A/N: Here is the deleted Stag party scene from Be Our Guest! If you haven't read that, and have stumbled upon this, I suggest you check that story out first, but this, I suppose could be read without having read that first. That said, this is going up in three parts, part 2 being the bulk of everything. Part 2 will be up on Wednesday, and the last part will be posted on Friday.

Newt had marched into battle with more exuberance and tenacity than when his brother came and plucked him from Tina's room to drag him to the Stag Party. He'd survived war; he'd sooner fight an enemy than spend his evening in a crowded bar with people who were all but strangers to him. It was all Newt could do not to wrangle himself free of Theseus' grip and run back to Tina, hoping she didn't loathe him for abandoning her. Leaving her struck a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach that ached; inviting her only to abandon her seemed somehow a much crueler act than it actually was. To go with his brother in place of staying with Tina, in Newt's mind, was akin to letting one of his creatures fend for itself. There were so many other things he could think of doing; ways to pass the evening with her rather than away from her. They weren't even any particularly exciting things: talking, taking care of his creatures, or simply sitting together in silent company would be enough to captivate him. Four torturously long months had passed – bleak without her - and once more it seemed he would have to wait to share that spark of companionship. The Stag party that Theseus so desired was nothing more than an excuse for his brother to drink, and for his friends to tell him how great he is. "An age-old tradition," he'd called it. Newt, however, saw the whole ordeal as an unfortunate necessary evil and not the social norm that it was. To him, the party was no more than a bothersome plot to keep him away from Tina a while longer.

As if having a plethora of family staying within earshot wasn't bad enough, spending an evening surrounded by Theseus' best mates and colleagues would surely do him in. That realization was rapidly becoming far more foreboding as he sulked down the hall, and an unsolicited groan – heavy with dread and annoyance – parted his pressed lips. Theseus unfortunately heard it.

"Oh, cheer up, Newt," he urged, as they reached the bottom of the stairs. There was a buoyant hop in Theseus' step, while Newt landed on the main floor of the estate with a dismal sounding thud. "If you're worried about Miss Goldstein, I'm sure Mum and Lillian will see to it that she is entertained." He was practically bursting with joy, and it made Newt want to hit him.

"That's what I'm afraid of. You know how mother can be." If Theseus' comment was meant to allay some of his younger brother's torment, the remark only managed to aggravate Newt all the more.

A peculiar smirk creased Theseus' mouth, unfurling slow and knowing while his gray eyes glistened in the light of the chandelier hanging above them in the foyer. "She brought up the story about her water breaking in the Hippogriff paddock again, didn't she?"

Newt felt the blood drain from his cheeks as he relived the entire conversation – verbatim – in his mind. "Why does she feel the need to tell everyone that?"

Theseus offered no response other than a cool sigh and the shake of his head. He patted Newt's back as some form of derelict consolation, directing him towards the door. Newt let another sigh pass his lips to mark his defeat just before their mother danced around the corner with her arms spread wide. A deeper frown threatened to curl Newt's mouth while surveying his mother's movements, knowing exactly what she was wanting. Theseus realized as well it seemed, but his chipper mood did not allow for something as boorish as a frown. The brothers each braced themselves for Louise's inevitable embrace as well as the kisses she placed on their cheeks.

"Oh me 'andsome boys. All ready for a night out." She smiled at them both. "'Ave fun, now, an' don' do nuthin' I wouldn' do."

Which, I fear, is very little. Newt had to keep himself from rolling his eyes.

"Of course, Ma," Theseus beamed, gracing her with a kiss to the cheek.

Louise was quiet for a moment, her ever-present, fun-loving smirk planted firmly on her wide lips. The moisture in her eyes made them twinkle unbelievably brighter and, for a second, she looked as though she may cry. "You lads run along and 'ave a drink for me." She gave them a playful wink and shepherded them out the door without another word.

They were barely outside long enough for Newt to make a mundane comment on the cooling weather when Theseus grabbed him by the sleeve of his blue coat and Disapparated with a pop. The two reappeared with a corresponding crack at the rear of a dismal alley that reeked vaguely of rotten food and excrement. Another smell hung in the air, hidden under the more potent odor that Newt knew belonged to London, and it was not any more pleasant. Newt's mood sank ever deeper into a pit of seething distaste as the deplorable stench caused his nose to wrinkle. With his head spinning from the trip and the sudden stink stinging his nose, it took Newt a moment to regain his footing. He could see Theseus was already well ahead, strolling leisurely down the lane, completely impervious to both the aftereffects of Apparition and the foul air in the dark side street. He was whistling when Newt caught up with him; it was a happy tune, one Newt recognized to be an Irish folk song their mother often sang. The notes fluttered from Theseus' lips and into the evening breeze, conflicting with every emotion currently coursing through Newt. The Magizoologist envied his brother in that moment, wishing to garner a mere fraction of Theseus' spirit, and maybe finding the vigor to join his brother's tune.

