Have a remarkably incomprehensible, undignifying end to Grindelwald's threat of terror in Fantastic Beasts 2. Don't ask how my brain inspires this sort of nonsense. It's too painful to reiterate.
Disclaimer: Neocolai does not own Fantastic Beasts or anything related to J.K. Rowling's works (all shall breathe a sigh of relief after reading this fic).
It wasn't his fault, really. After all, he wasn't the one to break into the Lestrange tomb without a warrant.
There may have been a few squabbles in the past. Siblings always quarrel about one thing or another. He might have proved himself a bit clingy and overprotective, but that was to be expected when one missed one's brother's formative years at school. For all of Theseus' faults, however, he could never be accused of bullying his little brother.
He was, on the other hand, a tad competitive. So when the American auror tied him to an office chair while she was escorting his brother on an illegal, possibly disastrous scheme, Theseus had no qualms about accepting the challenge. It wasn't like he hadn't dueled with his sibling in the past. (The incident when their house eld dyed that nefarious blue coat a hideous shade of flamenco wasn't entirely an accident.) By bringing in a partner, Newt was simply asking him to up the ante.
Looming threats of war could be temporarily shifted aside like so much paperwork. Theseus was happy to oblige his little brother.
"You owe me a favor," he murmured to Brian Torres. The blatant statement was crude and outrageous, earning him a dubious, panicked look until he leaned in and embellished, "There going to be a bit of a pest problem in the Lestrange vaults. How much paperwork has Ross been avoiding this last quarter?"
Brian's eyes narrowed. "I reckon a few hundred triplicate forms."
"T'would be a wretched shame if they were all routed to a new storage unit. Somewhere otherwise occupied where they might cause some minor inconvenience."
Smirking, Brian commented, "The lady left a handprint on your cheek again?"
"Let's say I'm protecting her from an imposter," Theseus said. "My brother was caught trying to access her vault."
"Ah. One of those matters, then."
"See it you can round Dani into it," Theseus encouraged, clapping Brian's shoulder. "She knows a few tricks."
"You're an evil man, Scamander."
"Hardly," Theseus scoffed. "I'm merely taking advantage of the resources available."
Sacheverell Davis (or "Davey" as he insisted on being called), was an easy hand. Theseus merely strolled into his office and the auror looked up eagerly and inquired, "Which miserable insurgent is going to suffer this time?"
"Not Grindelwald," Theseus said dryly.
"Pity. I assume he's one of our own, then. Planning to pop a pigmy puff into the Minister's pocket? A cream puff might be more effective."
"Too messy," Theseus said. "I need to trip up a pest. Someone who's already armed with a niffler."
"Oh. Him again." Davey made a face. "Difficult to trump a niffler on the loose."
"Unless someone conjured an illusion of a billion gold coins showering a vaguely slippery enclosed space," Theseus posed, leaning over the desk with a crafty smile.
Cringing, Davey hedged. "Isn't that a little barbaric? You did say he mentioned a small brood in his letter."
"Remember the day he left the demiguise unleashed in Hogsmeade? Right before Christmas?"
"Remember? I still have nightmares about candy wrapper trails in the office, and that was years ago!" Swiveling in his chair, Davey slid out the lowest desk drawer and began rummaging. "I have a few ice pellets left. If we clear the shelves from an unused vault we'll have a lovely rink for the fuzzies to scamper in."
"Cushioning charm," Theseus advised. "No need to send my brother to St. Mungo's."
Raising a hand to his heart in mock distress, Davey exclaimed, "Have I ever harmed a fellow wizard? Not counting the incident with that one French auror! I didn't know he was allergic to bees."
"Try not to escalate the damage, Davey," Theseus warned, rolling his eyes. "I don't want to have to clean up everything afterwards."
"Ice pellets it is," the auror declared. "Here - I've even got a treasure for you. Greg left these behind when he changed departments."
Flicking his hand, Davey cast the small, glittering orb in a gentle arch. It struck the floor with a wobbling splat and sprang skyward, smacking into Theseus' palm. Davey' eyes glittered.
"They call it bouncy gold."
"Ribbons." Bridget Harris turned up her nose at Theseus' scowl. "It's never out of fashion. Even the circus performers use them to dazzle crowds."
