I will read about the buzzing of the bees
About the grass and snakes and spawning lakes and the different types of trees
And I will find a way that leads from cruel April into May
And someday soon it will be June and you'll decide to stay
19th April, 1890 — Podmore Zoological Gardens
Charity Lloyd

He had expected that taking over guardianship of an eight-year-old child he barely knew would be a trial, of course. And it was not without its trials - he still felt entirely out of his depth - but Charity had proven to be a very sensible, very sweet girl, and remarkably little trouble in the day to day. In fact, Alfred (at more than twenty-five years her senior!) and his endless calamities were considerably harder work to contemplate.

Cursed or not cursed, though, Charity seemed quite fond of his brother, and if Evander had discreetly taken a leaf out of Alfred’s book, he was not going to admit it, but...

In spite of her governess for company, she spent a great deal of her time cooped up in the house - and with him at the Ministry most days of the week, he didn’t get to spend much time with her either. So, this Sunday Evander had suggested they might visit the zoo. It was not sailing (obviously) but it was in walking distance and, more importantly, bound to be perfectly safe. The visit would be more for her sake than his - children liked animals, apparently? - but he would be glad if he could spend some time with her without thinking about anything else.

“Miss Clearwater says you are getting on very well with your studies,” Evander was saying, presently, as they meandered through the zoo. “She showed me your copybook, too, and your penmanship is excellent... where to, next?” He interrupted himself to ask, supposing Charity ought to pick which exhibit they wandered to next, being the eight-year-old here.

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She was very pleased with Uncle Evander's decision to take her to the zoo, not because she had particularly longed to visit it, but rather because it meant he did care. She reasoned that he'd already shown he cared by taking her in when she had nowhere else to go, and it really ought to be enough for her, but she still appreciated that he was thinking of her. She took full advantage of the chance to act her age in a small crowd of other children acting their age, and had spent the last hour pulling her uncle frome exhibit to exhibit.

She spent a few minutes at each animal with her sketchbook in hand as she tried to capture its likeness. She was not very good, but she supposed she was better than some girls her age, and, she'd decided, there was no obligation to draw a creature she knew she could not. She did enjoy the drawing she could complete, and made sure to show Uncle Evander each one.

"I do enjoy my studies," she said with a smile. "I'm very fond of history, but it could do to be less gloomy. We covered the Americas and the witch hunt last week," she said, almost solemnly, but she could not spend too much time pondering on the countless number of innocent deaths with the sight of the diricrawl exhibit up ahead.

"That way," she said decisively, and gave a small tug on his hand.

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There - if she paying enough attention to the animals to draw them, then there was at least an educational element to the outing, and Evander could feel much better about almost enjoying himself.

His mouth twitched at Charity’s evaluation of history. “Well, I’m certain there are less gloomy parts you’ll get to,” Evander remarked, though as he said it no events were exactly leaping to the forefront of his mind. Indeed, the witch hunts of the Americas were not - heartening, exactly. But it would not do to put her off.

Still, he allowed her to pull him along, keeping pace in a neat stride until they were at the aviary, and the diricawl exhibit. (Or so the signage said; Evander was no expert in creatures. Although he had heard some talk of a certain bird from the Americas having recently come to the zoo, which he was a little interested to see...) He scanned the sign first to know what he was looking at before he glanced into the exhibit, and began to read aloud, presuming Charity would be more interested in doing the looking. “Now these are diricawls,” Evander said, “from an island in the Indian Ocean. They can’t fly, but -” one of the creatures illustrated his point a little prematurely, by disappearing from its spot and reappearing somewhere behind a rock, “they might prove a little more difficult to draw.”

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Charity placed a palm on the glass that separated Uncle Evander and herself from the little birds that dodged in and out of sight every few moments. They were curious little creatures, and Uncle Evander was right: they would be difficult to draw. But that didn't stop her, and she defiantly (at least, in her own mind) pulled out her quill and began trying to capture a still image of a bird who wouldn't stop moving.

