Chapter 5: Calygreyhounds and Cockatrices

As they approached Hagrid's cabin Matthew found himself suddenly transported back to the burned out hut he had hidden among the ruins of not quite three years ago. He glanced over at the wood, half expecting to see glowing eyes staring out of the darkness at him. But there were none.

"Didn't I tell you not to walk so close?" Ceelee admonished him.

Matthew fell back a few meters "Sorry."

The sound of loud, otherworldly baying caused Matthew to jump, rushing to catch up with Ceelee.

"What? It's just Fang. His bark is worse than his bite."

"If that's his bark you'll forgive me if I don't find that reassuring."

A massive beast of a dog came bounding through the trees leveling Ceelee who struggled in vain against the monster's giant tongue, "Come on, Fang! Off! Get off me!" Finally she was able to wrangle Hargid's boarhound enough to get into a sitting position, tousling the dogs floppy ears and face.

Matthew was stunned for a moment but then broke out laughing.

"Well, don't just stand there! Get this brute off of me."

Matthew grabbed Fang's collar, no longer even remotely afraid. Fang attempted to lunge for Ceelee again, nearly taking Matthew with him, but Matthew held fast. Ceelee stood, brushing off her robes, "Every single time."

"If people saw that maybe they'd be less afraid of you."

"Why do you think I'm always late?" Ceelee said, walking quickly ahead of him.

Matthew hurried to catch up, his progress impeded by Fang who seemed to have decided he would prefer a leisurely stroll now that his affections had been thwarted. "You know, you don't have to act so tough all the time," he called ahead.

"Yes, I do." Ceelee said without looking back.

Matthew could hear Hagrid's voice booming a greeting of welcome to the students. Matthew attempted to sneak in among the others but the moment the other Hufflepuffs saw him they broke out into cries of praise.

"That was aces!" Tip declared, slapping Matthew on the back.

"How did you do that?" Trudy Waterford cried.

"I've never seen anything like it," Deborah Johnson said. "And that's saying something."

"He looked like a monkey in the zoo," a Slytherin girl interjected snidely.

A Slytherin boy began making monkey noises.

The girl piped up again, "Hey monkey want a banana?" She mimed peeling her fingers like a banana until only a rather rude gesture remained.

"Put a sock in it Bulstrode, he didn't do anything to you!" Deborah said.

"Who said I was talkin' to him?"

There was an audible gasp.

"Ah hate ter do this firs' class 'o the year," Hagrid spoke, his voice booming over the crowd, "bu' 10 points from Slytherin."

Bulstrode gaped, "But... but... I didn't say I meant her!"

"Stuff it, Gwen, before you cost us another 10 points." Ceelee's commanding voice shut the Slytherin girl's mouth. Matthew had not seen Ceelee join the crowd, but there she was, standing among the Slytherins as though she had always been there.

"Anyway," Hargid said, looking to Matthew. "That was a righ' fine show yeh put on there. Gave Wycliffe a run for his money din' ya?" He turned to face the rest of the class, beaming as though it were Christmas morning and he had a particularly wonderful gift to give. Matthew had been warned of this look, particularly if it were followed by the words: "I've got a special treat for yeh". The treat was usually becoming better acquainted with Madam Pomfrey.

"Alrigh' class. Now ah've got a special treat for yeh this year..."

Matthew took a last, loving look at his original fingers.

"Ah've bin talkin' with some of me friends, yeh know, fellow magical creatures enthusiasts an' all, an' anyway I asked 'em if they migh' want ter come in an mebbe tell yeh all a littl' abou' what they do and teach yeh all abou' some of the more uncommon beasties we work with."

Midge Owens looked like she might break out in tears of sheer joy.

"Our first guest will arrive in abou' a month er so. 'E wanted to be here earlier but he's been held up in Africa."

"Ooo Africa!" Midge squealed, bouncing up and down on her toes, causing her light brown ringlets to bounce around her round face like springs.

"So until then we're gonna be workin' on a few creatures yeh may not have heard of." He reached into a crate and pulled out a strange creature about the size of a bear cub with the head of a wildcat kitten attached to a tawny colored body with white spots like a fawn. It mewled plaintively, wrapping the talons of its eagle like forelegs around Hagrid's giant finger and vainly attempting to bring the hooves of its hind legs up into his hands so they were not hanging in midair with its waggling oxtail. On its head were two tiny horns just peaking out of twin tassels of fur. "Now then, who can tell me wha' this is?"

