Daphne tilted her head, turning her gaze back toward Dartel.
He was sealing whatever he held in the tips of his tweezers inside a glass tube. Then he switched to a scraper and began collecting tissue from the edge of the severed neck.
"He mentioned something to me on the way here today. He said there was something wrong with these wyverns." She paused. "He said naturally evolved lesser dragon species generally wouldn't develop the ability to breathe fire. They don't face competition from natural predators in their ecological niche, so they don't need to evolve a weapon like that. He also mentioned the extent of the changes in their scale layering and gland morphology. He didn't think a population could develop those changes in ten generations or fewer."
"What does that mean?"
"Someone tampered with their genes," Daphne said. "At the very least, someone's had a hand in them. It might be the work of dark wizards. Dartel said the residual magic in the samples didn't match up. There were traces of outside interference-artificial, systematic, not random mutations."
After hearing that, Draco's knuckles paused on the armrest for a beat. "So does he know who did it?"
"He hasn't reached a conclusion." Daphne shrugged. "He only said he needed to take the glands back. He won't know the answer until he compares them with the data stored at the Nirvana Center."
In the distance, Dartel moved to a new spot, crouching beside a wyvern's tail to begin collecting tissue from the spaces between its tail vertebrae.
Daphne drew her gaze back and switched hands beneath her chin. "There's news from Privet Drive."
"What news?"
"According to the report from the Squib informant the Shadow Society stationed there, Potter, the Chosen One, hasn't been having a very pleasant time lately.