Thank you to JH, Frank, LaughUrHeartOut, XYZ Artemis, AndurilofTolkein, Mordmil, Bundibird, and John Smith for your overwhelming responses to the first chapter! It's made me very happy, seeing all the comments and suggestions. (And prompts! I love prompts!)
In answer to LaughUrHeartOut's question, the current update schedule is every Monday.
Footsteps sure, Theseus rattled down the cedar steps into his brother's case, aware that his presence was both unwanted and ignored. Pausing in the ramshackle shed (a space he was becoming more familiar with the longer Newt stayed in London), he stole a moment to observe his brother's natural surroundings.
Messy. He wasn't surprised. Newt had never been tidy, but at least he had learned to organize the important things. There were plenty of bins and barrels about, all solidly clamped to keep the animals from nosing inside and gorging themselves to death. Bottles of potions and remedies were clustered according to their purpose and properly labeled. Scattered papers were in danger of sliding off the table, describing in a brisk, short-handed scrawl exactly how one might go about impersonating a pest controller. Theseus shuffled the papers together and placed them to the right of a mound of fresh willow bark shavings. Curious. He didn't recall any creature that required a steady diet of the common analgesic.
Returning to his original purpose, Theseus gingerly stepped around the massive paws of the zouwu lounging by the doorway and ducked into the sunlight of his brother's creation. The commotion within was no less disturbing than the first time he had snuck downstairs. Rumbling prowlers, thudding prancers, lowing herbivores and chittering rodents produced a squawking, clamorous atmosphere that was not unlike a room filled with aurors squabbling over their Christmas bonuses. Animals, however, could not be shut up with a mere silencing charm. The noise alone would have driven Theseus to the surface had he occupied himself with tending such oddities.
Despite his concerns about penning so many dangerous creatures together, Theseus admired how well his brother had contained them. Each beast had its own habitat, separated by invisible barriers which deterred the natural predators from hunting the gentle scavengers, yet allowed the harmless species to mingle. Fresh water sources and selective fauna ensured that only the predators needed regular feedings. Foliage provided shelter, regulated atmospheres divided rainforest and desert climates, and spelled air pockets assured circulated oxygen even while the case was shut. Truly, Newt had thought of everything for his little conservation project.
The magizoologist himself was occupied in the center of his grassland habitat, surrounded by a cluster of graphorns that were brushing against him to the point of being accused of snuggling. Theseus frowned, observing the smallest calf lapping at the raw juices dripping from Newt's hands. Encouraging a predator to associate humans with feeding time, no matter how sedentary the creature's lifestyle, was the first step to breeding malevolent beasts. Mankillers. Newt knew better.
"I suppose you'll be teaching the zouwu to jump through a hoop next," Theseus drawled, keeping well clear of a scuttling dung beetle. He caught the instant Newt's shoulders braced, preparing for a squall. "Don't let me ruffle your fur, Newt," he said tartly, copying his brother's tactics by devoting his attention to a swinging family of bowtruckles. "You and Dumbledore sorted this long ago. I'm simply a tagalong joining you for the ride."
"You didn't have to follow me, Theseus," Newt said tightly. It was the same tone Theseus had grown accustomed to over the years. There was always something left unsaid when Newt was talking.
He envisioned the interpretation, matching it with the dissociation in his brother's voice. It's not your fault that you're on the Ministry council that revoked my license. You're an auror; you're expected to report me for any infarction of the law. Since you've become London's hero, everyone expects you to set an example, even to your own family.
Sometimes he wished his relationship with his brother didn't have to be so complicated.
Sighing, Theseus leaned against a rickety, crooked aspen, fingering a sprig of yellowing leaves. "You know I worry about you, Newt."
Years of silence had taught him not to expect a reply.
"You're just like Mum. You're both impetuous and headstrong." Snapping off the dying twig, Theseus flicked it aside. "You think it's any easier, watching her risk herself every day around hippogriffs, and then you with all of these…."
Waving his hands at the assortment of monsters, any one of which could kill a man before he could draw his wand, Theseus shook his head and stepped away from the tree, ambling closer to the graphorn herd. One step at a time. Nonlethal. Harmless.
