Had the weird idea to take a shot at "miniaturized baby Newt". Can't say this story had enough interaction to suit what I first had in mind, but here it is.

Neocolai does not own Fantastic Beasts or anything related to J.K. Rowling's works. (Yada yada insert "Disclaimer" here.)

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"It's not fair that I have to wait three more years for school. Mummy says I can read good enough for first-years. Will they give you a party at the end of the year? Can I have your wand when you graduate? I wish I could go with you, Thetheus. Christmas was fun but it's so boring when you go."

"When you're eleven, you'll have your chance," Theseus said good-naturedly, rearranging shirts, trousers, and stockings to lay more evenly in his trunk. "No, you'll have to choose your own wand when you go to school. If there's any party at the end of the year it'll be a private celebration because Black was finally sacked."

"Who's Black? Why do you hate him so much? Can I at least have your owl? You won't need an owl to send posts because you'll be home soon. I think he likes me - he's only bitten my finger twice in the last week."

"What did Mother say?" Theseus scolded, tapping his impertinent brother's nose with his wand. "Don't play with Aristotle. He's a postal bird, not a pet. I only keep him around because he's more reliable than any two-knut pigeon."

Slouching over the bed rail, Newt crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. "All animals can be pets. Mummy has hippogriffs, after all, and they're more cantanker….canker…."

"Cantankerous."

"Yeah, more can-tank-rus than horntail dragons!"

"Newt, you've never seen a horntail," Theseus said idly, examining a yellow tie. He really ought to check Newton's closet more often. Something was nibbling the threads of his wardrobe and it wasn't pixies.

"So? Still can-kan-ter-kus," Newt stated. He plopped his chin on his fist, sighing at Theseus' neat trunk. "School is boring."

"I thought you wanted to come along," Theseus said drolly. Too late he realized he had fallen right into his brother's trap.

"You mean I can?" Newt yipped, swinging himself over the bed rail. "I'm sure I can keep up! I know loads about dragons and hippogriffs and pygmies. Can't I come, Theseus? Father wouldn't say no if you told him I was ready!"

"You're not even ten yet," Theseus argued, scrabbling for balance as the eight-year-old barreled into him, scrawny arms latching tight. "Once Hogwarts sends you a letter, then you can go to school."

"You sent me letters last year. Does that count?" Newt reasoned. "I can multiply sums and name the consa-consta-consolations. I made a potion yesterday."

"You combined coffee with sugar and cream and did a fair imitation of a jabberwocky," Theseus corrected, gingerly detaching himself from the sidewinding Scamander. "Mother did not have pleasant words for the house elf."

"Please, can't I come, Theseus? Pleeeeeease?"

"Sorry, Newton," Theseus said, ruffling the boy's impossibly tangled hair. "You'll just have to wait a couple years." He whirled about, flicking his room into order, satisfaction coiling in his chest as books sprang into their proper alphabetical order, dust siphoned from the shelves, and the bedsheets snapped into perfect folds. Magic was an invaluable time-saver. Seventeen and nearly to the end of his seventh year, he was already in high standing for a position in the Ministry's training programme. He only needed to finish these last few months.

"Newt, stand back," Theseus warned his brother, reciting the shrinking spell in his head to be sure. He'd never done this without supervision, and it was best not to misconstrue the pronunciation.

"What are you doing?" Newt asked avidly, bright eyes following every flick of Theseus' wand.

"Pocket-sizing my trunk," Theseus said. "Far easier transportation than those clumsy luggage carts."

Too caught up perfecting the spell, he didn't see Newt's smile blanch into nervousness. "You're not going to spell the trunk?" the eight-year-old said uneasily. Just as Theseus opened his mouth, the boy lunged forward. "Wait it was a joke I left Pudsey in there don't shrink - !"

"Reducio." The spell tumbled off Theseus' tongue just as a flash of yellow scarf barreled in front of him. He aghast at the empty space before his trunk. "Newt? Newt! Newton!"

Merlin's ghost, shrinkage spells weren't meant for living beings! What if he had obliterated his brother? "Newt!" Theseus hollered. A shrinkage spell. That had to be the answer. He couldn't have… He never would have… "Newt!"

Dropping where he stood, he scanned the floor, horror flooding him as he immediately picked out a spot of bright color on the woodwork. A hand's length in height, nearly invisible save for the yellow ribbon of scarf dangling about his neck, tiny hands pressed tightly over his ears, the scrap of a child scrambled away, hiding in the alcove of Theseus' dress shoe as though a dragon had lighted in the room and devoured his brother.

