The year is 1940. The place is the Peruvian Amazon Jungle in Peru. Somewhere among the dense undergrowth of plants, the tropical sound of everyday jungle life and the unsympathetic, humid climate, Professor Newton Artemis Fido Salamander's (more commonly known as 'Newt' to people who knew him) machete struck against tree branches and high-rising exotic plants as he battled his way deep inside. Of course, he could have used magic to break-away a path among the vegetation, but where would the adventure be in that? Newt was used to this life, travelling all over the world, from the extremes of the arctic weather, to the extremes of the desert storms, in his search for the rarest of magical creatures. He remembered fondly his trip a decade ago, where he had lived among Buddhist monks, the protectors of Dragons which hid away, high up in the Himalayan Mountains. Having the opportunity, he had recorded each and every one of his encounters with the beasts (which had left him with over 100 hours of moving image footage to sift through once he had returned to England some years later).
Newt paused for a moment. Scanning his surroundings, taking in every broken twig which may lead him to a new discovery. He was a tall man, slim yet strong with short, mousy-blonde hair and feeling very young for his age. He wore light, practical robes which one would associate in another time and place with a Jedi knight. It is very foolish, after all, for one to turn up in the jungle wearing the latest fashionable wizarding robes and hat. No, Newt chose when he was out on a mission to wear an amalgamation of what one could only describe as Jedi Knight and Indiana Jones. With the exception of the wand which stuck out from beneath his belt, he very much 'looked the part' as many back in England would say. A loud shuffling noise and the sound of a twig cracking alerted Newt's attention to the undergrowth on his left. Bending down to examine the freshly broken twig, he could see faint tracks in the dirt beside it. The tracks could have been made by your everyday muggle mouse, but Newt was one who could tell that these tracks bore a slight difference to your average mouse. He was onto something. Every muscle in his body began to itch with excitement as he carefully and quietly slipped into the undergrowth in pursue of the tracks.
It seems clear that Newt was expecting something exciting and new, but quite on such a scale I'm not so sure. For just when Newt believed he was in with a chance of catching a currently unknown and rare species, he stumbled upon a clearing in the Jungle. Not exactly the size of a normal jungle clearing, but a clearing so big that it apparently could hold a whole Mayan city. The Mayan's; an ancient civilization who worshipped the sun and held strong ties with magic folklore and beliefs. Some wizarding historians even claim that the Mayans were the origin of the modern Witch and Wizard, though this is widely disputed due to evidence which points elsewhere. Newt never really cared much for these theories, but as he stood at the gates of his newest discovery he couldn't help but wonder if the people who had built this city had had help of the magic kind to create such soul-crushingly big and strong buildings.
As is the case with most Mayan cities, at the centre of this one stood a pyramid of a temple, casting the majority of ruined housing in shadows as it reached out to the sky above the treetops. Newt could have used magic to disapparate to the top, but once more he chose the tiresome route of climbing all 8000 steps to the top of the temple. While the rest of the city was gradually being swallowed up by the jungle over the centuries, the temple was virtually untouched. The huge wooden doors of the sandstone building were, with a small push, easily opened and Newt entered the only room of the temple. It was an astonishing sight to see. As the sunlight filtered into the room from a large hole in the ceiling, it took a few moments for Newt's eye's to adjust. But once they did he was able to see the hand-painted artwork which covered the walls and floor. Images of jungle people huddled around cauldrons from which smoke of all colours billowed. Other images showed witchdoctors at work, men who were half-transforming into animals of all kinds, enemies who were levitated upside down off the ground. There were so many images it could take days to record. So Newt dug his wizard camera out of one of his pouches and went at work recording every inch of every image.
He had just got around the first corner when a particular image seemed to jump out at him. This image, although at a first glance would seem to be still like the rest, when Newt moved to a different angle, it moved too. The image was of a man holding what looked like a large golden egg. He was just a regular looking Mayan man. But as Newt walked further into the room, the man changed. He was now wearing what looked like a knight's armour and wielding a heavy sword. Newt took off his adventure hat and scratched his head in puzzlement. He took another step forward. The man changed into a top hat and tails. His sword now becoming a gentleman's walking stick. Once more the man changed as Newt stepped into the centre of the room. He now wore clothes which forced Newt to take a step backwards. A uniform which struck fear into the hearts of millions of people worldwide during the 1940's. A uniform representing the forces which fought for the name of Gellert Grindelwald. Tucked away under the man's arm was once more a golden egg. Before Newt had time to ponder over the uniform, his gaze was distracted by the same golden egg which stood on a pillar in the right-hand corner of the temple. Carefully making his way over to it, wand in hand this time, Newt reached out his arms to pick up the egg. On closer inspection it looked nothing like an egg. It was more of an orb containing golden wisps of what could only be magical substance inside.
A flash of gold pierced through Newt's eyes as he feebly opened them. A face swam into his view. A face framed by golden locks of hair. Bright blue eyes looked directly into Newts, as he turned his head to look at the clock on the wall, which, from what he could tell, read '14:03 hours : 15th June 1964'. "What…who…" Newt made a weak attempt at a question but the golden haired, blue eyed young man in front of him just flashed a smile of perfectly straight, crystal white teeth, uttered some words of thanks, turned heel and disappeared out of the front door of Newt's modest semi-detached house with the flick of his flamboyant lilac robes. Little did Newt realise that Gilderoy Lockhart had just stolen his most prized memory.