"Where are we going, Theseus?" Newt asked, trying his best not to let his frustration infuse his tone. While he adamantly wanted to have nothing to do with any of his brother's friends, Newt figured he should attempt to make the most of the time they had before the festivities.

"Well, I took the liberty of renting a pub— you'll remember it as the one you first met Lillian in. I also invited my own friends— all of which is traditionally done by the Best Man." He cheekily elbowed Newt in the ribs before he continued. "But if I left it up to you, my Stag Party may very well have involved only the two of us, a single bottle of firewhiskey, and menagerie of beasts!"

Newt tried not to scowl, still wanting to be civil with his brother. He knew Theseus was only teasing, and perhaps under different circumstances – and a slightly better mood – Newt would have laughed along with him. There was, however, an undeniable truth to what his brother was joking about. Newt had never been to a Stag Party, which made orchestrating one somewhat of a challenge. Anything he attempted to throw would certainly end catastrophically, and probably would have been just he and Theseus with a bottle of firewhiskey. It was for the best that his brother made all the arrangements, and on some level, both were completely fine with that.

"You can have all the credit, of course," Theseus added a moment later, blinking around a smile. "What poor sod wants his mates to know he had to throw his own Stag Party?"

One more crack like that and I'm going to introduce you to my Nundu!

"That's awfully kind of you…" Newt chided.

Theseus' mood only seemed to swell with greater enthusiasm, and if Newt didn't know better he would think it all derived from his own irritability. That or Theseus was so excited, he was blind to his little brother's displeasure. Whatever the reason, he was having too much fun already.

Conversation lulled between them as Newt folded in on himself to recharge the bits of him still pumping out phrases uncoated with antipathy. Whenever he found himself worked up he usually settled with a cup of tea in his case and his journal, surrounded by his beasts. That always soothed his mind and brought out the best in him. He'd also found that being around Tina offered him a new and strange sense of serenity, and that he longed for the most. Newt, however, was in a situation where neither of those things were in proximity; both his case and Tina were at Featherbeak. He focused instead on the streets of London, entrusting the usual evening bustle to still his resentment. It was a relatively pleasant evening where the weather was concerned. Motor cars tutted down the cobblestone drives while other night owls went about their business on foot. The buildings were beginning to look familiar to Newt; they were nearing Charing Cross Road. He could even make out the impoverished storefront of The Leaky Cauldron. If he remembered right that meant Theseus' favorite Muggle watering hole was just around the corner. The older Scamander brother proceeded down the sidewalk, once more whistling delightful Irish refrains, emitting an air of calm vibrancy. He easily thwarted groups of passing people, making sure to utter a charming "good evening," as he did. Newt trudged on however, slouched in the shadow of Theseus' joy, finding it almost too complicated a task to abandon his hostility with every note that passed his brother's lips.

The pub was blessedly empty – apart from a few staff members – when Newt and Theseus entered. It was a stark contrast to what it had been the night he'd met his brother's bride to be. It had been a spectacle of disorderly drunken Muggles that evening; loud and far too concerned in their own business to meddle in theirs. The expanse of wooden tables sat in perfect order and free of noisy guests, which surely would not be the same by the end of the night. Newt felt an odd sense of sorrow for the innocent pieces of furniture, realizing the notion that one or two of them may very well be a pile of splintered wood when it was all over. He sighed a silent salute to them for their impending sacrifice before hanging his coat on one of the brass hooks by the door.

"So," Newt said placing himself on the barstool next to his brother. "I rented the entire place for the evening, huh?"

Theseus had already ordered them both a drink to kick things off (which Newt was glad for) and he nodded. "Mm, yes. You thought it would be best, seeming as how we don't want our celebrity status to invoke unwelcome guests such as Daily Prophet journalists. Especially on account of how we act after several drinks."

Newt found himself smirking for the first time since the start of their adventure, and he took a slow sip from his glass. "I am the clever one."

