**Note - Although famous wizard cards were not distributed until the nineteen-twenties, I didn't find any evidence that chocolate frogs weren't a popular snack for children before then. Much like vallomilks evolved into mallo cups for the modern generation and Reese's pb cups started carrying pieces in the center. Great. Now I'm craving chocolate again...

Monday, March 14, 1910

"Alright, Newton lad, what's bit off your fingers this time?" Short and slightly plump, with a generous thatch of curly dark hair and a fetching glint in crinkled brown eyes, Madam Madeline MacQuoid fairly swept Newton into the closest bunk and tutted over him, running her thumb lightly over the swelling knot on his forehead. "What've you done to yourself now?"

"I hit it," Newton said fearlessly. "Can Theseus have a chocolate frog, too?"

"Here now, don't be telling the staff about my secret stash!" MacQuoid exclaimed, casting Theseus a merry wink. "Grown-ups don't need sweets."

"Theseus gets the box," Newton said cheekily. "I'll catch the frog for him."

Goodness, Theseus had forgotten all about those excursions to the sweet shops. It had become a holiday tradition for Newt, and a getaway for himself whenever he came home from school. They hadn't shared a chocolate frog since...

September of nineteen-thirteen. Newt's last year at Hogwarts. Right before Theseus hustled him onto the train, pressing the cardboard box into his hand, ignorant that this would be the last time he saw his brother off to school.

He wished he had foregone his wariness for Newt's distance and dragged the sixth-year into a crushing hug. Held him until all resilience melted away.

Would it have changed anything?

Laughing, Madam MacQuoid selected two blue boxes from her cabinet, handing one each to Newton and Theseus. Newton tore his open, snatching up the frog midair and cramming half of the wriggling creature into his mouth.

"Here, Theseus," he mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate as he held out the empty casing. "How many more for your Quidditch pitch?"

Oh, yes. He used to have a small collection of models built from Newt's sugar cravings. The castle, the Ministry building, a Quidditch pitch, and London's clock tower had gathered dust for years before a stray kneazle ransacked the attic.

"Just a few more," Theseus said, tossing the box thoughtfully. He sprang it open with his thumb and tossed his arm, sending the frog hurtling towards Newton and catching up the second box with his free hand.

Madam MacQuoid rolled her eyes. "Look at the pair of you! Throwing tosh in my infirmary? Behave now or I'll set you both abed with a sleeping draught!"

"Yes, Marm," Newton answered, as delighted as though his favorite aunt was scolding his newest growth spurt.

"Well, you're lucky this round," MacQuoid said, spreading a salve that smelled of dittany and mint over the bruise before smoothing a thin bandage over it. "Just a wee lump - not even enough to boast of to your classmates. Don't you be excusing yourself from your lessons now - Madeline MacQuoid always knows what her pups are off to."

"Yes, Madam MacQuoid," Newton answered dutifully, rolling his eyes.

"A word?" Theseus interjected softly, waving for Newton to eat his frog and not worry over the conversation. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he asked, "Could there be long-term ramifications?"

"For a wee bit of a scuffle?" MacQuoid barked a laugh. "You high-tops in your Ministry uniforms - why, you're nothing but a cog of ninnying nannies, aren't you? Newt's a fine lad - he can hold his own well enough without you poking about in his afternoon affairs."

"I meant the head injury," Theseus emphasized, offering Newton another quick smile as the second-year craned to listen in. "Could it be serious? Further down the road?" The first indication of a lifetime of willow tea and forgetfulness?

"You badgers," MacQuoid scoffed. "Always claiming a broken leg's a mere bruise, until a young'un trips over his own two feet and then you're all up in arms. It's a bruise, Mister Scamander. He'll be fine."

"There's no underlying damage?" Theseus confirmed.

"Not a wit," MacQuoid reassured him. "What's got you so scared?"

Hesitating, Theseus said uncertainly, "A member of the family - "

"Ah, that'll be Mister Caecilian," MacQuoid guessed. "He's got Newt's eyes - recognized it right off. Came in not two days ago for a headache. I told him not to drink the whole bottle in one go, but the chaps never listen, do they? Had to give him a less potent version and a written instruction."

"He never told me what happened," Theseus said, trying not to appear too eager. "Close cousin - it's my responsibility to look after him - but he was traveling on his own for a while. Tracking animals for the Ministry; it's a dangerous job."

"He didn't complain as such." MacQuoid shrugged, busying herself by closing the windows against a streaking drizzle.

"His headaches," Theseus clarified. "I can't be of any assistance if I don't understand the source." Concern welling up inside of him, he urged, "How bad is it, Madam MacQuoid?"

