Prof. Griffith's door.

"The muggles have that now. The muggles feel the need to drive society as a whole forwards, whereas the wizarding community only feels the need to drive the individual forward, whatever that may mean. Why provide more complete data for anyone other than yourself? Why put in the effort, if the increase in power of the community doesn't necessarily equate to your own gain? People don't expand on the books because there's no reason to. And all due respect to the man, but Newt Scamander wasn't exactly interested in taxonomic classifications. He reads like a bestiary with notes."

Griffith reached a hand into the cavernous pocket of his coat, fishing around a little before retrieving a extremely colorful bird that flapped as it climbed up the tall welshman's arm, to come to rest on his shoulder. It had a savage looking, sharp beak that seemed a bit small for it's size, and the plumage seemed almost blurred, as if someone had used a photoshop smudging tool on it's edges, an effect that was more noticed when it fluffed itself. Size wise, it was a little under a foot, and when it squawked, it made a sound like striking steel.

"People are scared. Especially wizards, scared of anything that could be stronger than them. Closed off to the idea that others could help them expand their own knowledge. Magizoology isn't a respected field, and magical creatures are exploited. There's not a lot the ministry can or would do about that. Everyone wants power, the ministry is just an organized representation of that. Why would people work together to classify beings that are so difficult to understand? It's thankless work that benefits others, and that is why we fall behind."

This was clearly something the boy was passionate about, hopefully something he was going to pursue. There was nothing wrong with asking controversial questions, nothing wrong with comparing wizarding technology with that of their muggle counterparts. The entire wizarding community was essentially living in the dark ages, but with magic. It was deplorable, but there was nothing that could realistically be done about it, and that bothered Griffith. Not a lot, not enough to keep him up at night. He had other worries to account for his lack of a good circadian rythm. You didn't use an entire school full of wizards and children as a shield for no reason, after all.

"Don't worry. I know it sucks, and isn't reasonable, but there's nothing to be done at the moment. There is something to work towards. Gather interest, make some friends. If you want to do anything about this, you'll need support, and people who are willing to put research over power. But, you're young. So don't worry about it too much, and focus on learning in general. Can't help at all if you flunk charms."

Reaching a hand up to his shoulder, and whistling shortly for the bird to clamber up to his hand, he held it out for the boy.

"The line between magical and regular is sometimes blurred. It's a coarse distinction that exists for the purpose of segregation. Would you like to hold him?"

Why? Why? His brow furrowed in a mix of confusion and agitation. To him, knowledge--accessible knowledge, for everyone, for its own sake, was worth it. It was worth it for individuals and the community. That was why public schooling was so important. But then the wizarding community which, if used in conjunction with muggle technologies, could be beyond advanced, couldn't even be assed to work out basic taxonomy. These creatures were already rare and hardly recognized. Was there anything keeping them from extinction in the modern age of the machine and of industrialization?

He wasn't sure whether he was more saddened by this new information or upset. The stupidity of humans interfering with the world ceaselessly frustrated him. They had so much power, so much capability, and it was wasted into self-gain and greed when they could be living in a near-utopia if more people were trying. And the professor had a point: even Scamander, one of the world's most renowned magizoologists, wasn't interested in the science. The evolution.

He might've only been eleven, but he fully intended on fixing it, or at least starting. The pen was mightier than the sword, or so they said.

Why couldn't people just care more, about each other and everything else?

He'd be eighteen when he left Hogwarts. Maybe then he could take the equivalency exam and manage to go to normal college to study science, then come back and cross-reference the two. This world seriously needed it. He just hoped that people moved quickly enough, before everything disappeared. Mundane muggle animals were already in trouble. Magic ones didn't seem to have any protection.

But before he could really delve into any of that, there was a brilliantly colored bird coming out of Griffith's pocket. It had a sharp beak and was actually quite large. How the thing both fit in and remained inside his pocket, Matt had not the faintest, but the question was completely overpowered by the awe of the new beast. In spite of its carnivorous appearance--at least, off the beak--the bill wasn't particularly large.

It was beautiful.

And now Professor Morfran Griffith was extending it--her? him?--to Matt.

