fallen from the Oak
Theseus had been at home after a long day of work at the ministry when a knock had sounded at the door—though it was no knock created by the clenched knuckles of a human. It was a clanking of some kind; could be someone with a cane racking on the door or someone who only used their long fingernails for knocking.
Theseus had been lifting up a spoonful of soup to his open mouth, but had frozen in place mid bite upon hearing an owl hooting. Turns out it was neither of what he had guessed. Sighing, he stood up, abandoning his seat at the table. He trudged down the narrow hallway and slid the rusty chain lock to hang like a dead man at the wall. He opened the door, the hinges screaming as they always did. He found Impossibly big big yellow eyes staring up at him, gray and black feathers ruffled up by the chilling wind. An owl stood at the step to his door, a crinkled up a letter in its golden claws.
“Hey, little one.” He bent low, letting the small owl jump up onto his arm and onto his shoulder, handing off the letter to him. Theseus hadn’t been much of an animal lover his life, not much was he for liking their presence at his side—he preferred humans, but once in a while he did like the feeling of a cat purring on his chest or the music birds as he walked London's streets. He decided that he liked the tickle of soft feathers at his shoulder.
The letter he held in hand definitely seen some weather; it was dirty with slightly damp dirty water and sprinkled in thick rich dirt—at least he hoped it was dirt. Who knows how long the owling had been traveling for.
Theseus wandered back into his kitchen, examining the letter. From Dumbledore. It said at the back along with To Theseus. This must be important. Theseus never received mail from Albus, only Newt did and when his younger brother did receive mail that involved both him and Newt, Newt would tell him. Theseus had a feeling—a strong feeling that Dumbledore just wanted him and Newt to see each other more. To get along—Theseus had to admit he had been trying to connect with his brother, but unfortunately he and Newt had almost nothing in common, but that didn't mean he didn't love him. No mother, no father. A dirty drunk uncle who they hadn't seen since they were kids. It had just been them. They hadn't been inseparable, but they were brothers. Then and still now.
He picked up a letter opener from his kitchen counter along with a sunflower seed from the jar of diverse plant seeds that were piled up in a jar on his small counter. He lifted the seed to his shoulder and the messenger owl gladly snatched it up from between his fingers. “Thank you, my friend” the greyling flew off from his shoulder and out the open door. Theseus waved his wand and the door slammed shut.
Sitting down at his table once more he pushed away his now lonely soup bowl. He sliced the blade through the crimson wax seal and pulled out the piece of paper that was treasured inside.
He flipped it open. Perplexsion written in ink on his face.
Dear, Theseus,
I can not tell much of what is the matter, but it is of the utmost importance for you
Check on your brother. I have not heard from him in a while and I admit I am getting worried. Worried for him. Newt.
P.S. when you find him, do not tell anyone of what he might have brought home in that little case of his. Not even your colleges.
A. Dumbledore.
Theseus put down the letter and putting a hand to his face he said “oh, Newt what have you gotten yourself into this time.”
He wasn't not worried. He was. Even if he and Newt didn’t get along like peas and bacon everyday he worried for his brother with the crazy things the bastard did with even crazier creatures. Theseus stood up, abandoning his dinner once again as he slipped on his coat and hat and slipped out the door into the night air.
Theseus walked down the snowy sidewalks, his un-gloved hands in his pockets as he walked further into the busier streets of London. He raised a hand, calling a carriage being drawn by a brown and white horse. Newt lived on the other side of town. Newt really didn't like talking to him or anyone. If he could get away, he would and he did.
“9 Sherringford Square, please.” commanded Theseus as he pulled his thick coat around himself as he settled into the carriage.
As the horses clip-clopped along the cobblestone streets Theseus thought of what Newt had done this time to worry Dumbledore—he could have gotten his finger bitten off by one of his creatures or tried to rescue a street cat from the city sewers and gotten himself trapped.
