Chapter 290. Diricawl
In this Care of Magical Creatures lesson.
Adrian Wesson had prepared a cage of Diricawls for the students—once again sourced from the magical-creature shop in Diagon Alley.
Speaking of which, his correspondence with Madam Roskin, the shop's proprietor, had grown more frequent lately.
This learned witch possessed not only extensive knowledge of magical creatures but also admirable initiative.
Take the Diricawl, for example—catching these little fellows was no easy task.
A Diricawl was a plump, fluffy-feathered, flightless bird.
Though they couldn't fly, that didn't mean they were easy to catch. When threatened,
a Diricawl would suddenly vanish, then reappear elsewhere—rather like Apparition.
In the Muggle world, they had another name—the dodo.
Most Muggles believed the species was extinct. Yet, although their numbers had indeed dwindled greatly in recent years, in certain parts of the wizarding world they still survived.
After briefly introducing the basics of Diricawls, Wesson lifted the cloth over the cage, revealing a dozen or so round, grey, hefty birds.
"Look at these fascinating magical creatures!"
The moment the cage was opened, the Diricawls burst out and began scampering among the students.
Harry saw one come straight towards him and stop, fixing him with a wise-looking stare.
"They look like potatoes with feathers," Ron muttered with a curl of his lip. "This has to be the ugliest bird I've ever seen."
As the saying goes, loose lips invite trouble.
Though these specially trained Diricawls appeared a bit dozy, they were far from stupid—they could even understand human speech.
No sooner had Ron spoken than the Diricawl that had been staring at Harry swivelled its head and locked eyes with Ron instead.
"Er…" Ron swallowed uneasily. "Besides teleporting… do they have any other special abilities?"
"Pop!"
With a soft report, the Diricawl vanished from where it stood.
A second later, Ron felt a sudden weight on his head—the round bird had settled squarely atop his red hair.
"Hey! Off!"
Ron flailed, trying to shoo away the uninvited guest, but each time his fingers were about to brush its feathers, the Diricawl would pop out of sight and reappear in some other infuriating spot.
At last, Ron found himself helpless and surrendered, allowing the Diricawl to perch on his head.
He could only pray it wouldn't mistake his head for a lavatory.
"That's what I was about to warn you," Wesson said cheerfully. "Best not antagonise them—or harbour any ill intent toward them."
Next, Wesson let the students freely interact with and feed the Diricawls.
Malfoy made several attempts, but whenever he was about to succeed, the Diricawl would vanish and then reappear behind him, sticking out its tongue.
"Crabbe, Goyle!"
He called impatiently to his two cronies. "Help me corner the fattest one!"
"As you command!"
Crabbe and Goyle answered in unison.
Even so, Crabbe still looked listless.
"What on earth is wrong with you?"
Frowning, Malfoy abandoned the pursuit of the fat bird, grabbed Crabbe by the sleeve, and asked in all seriousness, "What's going on?"
Goyle scratched his head at the side. "He's been like this for two days, Draco. He's hardly eaten at dinner."
"No… this is my own business," Crabbe replied under his breath.
Malfoy sighed. Though Crabbe was his crony, he knew he couldn't force the other boy to divulge a secret.
He suddenly remembered something Harry had said before class.
Maybe that scar-head knows something, Malfoy thought silently.
Just then, the Diricawl they'd been chasing popped onto Crabbe's head, cocking its head as it regarded Malfoy.
"Stupid bird!" Malfoy, annoyed, whipped out his wand—but before he could speak a spell, the Diricawl vanished again without a trace.
"Oh, Mr Malfoy," Wesson said by way of reminder, "no wands, if you please—you'll frighten these little fellows."
"Sorry, Professor."
Malfoy inclined his head without much expression.
"It's quite all right," Wesson smiled. "Nothing serious."
Care of Magical Creatures ended soon after.
When the students had all gone, Wesson began counting the Diricawls.
Sure enough… one was missing.
Wesson had a fair idea—most likely it had bolted the moment Malfoy drew his wand.
As the books said, Diricawls were timid; at the slightest hint of danger, they acted at once.
So how to get the missing Diricawl back?
Fortunately, Madam Roskin had anticipated exactly this.
Wesson took a folded sheet of parchment from his inner robe pocket and opened it.
It was the letter Roskin had sent along with the Diricawls the previous week, detailing key points for handling this magical species.
In elegant italics at the lower right was a special recall charm.
Wesson drew his wand, tapped the parchment lightly, and recited as directed:
"Madam Roskin's wisdom is second to none—now, let me see where that stupid bird is."
After he finished, Wesson's mouth twitched.
Clearly, someone had slipped a little self-promotion into the charm.
Still, it worked. As soon as he finished speaking, the parchment in his hand began to change—the text drew together and rearranged itself, finally forming a small black arrow.
Strangely, no matter how Wesson turned the parchment, the arrow still pointed the same way, like a compass. Obviously, it indicated the location of the missing Diricawl.
Beneath the arrow was a line of tiny script: "Follow me and don't drift off—especially don't think about me."
Wesson cleared his throat softly, then set off in the direction the arrow indicated.
The direction was unmistakable—the Forbidden Forest.
What place at Hogwarts could be more perfect than the Forbidden Forest? Fresh air, tranquil surroundings, and all sorts of interesting little things for company.
The moment Wesson stepped beneath the trees, he felt as if he'd come home; his spirits lifted.
He had expected finding the missing Diricawl to take some time, but, to his surprise, after only a few steps he spotted the mischievous creature perched in a tree.
The Diricawl tilted its head at Wesson, a bright red mushroom clamped in its beak.
An instant later, it popped onto Wesson's shoulder and stuffed the suspicious mushroom into his pocket.
"Thanks, but I don't eat those." Wesson took the mushroom from his pocket and promptly popped it back into the Diricawl's beak.
Caught off guard, the Diricawl gulped it down.
Ten seconds later, Wesson stared at the Diricawl lying on the ground, foaming at the beak, and began to ponder—would it prefer a strawberry-flavoured antidote, or blueberry-flavoured?
Like this story Leave a review ; it would really help me out a lot.
Want to Read Ahead in Advance?
Join my Patreon!
+75 Chapters
Support me in
Patreon.com/BestElysium