Cyril Peakes (cyriliously) wrote in plagued_logs, @ 2016-06-30 16:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | 1999 june, cyril peakes, neville longbottom |
Who: Cyril and the Auror trainees
What: Some Auror training!
Where: Sheffield forest
When: Thursday morning
Rating: Educational!
The group appeared from no where with a loud popping sound. Fortunately there wasn't anyone around to witness their arrival. No one except a fox, though it was far too busy tearing into the carcass of a chicken at the forest's edge. It didn't react as the class appeared, as if it hadn't seen them at all, despite the fact they were standing less than five feet away.
"Today, we'll be learning to about observation," Cyril said to the group, his eyes resting on each in turn as he spoke, "But first let me ask you a question. Who killed the chicken?" He glanced over his shoulder at the fox. It ignored them and continued to eat, tearing flesh from the chicken, staining the white feathers a sticky, dark red.
"Observation is one of your most powerful tools, but it doesn't just involve your eyes. It isn't enough just to look at a scene and think you understand what's happened. You powers of observation are easily manipulated. Sometimes it isn't even by your enemies, but by your own mind. We often see what we want to see."
He turned and looked at the fox. Hot, fresh blood stained its jaws and its attention was wholly on the body of the chicken. It took hold of a sliver of flesh and twisted its head, trying to tear sinew from bone.
"First appearances can tell you a lot. The fox killed the chicken because it needed to eat. Easy observation," Cyril continued, "But if you look closer at the chicken you may notice that its throat is intact. It bares no markings that you would expect if it had been killed by a fox. And why would a chicken be here at the edge of a forest anyway?"
The fox lifted its head and studied the group, amber eyes narrowed to pin pricks, drool dripping unchecked from its maw. It took a single step towards the group, its muzzle wrinkling into a snarl, ears pressed flat against its head, a growl bubbling up inside its chest.
"Perhaps its a particularly vicious fox," Cyril said, "Or suffering from disease... You know you're looking at the murderer. You can see it plain as day."
He took his wand from his pocket and waved it. Instantly the fox jerked, its eyes focusing properly, pupils dilating. It looked at them for a moment as if seeing them for the first time before turning and running into the forest.
"The fox killed the chicken. But I was controlling the fox," Cyril said, lowering his wand. He looked back at his class with a smile, "But that was obvious wasn't it? If you were looking hard enough. So who killed the chicken? The fox or me? Yes I did. An hour ago. With the Killing Curse."
He tucked his wand back into his pocket and looked at them again, "Observation isn't about looking. It's about seeing, and thinking. Don't always believe your eyes. We're easily tricked..."
Behind Cyril, a soft clucking sound started, and the chicken that had been laying in a pool of its own blood and viscera climbed awkwardly to its feet. Its feathers were sticky and clumped with crimson, but there were no wounds. It didn't even seem to notice.
"Who killed the chicken?"