Friday, March 11, 1910

"Today, Students, we will be turning river stones into lily pads."

A rather interesting spell which Theseus remembered from his second year with the previous Transfiguration instructor. Most of his classmates had managed a wad of green mulch during their first attempt. Davey had fainted when his rock turned into a frog, and had been labelled "delinquent genius of the month" by his peers. Theseus had been the fourth student to correctly transfigure his stone, although admittedly it was rather a wilted, yellowing flap of plant life.

The second-years in McGonagall's classroom fared little better. A chorus of disjointed spells and hazardous wand-waving produced mostly bruised elbows from the right-vs-left handers, scattered clacks as rocks were swept onto the floor, and a few exclamations over trifling changes in a stone's appearance. Leta, eyebrows drawn together fiercely in concentration, managed a startling green rock. She'd be one of the first to perfect the spell, Theseus was sure.

Aware that Transfiguration was Newt's previous nightmare, he tried not to let on that he was watching his brother's attempt. The red-faced youngster was already embarrassed enough, flapping his wand around like a butcher knife to the point where he was in grave danger of snagging one of the golden braids of the girl sitting beside him. Rubbing a hand over his face to hold down a chortle, Theseus concentrated on his checklist, which McGonagall had devilishly added to when she discovered he was missing a few important safety concerns.

The required texts were in the correct edition, and for the afternoon's lesson McGonagall had instructed the students to share with another peer if they had an old version of the book. Her demonstration was precise, with no elegant twirling or nonsensical drivel about why one might suddenly feel compelled to turn a quarry into a lily swamp. She knew her business and shared her knowledge with blunt civility. It was a wonder Newton could get away with anything in the class.

Theseus was just about to pass by his brother's table when the little blond witch set down her wand and hissed, "Just stop already."

Positioned nonchalantly behind the two, Theseus looked surreptitiously over his clipboard. He frowned when Newton carefully slid closer to the window, cramming himself in to put three inches more space between himself and the blond. Pertly the girl retrieved her wand, switching it to the other hand so that her left arm wouldn't persistently brushing against Newton's shoulder - if that had been the original problem, given that all of the students were indeed positioned fairly close together. Theseus jotted that down as a classroom hazard: who knew what spells could go awry when small children were blundering into one another.

He strode past the disgruntled pair and continued on his menial round, snatching a rock that had somehow rebounded off the table and was headed on a direct trajectory towards a frail window. Passing it to the sheepish ginger boy, he wondered idly if that window was meant to shatter and if some drastic occurrence would never take place without that smither of particled glass.

Probably not. McGonagall would simply have patched it together with a Reparo. If anything Theseus had saved the student from having to run outside for another rock.

He continued patrolling the classroom, utterly bored, watching one student after another manage a floppy piece of plant matter. To his amusement, Leta's final attempt resulted in a rather jagged and squashed-looking cabbage leaf. He had been so sure she would be a remarkable student in her early years, but it seemed that every fine witch had one point or another where they had to learn from scratch. Newton was no better off - after a last grumbled spell he stared dismally at a spectacularly flattened rock.

At length McGonagall admitted the necessity of weekend practice and a follow-up lesson on Monday. By the time class was dismissed Theseus was quite nearly prepared to sketch some of the animals caged in the room so that he could take them down to Newt and challenge his knowledge of absurd reptiles. During his younger days he used to imagine advanced time travel allowing one to restart his education with a finer mind. Now he accepted that childhood education - crucial to life's success or not - was frightfully dull. It was only natural that Newton would be more excited about Professor Dumbledore's class, where at least the lessons were more likely to have one catapulted across the room.

He meant to conclude his report with Professor McGonagall, but a chipper second-year who was free of his classes bolted out of his chair, shoving aside another classmate to meet him first.

"Are you finished now, Theseus?" Newton asked, nearly dropping his textbook in his attempt to gather the assignments fluttering from between the pages. "Can we go to the owlery? I want to show you the owl Mother sent me after Flippet flew into a tree. It's a short-eared owl. He's incredibly fast, and he's nicer looking than Flippet, although I still miss her, but I named this one Hereward. I would've sent him to Paris to bring you a letter but then I found out you were here instead."