"It's too obvious," Theseus stated. "Besides, we already have a floor plan."
"And what's to stop the little beast from escaping through the roof like he did in the Lestrange vault?" Bridget challenged. "Puppeteering is an art - unlike that cheap glitter that Greggory used to throw around."
"Originality, Harris," Theseus insisted. "A war is fought with intellect, and my brother is a veteran."
"Tosh and bother," the auror snipped. "Have it your way, then. What's the damage level so far?"
"Mirrors, mice, and a glass floor," Theseus summarized.
"Newt won't speak to you until after Christmas."
"He never visits for the holidays," Theseus retorted, huffing lightly.
"Small wonder. Family dinners must have been excruciating." Slipping around the small mob of aurors thronging the hall, Bridget led the way to the nearest empty office. "You sure you don't want something like last year? He's adorable decked in festive bows."
"This is my brother, and therefore also my reputation that is at stake," Theseus emphasized. Merlin's beard, the woman was single-mindedly determined to adorn the entire staff in frills and satin. "Bestow your abominations on the nifflers if you must."
Grinning smugly, Bridget bobbed a trim curtsy. "Whatever you like, Mister Scamander."
Heaven save them all, that woman was going to bring the Ministry to ruin.
"It was all perfectly sorted," Davey said glumly, gathering a stack of papers with less attentiveness than he had paid Theseus' plotting earlier in the afternoon. "All we needed was the signal and we'd have been hailed as heroes."
Theseus grunted noncommittally. It had been a perfect scheme indeed, frothy and mischievous, with the right amount of ridiculousness to rumple Newt's temper, but the hour of victory would have to be put off. Grindelwald's followers gathered tonight. There could be no distractions.
"Pity that he left the Lestrange vault in such a state," Davey commented. "She won't be happy with you for that."
"I have other priorities." Priorities such as ensuring that Newt did not intervene tonight. Grindelwald was a dangerous wizard, and there were too many innocents involved already. He couldn't risk a casualty tonight - not if it could be him.
"Perhaps after the disquiet settles," Davey said, sighing regretfully. "Do you think he'll stay in London for long?"
"He's returned to his stronghold. There's no need for retreat so long as his followers conceal him." Grindelwald would creep into the city like a fog, seeping into every listening ear, shrouding every open mind, unless the city itself was purged of his influence.
"I meant the little beast," Davey said wryly. "Brian will be disappointed if he doesn't get to see nifflers ice skating before Christmas."
"Gather the aurors," Theseus told him calmly. "Remember: we are there to enforce peace, not to victimize the fanatics. No one is to raise a wand except in self-defense."
"You're dull when you're playing auror," Davey grouched. "Fine. No funny spells, no antagonism, no retaliation. I'll warn the boys they'll be nannying your baby brother if they foul up your orders - again."
"The first wizard to attack an innocent will be locked in Newt's case," Theseus said darkly.
"Just don't send Bridget," Davey implored. "Your brother will never forgive you."
Daunting in their uniformal long coats, the aurors were silent sentinels around the tomb; vultures poised over the multitude of errant lambs. Positioned closest to the entrance, Theseus and Davey exchanged a sidelong look. There would be no cause for scandal tonight, their silent communication read. The Ministry had stepped in to observe and - if necessary - prevent an uprising. Theseus had hand-selected these men for their cunning and their skill, but some of the war veterans were twitchy-fingered. Better for them to remain hidden, disregarded while Grindelwald's motives were revealed, than for order to dissolve into bloodshed.
Tonight there was a taint of malice in the air, warning of carnage that crouched one misstep away. Death would find new meaning in this tomb.
"Do not be frightened… there are aurors here among us." The grave, tender warning, delivered after so traumatic a vision that Grindelwald shared of a future set afire by Muggle inventions, spurred the crowd to attention.
"Come closer, brothers," the winsome serpent cajoled his prey. "Come join us."
Nodding to Davey, Theseus stepped down. That was the signal. A far different experience than his fellow aurors had anticipated when they plotted to take down a far less malevolent, almost gentle "beast" the evening before. Somber shadows, the aurors filed down the aisles. No wands, Theseus reminded Brian with a glance. No violence here. We will not indulge their fears.
