"An Obscurus is the unfortunate and tragic culmination and manifestation of the repressed energy of an abused magical child (known as an Obscurial). Typically (and somewhat inaccurately) described as a "dark" and "parasitic" force, an Obscurus is created when the child in question is forced to repress their talent as a result of extensive physical or psychological abuse. This magical energy is capable of manifesting itself as a separate entity that can erupt in violent, destructive fury against those who threaten its host"

-Excerpt from redacted section of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them: By Newt Scamander

July 31, 2006 AD

Number 4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging, Surrey

United Kingdom

There was little sound within the small unremarkable house that was Number 4 Privet Drive anymore, save for the occasional, brief crash and clatter of broken masonry as sections of the damaged home collapsed. Once, this building had been the domicile of four people, though it could only have been referred to as a 'home' to three of them. And that was where the trouble began.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley, and their son Dudley, were 'perfectly normal, thank you very much' as they liked to say. Sadly this was far from the truth. Oh, they were people who by most classical definitions were not particularly of note, being neither physically noteworthy people, nor were they particularly distinguished in terms of career or upbringing. In fact the only thing of note about them, though they were loath to admit it, was that they were, or at least had been, associated with people who were extraordinary.

You see, Petunia Dursley had once been a girl by the name of Petunia Evans. The sister of an extraordinary young woman, Lily, who could wield that supernatural force known as 'magic'. Petunia had not gotten along with her sister, and had been disturbingly pleased to learn that her sister had met her end in a magical conflict some years before. At least she would have been pleased, but someone had dumped her sister's child on her doorstep for her to look after.

This was, needless to say, a recipe for disaster if ever there was one. One should never consider it acceptable to deposit a child in the care of someone who has many reasons to hate them merely for existing. And that was before the child had begun to exhibit the same magic as his mother.

Oh, they had been warned of course, the child was special, and deep magics called into being by his mother's sacrifice provided protection to the child even now. Sadly Petunia, and by extension her family, paid little mind to those warnings. Her bitterness towards her sister had become like a disease in her mind, warping her thinking, and her behaviour turned her husband and child against her relative as well.

The child, a little boy by the name of Harry, was a scrawny thing, being fed little and poorly cared for, he had a scar upon his head, a permanent reminder of the events which had claimed his mother's life. In truth 'Harry' did not know for certain that was in fact his name. He'd only recently come to be referred to by that moniker. The consequence of his first year at school.

Usually he was called 'Freak' or 'Boy', depending on how vicious his relatives were feeling that day. And that really should tell you all you need to know about how affairs had come to this point.

The fact of the matter was, Harry was abused, first it had been neglect, and verbal insults, but as the otherness about him began to mature until it was no longer possible to deny it escalated to physical violence. And with that violence came hatred. Hatred was seldom something a child so young can expect to feel, but feel it he did. For his relatives who treated him so of course, for those who saw him everyday at school and yet could not see what was happening, but most of all, for himself.

To little Harry, the root cause of all his suffering had to be whatever it was that made these strange things happen about him. Things like making objects move, and accidentally ending up on the roof sometimes when hiding from his relatives.

And that hatred, was just as foul and dangerous as that his relatives directed against him, for his magic began to turn inwards as he desired more and more for it to simply vanish and never return. An unhealthy state of affairs any knowledgeable magical could have warned against.

It all came to a head, on the night of Harry's birthday. Not that his relatives had ever informed him of the day's significance. He'd been surprised when he'd learned the date from a well intentioned but absent minded school teacher earlier that year. That the school teacher had apparently been unconcerned that a child didn't know his own birthday was ignored in the wake of his discovery.

This had to be his worst birthday to date as, as fortune would have it, Vernon's sister 'Marge' had come to visit. A much hated event for Harry, which occurred once or twice a year. Marge was, quite on her own the most unpleasant woman he'd ever met, and that was counting his aunt and uncle.

Dudley had gone off to stay at a friends for the evening, apparently having become bored with the constant inane and often vitriolic chatter of his parents and aunt. Leaving Harry, hidden though he was in the cupboard under the stairs he called home.

As the evening had pressed on, drinks had been poured and with it, his relatives tempers had been stoked, none of them being what one could refer to as a 'Happy Drunk'. The result for poor Harry had been predictable, and a short time after being dragged bodily from his little room things had come to their inevitable conclusion.