He’d pop in, see newt playing with that thieving Niffler of his and he’d wander off back to his lonely soup. Twelve buttons. He thought as the carriage rounded a corner street. It had been twelves silver and gold buttons that damn bastard Niffler had stolen from him. Then something strange wandered into the Scamander's mind. Why would Dumbledore be worried for Newt, a man who had worked with creatures since he had been a boy. What could have worried the professor so much that it would cause him to send a letter all the way from Hogwarts to him. Then he remembered the P.S. part of the letter: When you find him, do not tell anyone of what he might have brought home in that little case of his. Not even your colleges.
Now, Theseus was worried, scared even.
What had Dumbledore and Newt been up to.
“Here's fine.” he would walk the rest of the way, these horses were slow anyway.
The coach pulled the horses to a halt. Theseus jumped out, starting to walk off down the street before the gravelly voice of the coach stopped him.
“You gonna pay, mate!” he said in a thicker accent than his own.
“Oh right.” the wizard rummaged through his pants pocket, signing an invisible sigh as he pulled out two quarters. “Hope this is enough.” he handed them off to the old man.
“It's enough for me not to call my brothers.”
Theseus didn’t know how to respond so he just said “have a good night!” and then continued on down the street.
The snow crunched like hard frosting beneath his shoes as he walked in between the apartments that seemed to lean in on him from both sides.
9 Sherringford Square. Said a sign above his head. He was about to round the corner onto the street when something stopped him in his tracks. A howling of some kind, but it was no dog nor wolf. It sounded more like a hummingbird, but—he didnt know how to describe it to himself. It was just strange was all he could come up with.
A winged shadow flashed across the snow he stood in and Theseus ducked, not knowing what else to do. It could be an enemy. Someone out to get him. He did work for the Wizarding Government after all.
But, then he released that the shape did not seem that smokey at. It was dragon-like and nothing of Death Eater or Muggle sort.
Newt.
He heard a crashing, a thunk of stormy snow being attacked.
Theseus had been walking before, but now he ran and turned the street corner and slid to a halt, his eyes wide.
A Wyvern (if that was what it was called.) was collapsed in a heap of ruffled snow that looked like the stuffing of a child's toy animal thanks to the creature's crash landing. The Wyvern was breathless as it lay in the street, chest heaving with exhaustion.
He walked forward, closer and closer to the downed creature, eyebrows sinking over his eyes as he looked over the scene. His eyes turned from the blue feathered creature to its long tail that laid like a winding road in the snow.
Someone lay within its clutches, a leather case beside them. Newt. a movement caught his eye, But Newt had not moved it was what he clutched arms that had moved. Theseus gasped a cold breath at the sight of it. Could it really be? A Qilin was wrapped comfortably in Newt's arms, her heartfelt eyes looking up at Theseus before she nuzzled herself back into the crook of Newt’s shoulder.
Theseus started to sprint forward and it was then that the Wyvern’s eyes split open. It lifted its long head and screamed at the Wizard stalking toward them. It stood up on its clawed feet, its tail unwinding from Newt’s body.
A light turned on the second floor of a house beside them. If only all Muggles could be deaf. He wished.
Theseus held his hands out, sliding his feet closer as the Wyvern clicked its tongue, swiping its tail through the snow as if it were daring the un-unconscious Scamander to come closer.
Then he heard another sound echo softly into Theseus' ears. He looked down at the case that lay in the snow a few feet in front of him. The Bowtruckle Newt seemed to always have hidden somewhere in his coat climbed up onto the case, pulling up what looked like miniature goggles from its pin-sized eyes onto its head. He also noticed the spit leaf that sprouted out his head as well.
“It's all right,” he said calmly—though with a panicky tone. The Wyvern feathers rushed, sprouting up like sharp daggers as its chunky beak opened, screaming a sound that made Theseus shut a hand over both his ears.
The Scamander lifted his head to the muffled music of murmurs coming from the windows around him. More lanterns were lit, illuminating the glass and closed blinds in golden light.
Theseus turned back to the creature's guarding his brother. “Please” he breathed, treading closer and receiving the glaring eyes of the Wyvern splitting through him “I only want to help.”
The green stick blinded and mapley brown eyes lit up with what he assumed was recognition. It squeaked, waving its longer arm at the Wyvern, who stopped it growling. The Wyvern cocked its head at the stranger that was Theses before collapsing in the snow above Newt, laying its head on the Magizoolized chest.