Midge Owens's hand shot up but not as quickly as Matthew's.

"Boot. Give it yer best shot."

"It's a Calygreyhound, isn't it?"

Midge pouted, stomping her heel into the ground. Matthew guessed he had taken her answer.

"That's exactly right! 10 points to Hufflepuff. Now does anyone know where the Calygreyhound is native to? Miss Owens?"
This time Midge had beaten Matthew.

"The only known habitat for Calygreyhounds is in Oxford, England."

"Very good, 10 more points to Hufflepuff. Now, we just happen to have had a mother Calygreyhound tha' was injured by a poacher so ah've been nursin' her and the cubs back ter health afore we release 'em back into the wild." The calygreyhound cub now had Hagrid's finger firmly in its jaw. "Now, as yeh can see the cubs like teh play a bi' rough bu' they don't mean any harm. Its the momma you'll have ter be careful of. Calygreyhounds are classified as an endangered magical species and are often hunted for their antlers which possess magical properties that can be used to make speed potions."

"Like the sleipner potion?" a Slytherin asked.

"Yes, among others."

Tip elbowed Matthew in the ribs and whispered, "What's the sleipner potion?"

"It's a potion used to make animals and people run faster. It's a banned substance in competitions." Matthew whispered back.

"Now, if you'll all follow me, I'll introduce you ta tha momma."

They followed behind, Matthew and Midge both fighting their way to the front of the class to get a better view. Matthew had never even dared to dream of seeing a Calygreyhound in real life. He supposed Midge hadn't either. They stopped in front of a penned in area at the back of which was a stall filled with hay. Midge gasped. Lying on the hay, a large bandage on her hip, lay the mother nursing two cubs. Hagrid let the squealing cub he had been holding down into the pen. It ran back to its mother, tripping on its own talons and rolling into the hay before squirming its way back onto its feet and joining its siblings. The mother regarded the students with boastful yellow eyes encircled in black. She was a grand, majestic creature, larger than an ox but thin with the build of a deer. Her fur was tawny turning to dun at the head, legs, and tail, excepting her underside which was a snowy white. Her ears were deerlike, with black tips extending the end bringing to mind a caracal. From its head a large rack of antlers sprouted. The black tuft on her ox-like tail whipped slowly back and forth and she stretched her massive talons. Matthew wagered she could easily crush a normal person's head with one of those.

"Because female Calygreyhounds can grow antlers tha same as tha males poachers often prefer to hunt them when they are nursing, the cowards. Just kill them, cut off the rack, and leave the babies to starve. This one prolly would have been done for if my old friend Newt Scamander hadn't been in the area studyin' them."

"Newt Scamander." Midge breathed.

"Wouldna 'ave wanted to be that poacher, no sir. But ya know, Newt's gettin' on in years and didn' reckon he could handle three cubs an' their mother. So he wondered if I might be able ta help. Course I said yes. An' here we are. These cubs are jus' old enough to start weanin' bu' momma can't catch food in her current state so it's gonna be up to you all to help. I'll be dividin' you into three groups, one for each cub. You'll be in charge of feedin' them and takin' 'em for walks. Now if any of yeh wan' ter come by on weekends ta help, you're more'n welcome."

Hagrid divided them into groups. Matthew found himself grouped with Tip, an unlikely looking Slytherin named Higgins, Deborah Johnson, a Hufflepuff named Gerry Dartford, and another Slytherin, with black hair and sallow skin he knew as Andy Greengrass, Agnes's older brother. He raised a hand in vague greeting to Andy, who sullenly returned the greeting. Hagrid gleefully brought out their cub. She was a darker hue than her siblings.

"Now, who'd like to walk her first?" Everyone's hand shot up excepting Higgins who looked like the type who would prefer not to exercise if it could be avoided. "Now yeh'll all get a turn. How about you, Johnson, and you, Walker."

Deborah Johnson jumped up and down, clapping her hands.