Magical and regular: a coarse distinction for purposes of segregation. His mind took note of that, as it seemed important. Still, it seemed to fall on the wayside in light of the creature before him. Slowly, tentatively, he extended his arm like he would towards an owl, trying to keep from startling it. In spite of his interest, he didn't actually have a lot of experience with animals, just reading about them. He hadn't even kept a pet outside of the snake he had back at home. It was probably part of why he found himself in the owlery so often.

"What is it?" he breathed, nervousness and rigorous interrogation stalled momentarily with the more immediate curiosity.

Griffith was a magizoologist. He was exceptionally skilled, to a point where it seemed almost magical how well he worked with the creatures around him. His muscular body was covered in scars, his light blue, almost white eyes pierced with an understanding of things that lived. But he would never pretend to be a scientist. No, he was there to cure sickness, to save the hurt, to take care of things that needed him. Other humans could wait, were cast to the wayside along with his respect for the law the ministry laid down.

He would never be known for his taxonomic classification of unicorns, he would probably go down in history as a villain, a criminal that was eventually taken out by another criminal. But this boy? He had promise. He could be more than a field doctor, more than what Griffith had become. There was potential in someone so young, there was potential in firing up a youthful passion, in seeing it flourish and become something that could change the world. There was nothing stopping the little ravenclaw from changing the world and it's perspective on so many living things. Griffith was almost envious.

"That was a perfectly average falcon. Now, it's this. There used to be two of them, but the previous keeper wasn't so good at keeping things. So now there's one. But imagine, imagine if they had bred and then been released. A new species, a shift in the local ecosystem, in the global ecosystem. A shift in everything. How many magical creatures started out like this?"

Griffith reached back into his pocket, this time pulling out a rather large cage full of mice. It was roomy enough to fit 15 or 20 of them, and it realistically shouldn't have been able to fit in his desk, much less his pocket.

"Makes it hard for those who study them. I call her 'ore'. I don't know how queasy you get, but it's about time for her to eat, if you want to feed her."

He nodded at the large cage, which was now sitting on the desk.

A falcon. She was pretty large as far as those went, and he found his mind running through the possibilities. A peregrine was possible, but a gyrfalcon seemed more likely given the size, or maybe a saker. Whatever she had been, however, she was something entirely different now.

Ore.

Mattathias wasn't a stranger to live food. He usually gave his snake frozen stuff, but he fed it live every now and then, and the idea of it hardly made him balk. Snakes ate a bit more cleanly given that they ate it whole but he surely wasn't going to pass up this opportunity. When he'd come here, he thought he'd be lucky to get an answer at all, but now the professor was offering so much more than he ever could've anticipated. He never would've thought he'd actually get to handle something.

His eyes were wide as he beheld the raptor on his arm. Her long, slender toes tipped in onyx talons; the feathers starting at her ankle joint and where her leg disappeared beneath her feathers; the length of her primaries that reached almost past the tip of her tail; the slight nock on her beak that allowed her to dispatch her quarry more quickly than any hawk; the tubercules in her nostrils and the huge, dark eyes that studied the room and were framed in yellow that extended down her lores and cere.

Her talons were sharp against his arm. He could feel that much even though she wasn't trying to hurt him.

Had the professor just pulled an entire rodent cage out of his pocket?

That might've startled him if he wasn't so focused on the bird, but the surprise definitely showed on his face. Did this man just have pockets of holding or what?! But that was a question that wasn't really relevant, and he was far more interested in feeding a falcon than he was asking about coats. He slid his hand into the cage and grabbed one of the mice with the ease of practice.

If she was a new species, then she would still be considered in the genus of Falco, right? She had all the characteristics of a true falcon, just with additional ones. Or could she even be considered a subspecies? Could she still breed with others of her kind?

The boy shot a smile to Professor Griffith when he posed the suggestion, eyes alight. "I've fed live before, to my snake," he said, but his eyes didn't leave the bird. "I'm not squeamish."

He hooked his fingers around the mouse's head to hold it still as he raised it up, carefully, to the avian. He kept his palm flat so that when she inevitably grabbed for it, she didn't take his skin with it. Lord, she was beautiful.

"How often does she eat? How many does she get? Does her feeding vary from that of a normal falcon at all? Do you know what species she was before the magic changed her? Has it only changed her appearance, or her physiology or abilities as well?"

His voice was somewhat softer, as to not startle her. She seemed tame enough but he'd learned not to assume things about wild animals, or even domestics that he didn't know. One never knew what could startle a beast.

