Scamander Park

At Porpentina’s words, the Kneazles, tabby one in front, immediately got in line and marched through the French windows to the path of white gravel beyond. Harry and Hermione, having said their goodbyes, followed them.

But as Ron was stepping out, the black Puffskein rolled towards him, squeaking, and began to climb his leg. He froze, one foot over the threshold.

Porpentina smiled, and the feather quills planted in her double-tiered chignon quivered. A quick thrill of colour, waving from pink to red and back again, ran through them.

“I think Lucy’s chosen you, Mr. Weasley, and as you already have a foot over my threshold, you’ll have to take her with you.”

“Oh... all right.”

Ron bent awkwardly to scoop up the handful of soft black fur, but it had already escalated to his waist, and it took advantage of his fumbling to reach the shoulder and huddle up against his neck, chirping softly in his ear. He tilted his head against the silken ball of fluff and grinned sheepishly. “Thank you, Mrs. Scamander.”

Outside, the Kneazles had sat down on the white gravel and were waiting impatiently, eyes narrowed. The tip of Mauler’s tail was tapping the minutest drum against the ground, and Miller’s left ear was twitching as if a drunken ant had decided to explore its depths. As soon as Ron joined his friends, their furry guardians leapt to their feet and surrounded the trio in a spearhead formation. Hoppy was leading the way, tail proudly held up like a flag.

~*~*~*~

The path wound across a vast meadow with scattered trees before seeming to disappear, far away, into a very high and dark hedge of evergreens. The sun was already low in the sky, tinging a few purple clouds with a lining of copper rays.

“Is that a giraffe?” asked Harry, pointing at an animal that was crossing the lawn with a strange, ambling gait. “I didn’t know the Scamanders had a safari park.”

“That’s an Aepycamelus,” corrected Hermione. “Tertiary era, early to late Miocene. A cousin of the modern camel. Not at all related to modern Giraffidae, which...”

A large shadow dived over the path and the trio ducked. Ron instinctively cradled Lucy with his hand as she clutched at his shoulder.

“I saw that in a Muggle book,” whispered Harry.

“I hope you did. That’s a pteranodon,” said Hermione, brushing back a lock of hair that had fallen on her forehead and screwing her eyes up to follow the triangular, dark shape as it flapped majestically into the sunset.

“No kidding,” said Harry. He looked a mite pale. “But... how?”

“A simple and elegant application of Porpentina’s work to the Transfiguration-related problem of folding multi-dimensional space and time. I’m so glad we came!”

They had reached the high, forbidding hedge when the herd of Aethonons grazing on the side of the path snorted, stirred and began to gallop before taking flight in a flurry of powerful wings. On their far left, a silver ribbon gleamed in the dusky distance.

“There’s a river there,” said Ron, leaning over.

“Keep to the path, Ron.” Hermione sounded worried.

“But there’s something... someone in that river. I thought it waved at me.”

“Could be old Scamander. He’s a river god - we were told in History of Magic, don’t you remember?”

“Doesn’t look so old to me,” muttered Ron, shading his eyes with his hand and taking three strides off the path. “Hey, what is he holding? Blimey...”

“Ron, come back to the path!” hissed Hermione.

It was too late. From between the dark trees, a long, sinuous shape towered above the hedge, then arched and plunged towards Ron, winding thrice around his waist and lifting him from the ground. Harry lunged forward, grabbing Ron’s legs, but it made no difference. The Kneazles screeched but stayed on the path. Hermione screamed and lashed a Diffindo at the monstrous form, but missed.

Lucy, however, had leapt from Ron’s shoulder to the surface of the writhing tentacle and from there to the ground. She scurried towards the hedge where she gripped the thickest of the trunks, hooking eight long legs around it.

For a moment, the gigantic, thrashing limb was immobilised. It was long enough for Hermione, who took aim and shouted: “Sectumsempra!”

The tentacle was neatly severed ten feet at the apex of its curve. Ron and Harry fell in a heap; the slimy coils around Ron’s waist unrolled limply, while the flailing stump jerked back across the hedge and disappeared.

“I thought you didn't like that spell," panted Harry who had got to his feet and was dragging Ron back towards the path. "Hey, what’s that?”

"It's far more precise." There was the slightest trembling in Hermione's voice, but her wand was steady, still aimed at the top of the hedge. “And that was a Squiddiform Manticore. I thought they were extinct.”

Ron muttered darkly.

“No, this,” said Harry, showing her the fine, silky threads clinging to his palm. They ran down along his legs in irregular strands, like the frayed ends of a rope, and coalesced on the ground into a thick, black cord slithering towards the shadows of the hedge. He pulled tentatively and Lucy lurched out of the shadows.

She looked exhausted as she swayed towards Ron, twitching on her eight spindly legs. When she reached his feet, she tried to climb up but instead collapsed.

Ron looked thunderstruck.

“Let’s face it, mate,” said Harry, grinning. “We owe our lives to a spider.”

“Mygalomorpha Amicula Recumbens,” murmured Hermione. “Extremely rare.”

Ron bent and slipped his hand under the soft ball of fur, scooping it up carefully. The long legs dangled for a moment, then with a visible effort, Lucy retracted them and lay, shivering, in her friend’s palm. Tiny drops of dew trembled like diamonds on the tip of the long, silky hairs.

The first stars had lit the sky.

The Kneazles yowled urgently.

“I’ll be glad to get home too,” grinned Harry.

Ron tucked Lucy into the crook of his shoulder.

Hermione sheathed her wand, took the boys’ hands in her own and pivoted. It was with a queasy relief that Harry and Ron felt the swirl of Disapparition engulf them.