The good news was, the dragon didn't look particularly aggressive. It was just… licking the grass blades with a bloodthirsty enthusiasm, gaunt as a skeleton, its milky-white eyes utterly cold.
Henry took a few cautious steps forward, trying to gauge its size. The creature lifted its snout, sniffed in his direction, and tossed its head. Its long, wispy mane drifted through the air. Then, to Henry's surprise, it stood up.
Turned out it had been lying down this whole time. Slowly, it paced out into the open, snorting, revealing long, horse-like legs and a body, its leathery black wings expanding and contracting with each breath.
Henry stared, puzzled, mentally flipping through his Fantastic Beasts reading list. Given he'd been hunting down creatures with yellow eyes at the time, a white-eyed dragon or horse—whatever this was—had probably gotten a quick glance and a turn of the page.
Just then, Hagrid's voice boomed from the path leading into the Forbidden Forest. "Fang, what's gotten into ya— Blimey, Henry!"
Hagrid emerged from the treeline, a slatted wooden crate dripping something dark in his hand. The massive boarhound, Fang, was ahead of him. He barreled into Henry, knocking him flat. He panted hot, smelly breath into his ear, thoroughly coating his forehead and hair with slobber.
"Alright, alright, Fang," Henry wheezed, scratching the dog's head. Fang barked happily. The strange horse-creature calmly sidestepped the commotion and went back to licking at Hagrid's crate.
"Should've saved a bit o' meat for ya," Hagrid said to the creature, patting its dragonish black head familiarly. "Brought a whole deer for Aragog."
Henry finally managed to shove Fang off and got to his feet, brushing grass and dirt from his robes. "What is… well, who is this?"
"This is Wuwu," Hagrid introduced proudly. "First Thestral born in the Forbidden Forest."
"Ah… a Thestral," Henry said, still drawing a blank. To be fair, forgetting obscure magical zoology was perfectly understandable when a gigantic dog was whining, circling, and attempting to lick your face.
"Yep. Very clever. And very rare," Hagrid said proudly, flipping open the lid of the crate and letting Wuwu poke its ugly head inside to sniff. "Probably the only tamed herd in all Britain. I've figured out their habits…"
Henry stared at the Thestral's skeletal frame, pushing Fang's head down again. "Did you just say 'rare' and 'herd'?"
"Yeah," Hagrid said casually. "They're useful. Pull the school carriages."
Wuwu, finding the crate truly empty, snorted in displeasure and shook out its wings.
Then it clicked. "I recall reading they were… invisible?"
"To some people, Henry," Hagrid said, his beetle-black eyes unusually serious as he looked at Henry. He didn't ask why Henry could see it. "Only those who've seen death can see a Thestral."
"Oh… right," Henry said. He slowly extended a hand towards the creature.
The Thestral gazed at him with its blank white eyes for a long moment. Then it lowered its head and pressed the top of its skull into Henry's palm. It was smooth, all bone and hide, and cool to the touch—like a river stone wrapped in silk… like a shroud-draped skeleton.
But it was alive. Henry could hear its soft breath. Its nostrils flared open and shut near his chest, puffing tiny breezes against his robes. Then it took a few steps back, shook its head with a pfffrrr, silently spread its bat-like wings, and flew away.
…
Henry returned to the castle just as dinner began. The Great Hall was ablaze with candlelight and noise, a sea of pointed black hats and golden plates piled high with mountains of food.
He headed for the staff table, spotting Kevin Jones loading his plate with a massive portion of roast beef and two bowls of ice cream. Kevin was talking loudly to his friends. "The Sorting Hat said I could choose between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. So I asked it, 'What are the pros and cons of each?'"
"What did it say?" his friend asked, intrigued. Several other young faces turned towards Kevin.
Kevin grabbed a custard tart, carefully placing it on the edge of his plate, away from the glossy gravy of the roast beef.