"She likes to eat about 4 every day, more if she's active. I tend to keep the mice in the bottom of her enclosure, so she can hunt if she feels like it, and I also have somewhere convenient to keep the rodents."

The brightly colored bird snatched up the rodent in barely more than the blink of an eye, swallowing it whole, and quickly, before happily ruffling it's feathers. Griffith refrained from answering the boy's other questions, choosing instead to simply wait for the inevitable, which came in the form of a soft glow emanating from the bird along with a steady increase in the temperature around it.

After about one minute, with the heat getting just barely into the line of discomfort, it would begin to subside along with the glow, leaving the bird ruffled, content, and still quite a bit toastier than when it started.

"Well, it does that. I haven't had it long enough to figure out exactly why, but I'm considering calling it a furnace bird. It converts whatever it eats to heat and light, and somehow gets energy from that. Feels more at home in colder climates, so maybe it was on purpose to provide a way to keep warm."

Griffith pulled a piece of coal from the same pocket

"Doesn't seem to have any nutritional value, but it makes ore fire up pretty hot. I don't want to burn your arm, so I'm not going to give it to her, but it does lend credence to the theory that her stomach is incendiary."

This is now open for further rp-ing. If I cut off a rp short that you'd like to continue, please feel free to owl me and we can make a separate thread for that.

Aida needed out. Outdoors, away from people, away, away, away. She was burning with rage at all the secrecy and overlording. Forbidden this, restricted that. She could feel the walls closing in on her-- the responsibilities, punctuality, tidiness, speaking only sanctioned words, secrets on top of secrets, white lies on top of dark lies, and worst of all, the physical walls themselves. As she grew older, Aida had felt over and over the longing to hurry up and become an adult since they seemed to have all the power and freedom. If this was what it was to become an adult, there was no freedom or power in this. She would never know freedom again it seemed, with the rules and requirements only growing with time.

Aida hated the way the adults talked down to her, as if she were too stupid to understand. As if she could not be responsible and treat things with care and patience with the help of their gentle guiding hands. No, the world presented immediate and stonewalling rejection with no chance of compromise. The grown-ups' fists were full of threats, their high-polish boots stamping out her dreams like an unwanted fire, and their mouths... their mouths emitted the power to tear her thoughts to pieces and put them back together in ways of their choosing. The adults in Hogwarts and Glennfinan did not work with her to help achieve her dreams, nor was there any room for discussion. With the slightest wrong word she was shut down. She knew she was no God, no superhuman. She knew she was just a kid that hadn't even known the magical world existed until she was informed by a talking hat and a letter full of empty promises about a week ago. Aida couldn't think of a single magical thing about herself, just some freaky pale skin and shockingly white hair. Pitifully fully human. She didn't even want to be human. She wanted to be a bird and fly away, fly everywhere in the world, high up where nothing could touch her but she could see everything. Learn everything.

Away, away. She just had to get away. She would never see her parents and she knew that now. There was no escape from the prison of Azkaban. There was no escape from the dank cell of growing up. In the Highland countryside Aida could do anything. She could spin in circles for an hour or scream blasphemy at the top of a precipice just to hear it ring back to her, an affirmation echoing over and over through the chasm.

No more walls to confine me where these people can clip my wings until I bleed, she thought. But where can I go? Humans have taken over the world. Anywhere she could go, she was subject to rules and doctrine and punishment. There was nowhere she could be free of judgement. Wherever she went she would always be that creepy albino. Wherever she went the Ministry could hunt her down. It didn't matter that Aida had committed no crime. She was sure her parents had committed no crime either. She knew from the letter that they were good people who loved her. I'll surely turn out just like them, thought Aida. When I have proven that I am of no use to society and too inconvenient they will delete everything about me, just like my parents; I will just be an animal in a cage awaiting the final blow.

Aida broke into a run across the grounds of Hogwarts, past the frenetic Quidditch pitch, past the students pulling screaming mandrakes out of their earthy wombs, past the students on broomsticks that would fly but only just-so. Faster, faster. If only she could go fast enough she would escape it all. If she could go fast enough she would be free... but it could not be. Aida collapsed from exhaustion beside the tall fence of the stables. The strong scent of the masting grass was intoxicating as it combined with the endorphins of exhaustion and fury and desire.