"Your anger," Grindelwald coaxed, lulling his fold into the gentle smolder of injustice, "Your lust for revenge… is natural."
Even as Theseus glanced sharply at the aisle to his left, an impetuous girl with short-cropped, fiery hair lashed out with her wand. Simmons, impulsive and suspicious, snatched for his own. Even as Theseus leapt forward, too slow to intervene, Davey cursed and bowled him aside, burying his hand deep in the pocket of his trousers. Haste must have spurred him, jeopardizing his battle instincts, for instead of reaching for his wand he withdrew a blue, shiny bauble.
Much like a twirling marble, it sprang from Davey' hand, arching splendidly over the crowd before landing in the next aisle with a silvery ping. In the same instant a black sheen erupted from the spot, shooting beneath Simmons' polished shoes and sending him reeling, sailing three feet to flop ungraciously onto his posterior where he bounced down the last few steps and landed, gob-smacked in front of an incredulous Grindelwald.
There was no making sense of the room after that.
The "signal" having been dropped, Dani, Brian, Ross and Bridget sprang into action. For the sake of sanity, Theseus admitted that Newt was in the room, and such a response should have been anticipated. There was no saving the unwary citizens of Britain, however, for in the ensuing spangle of gold, ice, and folded paper every man standing received an unconstitutional greeting from the glassy pavement.
To spare his own dignity, as his feet skittered beneath him and his hand lost contact with the nearest supportive surface, Theseus ceased to ponder on the uproarious scene and dedicated his mind wholly to the bumbling, baffled, bewildered wizards who scattered in droves before the cascade of tumbling aurors.
He was going to fire his entire staff when this was over.
To his dying day (which fortunately was evaded that fateful night), Davey would say he had never been more wildly entertained. Or humiliated. Or diabolically threatened with bodily harm by his fellow wizards, once the commotion abated.
Suffice it to say, a room full of pensive aurors in a room made slick with black ice was the sort of scheme that could only be devised by wicked children. More particularly, the disciples of the most contemptuous head of department, the most merciless rascal, Theseus Scamander himself.
It all came about on pure instinct based on a single order: no bloodshed. The brace of a wand would imply a threat; the one threatened would respond in self-defense; the act of self-defense would inspire retaliation; retaliation would result in physical harm, leading up to a mob who had no qualms about killing their supposed "persecutors." So was the pattern Davey had witnessed in his years as an auror. Terror inspired violence, and Grindelwald had cornered his followers in a tomb that was brimming with shadow to prepare them for such a threat. He wanted them to be afraid.
Thus, when Davey saw Simmons responding just as the Ministry had drilled him - springing for his wand with the sole purpose of eliminating such a mere threat as an unwary, harmless young waif - he fell back on the tactics which only those of Theseus' inner circle could comprehend.
No matter how frightful the boggart, no matter how traumatic the threat, any device of evil could be banished with a mere laugh.
Reaching for one of the ice pellets that had been reserved for trolling a certain auror's cheeky, beloved little beastly brother, Davey hurled it into the congregation's midst.
Hours later, after he had salvaged his own besmirched dignity, he brayed over it like a hysterical jackal until his throat ached.
Simmons could scarcely draw his wand before his feet slithered about, depositing him merrily on his rump. In a delightful series of thunks he plonked down the steps to spiral feet-first before the most lethal of enemies. Rather perplexed by the auror's uncouth approach, Grindelwald took a generous step backwards, forced to reassess this "cue of violence" in order to spur his followers to anarchy. There was no threat to proclaim, however, for like pins in an alley the aurors skittered, bruising backs, hips, elbows and noggins in a panicked, free-falling rush of flurrying limbs.
Aghast, many of the onlookers swarmed to their feet - and joined the tumblers in a flopping, twirling ballad of flapping arms and grasping hands. Carefully manicured fingers seized Davey' shoulder (much good as that did her - he was already on the ground), and he scarcely looked over his shoulder before he was frantically shaking his head.
"No, Dani, don't do it! Merlin's pointy hat, not here!"
"You want people to die, Davis?" Dani yelled, before she slashed her wand in a glowing, golden arch and a curtain of illusion settled over crypt and cavern. Small, glittering dics - worthless trinkets made of tinfoil and varnish - clinked and bounced, springing upward to clatter once more in a ceaseless rain of fools gold.