"Merlin's beard, what have I done?" Theseus whispered. Counter spell. There had to be a way to reverse it. Yet how could he know for sure Newt would safely revert to his original height? "Newt, are you …." Cringing as the tiny form huddled back, ducking his head, Theseus dropped his voice to a whisper. "Are you all right?"

Agitatedly Newt shook his head. Obviously that was a no, but the accompanying words were soundless. Theseus winced and tried again. "Are you injured?"

A wild flailing of arms and aggravated gestures told him that Newt was probably hale in life and limb, but experiencing the world from the view of a bowtruckle was not listed in "Desired Christmas Exploits," thank you very much. Cursing softly, and saying something even more savage as he realized that his murmured oaths were probably well-tuned to much smaller ears, Theseus glanced at the open door and back at his … littler brother.

"I can't tell Father!" he hissed. "Don't you realize what he'd say if he knew I'd - why'd you jump in front of my trunk, anyways? You know you're not supposed to play around people when they're practicing magic!"

A rather fantastic spout of yelling ensued, which might have been more relevant if Newt's voice had any pitch to be heard. Sighing, Theseus glanced longingly at the clock, thinking of the extra hours he'd planned to study before leaving for the station. There was only one thing left to do.

"Climb on," Theseus whispered, cupping out his hand for his brother. At the backward skittering of twiggy limbs he insisted, "I'm not a boggart, Newt! I'm not going to squash you."

Cross hazel eyes scalded him. Seven-inches of scrappy little nundu and the boy still knew how to hold a grudge. Rolling his eyes, Theseus reached instead for the shoe and carefully stood with it. Newt tumbled ingloriously, scrambling upright in a moment to regard Theseus with a vengeful stare.

"I'm not the one who jumped in front of a shrinking spell," Theseus reminded him. "Stay down there until we're out of the house. I'm going to get help."

Shaking his head irritably, he tucked the shoe under his arm and pressed his stockinged feet close together. Apparation was still a tentative practice, and he didn't care to lose a toe because Newton decided to stage a family emergency. There was only one person in England who could be trusted with this manner of anomaly.

The family doctor was renowned for covering up Theseus' most catastrophic exploits.

Tall and weaselly despite his crooked shoulders, with a curling mustache and a shiny black comb-over, Barnaby Culpepper was more rat-like in appearance than his house elf, Glonk. Both were equally grouchy towards visitors, ministers, and errant schoolboys. Theseus was plopped down into a chair with a stained cup of gritty tea and ordered not to set foot on the Persian carpets before Glonk wandered off to find his master.

"This will only take a moment - I promise," Theseus whispered to Newt. The bundle of grey and yellow looked less cranky and more forlorn, huddled in the heel of his brother's shoe, arms wound tightly around his chest. Cold, perhaps, and surrounded by the stench of stinky feet. What a deplorable place to kip out.

Shuddering, Theseus slowly tilted the shoe onto its side, holding out his hand for Newt to climb out. "I won't drop you," he swore. "A pocket would be nicer than a shoe, don't you think?"

Grim-faced and despondent, the trembling child eased down from the hill of sewn leather and plopped onto Theseus' hand. Merlin, those fragile hands were cold. Furtively, trying to avoid the appearance of a voracious dragon, Theseus scanned his brother. Errant curls were still mussed, coat still fit, shoes had remained tied. It was still Newt, albeit a much smaller version than Theseus was accustomed to. Carefully, nearly cross-eyed as he craned his neck, he opened his suit coat pocket and coaxed Newt to hop inside. A step and a slide, and the tiny bundle shimmied into his pocket, curling into a lump no larger than a sparrow. A very thin and unhappy sparrow indeed.

"Well, what is it?" a gruff voice asked, jolting Theseus out of his brooding examination. "Splinched an arm this time? Broken your mother's best crockery?"

"Doctor Culpepper," Theseus greeted, rising to greet the wizard who had tended him since birth. "It's about…."

"Yes, that irrational bannister-slider," Culpepper said, gripping Theseus' hand in the brusque acknowledgment of formality before waving for him to sit down. "I feared so. Where is the little scap hiding? Or is it both legs on this occasion? Broke his fool neck? I suppose I'm expected to make a house call. I charge double for hippogriff maulings - his mother should know better."

Grimacing, Theseus shifted in his chair. "Actually… it was my fault this time."

"Oh?" Suspicion twisted with curiosity. No doubt Culpepper was questioning climate changes in invariable regions of the earth. "I haven't heard such an admission since… Second year, you dropped him while running down the stairs. I shudder to speculate what disaster could crown such an error."

