77 77: Resemblances

Alaric threw the rug off the cage, and right before it hit the floor, the purple rug folded into a bird that flapped away to a pile of junk on the other side of the room. 

The crossbill was still fast asleep. Alaric wondered how the bird fell into the dreamland after being taken from the poachers to the castle if, theoretically, the bird remained with the same cognitive abilities it once had as a human. 

With a flick of his wand, Alaric summoned a large and thick tome, at least the size of a torso, with a black leather cover from a better-organised pile of objects — He wanted to record his research in a better way than scrolls; his suitcase had little to no space left with the amount he'd used by now.

The tome was blank, of course. Its thin parchment pages were reinforced with protection spells, anti-perforation charms, and water-proof jinxes. Not only that, its thick leather cover had anti-theft charms embued, and Alaric still wanted to add at least half a dozen enchantments the tome's Italian manufacturer could have placed. 

Alaric could've made one himself, but it was cheaper to buy a pre-made one. Also, the Italian leather was too pretty to let go. 

He stuck his hand into the cage and carefully brought the sleeping Maledictus out. Alaric could feel its heartbeats through the plumage and skin of the bird. He now saw how fragile the creature was. Or human. He didn't know what to consider it as...

The table where Alaric placed the sleeping crossbill had a large oil lamp hanging overhead, supported by a rusty metallic arm that sprouted from the same table. Because of winter, the sky outside was cloudy and grey, barely letting any light through, so the oil lamp was the only light in the messy workshop. 

One of the table's drawers had a golden knob that gleamed in the lamplight. Alaric unlocked it and took out a thin, luxurious quill after a few seconds of moving his hand about without seeing. It was Tracey's gift from last Christmas. Its nib was weathered from use, but Alaric liked it too much to buy new ones. And it was the same with his other friend's gifts. He didn't know if they'd be happy or shocked at the state of their presents after Alaric used them nonstop. 

While the bird slept, Alaric spent the next few minutes noting everything he could observe. The colour of its plumage, the shape of its bill, the size of the small claws at the end of its feet, the magic whispers that left it...

It was only when the bird's dark, red wings stirred that Alaric stopped writing. Its yellow, beady eyes locked in on Alaric, watching his every move as he placed the quill down on the tome. Alaric could see a strange gleam in the bird's eyes, something that certainly wasn't normal in a crossbill — understanding. The Maledictus, even when stuck in a bird's body, seemed to understand what was going on around him beyond a simple danger instinct other birds would have.

"Well... hello," Alaric said, jotting down in his small and thin writing. He figured that, even if he was talking with a bird, he should start with the pleasantries. 

The bird didn't speak — of course, it wouldn't — nor did it chirp back, but instead, looked down at Alaric's bandaged hand. 

"Oh, this?" Alaric waved his hand around. "I got it fighting the ones who had you. It's much better now. Used to hurt when I moved it, really,"

Taking into mind the maledictus could be easily scared, he tried to use a friendly tone. Although, he couldn't see how someone would be afraid after enduring a poachers' camp. Alaric was sure the clothes he used that day still had some of the smell. 

Once again, silence. Alaric wasn't expecting it to speak but hoped for at least an onomatopoeia back. He sighed, rubbed his temples, and brought a chocolate frog from his robe's pocket. When Alaric sat down and untied his green tie, he was ready to swallow the whole thing. Just then, he noticed the bird's yellow following his snack. 

"Want some?" He asked off-handedly, leaning back with his feet on the table, trying to balance the chair in its two back legs.

The bird's gaze seemed undecided between the chocolate frog and Alaric's posture, and Alaric felt he was judging him. 

"What?" Alaric asked with a frown. He felt somewhat irked by being looked at like that, especially by a bird. "Sometimes the pureblood etiquette is so deep into you, you just need to unwind. Pretty sure I never acted like this in front of anyone, not even my sister," The bird continued to stare. "Don't bloody look at me like that. You have a fully aware mind. I could search it for information. Instead, here I am, being nice,"

Alaric wondered how daft he looked to anyone who could see him. Talking to a bird, he laughed to himself. Then again, they wouldn't know the crossbill used to be a person. 

It was only after a while that he noticed the maledictus had backed away to the wall, fear laced in his eyes. Alaric sighed, exasperation mixed with regret, and placed the chocolate frog near the bird.

"Sorry. Here, all yours," The chirps that left the bird's bill a moment later sounded so happy that they seemed almost childish. That's probably why Alaric apologised. The maledictus carried such a childlike aura that guilt washed over him when he saw how scared it looked.

But Maledictus couldn't be children. It clearly stated in the books his grandfather left him that every case only worsened into adulthood. But then, why did they worsen? What was the cause that started the reaction that permanently turned the afflicted person into a creature? Was it possible that someone affected by the curse could develop early symptoms, causing the process to occur earlier than normal? If so... it could mean the bird in front of him was but a child who got his normal life taken away too early.