Newt had worked around beasts long enough to recognize a sidelong approach. Giving the graphorn matron one last pat, he scooped up the empty bucket and shambled back to the hut, giving Theseus a wide berth.
"Sorry, haven't the time to discuss things right now," he mumbled halfheartedly. "Still need to settle things before departure. I haven't told Bunty I'm leaving…."
"Newt!" Setting his teeth, Theseus loped after the family escapist, quickening his pace as Newt lengthened his own strides. Must it always be this way – you running the moment I've caught sight of you? "Newt, would you stop avoiding me and listen for once!"
"I don't need to hear any more, Theseus," Newt protested, cutting him off as sharply as a dragon sweeping aside an egg snatcher. "I'm sorry about Leta. I'm sorry about your aurors. You can't keep me tucked away because you're afraid of losing any more. I promised Jacob I'd find a way to stop Grindelwald and bring Queenie home. I won't disappoint him."
Skittering inside the hovel door, Theseus stared aghast at his brother. "You're doing this for a muggle?"
Newt swiveled around and faced him with the sheer gall he had grown to admire and loathe. "He's not just a muggle. And yes. It's my fault Queenie ran off with Grindelwald. I frightened her away by forcing her to lift the enchantment from Jacob. If Dumbledore can destroy the blood pact, then Grindelwald can be destroyed - ergo, I owe it to my friend to track down the missing pages."
Dismayed, Theseus leaned against the doorway and rubbed a hand across his forehead. "Newt Artemis Fido, no one blames you for Grindelwald's crimes; least of all me. Leta…." Swallowing against a tumultuous wave that he thought was securely locked away, Theseus emphasized, "Nothing was your fault. If anything, it was the Ministry to blame for not executing Grindelwald before he could escape. We had evidence enough to forego the trial."
"People still died," Newt murmured, tossing fresh meat into the pail.
"You're still here." Watching his brother, daring him to look up, Theseus waited until hazel eyes darted his way before saying softly, "I'm still here, Newt. You're all I have left to protect. Why won't you let me?"
Guilt splashed across Newt's face before he hauled up the bucket and bungled past Theseus, always bustling about, avoiding everything that caused him turmoil. "Wood lice are by the stove," he mumbled, pausing one moment to study the ground, watching out of the corner of his eye to see if he would be followed. "The bowtruckles will have to be fed first."
Shaking his head at the sheer audacity of the Scamander line, Theseus ducked into the shed to grab the small tin. Newt didn't linger for him to catch up, but he didn't scurry away as Theseus followed. As indirect and frustrating as it was, he had answered in his own distracted way that he would capitulate to his brother's whims, exasperating as it might be, and allow Theseus to mollycoddle him this once.
It was an opportunity Theseus rarely saw these days. Energizing his strides to keep up, he paused by the crooked aspen and cranked open the tin of wood lice, tolerating Newt's fervent insistence that he scatter it just so instead of dumping the lot over the tree roots. For once his little brother was agreeing to let him accompany him on one of his harrowing adventures. Though Theseus would rather strangle Dumbledore with his own time-turner rather than allow Newt to set foot in the past, he had to embrace the positive aspect that someone would travel alongside his brother besides a muggle or an auror with a revoked license. Better that someone within the Ministry keep an eye on Newt than someone who would report him to the authorities the moment he stepped back into his time.
Theseus had no desire to see his brother put away for life.
He just wished that Newt would believe him.
An intern's disguise was not difficult to arrange. A new suit in dark brown, softening the lines of strain around his eyes. Shoes with hard soles to mimic the uneasy clop of a young man who was still growing used to his height. Theseus let his hair frizz as it willed. Although he had been more careful with his appearance during his initial years at the Ministry, the untempered curls gave the allusion to an overworked intern trying to manage the menial jobs and triplicate forms thrust upon him by every "important" wizard above his station.
His papers had been forged: mundane references to questionable food handling and unsafe equipment - so innocuous that it was almost worth handing down to the muggle department. Perfect busy work for the intern who was always underfoot. In all appearances Theseus was an inexperienced upstart, jumping on the first opportunity to leave the office, who just so happened to be assigned to the very school where his brother was enrolled. No one would ask any questions if he encountered a younger version of Newt.