"It told me I could find true friends in both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," Kevin said earnestly. "So then I asked, 'Who would be my Head of House?' I wanted the smiling witch with the patched hat. So, Hufflepuff."
"Professor McGonagall is so strict," his classmates muttered. "And she already took points on the first day!"
Henry glanced up. The four hourglasses hung on the wall. Gryffindor's rubies were slightly fewer—probably because Professor McGonagall had made good on her promise to deduct points from the Weasley twins.
The chatter continued behind him.
"But Transfiguration is so cool."
"Cool, but hard."
…
After sitting down, Henry filled his own plate with pea shoots and roast spring chicken. Professor Burbage sat beside him, her hair a little mussed from her travels but her face radiant.
"Good evening, Charity. How are things?" Henry asked.
Professor Burbage had been smiling since he sat down. Now she couldn't contain it any longer. "Absolutely wonderful! I think in about two weeks… October at the latest, you'll hear that the Wizengamot has a new Special Advisor for Muggle Studies."
"That's fantastic!" Henry said. "All your hard work is paying off."
"I think so too," Professor Burbage nodded. "Finally! This summer was a nightmare. A few of the old guard insisted I lacked seniority. I'd like to know who in Muggle Studies has more seniority than me! Then there's that fool Fudge, led around by the nose by Malfoy, getting dizzy over a few Galleons. And Umbridge, that hag… she actually accused me of wanting the advisor position to give Hogwarts more political sway in the wizarding world."
She was cutting her steak, punctuating each grievance with a sharp stab of her knife.
"I can imagine some people would be terrified by that notion," Professor McGonagall said from Burbage's other side, giving a curt nod. "Congratulations, Charity."
"Oh, speaking of which," Burbage chuckled darkly, "Madam Bones said she couldn't see why the Wizengamot should refuse me, and that reasons tied to my Hogwarts post were particularly absurd, since everyone knows who the Chief Warlock is… Right in front of everyone, she put her hand on my shoulder and marched straight to the Minister's office door. You should've seen Fudge's face, Minerva. She's a force of nature."
A faint smile touched Professor McGonagall's stern lips.
"We should have a small celebration in the staff room when it's official," Henry suggested. "Not to celebrate you becoming a Wizengamot advisor—frankly, they should be celebrating—just to congratulate you on achieving what you set out to do."
"Celebrate my return to school, Henry. And thank you, again, for covering my classes."
"It was nothing," Henry said, clinking his goblet of pumpkin juice against hers.
"How are the students this year?" Professor Burbage asked.
"The fourth and fifth years are familiar faces," Henry said. "The fifth years have their O.W.L.s, but I looked at last year's papers. I'm fairly confident. Barring disasters, they should at least score around average."
Professor Burbage shot him a look. "'Average' is setting the bar too low. What about the third years?"
"Hmm, the third years… Minerva, she didn't drop the class, did she?"
Professor McGonagall knew immediately who he meant. She shook her head. "No."
"Who?" Professor Burbage asked, curious.
"Charity, you probably didn't expect this… On the first day, a third-year Slytherin went to see Minerva. Changed her timetable. Dropped Divination. Picked up Muggle Studies." Henry watched Burbage's expression, unable to suppress a grin. "Tracey Davis," he said, his tone almost a boast. "Her brother is one of my students."
…
Henry walked into the Muggle Studies classroom and spotted Tracey immediately. She was the only Slytherin in a room full of Gryffindors. Everyone else was chattering and laughing eagerly. She sat alone in a corner seat, no desk partner, no one speaking to her.
"Good afternoon," Henry said brightly, striding to the front of the room.
The chatter dipped but didn't stop.
"Welcome to Muggle Studies," Henry began. "I'm Henry Anthony and, barring unforeseen circumstances, I will be your Muggle Studies professor for the year."
A lively student piped up, "What if there are unforeseen circumstances?"