"Indeed," Theseus grunted, making a mental note to regulate the second-year's mail for the rest of the term. Any letters containing information about Theseus' surprise visit to Hogwarts would simply have to be rewritten by Newt, with hopes that their parents wouldn't notice a difference in the handwriting. As for Theseus in Paris, well, he was going to have a lonely spring wondering if his letters to his brother had been received. Theseus would speak to the headmaster about bypassing the owl and delivering the letters to Newton after both time-travellers had left for their own period. How on earth am I going to explain my simultaneous excursion to France, Theseus wondered. He really should have considered his habitual communications to the family.

"Will you come, then?" Newton prodded, trying to drag Theseus towards the door. "Classes are over for the day. There can't much else to inspect here."

"Actually, I do have a few questions for Professor McGonagall," Theseus said. Newton's face went ghostlike and he added hastily, "Just about the forms. Oh, go on up to the owlery. I'll meet you there."

Exhaling shakily, the second-year managed a smile and bounded away, his robes a disgraceful two inches short. That boy was a never-ending growth spurt.

Turning back to the professor, Theseus dodged another pelting second-year and held out the clipboard, declaring, "Just a signature, Ma'am. You'll hear the results when I send in my report."

"Indeed, Mister Scamander," McGonagall said, raising one lithe eyebrow at his austere ploy. "You're sure you have nothing further to say? I expected a more critical session. Or do pressing duties call you away?"

Newton. Of course the wiley woman knew. Sheepishly retrieving his papers, Theseus asked, "Has he been behaving himself?"

"In the matter of concentration, or practical jokes on his fellow students?" Casting Theseus a dour look, McGonagall said drolly, "Perhaps your influence will help convince Newton of the imperativeness of his studies. In all of my experience in Transfiguration, I've never seen a student use that spell to expertly flatten a stone. We're transfiguring animals into water goblets next week. Pray that something doesn't happen to his owl - again."

Flummoxed, Theseus turned that thought in his head as McGonagall helped the last, lingering second-year collect her books and papers. "But he said it flew into a tree..."

Merlin, how on earth had that nincompoop succeeded as a magizoologist?

Soft hoots and sleepy shrieks. Fluttering of strong wings. Drifting feathers, sun-warmed sawdust, and the overhanging smell of bird droppings that magic simply couldn't keep at bay.

Theseus never liked the owlery.

Here it was that Newton liked to hang out, apparently, for the boy was contentedly slouched at the window, his arms folded across the sill, looking all of twenty-six and thirteen as the wind ruffled his suntouched curls. Were you ever lonely? Theseus pondered, pausing in the eave to study that young face blossoming with imagination and wonder. You were always so lively; so confident about your adventures. I knew you would do well in school. But why waste your time up here when there's a whole summer ahead of you? All the letters you'll have to write then... Where are your friends right now?

Turning suddenly, as though hearing his brother's thoughts, Newton squinted into the dim alcove and grinned. "I knew you'd come!" he cheered, pelting the short distance between them and scattering half the flock of dazed owls. Grunting as small arms tore the breath from his body, Theseus grimaced a smile and clapped the boy's shoulder. "Yeah. I'm here. What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Nothing," Newton said, letting go and stepping back with the proud satisfaction of a young man who had chased down a World Cup seeker and wanted to bask in the acknowledgment of the press. "I just wanted to talk."

"Ah." Now that was illuminating in its own right. Newt never spoke with deliberate intent. Oh, he'd filled the world with cooing and babbling since five minutes after his birth, but he'd never stopped to ask permission. A Newt who wanted to talk was dead set to change his world. "All right," Theseus said, ambling over to the spacious window and leaning against it. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know," the second-year answered, giving a lop-sided shrug. "What about you? Why didn't you go to France? You always wanted to see Paris."

"Out of sight and mind, eh, Dumbledore?" Theseus mumbled. Breathing deeply to cleanse the rookery stench with pine-tinted air, he contemplated his answer. "I was assigned here instead. The Ministry wanted an investigator to look into the niffler infestation."

"That's what you said before," Newton stated. "Why didn't you ask them to send you somewhere else?"

"Mm, can't," Theseus said, smiling as he remembered those old days. Dashing about in his squeaky, too-tight polished shoes, answering to every two-pint wizard who wanted his or her name in the papers, doing the grunge work because no one else wanted to get their hands dirty. "When you work for the Ministry, you go where they assign you."

"I'd hate to work there," Newton said, crinkling his nose.