There was a deeper compassion that formed inside Alaric. 

"Alright," He said after a while of the bird nibbling on the chocolate. "How about I ask you some questions?"

The bird looked at him quizzically. Alaric swished his wand, and a wooden tablet with numbers, letters, and a big 'YES' and 'NO' appeared on the table. It was similar to the ones he saw that the Muggles liked to sell, but those usually came with some speak-to-spirits nonsense. A ghost would be greatly affronted at the prospect of communicating with someone through a piece of wood. 

"When I ask you something, you just have to tap on the answer, and you can use the letters to communicate with me, ok?"

After what Alaric thought was a bird nod, he dipped the tip of his quill in ink and began writing whilst asking questions. 

"Gender?"

"Name?"

"Age?"

Between these questions and several others, not to mention the number of harmless check-up spells Alaric did, two hours passed, and the grey sky outside gained a tint of orange. As the already minuscule light coming through the windows dimmed, Alaric folded his hand in front of his face and propped his elbows on the table whilst looking intently at the large tome. The oil lamp did little to hide his scowl.

"'Female', 'Name: Beatrice (Doesn't seem to either know or spell her last name)', 'Age: Eight'," He read and re-read what he'd written down on the brownish parchment pages of the book. Had he heard right? Was he missing anything?

Alaric tried not to think of the fact that the Maledictus most likely didn't know her last name because of the curse, but he hoped that she just couldn't remember it or that it was hard to spell. The fact that the bird was a girl didn't surprise him, as Maledictus — or, at least, the ones recorded in books — were always female. He'd theorized the possibility of male Maledictus existing, attributing their gender to the shorter time the curse took to reach its final stages. But it wasn't the case at all with the one in front of him. 

The bird, tired from all the questions and check-ups, had nestled near the metallic arm that supported the oil lamp, probably because it was warmer than the rest of the table. Bits and pieces of chocolate were spread along the table from the handful of Chocolate Frogs Alaric gave the bird so she could be still while he did some tests. 

Alaric looked up from the book at her. She was sleeping without a care in the world, finally feeling safe after so long. He wondered how much time had it been since she'd turned. She could be eight, but since when was Beatrice living as a bird?

Then there were the magic remnants that surrounded her. Alaric recognized it after some time. Transfiguration magic. It was extremely similar to that of an animagus, but not the same. There was something else in it. Whatever it turned the magic into a curse. 

Even so, he still needed to check the resemblances between each other. Alaric couldn't just grab a mirror and look at himself. He found it difficult to concentrate on the whispers whenever he turned into a raven. In the end, there were only two choices. Either he reconciled with his sister and asked her to turn into her animagus form, or he could go to McGonagall. He was more inclined to the second option. 

The sky outside was dark, but students were still walking around the grounds. October was about to end, so the first Quidditch match of the season was coming. Alaric could see plenty of students carrying banners and whatnot with their wands, preparing for the upcoming game. 

He looked at his injured hand and tried to close it, but had to stop halfway because of the pain. No matter what he said, it wouldn't take just a month or two to heal the burn. His ears still rang from the meltdown he had to endure when he told Carrow he wouldn't be able to play. Alaric didn't like her, but she was having it rough this year. 

Quidditch was fun and all, and he especially enjoyed playing it with Blaise and Theodore, but this way he'd have more time to focus on his research — not to mention that Orion kept sending him more and more paperwork these days. It wouldn't be long before he found out where Sir Feathers was delivering the letters to. 

Alaric's gaze went to the small book on the edge of the table. For all the spells his grandfather had made, and even the new ones Alaric was adding, there wasn't a single one that could help with the Maledictus. The thought of an innocent child being stolen from his life angered him so that not even Occlumency could do anything. And it wasn't only Beatrice. It was the hundreds and hundreds of confirmed Maledictus cases that were hunted down for sport or left to suffer until they died in an animal form. In a way, Beatrice was lucky to don't know the life she didn't have anymore. 

Just then, a fleeting thought passed through Alaric's mind. It seemed only yesterday when he found Daphne reading somewhat illegal volumes about blood magic and curses, and when he gave her some copies he had that he already read. A Maledictus was affected by a curse related to blood that was passed down, and sometimes it could skip entire generations of a family. Daphne's mother seemed healthy enough, as well as Daphne herself. But wasn't Astoria frail, and, from time to time, spend whole weekends with Madam Pomfrey?

It hadn't been that long since she entered Hogwarts, so Alaric failed to notice the pattern. But now that he thought about it...

However, a Maledictus would find herself turning into an animal at random times, without taking into account the moments she willed herself to turn. It wasn't supposed to have a pattern. If so, could Astoria have a different blood malediction?

Alaric didn't know, but when he looked at the bird again, he realized she was much more important than he initially thought. 

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