February 2nd, 1893 — Bernards Home

Since the death of his old school chum Reginald Hargrieves, and the hilarious bequeathing of a wolf hound to a man who disdained all company, even animal, followed quickly by an Augury. It had become something of a running joke for his friends, much to his chagrin to bequeath him all sorts of weird and wonderful animals purely to annoy him.

As much as he didn't want or like the animals he was also not a cruel or capricous person, and so, while he did not undertake the day to day care of the animals he did make periodic arrangements for someone who was an expert in them to assess their relative healths. His grounds men and ghillies to take care of most of the creatures needs, but they were not experts. They did as they were advised - not because they knew how to what they were doing.

Bernard sat before the fire in his study, his long legs crossed, the other Bernard - the wolf hound slouching by his feet. The door to the study opened and his butler showed in the mazizoologist. Bernard looked up, padding to sniff at the mans legs, 'Leave him alone,' he growled shortly at the dog, who returned to his place by the fire at his masters feet. 'So? What's the damage?' he asked, reaching for the decanter by his hand to refill his short glass and filled an empty one indicating that the other should join him.

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He has a wolf hound, Augurey, Billywig, Hodag, Bundimun, Jackalope, Kneazle, Diricawl

  

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Conall usually disdained the sort – wealthy eccentrics – but Prewett’s irascible demeanour was, admittedly, his saving grace.

Well, his demeanour and his enviable store of alcohol. And the collection of creatures he had, of course, but by this point Conall had moved on to dealing with the man. “For my visit – or to your menagerie?” he asked, with a dry laugh.

Still, he took the proffered drink like it was all the payment he required, and, once the butler had retreated and he’d scratched the wolfhound behind the ears, Conall was comfortable enough to take a chair of his own.

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He snorted into the amber liquid and sucked a measure through his teeth. Fire burned the back of his throat, 'both' he said with a smile that was almost a snarl. 'the blighters seem intent to eat me out of house and home.' he said not entirely sure if he was referring to the animals or the so-called friends who kept giving them to him. He fought the impulse to roll his eyes at the dog who was an affectionate animal - who go nowhere near the attention he needed from his emotionally stunted master.

Pleased the other man had taken a seat and not done that weird thing of loitering and wringing his hands too odd and overawed by being in the presence of the master of the house to actually behave like a human being. The head gardener did it and he veritably hated the man.

'Any of them sick or....' he struggled to think of something else that seemed expensive, 'pregnant?'

irascible is a fabulous word.

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   Conall MacKay

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He stifled a snort at that question. “Nothing dire,” he assured, with an easy shrug. There were a few minor ailments amongst the strange menagerie. “Couple things that need looking at, though.”

Conall took a sip and got down to it. “Your Augurey’s plucking out its feathers – it’ll be to do with diet, I expect. Needs more fairy.” (It was rather plump for an Augurey, which he suspected was why it was unhappy and probably not hunting enough fairies on its own.) Contemplating which creature to tackle next, curiosity overcame him just a little. “Interesting collection you’ve got, anyway. Where’d you get the hodag from?”

Conall hadn’t seen one in a while – it took him back to the days at the New Hampshire farm.

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Bernard glanced at Conall, appreciating his no-nonsense approach and ability to handle his irritable demeanor. He took a sip of his drink and nodded in acknowledgement. The creatures did seem intent on eating him out of house and home, whether literally or figuratively, he mused. He was relieved that the man didn't display any of the usual awkwardness that came with being in the presence of someone of his station. It was refreshing to have a straightforward conversation.

Bernard raised an eyebrow when Conall mentioned that a few things needed looking at among the animals. He leaned back, resting his arm on the armrest of his chair. "Nothing dire, you say? Good. I don't want any more headaches," he remarked, his voice tinged with a touch of wry humor.

When Conall mentioned the Augurey's feather-plucking issue, Bernard nodded thoughtfully. "More fairy, you say? I'll have to make arrangements for that. Can't have it being miserable," he replied, making a mental note to address the Augurey's diet promptly. He was sure his house keeper would dote on the thing, slipping it treats from the table. As Conall settled into a chair, Bernard observed him with a faint smile.

Bernard's expression softened, and he chuckled. "Ah, the hodag. Quite a peculiar creature, isn't it? I acquired it from a dear [ifriend[/i]. He picked it up during his travels through America, specifically in Wisconsin. Found it on a small farm. It seemed like it could use a change of scenery, and he couldn't resist adding it to my collection," he explained, a hint of bitter humour coloring his voice. The running joke among his friends had long since run its course in his mind, but they still found it hilarious.

Bernard took another sip of his drink, his gaze briefly wandering to the wolfhound lying at his feet. "The animals may be a hassle, but they bring a certain... uniqueness to my life, I suppose. Keeps things interesting, even if they occasionally drive me mad," he admitted, a wry smile playing on his lips. The hound raised it's head, seemingly aware it was being discussed and plopped its head on Bernard's knee. Inspite of his complaints he allowed the animal it's closeness and tusseled it's ears in a manner he knew it liked.

