Case Stories | Fantastic Beasts Oneshots

Different, Part 2 (Scamander Brothers)

By fifth year, Theseus started having second thoughts.

His mind had matured and he observed how younger children acted. Newt was now seven and Theseus hoped he would grow out of his quiet phrase. He never did.

Newt spoke only when he wanted to. On good days, he would call for his family to help him. On bad days, he said nothing at all. When Theseus was back for the summer, he realised it was going to be a bad one.

He received news from his mother that Newt had been bullied. In an attempt to get Newt to socialise, his mother continued to invite kids to the house to play with him, or get Newt to attend playdates elsewhere. Because Newt never admitted, no one knew the children were treating him badly. In front of the adults, they held Newt's hand as though he was their best friend. Behind their backs, they laughed and pointed at him, mocking him for his lack of speech. When Theseus read that, he was furious. Newt only spoke when he needed to. In a way, Theseus thought it was smart. He was saving the trouble of having to converse with idiots. But it got too far.

The bowtruckle was squashed by one of the kids.

Newt ignored everyone. Theseus thought it was normal, since it was a loss and it was normal to feel sad about it. The problem was that it extended from days to two weeks, then two and a half, then three. His mother was beyond worried and his father had tried everything. That was when Theseus felt that something didn't feel right.

He remembered experiencing losses during his childhood. The first was his pet tortoise who had died of old age. He sulked and cried, but never for that long. Theseus likened his case to Newt's, because the tortoise had been around for as long as Newt's bowtruckle, and Theseus was around the same age as Newt was now. He got over it, because his mother told him that it was in a better place. It was happy there.

His mother did the same with Newt, but she only made it worse. It was time for Theseus to step in.

Newt was tall enough to hoist himself onto the tree, and that was his favourite hiding spot. One summer day, when the sun was hiding behind the clouds, Theseus climbed up. There was Newt, very much deep in his thoughts.

"Newt," Theseus began, "It's been three weeks."

His brother did not turn. He continued.

"Your bowtruckle has already gone to a happy place, and it's really happy."

He heard Newt sniff and saw him rub his eye, but still no words came out of his mouth.

"There's food and water and he has plenty of friends to play with. He's going to be okay."

"She doesn't have me."

Theseus stopped, shocked that his brother had finally spoken, not to his mother, not to his father, but to him.

"She was the only one that understood me."

It would have been a lie if Theseus didn't say he felt hurt.

"How about Mum? And Dad?"

He set Newt off. He was crying again, yet he was still talking.

"They don't. They never do. They make me do things I don't want to. They take away the things I like."

"How about me?"

Rarely, Newt could maintain eye contact, but this time, he held it. It was a sign, a signal to urge Theseus to continue.

"I try to understand, don't I?" Theseus said, thinking through his words carefully, "I know you don't like being around people. You like it quiet, like night time. Remember the stars?"