"That's the problem," Theseus said queasily. Reaching into his pocket, ignoring the taps of angry fists and the pinch of small teeth, he drew out the feisty wad of furious little brother. Newt gnashed his teeth, burrowing into Theseus' palm as Doctor Culpepper adjusted his monocle and peered at the trite youngster.

"I assume you don't intend to tell your mother," Culpepper said with a laborious sigh.

"I have a train to catch in less than four hours!" Theseus protested. "I'll drop him off at home and no one will know the difference."

"He's an overimaginative child. He can't be sworn to silence like that dubious acquaintance of yours," Culpepper remarked.

"Davey can be blackmailed. I'll bribe Newt with chocolate frogs," Theseus said brashly. "Just fix it - please?"

"The burdens of a private practice," Doctor Culpepper grumbled. "My talents are wasted on squabbling children. Hand him over, then. Now Newton, stop squabbling and let me examine you. I'm not going to force skele-growth down a field mouse's throat."

"I don't think he's hurt," Theseus said anxiously. "Just… smaller."

"Hmph. Allow a real doctor to assess him," Culpepper retorted. Adjusting his mollicle, he peered at Newt closely. With one finger he spread out the child's out his hands and lifted his arms, moving so deftly and unobtrusively that Newt could barely dizzy himself with hyperventilation before he was puddled back in Theseus' hands, safe from the "grouchy old dougal" as he had termed Doctor Culpepper when he was five.

"Explain to me how I am expected to reverse this in four hours, with no foreknowledge of a spell's components or its potential consequences," Doctor Culpepper stated. "I have tended jinxes and broken limbs, hexes and unforgivables, and I have never acted without prior knowledge of the malady. Give me twenty-four hours and I'll have him back to rights, but if you're pressed for time you must consult an expert. I suggest speaking to your headmaster before you catch that train."

"Professor Black?" Theseus spluttered. "He's not even a teacher! He's little more than a - a - a nanny for the study hall! How could he possibly help Newt?"

"He's the headmaster; he must have an acute knowledge of spells and counter-curses," Culpepper said, polishing his molicle and slipping it into his pocket. "Sooner or later you're going to have to seek out professional help. I suggest you act quickly before your parents start searching for the both of you. Patient confidentiality is no longer applicable once a child under seventeen is involved. Off you go, now. I suggest using my floo; if you splinch yourself you risk tearing him apart."

Rising stiffly, Theseus tilted Newt into the warm burrow of his pocket and offered Doctor Culpepper a crisp good day, marching to the hearth. Merlin, he didn't want to do this. Snagging a handful of floo powder (probably far more than was necessary for two round trips), he brandished it over his head.

"Headmaster Black's office."

Culpepper's amused smirk was only outmatched by the creepy sneer of his house elf as the swirl of green fog bore Theseus away from the doctor's mansion.

"Honestly, Professor, I'm not sure how it happened. We were on our way to the study hall and suddenly - boom! Bouncy gold everywhere. Can't imagine where it came from."

Davey's dry excuses were as creative and dull as Black's infernal punishments. The crafty headmaster himself was hovering in front of his chair, a handful of swirling yellow globes wobbling on his desk, with the undauntable Sachervall Davis idly swaying from his heels to his toes, immune to the cold demeanor of the man before him. Interrupted by the flurry of activity in the chimney, the two broke their stare to glance over at Theseus. Davey waggled his fingers brightly. Professor Black scowled.

"Scamander. Too impatient for the train?"

"Actually, it's a rather pressing matter," Theseus said, brushing soot from his coat as he approached the headmaster's desk.

One glance at his stocking feet sent Davey's eyebrows soaring. "Bit more pressing and you'd have flown here on a broom. Did you warn the little beastie that you were leaving early? I'm not supposed to be here myself, but my old man banished me over the holiday - says the professors should whip me into shape before the ministry assigns me to the paperwork division. Scamper, you okay? You look pasty..."

"Doctor Culpepper said I should… ask you," Theseus told Professor Black, forcing the loathsome request past his dull tongue. "My little brother was running amok this morning… I may have struck him with a shrinking charm…." His voice dropped in volume until he was almost mumbling.

Black's mannerism was by no means encouraging. Raising one scraggly eyebrow, the headmaster swept the golden baubles off to the side and tapped one finger on his desk. "I assume you brought the child in question. Put him here."