“I’ll go check it out…” said a rough voice from a lantern lit window. Theseus shrugged forward, sliding to his knees between Newt, the case and the wyvern's tail. Swiftly, he removed his wand from his coat pocket and waved it around, reciting the words of the Disillusionment Charm. He saw a man with a scruffy mustache and hard looking eyes draw open the blinds of his window. He looked around the street, finding nothing but falling snow moving about his vision. “It's nothing…”
“Strange…”
A clear shimmering dome had encased them, making them invisible to any eyes outside the spell. Theseus sighed as the old muggle closed the curtains. Theseus shook his head back into the present. Picket climbed up onto Newt’s arm and traveled across it like a stone bridge onto the human's shoulder. He put an unusually long three fingered hand to Newt’s un-blooded cheek.
The Wyvern clicked its tongue, standing above Newt and as Theseus crawled forward he lifted up Newt’s lactose head with its tail. It nodded its head into the Qilin’s own. She looked up and the Wyvern blinked its eyes to Theseus as he knelt down in front of them, his face fearful.
The Qilin climbed down from Newt chest as Theseus laid Newt's body onto his legs,
holding his brother's head in his hands as he looked him over; His eyes were closed as white flakes of snow painted his gingery brown hair and eyelashes; his skin was covered in dirt that mixed with the many freckles that painted Newt's face. Newt’s lips were purple from the cold and his cheeks were nearly frozen with scabs. Theseus guessed they had been flying high above the clouds, so as not to be spotted by any unwanted Muggle eyes. He didn't how long they had been traveling—if it had been hours, or days, but it for sure had an impact on all of them.
Newt let out a shallow breath that sent off a ploom of air into the night as his body clenched up with pain. Newt's familiar green eyes slid open, landing on his brother's brown ones. Picket had climbed up onto Theseus' shoulder and now leaned forward with concerned eyes just as the forest had when Newt had fallen into darkness against the body of a loving mother. Newt's eyes rolled back into his head and his body went as limp as a doll.
Theseus looked at the Wyvern, who seemed to look smaller than the last time that Theseus had seen him—which had only been a few seconds. The dragon-like creature looked as tired as Theseus had been coming home from the Aurors office, if not more exhausted. He then turned to the Qilin; the youngling stood with shaky legs being racked by the chilling wind, her shiny brown eyes looking up at Theseus then back down to Newt. worry in her gaze. Picket squealed at his shoulder.
“He'll be alright…” Theseus turned his head to the Bowtruckle “he's safe now.” from whatever had happened. Theseus pushed his hands under Newt's back and legs and clenched his breathing as he lifted Newt up into his arms, as well as the case they lay beside them.
The Wyvern lifted its tail to the Qilins' hind, pushing the child up the steps as they followed the Scamander brother up the stairs to stand in front of the rickety wooden door that led into Newt's home. Theseus didn’t need to worry if Newt had locked his door or not, he always forgot—but, in his situation, he was grateful for his brother's carelessness.
The house was dark, no lanterns lit or candles alight. He turned the foyer corner into the living room that had its wallpaper peeling off the walls and wood floors scratched up by some creature. He knew Newt not to have any old average un-endangered house cat.
Theseus grunted as he set Newt down on his burgundy skinned couch that was scratchy with age and withered by too many claws, teeth and spines gnawing on it.
He then swiftly ran back into the doorway. He waved his wand, retracting the illusion spell and cleaning up the snow where Newt and his creatures had landed as well as his own footprints.
The Bowtruckle at his shoulder clapped its hands together, then pulled them back, remembering his injured wrist. Theseus closed and locked the door.
The Scamander brother looked back to his other half. The Qilin and the shrunken Wyvern all sat curled up on Newt. he couldn't help but smile, he couldn't remember the last time he had smiled. A real smile, not a fake one he always made to hide the grief that had taken over his life the past few months.
Theseus wandered over to the living room and put an open palm to his shoulder. The stick-creature stepped onto it and Theseus lowered him to the couch where he lept off, wandering up Newt's chest and curling up into his blazer pocket.