House: Slytherin

Category: Short

Prompts: Newt Scamander (Character)

Characters: Newt Scamander; Porpentina Goldstein

World: AU (Alternative Universe; play on if Newt was the one to be executed first, not Tina)

Word count: 2895 (Excluding Author's Note, but including entire Short Story and Title)

Summary: Newt Scamander never believed in self-worth until a brush with death forces him to remember that some things are worth fighting for and some memories he can never let go.

Rating: T

Author's Note: It took me FOREVER to decide how to start this work. At the end of the first edit, I wanted to trash it until something mysteriously conjured up and this was born! Hope y'all like it!

As always, enjoy

-Carolare Scarletus

Too Close to You

Newton Scamander stared enviously into the dark, violent face. Its fragile sheet rippled with each surfacing memory, to which his expression changed from utter contentment to absolute delight. At first, he didn't want to be strapped down to the levitating chair, a scary invention whose straps spelled out certain doom to whomever came across it. He had tried to get away, but it was the soothing voice of his attendant that made him rethink his choice. He climbed into the chair, looked down at the rippling waters as the hue changed from a haunting black to a pleasant shade of silver in an instant. Newt had never seen something so remarkable; he fell captive to The Mirror once again.

He had been caught up with the raid. Against the odds, Newt had been captured, and upon hearing that he had unintentionally set a few of his creatures out, the Ministry had sentenced him to death. And, it seemed it wouldn't be any ordinary death. After pleading his case and talking to every person willing to listen, Newt found himself rushed to this secret room, whose walls had been painted white with an elaborate pool of cryptic churning. Newt had struggled against the hold of his guard, but her cheerful disposition belied a hidden strength, and when he discovered he couldn't escape, he prayed to anyone who would listen to him. Nevertheless, the end was nigh. Soothing words were whispered to him, sentiments designed to ease the realization that this was the end. The guard stunned him, placed him in the chair, and waved her hand in a defiant manner. He didn't belong where they were; yet, somehow, they found him a place where he felt at ease. His seat rose high above the water, making him feel he was buoyant against the hand of death.

Newt looked down at the still water, waiting. A pleasant sense of uncompassionate lightness began to dawn on him. Suddenly, he wasn't struggling against the ropes that held him there; he was falling straight into the trap that was the lake. Euphoria washed over him. Happiness sprung instantly from the depths of The Mirror and he was left eclipsed by what it had to offer.

His life, quite suddenly, flashed before his eyes in an array of colors and shapes. What was once was just pathetic memories and misrepresentations were now stunning visuals of charming venues and wild pictures. Everything was drowning in bright colors, and Newt was going down with them. His lungs collapsed, but his own delusional mind kept him afloat as it tried desperately to grasp one thing while a completely opposite effect was taking place.

Slowly, the water began to rise. At first, he didn't notice it. When it finally licked the sides of his ankles, he was jolted back into disembodiment, the memories of his childhood forming right below him in a macabre scene of finality. The hands of death were disastrously cold. He saw himself perched atop the roof of his family home, books laid sprawled and forgotten around him in some symmetrical alignment. A small fire made from bits of parchment sat secured inside a small jar aside him as well as a finished plate of cookies and a third cup of tea. His knees were drawn causally up to his chest, his small arms wrapped around them tightly. His eyes were casted own to the sanctuary of his mother's rescued creatures. On a normal occasion, he would be down there attending to them, his governing fascination lighting up very much like a Christmas light. With a quick, dismissive motion, he looked back up at the sky.

Newt desperately tried to fight the surge of water as it rose up his ankles to tease his lower legs. Thrashing about, he looked around the room. He could feel his nerves set themselves alight. He looked to Tina, and found her own mortification dawn on her like daybreak. Tears glistened in her horror-struck eyes. When she looked up, Tina's mouth dropped open as she shook her head in morbid realization. It was a death that neither of them anticipated.

"Let him go!" she compelled them with a heartbreaking voice. Tina was quick to break her guard off of her before making the short distance to where Newt's guard stood. Her black eyes were lifted as they watched him slowly become enthralled by the magic of The Mirror.

"He's far from us, child," Newt's guard said in a pleasing tone. Then, she turned her attention to Newt. "The water is nice, isn't it?

Newt smiled esthetically as he nodded frantically, murmuring that he wanted to see more, feel more.

"Doesn't it make you want to take a dip?"