Now, were someone to look into Number Four, they would find a shattered ruin, barely holding up the roof overhead. Piles of rubble littered the floor, along with the bodies of his Aunt, Uncle and Marge. Of Marge's rather nasty pet bulldog, 'Ripper', there was no sign. And in the midst of this? A thick black miasma or mist which clung to every surface swirling in nonexistent winds. Poor little Harry's magic had run away on him.

For those who do not understand, it shall be explained. When a child's magic turns inward and they desire with all their hearts, nothing so much as that their magic would go away entirely, a curious and terrible phenomena is created. An Obscurus. An energy life form, comprised of the magic of that unfortunate child. It both feeds on that magic and requires it to exist. But it is more complicated than that. An Obscurus is the culmination of a child's desire to end their suffering. Many would tell you an Obscurus is nothing more than a raw untameable force, a parasitic life-form which exists only to destroy. And in some way this is true. After all an Obscurus will feed and become more powerful destroying all in its path until they drain their host dry and the child dies.

The real truth of it is more complicated, an Obscurus, the abused child's magic given form, exists to carry out its host's will. And in the case of these poor beleaguered children such as Harry, the first order of business is to stop those who have caused the child to suffer—by any means necessary.

And thus it was, that on this night in Number 4, the Obscurus which had formed from little Harry's magic, was feeling pretty satisfied with itself. At least at first. It had slain those who had caused its host to suffer after all. However it found, much to its rather simple mind's consternation that its host was more terrified than ever. It sought to comfort the child, drawing into a tight ball around little Harry, cradling him, only to be somewhat flummoxed when this did not work to settle him any. What more could it do?

It was then, as it examined its terrified host, that it became aware of a sound repeating over and over again. The child's voice. It took some time for the magical entity to come to understand the meanings of the sounds, not being truly equipped to understand language as such…But when it did it realized something. While Harry was terrified of the destruction it had caused to protect him, the child had one overriding desire. Little Harry wished he had his parents there to protect him.

At first this confused the Obscurus. After all it didn't think little Harry's caregivers were very good, hence why it had killed them. It slowly came to understand, its existence affixed as it was to Harry's magic and mind, that he didn't desire these ones to once again live, he instead desired for those who had birthed him to return.

Now, had this been the end of it, that would have been simpler. And it took some time for the entity to find a solution. Enough time that someone, a rather befuddled old man in a strangely coloured robe, had come to investigate the commotion and, upon attempting to interfere with the entity's doings was swiftly, and ruthlessly…eliminated.

It was during this abortive assault, as that same person failed in an attempt to use their own magic to disappear in the face of the Obscurus' attack, resulting in their demise, that the wards protecting little Harry flared dramatically, and a solution presented itself. The Obscurus had missed it at first, the thin tendrils of magic, not Harry's own, that connected its host to the wards. Blood Magic, fuelled by his mother's blood.

Obscurus, it should be noted are not like witches and wizards, their magic does not rely upon incantations and spells, it is a primal thing based on desire and emotion. Which really does go a long way to explaining why they spend so much time smashing everything in sight. This does not mean however that such an approach is the only one available to them.

The Obscurus tied to little Harry reached out to feel those tendrils, probing, questing and inquiring, and was fairly pleased with what it found in the magic's slowly fading song. Harry wished for his parents, and while unfortunately there was nothing of his father in this magic, his mother was another matter…

Her magic, her blood, her love and her very soul were all wrapped up in the protections she'd woven around her child. Where Harry's father was gone from this world entirely, save for his love for his child, unanchored by magics connected to his child, Harry's mother was not yet gone. Not entirely.

The Obscurus pondered this, pointedly ignoring the arrival of others in red trenchcoats outside the wards. It could work with this it supposed, but it would require a lot of magic, no, not just a lot. All of it. Every ounce of magic that currently made up its existence and a good deal more besides would be required. This caused the Obscurus to pause, the magics it would utilize would consume it in the process. And were the Obscurus any other being, it might have baulked at such a notion. However, one should be reminded, it existed to protect little Harry. And if its 'life', such as it was, could be sold to provide little Harry with what he truly wished for? Then such was of little concern.

Now. Where to begin? Ah, perhaps it should see to making the trenchcoated ones run away? They were getting bold, nothing could be allowed to interfere with its work.