Theseus chuckled. "That you are, little brother."

xxxx

As Theseus' friends began to pile into the once peaceful tavern, it was a hard reality to swallow that soon the interior would be rowdier than a stadium full of Quidditch fans. The amount of them was already alarming; men of all different ages and statures paraded through the door with such bombastic spunk it made Newt glad he didn't have to deal with them and usual bar patrons. He'd never met most of them, which he cared little to remedy before the night was through, and guessed that he would spend most of the night avoiding eye contact, seated at a corner table, stewing in his own misery. This was Theseus' night after all; it was him they were there for, and he hoped beyond hope that he could stay invisible while his brother boozed and schmoozed into the wee hours of the night.

Newt finished his drink and ordered another quickly, if only to help him endure the night that was about to unfold before him. The amber liquid slid down his throat much easier after just one drink, leaving only a slight burn as opposed to the stinging first one. He figured that was good, unsure of just how many glasses it would take until he was at the point of not hating the situation. More than just two, Scamander. He told himself with a huff. It's going to take more than two…

Theseus waited to abandon his brother at the bar until a substantial amount of his guests had arrived and flitted off the stool without a passing utterance to Newt before greeting each man with a sociable bray. Newt watched his brother and his convivial hellos, mustering a sigh as he wondered briefly what it might be like to harness such gusto. A small portion of him was jealous for the extroverted behavior, while a much larger part of him was glad for not sharing that specific trait with his brother, finding Theseus' demeanor tiring.

Space was shrinking by the second as more and more bodies stuffed inside the interior of the quaint pub. They took to the tables, sectioning themselves off with others they knew or felt best suited their individual hubris. Most rallied to Theseus' himself, following him around the pub like lost sheep, as he ventured from table to table to chat with his mates. It seemed they all knew each other on some level, smiling a greeting one another with firm handshakes or a masculine pat on the back. The stools lining the bar were the last to fill, the ones on either side of Newt staying vacant as if his brother's friends could sense his hostility. He smirked at the notion: him the predator and them the prey who made a point of avoiding him. The empty seats next to him were welcomed, far better than strangers filling them.

The barkeeps looked to have their work cut out for them. Pints and shots and all sorts of alcoholic beverages were being poured at such a quantity Newt feared Theseus's horde would drink them dry. It was unlikely, but many of his brother's buddies were soldiers, and Newt knew first hand just how much they could put away on their own. The bartender powered through each order with an elegance derived from many years of seeing to customers, and every glass slid across the counter mere seconds after it was ordered.

Newt fiddled with his pocket watch, and sneered, realizing only a half hour had passed. The night was in it's infancy and everyone was already loud and had a drink in their hand. He figured most – if not all – of the invitees had arrived, if going only by the number of men in the pub was any clue. There was not an empty table in the room, just the two empty stools next to him. It mattered none to Newt whether or not every one of his brother's mates were there or not, he knew that, as Theseus' best man, he had the obligation to toast the groom, and he was going to do it while everyone was still coherent. His reasoning was somewhat petty he knew, but sensible. At the very least his brother's band of friends would know that his younger brother was there and in full support of the wedding. Newt muttered something to the bartender, who proceeded to pour him a drink more appropriate for a toast than the pint he'd been nursing, and he balanced himself carefully on the metal rungs on the bar stool. Thankfully his new height was enough to draw everyone's attention.

"Before things get under way…" Before we're all too drunk to remember this… "let's raise a glass to my brother, Theseus, and his bride, Lillian. May they - erm- be happy, and-" The stool wobbled slightly as he fished for what words to say. He managed to stay upright, catching the back of the barstool for support. "... and may word of what happens tonight never reach her ears…"

"TO THESEUS!" Someone yelled from the crowd, hoisting his drink high overhead.

A chorus of laughs, cheers, and praise resonated around the pub in joyous tones that actually managed to bring a smile to Newt's face. He tossed back the drink in his hand in toast and admiration to his brother before slouching clumsily back into the barstool.

A/N: You can follow me on Tumblr at fandom-non-sense. I post the progress of my current works there.

Also HUGE thank you and shout out to my beta onebethatatime. Thanks once again to katiehavok who gave me lots of fun ideas about this. They are wonderful and I owe them both so much for making these chapters readable. Also, shout out to anyone on tumblr that also fed me ideas for this. I hope I've done them justice!