Newton Scamander stared with intense curiosity at the creature in front of him. He would, in years to come, discover it was infact as a Diricawl. An easily frightened beast, it could, and in all certainly would, disappear in a puff of feathers at the slightest sign of danger. Yet infant Newt posed no threat, as so the Diricawl stayed, gently pecking at the ground.
Newt inched forward, his still baby button nose now inches away from the bird. The Diricawl paused for a moment, it's emerald eyes focusing on the child's, before refocusing its attention back on a particular blade of grass.
Newt remembered the sense of complete awe, of wonder, as he watched the bird. He would later feel pleased, if not proud, to think he posed so little threat that the Diricawl felt no need to evaporate.
"Newt." His grandmother's voice broke the almost hypnotic calm. "Newt! Tea's ready dear. "
The Diricawl's head shot up, it's feathers puffing up. Newt, nestled in the long grass, silently pleaded for his grandmother not to come any closer.
He didn't need to turn around to tell his granny was approaching. Sunlight glistened on the Diricawl's feathers one last time before it disappeared. Newt watched, with a mixture of disappointment and wonder, as a cloud of Emerald feathers slowly drifted to the earth.
"Newt!" His grandmother's voice increased with insistency, and with chubby fingers Newt grabbed a Diricawl feather before running to tea.