Newt Scamander, Magizoologist in the employ of the British Ministry of Magic, frowned slightly before nervously running a hand back through his unruly silver-grey hair in agitation. Watching unhappily as the Obscurus, as that was the only thing it could be, lashed out and swept into an whirlwind about the house it emanated from, causing the wizards who had created a cordon about the residence to scurry back in fear.

"Any ideas Mister Scamander?" An Auror Captain, an attractive redhead called Amelia asked. "I really hope you know what it is we're dealing with because—"

He nodded sharply, cutting her off, though not unkindly. "It's an Obscurus Auror Captain," He grimaced sympathetically at her, as she winced when she recognized the term. "I suspect that inside that house somewhere is a rather terrified child who has had a rather terrible day. I hope I don't need to tell you not to order your men to cast upon it?"

She shook her head shakily, "No, you don't. I'll make sure they all hold their spells. I already have inquiries coming from higher up the chain, though. Dawn will be here soon and with it more muggles…"

He considered that, and was about to speculate on the point when the seething black mass within the damaged house's windows flashed to red and began to whirl about even more rapidly. Now that was strange…

"Curious, I've never seen a red Obscurus before…" He muttered before slowly beginning to pace towards the ward line. It was only as a series of cracks rent the air that he paused to look behind him.

There, striding towards him were some people he could have done without today. First of course was the rather pompous, bustling form of the Minister. But with her were also Bartemius Crouch and a trio of 'Unspeakables'.

"Ah, Newt, my young friend, could I inquire as to what is happening here?" Bagnold asked hurrying over to him.

Newt had to stifle the urge to sigh explosively, Bagnold had never impressed him as a Minister, and she was uncomfortably familiar in her address at times, adopting a sense of false bonhomie with those she was attempting to cajole into seeing her way. "An Obscurus Minister." He answered shortly. "A rather odd one, as it's just seen fit to change colour after chasing off the Aurors who got too close. I'm afraid I know little more than that at present and would request that you stand back while I try to approach without frightening whoever is playing host to the thing."

"Ah, very strange indeed! Perhaps it might be wise for one of the Unspeakables to—" Bagnold began.

"No," He said shortly gazing steadily at the woman. "Protocol is strictly against more than one person at a time approaching an Obscurus/Obscurial pairing. Not only does it minimize casualties should things go wrong, more than one person present can agitate the host causing the creature to lash out. You know the rules Minister. Besides, I trust I need not tell you why I prefer powerful and inquisitive wizards to keep away from such creatures?"

Newt's superior winced, remembering the Barebones incident. "Ah, yes of course. Say no more, it had simply slipped my mind, but surely you must know they would never harm the…host in such a way as Grindlewald did?"

He shrugged noncommittally, shooting the grey-cloaked figures a pointed look. "Perhaps, just the same I prefer to err on the side of caution."

"Ah, very well then. I would appreciate a report as soon as you have resolved the situation my dear." Bagnold said, looking somewhat nonplussed by his attitude thus far.

"I would as well Mister Scamander." Grumped Barty Crouch as he stumped up looking particularly surly. "Any sign of Dumbledore yet? I'm surprised the old busybody hasn't appeared."

He stared at them both, expression carefully neutral. Ignoring the question about the Headmaster and Chief Warlock. "You'll receive my report as soon as I've compiled it. Which should be just in time for you to hear it along with the rest of the Wizengamot in the morning. Now, please, if there are no further interruptions, might I start my work?" He asked pointedly, while keeping his tone studiously polite.

Bagnold blinked in surprise at the mild rebuke before nodding, "Very well, Perhaps Barty we would be best served to go speak to Amelia. Hopefully once that is all done Newt'll have enough to brief us?" Newt heard as he turned away and started once more towards the house.

It was odd the Minister was so…insistent, Newt didn't like it, but had more important things to worry about at present. Was it just him or had the swirling mists within settled somewhat? Worrisome.

He continued towards the ward line before stopping to regard the sole Auror who remained nearby, the familiar and somewhat rough and tumble visage of Alastor Moody. "Mad Eye." He greeted eyeing the wards suspiciously. They were pulsing, and red rivulets were beginning to form on its interior surface, running down like drops of water to meet the ground where it ran inwards towards the house.

"Newt," Mad Eye Moody greeted gruffly. "Going in are you?"

