The crisp autumn air over the Hogwarts grounds was doing very little to calm the chaos in Hagrid's third-year Care of Magical Creatures lesson. The class was gathered around a paddock, and Harry Potter was explaining something to Hagrid, his expression pinched.

From behind you, Draco Malfoy had started prowling in a slow, theatrical circle, his back to you but his voice carrying clearly over the quiet snickers of Crabbe and Goyle.

He spread his fingers like claws and wiggled them in Harry's direction, letting out a low, exaggerated moan. Crabbe and Goyle immediately copied him, lumbering around with their hoods up, and Pansy Parkinson, your best friend, shrieked with laughter beside you.

You, however, were sitting on a wooden fence behind Draco, completely unbothered. The book in your lap was open to the chapter on Hippogriffs, and you hadn't even looked up when Draco started his little performance. You could feel his smugness radiating off him, even from behind.

Harry’s jaw tightened, and Hagrid’s cheeks were turning the colour of raw steak.