At Home (A Scamander brothers fanfiction)

Ch.6: Ice

Trigger warning: Panic attack

A/N Guess who ran out of chapter names. I know it's been ages since I updated this and you all probably have five kids now but I. . .

I have no excuse. I guess I just quit Wattpad. I do have an Ao3 though which I still have yet to upload anything on. I might edit this better and also upload it there.

Like I know that wattpad gets a bad rep, and yeah, I can see where that comes from but there are some beautiful writers here.

Oh and yeah, I've been doing a lot of reading lately (Classics are A M A Z I N G lemme tell u) so I might do some more work here and mainly on Ao3 on the books I read.

I'll still upload this here bc I have some awesome readers!

Enjoy.

Newt's mother was a distant woman, she had high boundries that she barely let people though.

She seemed cold, she seemed heartless. She was everything but. Newt was one of the few who truely knew her, she was a bundle of warmth and love beneath a beautiful sculpture of ice.

Only just before she died, her face was nothing but a reflection of her unwillingness to age, she had strong blue eyes and soft carmel ringlets that she always kept cut to her shoulders, with not a streak of grey in them.

Newt had once woken up to her sobs, loud enough to echo through the house. In horror, he had rushed out of bed and found her in the bathroom, leaning against the sink, tears streaming down her cheeks, a pair of scissors in hand and around her, heaps of carmel hair scrattered on the floor.

When he had helped her to a chair and asked what happened, she whispered one thing, "your father only loved me because he thought I was beautiful."

And they hadn't spoken of that, since.

. . . . . . . . . . .

"And Newt, what would you like?"

"Probably something as cold and dark as his soul."

"That joke is so old. So, vanilla latté, probably?"

"You're both horrible." Newt said, not looking at his brother or his fiancée.

His gaze had been following a ginger cat near the garbage can across the street from Prufrock coffee. There was a slight limp to the way it walked,

Newt furrowed his brow, it must have broken a leg.

Newt gulped, his face was forcefully turned away from the window. Theseus pulled his hand back. "What do you say?"

Newt fixed him with a glare. "Stop doing that."

"Doing what?" Theseus said, grinning innocently.

His mood had taken a one-eighty since Leta had come. But Newt was still suspisious to why they were both so cheerful, and why their conversation had been so abrupt.

They were hiding something but not making an effort in doing so.

Newt rolled his eyes and peered at the window again, trying to catch a glimpse of the cat before it hurt itself any more.

Not that he could do much for it from here, restrained to his chair by Theseus and Leta.

"Newt, what do you want?" Leta said, leaning against the table and closer to Newt.

"I told you, I don't want anything. I've lost my appatite." Newt snapped, Theseus recoiled.

"Why do you always have to be such a drama queen?" Theseus said and stood up before Newt could say anything. Newt huffed and turned back to watch the street outside.