He nodded slowly, "Hopefully, these wards are strange though, will they impede me from entering?"

Mad Eye huffed irritably, before shaking his head. "No, from what I'm seeing they only affect those who attempt to enter with hostile intent. Well, save for the enemy repelling one which stretches out about a mile all around…Would like to know who made these wards though. I'd like a word with them…"

Newt paused considering the steely expression on the old Auror's face. "Why, is there something wrong with them?"

Moody nodded, "Blood Magic boy, highly illegal that. Not only that, but they've been placed on a muggle dwelling near as can be told. I want to know what nutcase has been meddling in things they ought not to. I'd also like to know who the dead wizard in the doorway is…" he said jerking his head towards the house. "Can't make out the details from here."

Newt shuddered slightly, Blood Magic, not something one meddled with lightly, he'd only run into it once before and that had been more than enough. He also didn't like that sinking feeling he had in his gut that these blood wards might very well be related to the Obscurus' change in colour and demeanour. That there was a dead wizard on scene was far from comforting.

"Very well, wish me luck I suppose." Newt said moving towards the ward. He heard Mad Eye grumble a brief acknowledgement before carefully raising his foot and stepping through the boundary, cautiously stepping over the pool of ichor welling about the ward's base. It was as he stepped through the ward that the scent finally met his nose. Blood Magic indeed, the metallic scent of it permeated the air as small streams of it ran across the ground away from the ward line and towards the ruined house. He tried not to shiver at the sight of the blood running up the steps and into the house, moving in a way no liquid should.

He carefully picked his way across the grass, stepping on patches of ground not occupied by the crimson pools and tributaries snaking their way towards the house. It took a good minute before he made it to the front step, and that was enough time for him to observe a notable change around him.

The Obscurus, whose crimson mists had been pooling somewhat outside the house had been steadily withdrawing within its confines as he approached, tightening and coalescing into a more solid cloud as he approached, a low rumble filling the air.

He stepped through the door and nearly tripped when his foot ran into an obstacle. There on the floor, fallen on his side and tangled in a mass of obnoxiously coloured robes was Albus Dumbledore. He stared down at the fallen man for a moment, trying to ignore his wide staring eyes and the way his hand clutched at his wand even in death. "Well, that explains why he didn't show up outside I suppose." Newt muttered, shuddering.

Dumbledore was a powerful and skilled wizard, that he'd run afoul of this Obscurus in such a way was…distressing. Newt swallowed thickly. Before stepping over the body of his former headmaster. A part of his desperately wished to draw his wand, but he knew full well that the Obscurus might interpret such a thing as an aggressive move on his part. Something which might well prove fatal for him.

It was only as he stepped into the living room that he caught sight of the Obscurus again, but that was not all he saw. True enough, there in the centre of the living room was the great, eddying, crimson sphere of Obscurus. Spinning slowly in the air near silently above a pair of forms on the ground.

The first was clearly the child he'd been looking for. A small lad, perhaps 5 or six years of age, curled up in a ball, whimpering softly to himself, while rocking on the floor, too afraid to move away from where he found himself.

It was the other form which concerned him more. At first he had trouble telling just what it was he was looking at. The blood which flowed even now about his feet across the floor was gathering and coalescing into a solid shape on the floor directly beneath the obscurus which as he watched reached out and touched it almost as if caressing or perhaps sculpting it from the red ichor which was coming together to form it.

It took a moment, and more than a couple confused blinks before his brain made sense of what it was seeing.

The form, half concealed as it was by the blood flowing over it and the probing touches of the obscurus above, was that of a woman, naked and shivering as more and more ichor ran up over her skin before absorbing into it. A woman with red hair and startling green eyes which were fixed upon the child before her.

He was transfixed by the sight before him, pinned in place by shock and not a little fear.

Then, a low tone split the air, and Newt was surprised to see that the Obscurus seemed to be rapidly thinning, losing its substance as it repeatedly made that gentle contact with the woman on the ground. Before his very eyes it seemed to fall apart breaking into tendrils which slowly drifted downwards into the woman before finally disappearing entirely.

It was then, as he stood thoroughly unfooted by what he was witnessing that the woman began to move. It started as a twitch, then a small jerk before her hand slowly stretched out, questing for that of the child still curled up on the floor across from her.

