The Scamander home was not a manor, but a sprawling, magically expanded cottage on the edge of a protected woodland. It was a place of controlled, loving chaos. Plants from every corner of the globe spilled from every windowsill, a faint, sweet-and-spicy scent hung in the air, and the gentle chirps, clicks, and rustles of unseen creatures provided a constant, soothing symphony.
Icharus, ever the chameleon, adapted instantly. He was the perfect guest: polite, quietly curious, and endlessly grateful. He helped Tina Scamander, a sharp-eyed and warm-hearted woman, chop ingredients for dinner. He listened, rapt, as Newt Scamander, in his endearingly hesitant way, explained the intricate social structure of a Bowtruckle colony living in the roof thatch.
He asked intelligent, respectful questions, never pushing, always showing a depth of understanding that delighted the elderly magizoologist. They spoke of Hogwarts, and Icharus carefully curated his responses. He spoke of Professor Sprout's kindness, Flitwick's brilliance, and the fascinating, if challenging, nature of Potions. He painted a picture of a diligent, slightly lonely boy finding his place, a narrative designed to evoke sympathy and trust. He made no mention of Slytherins, of Cassius, of the constant hum of predation that defined his daily life.
For three days, he immersed himself in their world. He followed Rolf and Newt on their rounds, feeding the creatures, mending enclosures, and observing behaviors. His focus, however, was always on the Demiguises. A small family group lived in a sun-drenched conservatory, their silvery fur shimmering as they moved with preternatural grace. Icharus watched them for hours, learning their rhythms.
He focused on the juvenile Rolf had mentioned, a curious female they called Pip. While the older Demiguises were more reserved, Pip was bold, her large, orange eyes often following Icharus with a quiet, knowing interest. He used the same patient, non-threatening approach he used on humans. He sat quietly near her, offering pieces of sweet fruit, never making sudden movements, and speaking in a low, soothing monotone.
On the third evening, as a gentle snow began to fall outside, the moment arrived. Icharus was alone in the conservatory with Pip. The trust was there; he could see it in the relaxed set of her shoulders, the way she ambled over to him without hesitation.
He took out a small, crystal vial and a smooth, polished silver bowl he had brought for this purpose. He placed the bowl on the ground between them. Pip tilted her head, her eyes whirring softly.
"This is the most important request I will ever make," Icharus whispered, his voice barely a breath. He projected a complex mixture of emotions—need, respect, and a profound, almost sacred sense of transaction. He wasn't trying to deceive the empathic creature; he was offering it a truthful exchange. He needed her power, and he was offering his genuine, focused intent in return. He willed the System's objective to the forefront of his mind, not as a cold command, but as a deep, personal yearning.
He held out his hand, palm up, an invitation.
Pip watched him for a long, silent minute. The only sound was the soft patter of snow against the glass. Then, with an air of solemn understanding that was far beyond any beast, she stepped forward. She nuzzled his hand once, then gently took his wrist in her delicate, furry hands. With a single, precise claw, she pricked the pad of her own finger.
A single, silvery drop of blood welled up. She held her finger over the bowl, and let the drop fall. It wasn't enough. Icharus held his breath. Pip looked into his eyes, and then, with a quiet sigh, she squeezed her finger. A thin, steady stream of the luminous silver blood trickled into the bowl, filling it to the 100ml mark he had visualized.
The moment the measure was complete, she pulled her hand back and licked the tiny wound closed. She looked at him, not with betrayal or pain, but with a deep, ancient wisdom, as if acknowledging a pact had been sealed.
Icharus's hands were perfectly steady as he decanted the precious fluid into the vial. As he corked it, a chime, clear and resonant, echoed in the depths of his soul.
[Task 002: The Covenant of the Gentle Seer - COMPLETE.]
[Reward: Oracular Awakening Circle & Skill Evolution Chart - UNLOCKED.]
A wave of power, different from the brutal force of the rituals, flowed through him. It was a cool, clarifying current, like a lens sliding into perfect focus. The world seemed to gain a new dimension; he could almost see the shimmering threads of possibility weaving through the air around him. The Divination talent was his.
Later that night, as he packed his bag, the vial of Demiguise blood secure in his System Backpack, he allowed himself a moment of pure, unadulterated triumph. He had charmed a Seer Beast, not with lies, but with a truthful representation of his ruthless need. He had gained a powerful new tool.
He looked out the window at the snow-blanketed woods. The Scamanders had given him warmth, knowledge, and trust. He had given them a perfectly performed illusion and had taken the blood of one of their cherished creatures. There was no guilt, only a cold satisfaction. The visit had been a greater success than he could have hoped. He was one step closer to divinity, and the path ahead was becoming ever clearer.