daphne Greengrass said under her breath.

  I inclined my head slightly in her direction. What a sharp girl.

  “Yes,” I continued pleasantly, “they’ll disappear in a few hours. You have to admit, though, far too generous to be real, wasn’t it? And the fact the Nifflers parted with their coins so easily was also quite suspicious.”

  The Gryffindor girls defted like punctured balloons. “…Oh,” Lavender said weakly.

  I let that sit for half a second, then waved my hand.

  “Alright, alright. As consotion, the Gryffindor girls are excused from today’s written assignment.”

  The clearing erupted.

  Cheers, cpping, and one very enthusiastic hug from Lavender aimed in my general direction (I sidestepped smoothly).

  Every Gryffindor girl celebrated, every girl except Hermione that is, who looked faintly betrayed.

  “But I like assignments,” she said.

  “Tragic,” I replied sympathetically. “You may write it anyway if you wish, a twelve inch essay on Nifflers.”

  She brightened immediately.

  Hagrid finished herding the Nifflers back into their crate, one of them still jingling suspiciously as Draco glowered at it, and Hagrid had no choice but to coax it to return the stolen coins.

  I surveyed the muddy, ughing, exhirated css and felt a familiar, satisfying warmth settle in my chest.

  Engaged students. No serious injuries. Only one bruised ego.

  A perfect first lesson.

  …

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