Flustered, the plucky woman forced a chuckle. "Aren't you tittered for naught," she murmured. "It's not my place to answer for patients, but you needn't go about fretting for him. There's no damage to his mind or spell residue; he's simply a fine, absent-minded bloke. Mercy, you meddle about the same as when you were a boy. Do you still trounce men twice your size over the slightest tosh?"

"I never..." Well, perhaps he had once or twice. Usually when some toff made a comment regarding Leta. And that one official who claimed Newt would be better handled in Azkaban. And the weaselly auror who...

"All right, maybe," Theseus allowed. "Never without cause."

"Mm-hm," Madam MacQuoid sniffed. Closing her cabinet, she instructed, "Well, don't waste a boy's afternoon wallowing in the hospital wing. Run off, both you lads! Sprint! Jump about! Use that energy for something useful - outside of my recovery unit!"

"Come on, Theseus!" Newton exclaimed, leaping down from the bunk. "Cynthia brought chocolates from Honeydukes to share with all of us. Do you think Father will sign for me to go to Hogsmeade next year? You'll tell him I'm responsible enough, right? Do they sell bowtruckles? Leta says that Bryant brought home a cat last winter and it had kittens in the closet where Artemis keeps his case. Can we go see Artemis now? Do you think he'd like kittens if we found them in the castle again?"

Chuckling, Theseus detangled his hand from Newton's grip and slowed his pace. "Actually, I need to speak with Mister Caecilian right now," he excused himself. "And you have homework, don't you?"

"Ugh, I wish it would stop," Newton griped. "Do you have to write essays if you're an auror? I'm not sure I'd like that."

"There's always paperwork," Theseus said briskly. "Even if you're a magizoologist. Off you pop now."

He waited until the last threads of a yellow scarf whipped around the corner before meandering back to the stairwell. Newt had said something about a "Come and Go Room" - whatever that was. By now he had probably finished his business and returned to his case. Theseus would just ask for a quick word and lay the apology on thick. A simple misunderstanding, that's what it was. Who would expect that a dragon correlation could be such a compliment.

I haven't lost you yet, Theseus thought, taking small comfort in that knowledge. One way or another, I'll bring you back home.

No more lonely train stations and discarded boxes. He'd even snitched a frog from Madam MacQuoid's cabinet before she locked the doors on him. For old time's sake.

Fuzzy, distorted shapes drifted in a blur of torchlight and shadow. One by one the largest objects righted themselves into hatstands and mirrors and sagging bookshelves. It took a few more exaggerated blinks to clarify the rest.

He was still in the Room of Requirement.

Lurching to his elbows, Newt rubbed his forehead, cringing as the perpetual drumming escalated into a piercing blade between his eyes. He must have hit his head on something and passed out in the middle of the floor. Theseus would start fluttering like a hippogriff with a bent tail if he didn't rendezvous with him soon.

But then, Theseus wouldn't be looking for him today. He had more pressing matters at hand.

Groaning, Newt rested his head against his knees and closed his eyes. Wrong. Everything was all wrong. Theseus was being what he ought to be - a fussy old hen hovering over a mismatched gosling - and Newt was overreacting. He should be grateful that he had a chance to see Theseus relaxed and comfortable. He should be taking advantage of the timeline himself. Tromping around the school grounds a bit. Enjoying a day at Hogwarts where he wasn't hiding in a back room between classes.

Or recovering from an accident on the pitch, Newt thought morosely. The flashback had seemed so real. He could have sworn a bludger had smashed right into him, knocking him from the cabinet he'd been using as a vantage point, but when he brushed his fingers against his forehead there wasn't so much as a bruise.

I never went to the pitch after second year, except for tryouts, Newt recalled. One circle of blue uniforms and a nasty day on the field had been enough. Besides, Theseus would never have joined him - not in those days.

I must've fallen asleep, he rationalized. Madam MacQuoid was right - insomnia was surely the cause behind his recent maladies. No wonder Theseus rattled on about overworked hours and cold cups of tea.

Such had been the unceasing lecture since he got his first desk on the basement floor of the Ministry.

Rolling to his knees, Newt grabbed the dresser beside him and hauled himself hand over hand until he could lean against the faded wood. He breathed in slow spurts through his nose, waiting for the dark spots to fade from his vision. Sleep. That's what was wrong with him. Just a few hours and he'd be back to normal. He'd done this before, back in Africa when he spent nearly two days trying to coax that little girl to return to her body before she was torn to pieces by her own magic. Thirty-four hours of futile pleas, four more sleepless nights after that. He'd nearly gone mad with hallucinations.

Just wait until sunset, he urged his weary limbs. Once the animals were settled and Theseus was satisfied with his progress he could sleep through the night. No busy work or nonsense this time. Even he could tell he needed rest.