Newt cast another glance around the room taking in the destruction before taking a cautious step towards the pair on the floor, his briefcase clutched tightly before him. He wasn't entirely sure just what he intended to do, even his wide breadth of experience not preparing him for this strange situation.

It was then that he heard the woman speak, "Harry," she breathed, her hand coming into contact with the boy's own. "Harry, it's okay honey."

The boy stilled at the contact, and she spoke again, her tone soothing, but so very weary. "Harry, nobody will hurt you anymore. Its okay, mama's here."

Newt swallowed, not certain just what it was he was witnessing as the child opened his eyes to peer uncertainly at the woman. Still he felt he should do something. "Um…" He paused clearing his throat, which caused both figures to give a start. "Hello, I'm sorry to disturb you but…well things are not entirely safe here, I think we should get you away from all this." He said indicating the ruined building around him. As though to punctuate his point, a piece of broken ceiling fell through onto the floor with a bang.

The woman's eyes fixed on his own and he shivered at the intensity of the stare. "Who are you?" She croaked, her voice rough from apparent disuse. "What are you doing here?"

He cleared his throat uneasily. Not sure what to make of the woman, especially as he could still see the last few rivulets of blood sliding across the floor towards her, joining their substance with her own. "I'm uh…that is to say, my name is Newt Scamander, and I am…" He trailed off as her eyes sharpened.

"You're the head Magizoologist for the Ministry, I know of you, yes." She said, before turning back to regard the still frightened eyes of the child, reaching out with a hand to gently caress his face. "You are here to deal with the Obscurus."

He nodded slowly. "Yes…er, ma'am, I suppose I am, though I confess to not being entirely certain what just happened to it." He paused, regarding her, then realized quite to his mortification that he was in effect staring at a naked woman. "Er—goodness me, I apologize. Let me help you!" He said, it finally permeating his brain that the worst of the danger was likely past. He slowly pulled out his wand and conjured a robe for the woman, earning a small gasp of fright from the child before Newt offered it to her, trying not to stare at her for decencies sake.

She, hummed soothingly running a hand down the side of the child's face again before slowly pushing herself into a sitting position and taking the robe from his hands gratefully. "Its okay Harry, he's not going to hurt you, and Vernon's not here to make a fuss about things like that."

Newt wondered just who Vernon was, and why he'd have made a fuss, but didn't say anything, it was clear the child was still nervous, Newt didn't need to make him more so when the mother seemed to be doing a good job of soothing him.

She slowly pulled the robe on and tightened it around herself before kneeling beside the child. "Oh honey," she breathed brushing a bit of the boys hair from his face. "What have they done to you…" She then reached down and carefully gathered the unresisting child into her arms, hugging him tightly to herself.

It was only then as she cradled the child that the boy finally spoke. "Mama? You're…my mama?" He asked tentatively.

"Yes honey, it's really me. Everything's going to be alright." She promised.

Newt wasn't certain of that, as he still had no earthly clue what had just happened, but he wasn't about to contradict her in this case.

It was then that another voice called out to them from outside. "Newt? Are you alright, the wards just came down!" Came a familiar and very welcome voice. That of his wife, Tina.

He saw the look the red haired woman gave him and correctly interpreted it, she wasn't ready for them to get swarmed by outsiders. "Just a moment please!" He called back, before turning his attention back to the woman before him. "If you don't mind I'd like to invite her in, she's my wife you see, and she does worry so."

She hesitated before nodding shortly. "She can come in, but nobody else."

He nodded seriously and called out again. "Come in Tina, just you please!"

There was a pause then the sounds of footsteps outside and a gasp as she ran into the body of the former Chief Warlock by the door. Finally, a couple moments later his wife stepped into the room and came up short at the sight before her.

"Newt, are you alright?" She asked. "I heard there was an Obscurus!"

He nodded, stretching out a hand to her, inviting her to come closer. "There was, though it seems to be gone now. I'm afraid I don't know just what happened here." He admitted before turning to regard the woman still on the floor cradling the child. "I don't suppose you might be able to explain what happened here? Can you perhaps tell me who you are."

The woman snorted slightly, but kept gently caressing her child's face. "I think you have a good idea what happened to my son here mister Scamander." She chided, and he nodded agreement, he could certainly hazard a reasonable guess. "As for who I am? My name is Lily Potter, and this is my son, Harry."