"Then I'll be very sad," Henry laughed. "I don't know why each of you chose this subject, but I must state upfront: I am not responsible for setting or marking your O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. exams."
"You may have heard this class has no homework, rarely takes points, and involves field trips. All of those descriptions…" Henry paused deliberately, pleased to see the room fall silent, all eyes on him, "…are true."
Satisfied, expectant, and slightly sheepish smiles broke out across the room.
Henry smiled back. "But—yes, sadly, there's a 'but'—that doesn't mean this subject has no standards. I choose to believe that when you selected this class, you did so with at least some curiosity. My goal, my hope, is that by the time you're in fifth year, or even seventh, facing down O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. revision, you won't have lost that curiosity. Or that goodwill."
The thirteen and fourteen-year-olds looked up at him, a little bewildered. Henry knew it was a bit early for this talk, so he switched gears.
"Alright, that's enough from me. Now it's your turn—I'd like to hear who you are and why you chose this class. For the record, 'I wanted an easy O' has been used before, but feel free to recycle it."
He pulled an empty chair from behind a desk and sat down in the aisle, turning to the student on his right.
The Gryffindor girl spoke confidently. "I'm Katie Bell, Professor Anthony. I'm a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Angelina is a good friend of mine. She, Fred, and George all said this class was worth taking, so I decided to try it."
Henry smiled at her. "Thank you, Miss Bell. And thank them for the recommendation. I hope you won't be disappointed."
He turned to the girl next to Katie.
"I'm Katie's friend," she said with a sly grin. "She wanted me to pretend I was super interested, but really, she just didn't want to walk from the common room to class alone."
Katie groaned loudly. "Honestly, Linny!"
…
When it was Tracey's turn, the whole class seemed to perk up with excitement and curiosity. They'd been sneaking glances her way during the other introductions, watching her reaction as if expecting her to suddenly turn into a pink elephant.
The elephant stood up, perfectly calm. "I'm Tracey Davis. I chose this class because I wanted to."
"But… you're a Slytherin," said the boy sitting closest to her, disbelief plain on his face. "Why would you want to take Muggle Studies?"
Tracey just looked at him, said nothing, and sat back down. The boy's face flushed scarlet. His mouth opened and closed, wordless. His deskmate jabbed him hard in the ribs with an elbow. His mouth shut.
Katie, however, nodded knowingly to the people around her. "Her surname's Davis. Probably the Ravenclaw reserve Chaser's sister." She made a slashing motion near her throat and hissed softly.
No one had any more questions after that.
…
After class, Henry asked Tracey to stay. The Gryffindor third-years packed up their things, filed out in chattering groups, and without fail, each one glanced back at the lone Slytherin before leaving.
Midday sun streamed through the windows, bright and sharp on the sills. Tracey sat at her desk, watching each classmate leave.
When the last Gryffindor had dawdled out, Henry closed the classroom door and walked over, sitting in a chair opposite her.
"Thank you for choosing this class, Miss Davis," he said. "I feel I should tell you, you're the first Slytherin student to take Muggle Studies in over twenty years."
"I suppose that's an honor," Tracey said calmly.
"That depends on how you look at it," Henry said, leaning back. "But I don't want you to face undue pressure because of this choice…"
Tracey interrupted him. "No, Professor. I'm not facing any pressure."
Henry studied her. Her complexion was still somewhat pale, but much better than before. In fact, she looked almost vibrant.
"Ah. Alright," Henry said, a little puzzled. He decided not to press.
Tracey, however, smiled. "It's simple, Professor. Last year, you kept awarding points to the other three houses. I told our Prefect that our house should have someone in the Muggle Studies class too. To add a few gems to the Slytherin hourglass."
Henry blinked. Then he couldn't help but laugh. Shaking his head, he said, "A very cunning reason, Miss Davis. But I won't award points for a clever course selection strategy… I will look forward to the day I can award points to Slytherin in a Muggle Studies class."
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