"Theseus, you are kidding, aren't you?" Davey hissed. He sucked in a breath as Theseus withdrew his hand from his pocket. "Oooh, your mother is going to flail you! Tell me that's not what's left of him! You know Jenny's his age and if my old man ever heard I'd come near her with a spell he'd - "

"Sod off, Davey!" Theseus snapped.

Peering at the shivering bundle of ginger and grey, Professor Black harrumphed and sat back in his chair. "A shrinkage charm, you say? Impossible. Few masters are experienced enough to perfect such a spell for use on living matter, let alone a young upstart in his seventh year. What truly befell your brother?"

"That's exactly what happened!" Theseus protested. "I was about to shrink my trunk and he stepped in the way. It was an accident!"

"Your mum's definitely gonna kill you," Davey murmured.

"If it is as you say," Professor Black said skeptically, "The reversal will be simple. If you are exaggerating your story in order to win my favor for the final exams….."

"Theseus wouldn't! Not ever!" Davey was quick to defend. "Actually, maybe he might, there was that incident with the pixies that no one ever talks about, but he wouldn't fabricate a story involving his brother. Newt's too precious, everyone knows that."

Quailing under Theseus' glower, Davey prattled on. "Sorry, Scamper, but we know what it's like with the kid. Honestly, you're such a diricawl around him."

'Not helping,' Theseus mouthed.

Turning up his ponderous nose, Black glanced between Theseus and the helpless sparrow. "I shall be writing to your parents about this malpractice."

"Dead," Davey whispered.

Tutting in disdain, the professor lightly brushed his wand against Newt's scalp, muttering something too brisk and low for Theseus to hear. There was scarcely a flash of engorged color and flashing curls before a heavy weight flung Theses into one of Black's polished bookcases.

"Theseus!" Wretched, screaming sobs wracked the child as Newt buried his face into his brother's chest. "Everyone's yelling and I'm cold and you weren't listening I've been hungry for over an over and I hate Mister Culpepper and you weren't listening and I wanna go home!"

Unimpressed by yet another squalling child in his hallowed study, Professor Black briskly gestured towards the fireplace. "Unless you have some other complaint to make, Scamander, I suggest you finish packing. You already have detention for the rest of the term."

"Yes, Headmaster," Theseus said grimly, grunting as he scooped up Newt and was nearly strangled on the spot.

Davey waved cheerfully, taking advantage of Black's distraction to pocket the golden globes. "See you tonight, then - or are you expecting an early howler?"

"Goodbye, Davey," Theseus stressed, tossing green powder at the seventh-year's smirk.

After a full examination, Doctor Culpepper himself apparated the two boys to their doorstep. "Better for your parents to hear the tale from you than from another source," he cautioned Theseus, nodding towards the house.

Mumbling something noncommittal, Theseus ushered Newt inside and bolted the door behind them. "Not a word!" he hissed to his brother.

Tears spilling from his eyes, Newt whimpered, "But I'm hungry and you've still got Pudsey inside your trunk! I didn't do it this time! Why'm I in trouble?"

"You're not supposed to be prancing about when I'm practicing!" Theseus argued, taking Newt's hand and tugging him towards the kitchen. With any luck the house elf would feed him and they could forget the whole matter. "What if that had been a serious spell? You could've been badly hurt!"

"I am hurting - you're pulling my arm!" Newt complained, yanking his hand away. He marched ahead of Theseus, all eight years of tantrums and woebegotten eyes. "I'm telling Mummy you said bad words!"

Merlin's spangly robe, had he heard everything? "Newton, get back here!" Theseus hissed, scuttling after his brother. "Can't we at least talk about this? I saved your life - the least you can do is let me do the explaining to Mother. Newt! Newton! I'll buy you a frog, all right? One for the station and one for when you get home. I just need a little time to….."

He stuttered as he slid into the kitchen, stocking-footed and soot-streaked, standing like a gaping toad as his mother looked up from the nasty scratch she was bandaging on Cobber's hand. Shrewd hazel eyes assailed him before tracking over to Newt's tear-streaked face.

"What did you do?" the matron asked darkly.

Newt whirled to face Theseus, holding up five fingers and mouthing 'Frog' before telling his mother, "We were just playing and I locked Pudsy in Theseus'es trunk, and then I was bad and got in Theseus'es way as he was making a spell so I got an ouchie but Grumpy Old Dougal made it better again."

Sighing, Mother rolled her eyes. "Newton Artemis Fido, you know better!"

Just like that, the matter was past.

And Theseus was short-changed five chocolate frogs.

What a sneaky little brat.