Immediately on cue, Brian slithered upright and hollered incantations at the walls. Surfaces folded inward, polishing and reflecting every sheen and light. Every surface became a mirror. Every cobbled step a sheet of thin ice. And that wasn't the worst to come.
"What is the meaning of this?" Grindelwald railed, swaying for balance as his feet skidded apart, hundreds of folded paper mice scrabbling at his boot laces. His hapless lambs scattered around him, clinging to one another for support. "What have you brought upon us all?"
"Davis!"
The enraged bellow came from the suspected culprit himself, and Davey was happy to let him take the blame. If anyone asked, it was Mister Scamander's idea. Everyone would surely nod in sympathy when they heard his name mentioned on the report.
Theseus had quite a sly reputation outside of the "war hero" facade.
"Apparate yourselves away, my followers!" Grindelwald compelled, raising his arms as though to free his small fold from the aurors' treachery. "Leave this scene of violence and tell the world that it is not we who seek destruction."
Even as he implored his congregation to flee, the worst came upon them all.
A small, inquisitive mound of insatiable avarice wriggled from beneath a bench, not far from where Theseus had bumbled. Wriggling its frazzled whiskers, it scrambled after the nearest gold coin. Three tiny, sniffling noses popped up in quick succession. Davey groaned and sank to hide behind a huddled witch. When would Dani learn?
It was never the nifflers that posed the most terrible threat.
It was the ensuing rush of a frantic wizard, charging heedlessly through the crowd, shoving aside hysterical witches and wizards with scarcely more than a frantic apology, throwing aside caution and common sense as his precious critters scurried about, bonking uncoordinatedly into mirrors which reflected every moving object in the room.
Newt Scamander had been unleashed.
The wizarding world was doomed.
Grindelwald was the first to go down. Even as he raised his wand to strike down the blue-coated menace, the largest niffler slid on its belly, twirling like a small black handbag to slide between the wizard's feet.
It's caretaker was all too quick to follow.
Skidding around a windmilling follower, Newt cast himself to the floor and dove, letting the momentum of the ice carry him straight to his pesky pet. Directly underneath the bridge of Grindelwald's tenuously balanced legs.
Down went the wizard with a grievous crash. Mindless of the damage, Newt rolled upright and squeezed the adult niffler against his chest. He flicked out his wand randomly, seeking the infants in panicked bursts of Accio. His efforts, though valiant, were wretchedly ill-played, and he succeeded in dragging first his American muggle companion, and then the scarves and necklaces and jackets and bodies of many an innocent bystander to his current position. Quite effectively burying Grindelwald in a sea of babbling humanity.
Inconceivably oblivious, the single-minded handler clambered over the squabbling, flapping pile and managed to thrust the black niffler into his muggle friend's hand before he tumbled free of the throng, clipping Grindelwald's face with one brown shoe in the process, and scooped up one of the infant nifflers with a gentleness that contradicted his careless rush. Wand in teeth and niffler in hand, he thrust himself into the gawkish throng, no more sure-footed than his brother, who was dragging himself hand over hand to the center where Grindelwald had finally freed himself of his clinging lambs.
Ah, but it was not yet over. Bridget had yet to unleash her hand.
"Take that, you monster!" Determined to gentrify Grindelwald, no doubt - with an absolutely useless feminine distraction that was so mortifying that Davey wouldn't wish it upon a dementor - Bridget hauled herself to her feet and cast a stream of color towards the dark wizard.
What a pity for the photographers that Theseus so happened to be standing in the way. Those gold-trimmed, green and red bows would have looked admirable against Grindelwald's silver locks and trim black boots.
Merlin's beard, Davey thought, he was losing himself to hysterics already. But it was difficult to keep form and devise a counterattack when Theseus was shambling forward, slipping and sliding, trying to present a viable threat when his curls were wound with delicate spangled ribbons. And behold, there was the darkest wizard himself, rising to meet the challenge, even as he stepped gingerly around moaning witches and skidded to a near-split, wand-hand floundering for balance. Like drunken meerkats the duelists approached one another, assailed on all sides by loyalists who begged for a savior to sweep down and carry them out of their wretched trap.