"Here ya go," Hagrid said, attaching a leash to the cub's collar. "Now min' ya, she'll want ter go as soon as she hits the ground." He handed the leash to Deborah. Immediately she was jerked forward as the cub sped forward with Deborah struggling to keep up. Tip ran behind shouting for them to wait for him. Matthew looked over to Andy who raised his eyebrows. They burst out laughing.

They spent the rest of the class chopping up chicken meat as fine as could be done until it was practically a pink paste and mixing it with milk.

"So, how's Agnes doing?" Matthew ventured.

Andy took another piece of meat and began chopping it finely. "Fine, I think. I mean I don't really talk to her much. You know how sisters are."

"Don't I ever!"

They were silent for a few minutes. Then Andy ventured, "So Hogwarts... they finally let you in. First squib ever."

"Yeah, it would seem so. So... Slytherin..."

"Family tradition."

"You always were the clever one."

"And you were always the genius coming up with plans."

"And you were the one who got us out of trouble when we got caught."

"Do you mean to imply we weren't just following a lost dog by old Mr. MacGregor's tool shed?"

"No, not at all. Why else would we have been there? It's a good thing they hadn't found us a few minutes earlier."

"Yeah, I'm not sure how I would've explained what you were doing on the roof."

The silence relapsed.

"So," Matthew started. "Have you talked to Cliff lately?"

"Nah."

"I thought I saw him over there near that Bulstode girl."

"Yeah. He's part of that death eater group. I don't go in for that type of pure-blood nonsense."

"You don't?"

Andy stopped cutting and fixed Matthew with a hard look, "No. I don't." He returned to cutting.

"But your parents..."

Andy stabbed the table with such force it shook. "My parents don't speak for me," he said in an intense whisper. "Look where this whole blood status thing has gotten us. Two wars. Three if you count Grindelwald. And that was only in the last century. And for what? All it's gotten us is a bunch of dead witches and wizards. My cousin, Astoria, felt the same. I wish you could have met her but she graduated last year. I wish Agnes would listen, but she idolizes the death eaters, thinks they're all so cool."

"Hey, what's going on over here?" Hagrid bustled over. "Ev'rythin' all righ' you two?"

"Yeah," Matthew replied. "Just a bug was all."

"Suppose I don't know my own strength," Andy said, working to pull the knife from where it stuck in the table.

"So, what was that all about?" Dartford asked, jogging to catch up with Matthew, Tip, and Deborah as they walked up the hill toward the castle for Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was their last class of the day.

"What was what all about?" Tip asked.

"Matthew was having fight with that Slytherin kid, Greengrass, I think."

"If he was giving you trouble for being a squib, I'll pop him one I will," Tip said, illustrating the point by punching into his other hand.

"I'll help," Deborah agreed.

"No, it wasn't anything like that. Andy used to be my best friend. We were just talking," Matthew said.

"Best friend?" Deborah said with some surprise. "What happened?"

"Yeah, we lived in the same neighborhood and were the same age. But when they found out I was a squib his parents told him he couldn't be friends with me anymore."

"That's awful!"

"Kinda normal, though," Dartford said. "I mean, isn't that recommended for squibs? Helps them to integrate into muggle culture better. Hey! I didn't mean I supported the idea!" he shouted, running to catch up with the trio who had sped up, leaving him behind.

Matthew glanced at his companions, "He is right, it is normal. I lost all my wizarding friends. I mean some would still talk to me and all but it wasn't the same. It was like when you're waving to someone at the station from the window as your train is pulling out. I was still there, but I wasn't part of that world anymore. I mean it wasn't all bad, I had loads of muggle friends so I wasn't really lonely. Just... Well, it's just how it is isn't it? Or how it was." He smiled slyly.

They passed by Midge who was walking with her friend Sarah Connelly talking enthusiastically, "Oh, I hope one of our lecturers is Newt Scamander! Can you imagine? I think I might faint if I actually got to see him. He's only THE Magizoologist! Maybe he'd let me join him as an apprentice?" Her hands were fluttering like birds wings as she spoke.

"She's really enthusiastic, isn't she?" Tip smirked.

"She's wanted to be a Magizoologist since she was three. You should see her bed. It's completely covered with stuffed animals - unicorns, dragons, kneezils, and the like," Deborah said. "If she can't find one she makes it. I imagine we'll be seeing a baby calygreyhound soon."