There it was. The moment Viridian spoke of. That turning point where he might be the influence his brother needed.

"Why not?" Theseus asked lightly, aware that this was information that Newt would never have meted out had he been in his own century. "Why don't you like the Ministry?"

"It's not the Ministry," Newton backtracked, looking apologetic while still mildly disdainful of his brother's career. "I know you work there, so it can't be all that bad."

"It's an excellent operation," Theseus said, looking out across acres of Scotland's green hills. Perhaps a cold, austere building could never compare to the silence of a warm afternoon, but without aurors such peace would not exist. "Everyone has their place, Newton. Even the file clerks keep track of criminal records and animagus registration. There's no department without its purpose."

"I would hate it," Newton said, his voice taking on such a savage edge that he could have been a four-year-old refusing to eat fish. "How can you stand being locked up in there all day, stuck at a desk until they make you go somewhere you don't like? I'd much rather be looking after animals."

"It may be something you like, but it's not really practical, is it?" Theseus countered. Upon Newton's disheartened sigh he embellished, "Even Mister Caecilian has to answer to the Ministry as part of the Pest Advisory Board. Think about how much paperwork that requires." Come to think of it, Newt's forms had always been a few weeks late when he worked in the Beasts department. "If you finish your schooling well - brush up on those DADA classes - you won't even have to stay at a desk for long. You could be an auror."

Newton snickered, his wide eyes reflecting his hopes that Theseus was only teasing. "You always say that. Mum wasn't ever an auror. I could train hippogriffs like she does."

Yes, train hippogriffs, or dragons, or a hundred terrible beasts that could tear him to pieces at the first indication of weakness. Alpha predators always slaughtered the leader who was unfit to subdue the pack. "You won't be able to do anything if you don't excel in your studies," Theseus admonished.

Abashed, Newton ran his finger along the grooves of the sill. "I'm trying harder," he said softly. "I didn't even sit by Leta so I wouldn't get in trouble."

"Leta?" Failing to concentrate was a bad habit. Blame shifting was a deliberate malediction conceived with the intention of reprieving oneself of any fault. "This is about your schooling, not your classmate's," Theseus corrected.

"But I didn't - "

"Newt." Closing his eyes, Theseus held back the lecture he wanted to give, reminding himself that Newton had invited him up here to talk, not to hear a lecture. Forcing a jovial smile, he rerouted the conversation to its original intent. "Nevermind that. I'm sorry I brought it up. I am concerned about your studies, though - not that you aren't trying," he assured, waving aside Newton's flustered retort, "But have you considered the reality of your objective? Do you know that wizards in the Beast department barely make two sickles a week? How can you support yourself on that?"

How indeed, when you wouldn't even let me help you? No contact, no acknowledgment, and we were in the same building for years. You and that stubborn pride - too determined to make it on your own to accept a single knut from your brother.

What he wouldn't give to glaze over those difficult years and give Newt a second opportunity to make things right. If only he could understand the extraordinary days ahead - any division or career, as many books as he wanted to write, all right at the tip of his wand - if only he could learn to be patient in the moment. "Your chance will come," Theseus swore, coaxing the disgruntled second-year to meet his eyes. "You have to make the most of it while you're here, Newt. Just finish your schooling. Do well in the responsibility you have here, and one day you'll be able to do anything you like and you'll be ready for it. Can't you trust me on this?"

Sighing laboriously, Newton ducked against him, flapping Theseus' arm back and forth around him in a limp sort of hug. "Can I still study dragons if I'm an auror?"

Laughing, Theseus snatched up the little scamp and toss him over his shoulder, spinning about as Newton shrieked. Depositing the brash second-year in the doorway, he clapped the boy's shoulders and promised, "Ukranian Ironbellies. One of these days, Newt. Just... pay attention to what you have now."

"Can you help me with my Transfiguration homework, then?" Newton pitched in, grabbing for his chance before Theseus could busy himself elsewhere. "I'll have to write another paper if I botch it up."

Giddiness filled Theseus as he pulled the boy into a quick hug. At last he was getting through to him. "Come on then," he said, darting ahead to reach the stairwell first. "I know just the trick for it. Did I ever tell you that my first attempt at sediment-to-sentient transfiguration resulted in a hideous yellow pond swab?"

Thank you to Astro, LaughUrHeartOut, SomeRandomHuman001, and Mordmil for reviewing!