He nodded again before turning back to the waters, witnessing this scene unfold before him:

He had found refuge in this strange world of mystifying shapes and glows. When he looked up, Newt found life and a serenity of stars and galaxies so far away. If he were to raise his hand and pluck one from the assortment, he had no idea what he would discover. Maybe it was for that very reason he had come up to the roof; though, the real reason he had found refuge on the roof this cold, December night was because he had been teased by his cousin and wanted to escape. His cousin had said something rude about his name. Although it was meant to draw laughter, Newt couldn't help feeling hurt that he'd say something so callous. It's been several days since his cousin said it, and he was no closer to finding what he meant by it.

Newt had come up to the roof to think. Whenever he was mad, upset, or overwrought, looking out at the world made him feel at peace. For every action, there was an equal to opposite reaction- that was something that his mother always said. By the time the street lights came on and the children scattered like fireflies in the light, Newt had lost all sense of surrealism. He still didn't understand what it meant. Yet, he continued to gaze out as if he did.

As he gazed up at the sky, he couldn't help wondering about the meaning of his name.

Newt's brow furrowed at the sight of the memory. He hadn't thought about this particular memory in many years, and seeing play out before him like some tragic play really made him think. Although it had been years before her death, his mother had been the one to find him and guide him back to the ground. Quite literally, she was the one to remind him of his true self. Strong emotions coursed through him, riddling him incapable of the simplest of tasks. Breathing came as second nature as the force of the memory collided with him. We wanted to see more and yell out in anger all at once. His voice was stolen from him, rendering him incapable of speech while the sensory nerves in his brain spiked to unnatural levels. The water was certainly a derivative drug meant for exploitation; he stumbled into despair upon the recognition, but failed to make out anymore as the waters rose even higher up his legs, taking residency around his knees. Its cold touch jolted him once more, the bone-chilling reflection sending pain to shoot up his spine while pleasurable licks followed suit.

He gazed down at the blackened lake, the memory of another time surfacing.

"'What is in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet?'" he recited curiously. His breath came out in curls of cold fog. Newt looked up, his eyes glistening as if the world was a prophet of sadness, as if the key to his answer had been written somewhere beneath the stars. Newt waited, but the world was silent.

"''Tis but thy name that is my enemy: thou art thyself, though not a Montague'' a soothing, yet familiar voice called out to him.

Unable to contain the gasp that issued from his lips, Newt watched as his mother tended to the dying flame of his jar, smiling as she did so. The fire was so surreal, so inviting. When she looked up at him, her smile broadened. It looked life-like through the face of The Mirror. Behind her, shapes rose from the night and settled down in the space between his forgotten books and his empty plate. More treats, courtesy of his father's stolen stash. A howling teapot soon followed as well as a golden telescope. It was one of the many hobbies that he shared with his mother. That, and an extraordinary passion for creatures.

"I thought you'd still be up here," she murmured as she pointed her wand at the jar. They both watched as the embers died and the jar completely vanished. His mother turned back to him and ask," Where have you been? You missed a very interesting game of Wizarding Chess. Your cousin Sophia obliterated your father."

"Dad's only played a handful of times."

"Yes, well, he believes since he's won one game, he's undefeatable." She said dryly, though there was a sparkle of amusement lacing her words. "You didn't answer my question."

"I didn't want to join."

"But, there were plenty of-"

"That's not what I mean," he said with a sigh. "I didn't want to be around him."

"Robert?" she asked, then. Shaking her head, his mother inched closer until they were sitting side-by-side. The telescope, which still hovered in the air, was momentarily forgotten. "What has he said now?"

"Nothing."

"Newton Artemis-"

Newt cringed upon hearing part of his full name. "Mom, no. I'm serious."

"What?" She settled herself, reached over and plucked a cookie off the plate. After biting into it, she looked at him oddly. "S'acute name."

"That's the problem…"

He drew his legs closer to his chest and looked up at the sky again. This time, his mother remained silent. He knew that she was watching him with the intensity of a thousand fires, yet, he didn't move or speak. He acted as if he didn't feel her scrutiny and for a time being he felt as if the world didn't exist. "He said something awful to me the other day."

After a moment, his mother answered. "What did he say?" Concern plagued her words, which laid hidden behind a layer of protectiveness.

"He said I had a funny name." he told her before ducking his head into the small between his chest and legs. Mumbling, he told her," He said it was stupid and it didn't suit me."

"Who is he to say that your name doesn't suit you?" she asked, snickering as if he had told her a joke. "Come here. No more sulking."