Gasping and shrieking, then screaming, she could not escape. There was nowhere to run. Tears streamed down Aida's face. None of this was fair. She wanted to play by the rules, but there was no flexibility in them. The adults were too tired from their tedium and labors to try to work with her. She was just another number to be crossed off from a horrible list. Staring up at the sky, Aida slowly recovered her breath. What reason did she have to go anywhere, anymore? She didn't even have any friends that would look for her, and her parents were gone forever. No one would come for her. Let me just disappear... thought Aida with despair.

On and on, Aida stared at the sky as she lay flat on her back in the dirt. Some kind of whickering sound was audible from the stable. A yowl, a screech. There were things inside the stable, she supposed. They're just as trapped as me, thought Aida. Maybe they would understand me, or at least... not judge me. Not incarcerate me. Not tell me how to think or feel or what I'm allowed to say. If I break off this branch none of them will yell at me or hit me. Aida sprung to her feet and grasped the end of a fine branch of blue spruce, snapping it off and luxuriating in its fresh natural perfume. The creatures inside the stable did not scold her, did not strike at her for this.



I want to be with them, thought Aida. Dusting the dirt off her garments and shaking back the wild mane of her hair, Aida straightened her posture. This is what I planned on anyway. I will find my way, even if they shut me down here, or in a million places. I will find a place where I can grow without being warped from all the stomping and crushing. I will stay free even if I die trying.

Aida approached the front door of the structure near the stables and observed the sign that clearly read,

"If you have no business here, I don't want you here."

Life on the ranch had made a stubborn creature out of Aida. Taking a deep breath, Aida pulled the black silk cord at the entry. Its cold, dark, and smooth texture felt good in her hand.

It took a slow five minutes before there was any response at all, and when the response did come, it came in the form of the slow sliding of the stone door, in a raised, judgmental eyebrow and eyes a blue so light they seemed almost glacial. Piercing, cold eyes that knew what they saw. The calculating eyes of a very shrewd man who somehow managed to simultaneously know nothing at all. He wore a long, heavy leather coat with deep, cavernous pockets. His large, calloused hand rested on the edge of the door, which he had purposefully not opened very wide, only about a foot. Enough for her to see him clear enough, but not enough to see much else, or slip past.

The first thing he noticed was how starkly white she was. Her skin, her hair, white as paper. The second thing that caught his eyes were the red eyes and remnants of tears. She felt off, wasn't standing right. No, she wasn't stable, not right then anyway. She didn't need to say anything, Griffith could feel it. He had worked with creatures all his life, he knew when one of them was upset, and they couldn't say a word. If anything, it was easier with kids.

"Fine, then."

He swung the door open, wide enough for her to enter the spartanic office. Two chairs, a single desk, a place for coats. There wasn't a lot, in the stone enclosure. A few sconces kept it lit well enough, although the desk was suspiciously empty of anything, clutter, paper or otherwise. He moved to the small chair on the other side of the desk, having closed the door behind the girl, assuming she came inside.

"Come for the creatures?"

Aida came inside and gave a simple bow. “Thank you for seeing me, professor Griffith.” The pale, almost glowing appearance of the girl was heightened by her all-white attire: deerskin breeches, a pure wool sweater, and knee-high leather boots lined inside with rabbit fur and with pigskin at the joints. The soft animalic fragrance of her clothing might have smelled nostalgic to anyone who had spent time in the countryside, though no one at Hogwarts had seemed to notice so far. While these second skins felt imperceptible to Aida, who had grown up wearing this attire for most of her life, she did quite enjoy the various faint smells each piece gave off.

“I am here to submit my application to R.O.A.M.,” Aida said, taking a seat opposite Griffith if he had sat down or standing next to her chair if Griffith had remained standing. She looked at him straight in the eyes even though her voice was still cracking from the effects of the stress she had just undergone outside. Aida’s gaze was hard and sharp like a diamond bit, but she smiled a little. She liked Griffith’s eyes; they reminded her of the blue eyes of a Philippine eagle that she had seen in a book years ago. His are more blue though, like a moulin, thought Aida, with crystal-clear water wandering deep through the ice. Aida loved looking at pictures of such things in books, but to see such a color in real life was utterly charming. Most of all Aida liked that the professor did not seem one for pageantry and that they might actually have a real conversation.