He only hoped that a child's past was as "malleable" as Dumbledore claimed. If it was up to him, he'd just as soon not interfere with Newt's Hogwarts experience. It would be undesirable for any older brother to intrude on an otherwise pleasant year.
"Do you have the letter?" Theseus asked, tucking his papers into his pocket as he watched Newt repack his trunk for the second time. Honestly, was it possible for anyone to be so absent-minded about whether or not he had packed socks? (Never mind that Theseus had felt compelled to remind him. How ever had Newt survived New York on his own?)
"On the desk," Newt said distractedly, snapping his wand to quick-fold several stiff-collared shirts. Ah, the dull confines of a profession. He wouldn't be sauntering around in an unkempt tie and too-short trousers now.
Smoothing the creased from the official document dictating his brother's imaginary profession, Theseus examined it for credibility and inaccuracies. His eyebrows flew high as he skimmed the first lines again.
"Artemis Caecillian?"
"Yes, that's my name," Newt said without pause. "The headmaster and I agreed that it would be easier to uphold the story if truth was intermingled with it."
"Did Professor Black also conspire the surname?" Theseus said flatly.
This time Newt faltered amidst his bustling, confused. "He did supply the cover story."
"And he chose Caecillian," Theseus stated, casting down the document. "That certainly reflects his opinion regarding our little trip back. Nearly two decades past and he still hates his job."
"Caecillian is an honorable class of amphibian," Newt defended in the same bewildered tone. "They're climacteric for replenishing nutrients in the soil. Without them horticulture would be impossible."
"It's a worm, Newt," Theseus established. "Present or past, Black is making it clear that he doesn't want our interference."
Hardly flummoxed, Newt shrugged and looped a tie over his collar, spell-tweaking it into a trim knot. The blue suit lent an elegance to his gangly height, although the bright color was appalling in the professional field. One more argument in which Little Brother's stubbornness had trumped over sound reason.
"Are you all ready, then?" Theseus prodded, pretending to scrutinize his watch while secretly hoping that Newt would be rushed enough to forget that drab excuse for a house scarf.
"Yes, that's everything." Snatching up the knit monstrosity (didn't Mother ever teach him how to dress properly?), Newt snapped his trunk shut and checked the locks on his case before nodding to Theseus in satisfaction.
"How many creatures are in there?" Theseus asked, folding his arms in the practiced stance of a pompous, weaselly inspector.
Finally Newt lost his confident facade. "I can't leave them here, you know that," he insisted, flushing as he apparated his trunk ahead of them. "They won't be any trouble. Animals don't make conscientious decisions to affect time. Of course, I had to send Bunty on holiday. She couldn't possibly stay in the suitcase while ..."
"Bunty?" Theseus echoed, a crafty grin abolishing his stuffy air. "And here I thought you were into brunettes."
"It's not like that, and no, Theseus," Newt prattled, pushing hastily past his brother as though to lose him on the staircase. "There's nothing to assume. You've got it all wrong."
"Wrong?" Grabbing the handrails on both sides, Theseus swung down the short flight to land in step with his brother. "Didn't I hear you saying something about salamanders last night?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
"You're blushing!" Theseus exclaimed. "And to think I assumed it was a mere fancy! Tell me, when is Miss Salamander-Eyes going to grace the Ministry with another fiasco in the vaults?"
Ah, he had his brother on the run! Trotting to keep up, Theseus gave Newt a wide enough berth that he wouldn't apparate and ruin the fun. He used to chase the little scamp, he recalled, back before Hogwarts boggled Newt with illustrious dreams, and all he wanted to be was a hippogriff escaping a nundu. Such were the simpler days. It felt good to be pursuing his brother for the sheer joy of being a pest again. No laws to be broken. No lines to be crossed. Wands tucked away without a second thought. Just two brothers shoving each other around, racing to reach the shadowed bridge first, where Professor Dumbledore waited for them.
Just like it used to be.