"I suppose at least she has something she is passionate about," Matthew said.

"Give you some real competition." Deborah elbowed him in the ribs.

"Good. I wouldn't want to get complacent."

"Well, this next class is the best one. I can't wait to see what Prof. Jones has for us. A real Auror! I looked her up. She was first in her class in the Auror Academy! She was offered the title of Head of Magical Law Enforcement after Crouch moved to International Relations but she turned it down. Said she didn't want a desk job. She's caught dozens of Death Eaters. You know it was her who helped crack the Longbottom case? This is going to be amazing!"

"Does anyone here know how to kill a cockatrice?" Prof. Jones pointed her wand at a projection of the image of a creature that was somewhere between a rooster and a dragon in appearance. Prof. Jones had changed little in appearance, her severe expression was only heightened by the addition of a pair of horn-rimmed black glasses.

Kelly Knowles, an Irish boy with light brown hair, raised his hand, "The Reductor Curse?"

"No, that is for breaking objects."

"Stupify?" a girl suggested.

"No. The cockatrice is immune to magic of any kind. Now, once more, does anyone know how to kill a cockatrice."

Nobody said a word in the darkened classroom.

"Anyone?" She surveyed the class where the students sat mutely, trying to avoid so much as breathing in the hopes she would not interpret that as a sign they wished to answer. "Does no one in this class know how to kill a cockatrice?"

Matthew timidly raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr..." Prof. Jones checked her chart. "Boot."

"Well, that really depends, doesn't it?"

She eyed him warily, "In what way does it depend, Mr. Boot?"

"Well, if you are merely in a situation where a cockatrice is attacking you, then the best way to kill it is with a mirror because the gaze of the cockatrice is fatal, even to itself. But using a mirror damages the eyes. However, if you are hunting cockatrices you should use a weasel because they are immune to the glare of the cockatrice and can therefore kill many at once without damaging the eyes which are very valuable in potion making."

"That is correct, Mr. Boot. Five points to Hufflepuff. The cockatrice has recently become a popular weapon for the Death Eaters in Dublin. It is very easy to loose a cockatrice into the house of a wizarding family and let it take care of the lot of them. Most foolishly attempt to use spells in an attempt to kill the cockatrice and, by doing so, only hasten their own deaths because most killing curses and stunning spell require visual contact to cast, and, as Mr. Boot pointed out, eye contact is precisely how it kills."

She pointed her wand at the class, "My intention in teaching this class is to not only teach you the spells you will need to survive, but to teach you how to use critical thinking and research to anticipate and defeat your foes. When I began as an Auror, before the First Wizarding War, the common thinking was that we should be thankful for most dark wizards were not particularly bright, which was why they became dark wizards instead of seeking normal positions with the Ministry or at a shop. But that foolish thinking was soon corrected when Tom Riddle (and yes, that is how I will address him and how you will as well inside this classroom) made his bid for power. While many Death Eaters were certainly worthless lumps, like Goyle and Crabbe, good for little else than casting two or three curses, when it came to the LeStranges, the Rossiers, Antonin Dolohov, and Corbin Yaxley we found ourselves dealing with a very different breed of dark wizard. These ones were clever, they set traps, covered up their crimes, sought to infiltrate the Ministry, and we weren't ready for them. We lost a lot of good Aurors in those first years. I will not treat you as children and attempt to shield your eyes from the evils of this world for no Death Eater will grant you that courtesy."

She put up another projection in place of the cockatrice. It was a newspaper article that read:
British Man and Wife found Murdered on the Greek Island of Lesbos
In an apparent mugging gone wrong Mr. Nicholas Flamel and his wife, Perenelle were found murdered in the early morning hours while vacationing on the tiny Greek island of Lesbos. Mr. Flamel had been stabbed multiple times with a sword or machete. His wife's body was found next to him with no visible wounds. An autopsy will be done to determine the cause of her death. None of their belongings were taken. The Police are still searching for leads. If you have any information please contact Interpol at:xx xxx xxx xxxx

A black and white photo of what appeared to be a person covered by a white sheet upon which three long dark streaks could be seen forming a "Z" shape across the torso.

