The surface of the sand inside the wooden crate was deceptively smooth.  Consistent with its normal routine, the Amphisbaena had burrowed down below the sand and was likely coiled up in serpentine contentment.  In a few moments, or whenever the Ravenclaw or Gryffindor chose to disturb its rest, the placid looking beach-in-a-box would change to a boiling, flying sandstorm that would leave them covered in grit. 

Where, exactly, the venomous serpent had chosen to coil itself was a complete mystery.  As was the location of both of its fanged heads.  Despite spending several months experimenting with different approaches, neither Sasha nor Gabriella had stumbled upon a method of capture that didn't leave them both covered in sand.  Sasha had finally decided that, since prevention had proved ineffective, personal protective equipment was the next best thing.  He'd sacrificed an old sheet to create a modified poncho.  It looked ridiculous, especially paired with his chemistry googles, but it kept sand from getting into his clothes and eyes. 

"Looks like there might be a slight ridge."  Sasha pointed to a corner of the crate.  "Annie might be there.  Or, she's tricking us again."  Over the last few weeks, the Amphisbaena, or Annie as Sasha had been calling it, had matured enough to regularly produce venom.  After today's milking, they should have just enough venom to produce antivenom.  But, Annie seemed to have learned after their first milking that the students' regular visits were no longer just for the purpose of bringing food. 

"Should we even try bribing her with the proverbial carrot, again?  Or just go in with the stick?" 

“Would you come out if someone continually poked you with a stick?” Frustrated, Gabby was sat on the bench near the crate with a large tome in front of her with a detailed explanation of several methods of creating anti-venom. This was perhaps one of the dullest tasks they’d been set in what was usually her favourite and best subject. This was made far duller by having been paired with Sasha Schlagenweit who didn’t seem to be able to have fun and, unlike his partner, didn’t get distracted easily. Instead he was work, work, work and dull, dull, dull.

“You’re thinking about her as a task and an experiment. Not a creature.” The girl’s dark eyes darted up from the book to meet the Ravenclaw’s gaze. “Imagine. You want some of this gorgeous chocolate cake, but every time you are called up for your turn, someone shoots a stinging hex at you. I personally would stop going up for the chocolate cake.” As she spoke, Gabby stood and moved around the bench to stand beside Sasha in front of the crate. She dipped her hand into the bucket of wiggling maggots. Thin fingers clasped a pile and she pulled them from the bucket. “But if you only got stung rarely, you’d risk it, wouldn’t you? One stinging hex might be worth 5 large slices of chocolate cake in a row.”

The maggots were sprinkled over the sand and Gabby wiped her hand on Sasha’s ridiculous poncho.

“Best stand back.”

“It was an idiom,”  Sasha pointed out in his own defense, otherwise ignoring the Gryffindor’s frustration.  It seemed common place during these chores.  “Besides, she wasn’t coming out for the carrot, either.  Whether we use a carrot or stick to get her out, she knows the milking is the end result.  She’d be happy to wait us out until after our exams.”

The Ravenclaw met the Gryffindor’s gaze and waited, patiently, as she explained the principles of training an animal.  “Chocolate cake is fattening,” he said simply when she finished with the mini-lesson and reached in the bucket of maggots.  “You’re assuming, in her mind, the milking process is as unpleasant as a simple stinging hex.  For all we know, she perceives it as akin to the cruciatus curse.  There aren’t enough cakes in the world to be worth that.  Unless you speak Amphisbaenian, we don’t know what it would take to bribe her."

Sasha took a step back and pulled the hood of the poncho down over the top of his goggles and over his mouth.  That did bring up an interesting thought, though.  Maybe they could train the serpent to milk itself. 

“We could try shaping the behavior,” Sasha pointed out, his mouth muffled slightly by the sheet.  “I’ve got a clicker in my trunk.”