The two of them gazed up at the sky. Neither of them spoke or moved. The only noise elicited between them was that of the hushed fire raising to the wind as the embers softly lulled them. Something heavy fell onto his shoulders, and when Newt looked to see what it was, a hand came down to silence him. Following this, his mother whispered something and he quickly looked to the cloudless sky, watching in utter amazement as a shooting star grazed the darkened plane. The tail was alight with the fiery embers of madness. As it crossed the canvas, other stars twinkled and greeted the passing neighbor. The excitement of it was exhilarating. His nerves were on fire; he held his breath, eyes scanning all around him. Yet, it was only in that moment that he was meant to see. Before he knew it, everything was eerily still.

"Thought that was going to be more extraordinary." She whispered after the fact. "Muggles" He knew she was rolling her eyes before the air between them grew serious. "Do you want to know why I named you Newton?" she asked suddenly.

He nodded almost viciously as they continued to warm themselves by the fire's light.

She looked down at him and smiled. "I named you Newt after Isaac Newton. He was an English Astronomer and came up with the theory of motion and gravity."

"What does he have to do with my name?"

His mother snickered quietly before continuing. "If you'd let me finish… I was going to say that he had been discovered by the Committee of Historical Figures that Newton was a studying alchemist."

"Which means, he was a Wizard," he finished quickly, his eyes growing wide.

She nodded solemnly. "More or less. You see, back in those days, mingling with Muggles was forbidden. The Salem Witch Trials were going on in America, and everyone was becoming suspicious of their neighbors. It was a very dangerous time for the Wizarding World. Eventually, someone found out about Newton, and it almost destroyed him, but before they could capture him, he fell into another pseudo. Thus, protecting not only himself but his family as well. What I'm trying to say is, even with another identity, it saved him from the brutality brought on by the time; though, it was the fact he remained true to himself that I admire about him."

His mother shifted in her spot, looking at the sky as she played with his fingers. "You were named with all the great things that you would do in mind. You are meant to do great things, love," she told him breathlessly, amazement and wonder lighting up her eyes. "It wouldn't have matter what I named you: you would have still been the boy that I had raised, the baby that I had fought for and devoted my entire life to. The child that, despite the odds, excelled despite the belief of failure. There are some things in this world that are so set into stone, that there is nothing that we can do to prevent them. However, there are some things that we can change, though, most of the time we choose not to and that includes your name. You'd still be Newton to be. You'd still be an inspiring model in my life because what is in a name?"

Newton thrashed against the bindings so forcefully that it almost caused him to slip from the chair and straight into the waiting hand of death. He broke free from the hold of The Mirror. The water steadily began to rise again, this time caressing his waist. The water churned so violently that it splashed up against his form, leaving darkened streaks to run down his clothing. Frustrated and angry, the waters that held Newt's memories began to fade away just as his resolved weakened and snapped in two. His savior came in the form of an ancient photograph.

His mother's face appeared against the abyss that was once the interlude of death. Her beautiful smiling face captured him for a moment before it, too, fell prisoner and faded away. In the face of death, Newt found salvation in the fact that he would see her again, that all was not lost and hopelessness was just an unchanging virtue of an unclear mind. What he saw before him was surreal, the most profound picture he's ever come across and as soon as it was taken from him, he felt his world crumble until it was nothing more than dust in a finite space. He was nothing; yet, he was everything.

"Newt!" cried Tina as she managed to break the grip of her guard. When she broke free, she grabbed for the executioner's wand, threw it into the blackened lake and finally breaking the residual effects of the spell, the anchor to which kept him grounded.

He turned toward the sound of her voice, thinking quickly. On his person was a singular plot. Something that he hoped that would save them all.

"Hang on," he murmured mostly to himself as he untied the ropes around his wrists and stepped as high as the chair would allow him. Newt managed to balance himself on the tiny makeshift raft before revealing a small bundle of colorful fur. As he looked around quickly, he threw the ball outward toward Tina, making sure to keep a secure grip on the fine string attached to it. While the ball soared through the air, it unfurled to reveal the most beautiful of creatures: a Swooping Evil. It was a cross between a reptile and a butterfly, but its looks were deceiving. The creature swooped around the room, gaining speed and strength as well as size. Just as the guard who had been stunned regained some semblance of control, Newt hopped onto the Swooping Evil and caught Tina around the middle, so that both of them could escape the room and their deaths in the most brilliant of ways.

As they flew, he reflected silently on what he saw and the mother he wished he could see one last time. She was only one who possessed the power of courage, and the ability to trust in him with all her heart. If The Mirror allowed him to leave with one thing, that would be failure wasn't an option, and the nuance of one's name was only what you thought it was.

He felt all the more empowered by the memory as he raced toward victory.