"This was published today on the 6th page of the Daily Telegraph."

"But that's Nicholas Flamel!" Matthew exclaimed in surprise. "They just had an article in the Daily Prophet about him just yesterday. The Flamels were celebrating their anniversary."

"Please raise your hand if you wish to speak, Mr. Boot. But yes," Prof. Jones flipped to an image of the article Matthew had read on the train yesterday, "and apparently you were not the only one who saw it. But you'll notice the news of his death has not reached the good people at the Daily Prophet yet. Or it has and they have just decided it is not worth their time to publish. After all, people grow weary of reading about deaths all the time, there are certainly enough provided by the Death Eaters, there is no sense publishing an article about a mugging gone wrong. This is the first lesson we can draw from this: Never trust the Daily Prophet as your only source of news. I'm certain many of you have learned this lesson with the rise of Tom Riddle and the subsequent demonization of Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, but it bears repeating: Do not put your faith in the Daily Prophet alone."

She returned to the previous photograph, "Now, with the knowledge that this is indeed a wizard and his wife, a witch, does anyone see anything wrong with this picture?"

"Where are their wands?" Deborah asked.

"Exactly. Neither were found with their wands. What do you think that could mean Miss... Johnson?"

"That something was stolen from them."

"Exactly, at the very least their wands were stolen from them. Tell me something else you noticed."

Now it was Dartford whose hand shot up, Prof. Jones nodded at him. "There were no injuries to Mrs. Flamel, only to her husband."

"Meaning?"

"She was probably killed using the Killing Curse."

"Correct. The Killing Curse leaves no traces on the body. But why not use the same curse on her husband?"

Matthew raised his hand. "Well, I think there are two possible reasons."

"Go on."

"The first: Flamel had information that the killer wanted and he was tortured into confessing, in which case, the wife would be accessory to the fact and would be killed simply because she was a witness. Or, Mr. Flamel was tortured in order to persuade his wife to talk."

"Which do you believe was more likely?"

"That the wife was killed as an accessory. If the killer always meant to kill both it would be better to torture the one with information under the threat of potentially torturing the other. He'd be far more likely to speak if he were in pain and did not wish to see that pain inflicted on a loved one. With the other way around you only have the leverage of the other not wanting to be tortured or not wanting to see their loved one die. However, from the look of the wounds, death was certain from the very beginning, therefore, the idea that her talking might save him from death was not on the table. Thus only self-preservation could motivate her."

"Self-preservation is a strong motivator though."

"It is, but the Flamels had been married for 600 years; at that length of time one must assume that they would prefer death to separation."

"Very good. Mr. Knowles?"

"But how is this case relevant to us?" Knowles asked.

"I was just getting to that. Now, you'll notice the marks on Flamel's body." She made the sign of the "Z" in the air with her wand. "That is not just any spell, that is a spell known as 'Sectumsempera'. It is a very rare spell created by late Hogwart's Headmaster Severus Snape and known to only a handful of people, specifically Death Eaters who were close to Prof. Snape before the death of Lily Potter. While they also may have passed it on that still leaves us with a very small pool of suspects. The chances that a random dark wizard in Greece would be familiar with the spell are infinitesimal. Therefore, we must assume that this murder was committed by Death Eaters who were veterans of the First Wizarding War."

"Do you know who?" Deborah asked, forgetting to raise her hand.

"Not yet, though I have my suspicions." They continued the discussion and Prof. Jones showed them how to reconstruct the scene of the crime based on the evidence presented and showed how the Flamels might have been able to detect their attackers before it was too late and thus bought themselves a chance to fight.

"As my mentor, the late Alastair Moody used to say: the key to staying alive is constant vigilance."

She waved her wand, causing the lights to flash on and the blinds to roll up. Matthew and the rest of the class winced and groaned as the sudden assault of bright light.

"For our next class we will work on shielding charms so be certain to read that chapter in your books before you come to class. I also want you to write out five possible ways to take down a giant due on Friday; no less than 10 centimeters of parchment. We will discuss your answers in class so be prepared."

A few of the students groaned, including Tip and Dartford.

"That was awesome!" Deborah cried as they left the class. "I want to be an Auror like her!"