"I wonder how they stop them from getting out of the exhibit," she said offhandedly, her gaze fixed on one of the birds as it seemed to purposefully dodge her line of sight. It was a pretty bird—or at least its colors were pretty. Charity was almost disappointed that she hadn't brought her pastels. "Do you think they train them, or is it magic?" Obviously Uncle Evander, a Ministry employee who seemed to know everything, would have full understanding of the measures the zookeepers took to prevent escapes, right? He seemed to know a thing or two about diricrawls, anyhow.

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She tried to sketch one of the birds anyway, and privately Evander had to admire her persistence. For his part, he read the sign and then watched them for a while, purely nonplussed.

But Charity had questions. (She was good at having questions. Was that just a thing about children, or did she had a special knack?)

“Well...” Evander began dutifully, never mind that he had never taken Care of Magical Creatures and knew nothing about zoos. And the exhibit signs were not so helpful in this regard. “I suppose there are all manner of protective enchantments placed on the exhibit to stop them disapparating outside these boundaries,” Evander... presumed; Merlin, he would have to do some research after this to be quite sure and to be sure Charity didn’t grow up to think him quite dim, “And not just for the diricawls, I’m sure. Perhaps some of the animals have been trained up a little, but really, can you imagine the chaos if all of these creatures were let loose upon Irvingly?” He half-smiled as if he were joking. (But really, imagine the chaos. And never mind the muggles, who would not take kindly to seeing some of these dangerous magical specimens roving outside their doors!)

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   Charity Lloyd

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Magic barriers, then. She scribbled that fact down beside her drawing, that had somehow turned into an blurred image of a diricrawl mid-run. She quickly took to labeling their anatomy to the best of her ability, hoping to find the opportunity to do a proper sketch from memory later. One thing was for sure: this wouldn't be the one to present to Miss Clearwater the next morning. Maybe she ought to find a sleeping creature to sketch.

"They'd cause chaos anywhere," she said, looking up at her uncle with knitted brows and a half-smile that mirrored her own. "Could you imagine if it appeared in your office and then disappeared, never to be found again? I'd never stop wondering where it went. It looks like the kind of creature that would enjoy tearing my homework up, too." Yes, it was good they were guarded by magical enchantments. (And on second thought, maybe she should get magical enchantments for her bedroom as well.)

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“I confess I have little idea where a diricawl would most like to go, if it did have the freedom,” Evander replied, failing a little to suppress his amused (and a little bemused, being honest) smile at the curiosity of Charity’s imagination. Tearing up her homework, too! (So those were her worries, and she had some of the Darrow genes he had gotten - that much was suddenly evident. Well, good. She might have some actual sense.) “I can’t imagine it would be entertained by anyone’s office for long.” After terrorising town, back to Mauritius they would go, he supposed.

“Oh look, now there’s a creature worth drawing,” Evander said, pointing over at another exhibit in the area, recognising that rare creature on sight because it was one he had deliberately looked up once. A Thunderbird. All the way from the Americas, it must be! (Charity had just covered the Americas in her history lessons, she had said; that was a perfect excuse. It need have nothing to do with a conversation he had once had with a certain someone else.) He gazed at it from a distance. It was far larger than the diricawls, and many times more majestic. “Now that bird looks like much less of a nuisance, don’t you think?”

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Charity had no idea where diricawls would go, either. They were small, colorful birds with the ability to disappear at will. Would they like to go somewhere they could disappear, or would they like to be somewhere they could be seen? They'd blend right in in the jungles from her storybooks, but they'd also be good hide-and-seek partners! Though she supposed they'd make horrid pets, with the whole vanishing thing.

She was ready to launch into a monologue about how it seemed most magical creatures didn't make good pets, but Uncle Evander redirected her attention to something even more amazing than diricawls.

"Oh," she said softly, her lips parted in awe as she watched the golden bird hover before a crowd. It was worth drawing, with its long feathers and elegant beak. It was a wonder she'd never seen it before—it was the type of bird that would make a lovely statue.

She grabbed her uncle's hand and tugged him in the bird's direction, her parted mouth turning into a wide smile. "We have to get closer so I can draw it. I need to show Miss Clearwater that I can draw feathers!"