Not every auror sided against Grindelwald tonight, nor were they helpless. Gleeful animosity lighting his eyes, Abernathy sprang to his master's aid. Such passion went awry, for - bedazzled by a swarm of mirrored images - he promptly attacked one of Theseus's reflections and hurtled his spell into an impenetrable piece of glass. Thus caught off balance, he slid elegantly on both feet, plonked his face into the mirror, and fell senselessly as a third niffler mite scuttled over him. He was swiftly trampled by the pitiless mother hen that was Newt on a rampage, with only a hasty "Beg pardon!" offered for his pains.
Caught between snorting with mirth and screeching as wizards toppled around her, the blond witch who was Newt's occasional companion stood clutching her sides, half in tears as she daintily, faultlessly, kept her feet. It seemed almost a game to her, anticipating the next bumbling buffoon and twirling out of the way just in time to avoid joining the unglamorous gaggle of gobsmacked galoofs. Her efforts, thought exemplary, were quickly arrested as her sister tripped her way through the throng, high heels slithering perilously beneath her, and seized the blond's arm: the first pair to successfully apparate out of the disaster.
Grindelwald, despite his previous assurances of goodwill towards all wizards, seemed to have lost track of his promises as he doggedly trailed Theseus, sashaying about like an ostrich on roller skates, incapable of striking his mark as the eldest Scamander scooted about, alternatively retaliating from a position on his feet or his posterior - whichever happened to be in contact with the floor at the time. He was losing badly, one slip shy of being incinerated.
There was only one shot left in their bizarre arson. Grimacing, Davey reached into his pocket. "You'll hate me for this, but I'm saving your life," he muttered. Grasping three flexing, pulsing globes, he tore them from his pocket and flung them into the center of the ring.
Intended to distract certain peevish pilferers, the bouncy balls had lost their purpose (but not entirely their potency) as they sailed over scattered hats and scarves and collided with the mirrors behind Grindelwald. Multiplying the instant they struck, the squashy orbs pelted wizards and muggles alike with a frightfully increasing score of rubbery metal. Harmless in appearance, they nonetheless had the weight and velocity of a hurtling snitch. Several rounds drummed into Grindelwald's shoulders, foiling his aim as his followers caterwauled, shoving one another aside to escape the intensifying golden shower. Red-faced with disdain, Grindelwald hauled himself out of a hive of paper mice long enough to gather his bearings, vanishing from the tomb in a flurry of shredded paper.
Thwarted, Theseus hollered with exasperation, only to sprawl backwards as a marble-sized globe smacked him on the forehead. The final humiliation took him from behind as Newt flung himself out to pin the last baby niffler, gliding inerrantly into his pesky older brother and thrusting him into the mist of the woebegotten civilians.
"Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, I will kill you for this!"
The unfathomable threat from Theseus finally pushed Davey over the edge. He collapsed where he was, holding his sides, chortling uncontrollably as rubbery pellets bounced off of his spine. Forget Theseus' well-devised plan. No one was going to be capable of lifting a wand in violence tonight.
And all the while, gleefully balanced on her own two feet, untouched by the pandemonium that claimed more than a few who had teased her in the past, Leta Lestrange laughed at them all. At least someone found satisfaction in their comeuppance.
It was outrageous. It was indecent. It would never be forgotten. And yet when the night was over, with no more than bruises and sore craniums and sprained ligaments to mend, and a soundly embarrassed Newt bickering with Theseus over whether or not nifflers should be permitted to mate (he showed commendable seriousness in his arguments, given the state of his brother's gaudy appearance), and every one of Grindelwald's lambs more concerned about saving face by pretending that he or she had never been present at the disgraceful meeting, Davey had to believe that they had done something right. Despite his views to the contrary, Theseus' hand-picked band had broken up Grindelwald's anarchists without a single casualty. True, St. Mungo's had a calamitous night, and the Ministry inquiry required everyone to stay overtime to manage the paperwork, but even Theseus had to admit that lives had been saved. They had done something which no one believed possible.
The boggart had been vanquished with laughter, and with such mockery dogging his trail, it would be some time before Grindelwald could muster his followers again.