Xenophilius muttered a spell once again under his breath, pointing his wand at a patch of dry grass along the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. At his words, a light spray of water dampened the grass, and once he was satisfied he put the wand back in his pocket and crouched by the grass, staring intently.
"No, no, this won't do," he murmured to himself before reaching into his other pocket and pulling out his glasses. Or at least, a pair of glasses. He had been assured they were the highest form of optical magic, allowing one to see Wrackspurts. They were fairly large and heavy, though he did not care; there were an assortment of gears and lenses to be moved about, magnifying and highlighting little things that, even if they weren't useful, were extremely pretty. It didn't even matter that they were probably the same size as his head.
The specific strain of Wrackspurts he was looking for on this particular day were one he had only heard about from his father, damp loving creatures that dried out fairly quickly, and required moisture to be revived. It was for this reason that he moved along the edge of the forest, watering the grass as he went along hoping that at some point they would pop up. Fiddling about with the dials as he went, Xenophilius continued forward, peering closely at the tufts of grass