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She had been taking his hand all day long and still every time it made something in him jolt. He didn’t know a great deal about children, but he couldn’t help but think this was a good sign. That she was growing more comfortable with the change, more confident in her new life. So he hoped, anyway.

“I’m sure she’ll be very impressed,” Evander said diplomatically, before Charity had even had time to begin her next sketch. Or maybe she had - he had paused to look at this creature for a moment before he gravitated towards the exhibit signage, merely drinking in the sight of it first.

“Something from the Americas that’s a little less gloomy for you,” he concluded, trying to distil the awe the golden bird produced into something a little more rational. A Thunderbird was as good a tonic as any to having studied all the witch hunts. “I believe one of the school houses in America is named after the thunderbird,” Evander added offhand; indeed, he knew this to be true, because Miss Delaney had told him this herself.

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By the time they reached the crowd of people surrounding the thunderbird exhibit, Charity had already formed a rough sketch of the create on her pad. It was a difficult creature to draw; its feathers were long and distinct, and its body as angular as it was round. Its beak was so distinct that she could hardly imagine drafting anything that properly resembled it. She let her sketching quill down for a moment to stare up at it as it let out a loud squawk—no, that was the wrong word. It was beautiful and scary at the same time. It was a roar.

"I would be very proud to be in a house called Thunderbird. It's magnificent," she said, unable to turn away from the creature's display of golden feathers to take a glimpse of her uncle's reaction. "I'm sad that he's here. He looks like the type of bird to save people from mortal peril. Could you imagine it, Uncle Evander?" She looked up at him then, her eyes filled with delight. Magical creatures made awful pets, but this might be one worth risking mortal peril for itself.

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Yes, it was rather magnificent, wasn’t it? Majestic.

His gentle smile at Charity’s assessment faltered slightly at her last remark. “Mortal peril?” He inquired, and then, under his breath, “you’ve been spending too much time with Alfred.” Perhaps he ought not to be so startled by the sombre turn of thought; though she was just a little girl, she had already been rather too close to mortal peril for his liking, and the loss of her father was still so new.

But he didn’t know how to broach that subject suitably softly, only knew that trying to was probably best not accomplished at the zoo.

He made an effort to smile at her regardless, though the Thunderbird seemed to be holding her gaze; moving towards the exhibit signs, he added, impressed at her instinct: “It does say they can sense danger, so yes, probably.”

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Charity did not analyze her uncle's tone, for her attention was centered on every flap of the creature's wings and ever call that came from its beak. She could envision it—a rowboat closing in on the edge of a waterfall, only for the mighty thunderbird to sweep in and rescue them from the river rapids. How convenient being able to tame one would be; sadly, she doubted anyone would ever be capable of it. With power came danger, and Charity's eyes went to its claws.

"Do you think it hurts to be grabbed by one?" she asked, watching as it clutched the rocks beneath its feet. "Their claws are so sharp; I imagine it would hurt me even if it intended to rescue me." Not that she would ever blame the creature; being killed by falling on rocks sounded more painful than being sliced up.

She looked up at him inquiringly. "Do they live in Britain, or just America?"

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He tried to remember how he had been as a child. This gloomy? Well, possibly. But Evander could not help but feel that, in the times he had heard or seen of her before she had come to live with him - few and far between as they were - she had not been quite like this. He watched her as she contemplated their claws, but his mind was on her loss of her father, and he was wondering what on earth he might do to help her recover from it.

Not talking very practically about the pain of being pierced by talons, for one thing, but Merlin. “This is the very first one I’ve seen,” he remarked, as cheerfully as possible, “so just America, I should think.” He patted her shoulder, somewhere between gently and awkwardly, wondering how best to move on from this.

“You’ve been a very successful artist today,” Evander said, with a stern sort of pride, hoping that she would take his word for it though he knew absolutely nothing about art. Distractions, distractions... “Shall we go back to the muggle side, and visit the petting zoo?”

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wrap?

  

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