The Marauders: Year Three | #Wattys2016

Sketches of a Siramarg

Sketches of a Siramarg

November marched on, the snows came and coated the grounds. James, Sirius, and Lily attended several quidditch training sessions and there was a meeting of the Slug Club that James was, thankfully, left out from. James was still trying to work out how to change into his animagus form, though Peter had decided he was quite alright with never being a rat again if he could help it, and Sirius was reading everything he could about the wolves and their behavior patterns, trying to make plans for the coming December full moon. Remus meanwhile had taken up tutoring some of the first years that were struggling in their classes and dealing with a cranky Severus Snape for his Divinations partner.

"Think something's wrong with Lily?" James asked one day as they left the Divinations classroom.

"Why do you ask that?" Remus questioned.

"Well she ignored me through the whole of class," he said.

"Uh, newsflash, Romeo," said Sirius, "She always ignores you through the whole of class."

James shook his head, "No. Usually, she makes snarky remarks and rolls her eyes at me and sometimes she does this thing where she tangles her finger up in her hair in agitation pretending she can't hear me, but really she can, because if I annoy her quite enough she'll look up and tell me to shut it." He shrugged, "But she didn't do any of that today."

Remus said, "Well then perhaps she's had yet another row with Severus Snape 'cos something's up with him, too."

"Snivellus's always got something up," muttered Sirius with an eyeroll.

"Seriously, he was acting particularly sore today," Remus replied, "Snapped at me for saying hello, and broke his quill pen on the parchment, looking over at Lily..."

"He needs to keep his ruddy eyes off her," James grumbled.

That week was the worst for Defense Against the Dark Arts, too, as Professor Veigler had their first non-practical class session. They sat at desks and worked on writing up essays on their parchments while Veigler himself read a book, deep in concentration at the front of the room with a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead that he kept mopping up with a handkerchief that he'd pulled from his pocket.

It was really Care of Magical Creatures class that was most interesting that week.

Hagrid once again conveniently had some work to do nearby, as he had every week since the start of term, and ducked in and out of a large bush that stood to one side of where Professor Kettleburn had tethered a great big copper bird with thick brown feathers and a long plumed tail that dragged the ground behind it and ruffled now and then as the children looked on. "This is a Simurgh... or a Siramarg, depending on the region you wished to ask. She comes from Iran, descended out of the Persian empire. This particular Siramarg is over 1,700 years old. Her mother was over 7,000 years old at the time of her death. Persian legends consider the Siramarg to be a holy entity and believe that some of the birds still alive today have lived through several reincarnations of the world."

"So she's Dumbledore's childhood pet you're saying," whispered Sirius. The boys snickered.

"Related to the Phoenix, who regenerates from his own ashes, and the Griffin, which shares many characteristics with a lion as well as these two birds, the Siramarg is one of the Fire Birds of mythology. She is capable of healing mortal wounds with sutures burned from the grip of her claws, which mythology dictates contain the fire of the sun and the remnants of the seeds from the Tree of Life - the first rooted plant from which all things grow." Kettleburn reached out to stroke the bird, which snapped at him viciously with her pitch black beak. He withdrew his hand quickly, laughing nervously and checking it over, counting the four fingers that were all he had left on there, making sure he wasn't missing any more. "She's also quite quick with her beak, so do be careful."