“Also, I want to humbly offer any help I can give to your operations here. I know I am small and inexperienced, and I know I make people hate me by asking too many questions, but I really just want to be of help to the creatures here, and to you.” Aida’s eyes were so light from their lack of pigment that they had blue-violet iridescence, resulting from their barely noticeable retinal reflection. “I only ask that you don’t hit me. If you do then I will know you are like all the rest of them,” continued the girl with a half-whisper, “…and I will fly away.”

Then Aida reached behind her back and pulled out a red apple, extending it towards Griffith. “I listen to people when they talk, and they say that you don’t eat. I would be honored if you would take this apple.” Aida stood closer in order to make the fruit more reachable, though she suddenly blushed as she realized that there was a small bruise on the apple’s backside. I must have done that when I collapsed by the stables, cursed Aida to herself. Her face contorted slightly but her piercing gaze didn't leave Griffith. The apple looked just like those given out freely at the dining hall, less the bruise.

...What on earth? Griffith, who had reclined a bit in the small chair in order to get slightly more comfortable, shifted forward, and raised his eyebrow, a maneuver that he was awfully used to pulling off. She was like some weird porcelain doll. His eyes scanned her clothes, but they didn't hold much of note to him. Leather pants, wool shirt. A lot of the students wore very weird clothing, it was a school for wizards and oddballs, and this little girl was no exception. He supposed it was good, in a way. It helped people feel unique. It struck him as odd when the girl mentioned R.O.A.M, and that she was coming to submit an application in person, but it made more sense when she offered to help.

His raised eyebrow settled back down when she threatened softly to fly away if he hit her. Hit her? What in the name of seven types of knockoff fantasy elves did he get dragged into this time? Who had even dragged him in, this time? Himself? Should he just ditch, say he's busy? Well, probably. But he wasn't going to. Griffith reached one hand deep into his pocket, resting his other on the rickety armrest of his chair. He absently blew some of his wild hair out of the way, took a deep breath, and took the apple.

"Have you been around creatures before? Truly wild creatures? They read your heart, they scan you better than any spell I've ever seen. They know what's going on, did you know that? To take care of something, you have to be in charge. You have to apply the bandage, and not take shit. Your heart is all out of whack. It's been less than five minutes and you just insulted yourself three times. Two of which you can't control, and the last time, it was for being curious? Wanting to know more?"

Griffith flung his feet up onto the desk, tilting his chair back, which creaked dangerously as he tossed the apple up into the air, catching it as it fell back down.

"There was once a young lad, a boy who had a friend. They went all over the world together, and they gave each other courage. But there's an understanding. The boy gave his friend food, shelter, unconditional love. A relationship was established based off of who was the provider. So the boy's friend looked to the boy as the leader, the one he could come to when he was scared, the one who would always have something to eat, the one who could make pain go away. That friend could feel the boy's heart, and it would always calm him down. No matter how nervous that friend got, the steady heartbeat, the quiet confidence would always calm him down, make him feel okay. Then one day, things didn't go okay. The friend got hurt, hurt really bad. And the boy? He panicked. It made sense, to panic. It was a scary situation. But that was when his friend needed him to be calm, needed to know that he was going to be okay. When that friend reached out to feel for that quiet, comforting heartbeat, they felt fear."

Griffith rocked forward again, feeling the wooden legs of his stool thudding hard against the stone floor as he looked at the little girl in the chair across the desk from him.

"I've got another one."

He stared at her eyes, trying to convey the message that this was important, something that he was trusting her to be mature enough to understand.

"You can feel yourself. Now, that's a pretty weird something to think about, isn't it? But at the end of the day, you are your own friend. And when the world's breaking down around you, you need to be able to feel yourself, feel your own quiet confidence, and you have to be able to know that it's going to be there.
Now, I know I'm preaching. But this is important, because you clearly see creatures as a refuge. They can't be your refuge unless you can be theirs, and you can't be theirs unless you can be your own."

Griffith sighed. He wasn't some psychologist, in fact, this was the only thing he really had much experience with. Self confidence was important, vitally so, and he prayed that self confidence was the only problem the little girl had. If it turned out there was much more, he wasn't sure how many more stories he knew.

"Does that make sense, to you?"