Maurise focused his attention on the sales catalog attached to the bottom of the letter. It was a grim menu of skeletal remains.
[Swallowtail Hound Skeleton: 30 Galleons]
[Augurey Skeleton: 45 Galleons]
[Wampus Cat Skeleton: 80 Galleon]
[Graphorn Skeleton: 120 Galleons (Note: Horns missing)]
[Nundu Skull: 200 Galleons (Note: Venom sacs and fangs intact)]
{Prices are non-negotiable. Special species available upon request. Basic maintenance guide included with purchase.}
Maurise stared at the parchment for a moment, stunned.
Most of these names were completely foreign to him. It was somewhat impressive that a shop dedicated entirely to the macabre trade of magical bones existed at all. It certainly explained why the establishment was tucked away in the shadows of Knockturn Alley.
While Maurise wasn't an expert on the finer points of Magical Law, he was fairly certain that selling the skull of a Nundu was, at best, a legal grey area and, at worst, a one-way ticket to Azkaban. This realization, however, brought a strange comfort. If they were brazen enough to sell Nundu skulls, the skeleton he had seen in the secondhand robe shop was almost certainly genuine.
The desire to possess it surged within him.
He needed to speak to the proprietor.
Not now, of course. Aside from his complete lack of magical self-defense, there was the small issue of poverty. Even if the owner were willing to sell, Maurise lacked the gold.
After purchasing his owl and various necessities, his finances had dwindled to exactly thirty-nine Galleons, along with a handful of Sickles and Knuts. It was a pitiful sum, barely enough to cover the cheapest item on the list, the Swallowtail Hound.
Maurise sighed softly.
It seemed that whether one was a Muggle or a wizard, the universal constant of life was worrying about money.
'Should I buy it?' he wondered.
The Swallowtail Hound.
To be honest, he was intrigued. It sounded like some sort of canine creature, perhaps a distant relative of the Crup.
But was it safe? Sending his last remaining Galleons to a stranger in Knockturn Alley required a level of trust that the location did not exactly inspire. What if he sent the gold and received a box of rocks in return? The shop had no reputation to uphold and no Better Business Bureau to report to.
Maurise, however, was not one to dwell on indecision.
'I'll take it.'
He snatched up his quill and penned a quick reply.
Mr. Flick,
Please reserve the Swallowtail Hound skeleton for me. Enclosed is the sum of thirty Galleons.
If convenient, please include a basic introduction to the species.
I look forward to receiving the goods.
After sealing the letter, he painstakingly counted out thirty gold coins from his pouch, wrapping them securely in a soft cloth.
This purchase decimated his savings. Yet, the prospect of owning a genuine, well-preserved skeleton of a magical creature made the empty purse feel bearable.
He handed the heavy envelope and the coin pouch to his owl, who waited patiently on the windowsill. With a soft hoot, the bird took flight, vanishing into the grey London sky.
Curiosity had conquered caution.
A magical skeleton was useless to him in his current state. He had no immediate need for it. He simply wanted it.
And that was reason enough.
Forget it. No point overthinking it now, Maurise thought. He closed his eyes, pushing away his financial anxieties, and slipped into a meditative trance.
Two nights later, the owl returned to Maurise's room.
This time, it brought a brief note and a rather large, heavy wooden crate.
[Thank you for your patronage. We look forward to our next transaction.]
That was the entirety of the letter. As for his request regarding information on the Swallowtail Hound, it had been completely ignored.
Reliable as expected, Maurise thought dryly.
He pried open the wooden lid, a bad feeling already settling in the pit of his stomach.
"..."
He stared into the box, sinking into a deep, frustrated silence.
The crate was filled to the brim with bones. Loose, jumbled, unorganized bones.
There were hundreds of them. Tiny distinct phalanges, curved ribs, heavy femurs, all piled together in a chaotic heap. To be fair, the quality was excellent. Each piece was polished and gleamed with a warm, ivory luster under the lamplight.
But it was a pile of debris.
Maurise rubbed his temples as he dumped the contents onto the table. The clattering sound of hundreds of bones hitting the wood was almost mocking.
Beside the mountain of calcium, a small glass bottle rolled out. The label simply read: Adhesive.
"I see," Maurise muttered to the empty room. "So it's a puzzle."
He hadn't bought a skeleton. He had bought a model kit from hell.
"Cor! Look what I found... wait, Maurise, what are you doing?"
The door swung open and Scott burst in, clutching a crumpled five-pound note in his fist like a trophy. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening as they landed on the table.
"Where on earth did you get all those bones?" Scott crept closer, poking a skull fragment with a hesitant finger. "Oi, Maurise... that's not a person, is it?"
"Your imagination is vivid, as always," Maurise said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "It is a model of a dog's skeleton. Anatomical study."
It was a plausible excuse. The clean, polished nature of the bones did make them look like educational tools rather than evidence of a crime.
"You found it? Ah, never mind that!" Scott waved the five-pound note frantically. "Look at this! This is the real treasure. Found it stuck under a bin down the street!"
He smoothed the banknote out on the corner of the table, beaming. For an orphan, five pounds was a fortune.
"Very good," Maurise replied absently, holding two leg bones together to see if they fit. "Though I generally advise against rummaging under rubbish bins."
"I wasn't rummaging!" Scott protested, though he quickly lost interest in defending his dignity. "So... are you going to put that thing together?"
"Yes." Maurise focused entirely on the task at hand.
"I'll help!"
Scott didn't wait for permission. He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed a handful of vertebrae, treating the ancient magical remains like a jigsaw puzzle.
Maurise sighed. Let him play, he decided. It would keep the boy occupied.
Two and a half hours later.
Maurise rubbed his stinging eyes and stretched his stiff back. "That should be it."
On the table stood... something.
"Hmm. Perfect."
Although there were still quite a few spare parts scattered across the table, Maurise nodded with unearned confidence.
"Oi, Maurise," Scott said, tilting his head to the side as he scrutinized their creation. "You said this was a dog, right?"
"Yes."
"Dogs usually walk on four legs, don't they?" Scott pointed a dirty finger at the monstrosity. "Why is this one standing upright? And why is one arm longer than the other? Hang on... is that the tail coming out of its chest?"
"Don't obsess over the minor details, Scott."
Maurise sighed and pushed the skeleton. It collapsed instantly into a heap of bones.
Without a diagram or an instruction manual, trying to reconstruct the anatomy of a magical creature he had never seen was an impossible task. It was hubris to think otherwise.
Scott looked at the pile of rubble with regret. "Shame. We spent ages on that."
"It doesn't matter," Maurise replied, already sorting the bones back into the box.
"Suit yourself. I'm off to bed." Scott yawned loudly, stretching his arms as he shuffled away from the table. "Got to be up early tomorrow."
He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed, leaving Maurise alone in the dim light.
The next day, Maurise attempted to use a basic necromantic animation circle to bind the loose bones together.
Unfortunately, he failed.
The bones remained lifeless, refusing to rattle, shake, or assemble. It seemed that without the correct structure, or perhaps a bit more skill, the pile of calcium was destined to remain just that.
A pile.