Chapter 42. Unexpected Fantastic Beasts
"The time should be about right."
All at once, every window in the Great Hall flew open. Hundreds of owls swept in from outside, bearing parcels and letters of every sort, circling over the students' heads as they searched for their recipients.
During the first few days of every school year, owls were always especially busy.
There were always a few young witches and wizards who left something at home and, upon arriving at school, dashed off letters in a hurry.
A massive eagle-owl settled neatly on Adrian Wesson's table and dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet and a letter for him.
Picking up the Daily Prophet, Adrian saw the largest headline blazoned across the top: "The Saviour Harry Potter Has Entered Hogwarts."
"I know that," Adrian muttered, flicking the paper aside without the slightest desire to read on.
Then he picked up the letter.
As he had expected, the signature at the end was Roskin.
The owner of that magical-creature shop in Diagon Alley.
The letter was extremely concise and went straight to the point: Mr Adrian Wesson, the magical creatures you require have arrived. Upon receipt of this letter, please come to the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade at one o'clock this afternoon to receive them. We will send someone over. If you wish to postpone the handover date, please reply in time.
So it's finally here. Adrian nodded, satisfied.
He hadn't expected Roskin to prepare the creatures he needed this quickly.
Of course, Adrian hadn't bought those magical creatures outright, but arranged to rent them.
After all, he only needed to show them to his students during lessons; he didn't actually intend to keep them.
Even so, renting them would still cost quite a few Galleons.
Fortunately, the budget Hogwarts had given him was ample.
…
At one o'clock that afternoon, Adrian arrived punctually at the door of the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade.
The Three Broomsticks—no Hogwarts student could be unfamiliar with this place, and naturally Adrian was no exception.
Like most students, he was very fond of the Butterbeer here.
However, it had been a long time since he'd last come by. He had been travelling the world for years, and after returning, he'd had few chances to visit Hogsmeade.
He pushed open the door. Inside looked just as it did in his memory.
A boisterous crowd, a bar packed with people, and the landlady—Madam Rosmerta—chatting and laughing with several male patrons.
"Over here! Mr Wesson!"
Adrian had scarcely stepped inside when he heard a young voice calling his name.
He followed the voice and indeed spotted a familiar figure.
Roskin herself was seated in the window-side corner, smiling and waving him over.
That did catch Adrian off guard; he hadn't expected Roskin to come in person.
He had assumed a shop assistant or employee would show up—after all, Roskin was the owner of a magical-creature shop and had seemed quite busy the last time he'd visited.
Adrian raised an eyebrow, then strode over and took the chair opposite her.
"Good afternoon, madam," he greeted her, studying her expression. "I didn't expect you to make this trip yourself."
A faint smile tugged at Roskin's lips. She tossed her hair and said, "You are a very important client, after all."
Adrian's gaze dropped to a suitcase she'd set on the table.
From experience, there was bound to be more than met the eye inside that case.
"Did you bring the magical creatures?" Adrian lowered his voice and asked cautiously.
"Of course." Roskin patted the case before her, then said mysteriously, "And one that wasn't on your list."
"Not on my list?" Adrian frowned. "I don't think I need anything else…"
"Don't be so quick to refuse." Roskin propped her chin on her hand and said with confidence, "You'll like this one."
Her expression suggested she was quite certain he would be pleased with her goods.
At that, Adrian's curiosity was piqued—just a little.
He didn't intend to buy it, but he did want to see what Roskin could produce that might surprise him.
"All right," Roskin drained the last of her Butterbeer in one go and stood, lifting the case. "I think we'd better change locations. This little darling isn't suited to moving about in here."
Indeed, Adrian glanced around at the bustling crowd.
He was almost certain whatever Roskin had brought was not something simple.
Although most patrons of the Three Broomsticks were witches and wizards, the trade in magical creatures was still a sensitive topic—especially those regulated by the Ministry of Magic.
"Follow me." Roskin headed for the back door and beckoned for Adrian to come along.
He did not hesitate and followed at her heels.
The two of them skirted the bar, threaded through the throng, pushed open an inconspicuous wooden door, and stepped into a narrow back alley.
Like most back alleys, it was utterly deserted, save for a few rats rustling in the corners.
With practised ease, Roskin walked to the end of the alley. After confirming that no one was around, she set down the suitcase, tapped the lid lightly, and murmured a spell.
At once, the suitcase opened by itself.
A moment later, a small head poked out from inside.
It looked like some kind of bird: its head was covered in silvery-white feathers and looked a bit like an eagle, though its beak was not as sharply hooked.
Adrian recognised the species almost instantly.
"Thunderbird!" he exclaimed.
"Hush—"
Roskin quickly gestured for him to keep quiet and shot him a look to lower his voice. "It's still a baby; don't frighten it."
"All right," Adrian said more softly. "Where did you get it—legally?"
Instead of answering directly, Roskin countered, "Mr Adrian Wesson, do you remember the paper you published many years ago on Thunderbirds?"
As she spoke, she gently stroked the Thunderbird's feathers, a sly glint flashing in her eyes.
"'On the Possibility of Rearing Thunderbirds in Captivity'?" Adrian said thoughtfully.
"That's the one—it inspired me greatly." Roskin snapped her fingers, then said, with pride, "I believe I might be the first witch in the world to have successfully bred Thunderbirds."
In truth, when Adrian had written that paper, he had merely set out an approach. He had done some practical work, but only as isolated cases.
Ordinarily, Thunderbirds were birds with an extremely keen sense for danger; even making contact with one was very difficult.
But Adrian had discovered that when you stood at the heart of a thunderstorm and restrained every shred of ill intent, a Thunderbird's mood would become extraordinarily calm, and it would be willing to converse with you.
If you regularly "conversed" amicably with a Thunderbird at the centre of a storm, it would come to regard you as a friend.
Very few witches or wizards could survive in the middle of a thunderstorm, to say nothing of befriending a Thunderbird.
Yet Roskin before him had managed all of that!
Adrian couldn't help being a little surprised.
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