"Then you'll have to work on your potions," Knowles sniped.

"I'll be ok. Matthew will help me, won't you Matthew." She grabbed Matthew's arm.

"Sure, of course."

"See. I'll be fine, Kelly." She stuck her tongue out at the other boy.

"Hey, did you notice something strange about that lesson?" Matthew asked.

"No, what?"

"She never asked why the crime might have been committed. She never even mentioned possible motives."

"Hey, you're right!" Tip said.

"Which means..." Matthew began.

"That she already knows why!" Deborah finished.

"And it's something she doesn't want us to know," Matthew added.

"Too right! We have a real life mystery to solve!" Tip said eagerly.

"Mr. Boot! Might I have a word with you a moment?" Prof. Jones said. Her black glasses perched near the tip of her nose.

Here is was. She would tell him not to even bother coming on Wednesday, that there was no point in trying to teach him spells.

"Yes, ma'am. I'll catch up with you all later." He followed Prof. Jones into her classroom where she sat down at her desk and began going through a stack of papers. "What is it you wanted to speak with me about?"

"I wanted to remind you to bring thicker clothes to class on Wednesday."

"Wait... you want me to come?"

"Of course. Just because you can't use magic doesn't mean you will be immune to attacks. They will be learning the shield charm, and you, you will be learning to dodge a stunning spell. But I will not go easy on you so be sure to dress with extra padding. That is all."

Matthew stood, stunned, staring at Prof. Jones.

She glanced up and waved her hand dismissively, " You may go. Oh, and close the door on your way out."

He walked out of the room in silence. Upon closing the door he jumped up with his fist in the air and let out a whoop. Finally he was going to get to do some magic.

He was so eager to tell the others that he almost crashed into Holly coming out of the first floor astronomy classroom. If anything, she was paler than she had been yesterday.

"I am truly sorry," Firenze was saying to her, "But it is as I said, the moon will be in eclipse multiple times this year."

"Yes sir." She looked perfectly perplexed by his cryptic words.

He placed a large hand upon her shoulder, "Once again, I am truly sorry." He then turned and walked away, his hooves clopping softly on the flagstone.

"What was that all about?"

Holly shrugged, then broke into a wide, slightly snaggle-toothed grin as she realized who was asking her the question. "Matthew!" She threw her skinny arms around him.

"It's good to see you too, Holly. How was your first day?"

She shrugged, her eyes directed to the ground.

"Yeah, mine was a bit rough too, but it did get better. Did you make any friends?"

She gazed off at the wall.

"Hey, did your mouse tell you his name yet?"

"His name is Artemis. At least that's what it sounded like."

"Artemis. That's an interesting name." Matthew resisted the urge to tell her it was a girl's name. It was her mouse, afterall, and who was he to tell her what to call it.

"I have to go to the Library," she said, turning on her heel in an almost mechanical manner.

"I'll go with you. I need to find a good book on giants anyhow. But I thought the Library was this way?" He pointed in the opposite direction to where she was heading.

"This way is shorter," she said the words with no hesitation, but there was something strange in her demeanor.

"Ok, I'll follow you then," Matthew agreed certain they were about to spend the next thirty minutes wandering the corridors, but at least she wouldn't be wondering alone.

She took his hand and led him through three corridors, a hidden door behind a tapestry, up a rickety wooden staircase he had never seen before, to a door that turned out to be a false painting which opened up just in front of the Library.

"Wow," he exclaimed. "Did the Ravenclaws give you a special tour of all the shortcuts to the Library?" He could absolutely see them doing that considering how essential the Library was to Ravenclaws, of course they would be sure the newest house members knew all the best ways to get there.

"No."

"Then how did you know the way?"

"I just do," she said, heading off to a back aisle as though she knew exactly where she was going and which book she intended to pick out.

"Good evening, Madam Pince," Matthew said, addressing the Librarian, a rather unpleasant looking woman with a very stern face. "Could you help me? I need to find a book on Giants." Madam Pince pointed him in the right direction as Holly returned from the back with Hogwarts: A History, tucked under her arm. "I'll see you at dinner, Holly!" he waved. She turned slightly and smiled with a wide, toothy grin before hurrying off. Such a strange girl, he thought.