He glanced back at Conall, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and exhaustion. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me it's far too feral to be kept by a private person" he asked his voice tinged with something like hope.

  

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Conall squinted at the explanation – an odd one, if he’d ever heard one. He couldn’t resist adding it to my collection, Prewett had said – as if Prewett’s friends thought him a suitable dumping ground for all manner of magical creatures.

Naturally, Conall might have been more concerned about this if Prewett hadn’t called him out to take a look at them all: whatever he said, he seemed thorough enough in regards to their welfare. Not like – well, not like a lot of men with no sense in their head and money coming out of their asses.

“I can understand that,” Conall admitted, of Prewett’s attempted explanation about his relationship to his collection of creatures. Conall disliked company for the most part, but creatures were the exception to the rule there. Still – he gave a sharp grin, following the wolfhound’s movements – “Now, if you had anything feral I’d be happy to take it off your hands for you, but I don’t think your fellow there has any complaints with his company.” (Nor, Conall thought, did his owner.)

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Bernard chuckled softly at Conall's remark about taking any feral creature off his hands. The mischievous tone in the magizoologist's voice brought an amused glint to Bernard's eyes. "I'll remember the offer," Bernard muttered darkly, patting the wolfhound's head, "this one in particular seems to have settled quite comfortably into my home." He'd never admit it but he did like the animals company, no matter how grouchy he was with it. The wolfhound wagged its tail in response, as if to confirm Bernard's unspoken thoughts. He stopped the idle petting.

Leaning forward, Bernard continued the conversation with a note of curiosity"Now that you mention it." he refilled the others' glass. "I had a friend write to say he had a gift for me when he as coming back from Romania." her explained, "He's not one of my brighter friends, and I'm concerned about exactly what he might have brought me home. He's due to call next thursday, is there is any chance you might make yourself available? At worst you'll get a dinner and maybe a hand or two of cards' he groused.

  

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Conall had met a wealthy gentleman or two in his time, but he was nonetheless intrigued by the particular breed of irresponsible eccentric Prewett appeared to know – and perhaps due to skepticism, morbid curiosity or just the prospect of seeing a creature, he only took a moment to consider the request.

“Romania, you say?” he remarked, brow furrowed thoughtfully – but he nodded all the same. “I can manage that, I think.” He grinned at Prewett again and, with another dash of irreverence, signalled at his whiskey glass in hand as he added – “But I’ll be after another glass of this with the cards.”

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Bernard's lips curled up into an actual smile, a rare sight for those who knew him well. He was genuinely pleased that Conall agreed not to leave him high and dry with whatever nonsense Manfred brought him.

"Excellent! I knew you'd be up for the task," Bernard said, his voice lightening with excitement. He drained his glass, the liquid warmth of the whiskey spreading through him, and set it aside. "With a bit of luck, all you'll be bringing back is some ţuică," he added with a chuckle, referring to the traditional Romanian fruit brandy, that he and Manfred had over imbided upon once upon a time.

However, even as Bernard outwardly expressed enthusiasm, an inward acknowledgment surfaced. There was every chance that Manfred, in his own unpredictable way, would end up bringing back something far more challenging than a bottle of ţuică. Memories of the pairs youth flooded Bernard's mind, recalling the reckless antics that had led to Manfred's expulsion from Hogwarts. His friend had been quite the mischief-maker in his younger days, smuggling alcohol into the dorms and attempting to bribe the house elves to keep it quiet. It was more accurate to say that he hadn't been so much expelled as his father had been nudged by certain offical parties within the school to start his grand tour earlier than expected.

Amusement and a touch of exasperation mingled in Bernard's thoughts. "Well, at least it keeps life interesting," he mused, glancing at Conall.

  

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He didn’t know the name, but context served him well enough to guess he wouldn’t mind it. He shot a wry grin back, and supposed it couldn’t go too badly, his lending a hand – particularly if that was how Prewett was inclined to repay him for his efforts.

On the other hand, interesting struck a faint note of alarm in Conall’s head. He had found nothing untoward in Prewett’s creature collection today – they were all begrudgingly well looked after, and all their papers accounted for – but even if Prewett could be trusted, who knew about his friends. Conall had met too many people and seen too many dealings in his travels, and the wealthy travelling eccentrics often seemed to think they lived entirely above the rules.

Loath as he was to puncture the pleasant state of the conversation, he gave a cough and said in warning, “Of course, I’d have to report anything suspect, you know. As long as the regulations are followed, you’ll be grand.” He didn’t like to sound the asinine pin-pushing sort, and often people suspected he wasn’t – he didn’t work for the Beast Division, and didn’t answer to anyone, generally – but he didn’t want the man thinking he’d just sign off on any illegal importations with a little friendly bribery, and he didn’t mind saying so.

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