Slogging out of the Come-and-Go room, Newt glanced about the hall. The windows were still light enough to indicate he had a fair bit of afternoon left. Small favors. He didn't know what the erumpet would do if he was late for feeding again - one instance of a glowing beast fishing about in New York had been enough. It doesn't always happen that way, Newt thought morosely. They never stop to think about the grand adventures - about the lives saved and everything done right.

But the Ministry was composed of jurisdictions and justice for incursions, and Theseus would always be part of it. Newt had come to accept that a long time ago. No surprise when he chases you down the corridor. Sometimes it's almost fun. His one chance to chat up with his brother about something other than "page-infinite-number of ever-so-crucial-document has an unforgivable-tiny-imperfection." Well, he had such an opportunity now, and he was still botching it up by trying to follow the rules - but Theseus wanted the rules followed - but this time he wanted Newt to lighten up - and he was trying, everything was just so important and Theseus couldn't seem to understand how tenuously they were standing in the sinking pit of an hourglass - but Theseus understood the dangers and obviously Newt was looking at it the wrong way because now they were fighting and he couldn't... didn't... oughtn't...

Goodness, he would quite dizzy himself if he continued thinking like this. Stop worrying, Scamander, Newt told himself wearily, stepping gratefully into the silent, cozy space he'd barricaded from the rest of the world. No need to suffer for conflict that hasn't happened. He leaned against the ladder, surveying the shack he'd built with hammer and nail - no spells or shortcuts - where the niffler infants were piling over one another to see him, the ferrets curling in his bunk where they certainly did not belong, and the neat assortment of herbs and important things lined the shelves he'd designed just so. This was the sort of world Theseus could never understand. A little disarray, emphasizing the important things without nullifying the necessity of the overlooked, a little brightness to define the things of order, a little neatness to ease the rush of the unexpected, a little carelessness to eradicate the sense of compulsive perfection, a little softness to remind one of home. Leta's photograph wasn't the only picture perched on a shelf. He just hadn't dusted in a while. Couldn't stand his failures surmounting the years, reflecting in the eyes of the one he looked up to the most.

Brushing his thumb over the aged photograph, revealing just enough to recapture the giddy festivity, Newt smiled wanly as he recalled his first day on a train. The dark-haired man in the photograph was younger. More springy perhaps, easily tucking in the eleven-year-old and ruffling his hair before the duo beamed up at the camera. Never had a cross word passed between them at the station, or a glint of disappointment jaded his brother's eyes.

It was the best memory he had.

He wants it to stay that way. Newt understood. Everyone had told Theseus that Newt would be just like him one day. It was only natural that he still yearned for a brother he could understand; someone who could share and protect the world that he loved. He was looking for that spark in a second-year Newt - trying to shape his brother while he was malleable into the man Newt had striven to become.

Theseus simply couldn't understand that resolve wasn't all that shaped one's future, and sometimes one had to accept that he would never quite fit in.

Disheartened by the merry light in his brother's eyes - a glimpse he had schooled himself not to search for - Newt set the picture face-down on the shelf and snatched up the crock of wood-lice. No sense dithering about in dreams of the past. By the end of term they would leave this era and go their separate ways. Theseus to the Ministry, Newt to his apartment, until Dumbledore called on them again or Grindelwald burned London to the ground.

He wanted to tell his brother that - for all it was worth - he truly had enjoyed his stay.

He just couldn't ever speak around the ache in his chest. Couldn't move when Theseus put his arms about him. Couldn't look past the happiness invested in his incarnate childhood.

For if he were to say but one word, it might all rush out from him and Theseus would hear the truth for the first and final time, and then... and then...

... And then he might no longer have a brother.

Either Newt was running amok in the Forbidden Forest, or he was making a point to avoid Theseus after his apparent show of favoritism. The case had been empty when Theseus scanned the interior (if Newt only knew the lengths he would go to, endangering life and limb amongst carnivorous beasts to make sure his brother wasn't unconscious in the snow or the desert pocket), and none one of the portraits had seen him pass by in the last two hours. Theseus couldn't trust the word of the ghosts - few were speaking sensibly to him after Nearly Headless Nick flooded the courtyard with his weeping (and a few burst pipes from Peeve's meddling) - but the professors also denied any contact since that morning. Newt had well and truly lost himself this time.

Telling himself that his brother was in no present danger (and would certainly rue another nagging interference from the "Chinese Fireball"), Theseus sought out the flying instructor instead. Hallan Moore, now ten years older than Theseus' first flight and seventeen younger than their last reminiscence, was a man of the earth who dared defy the hawk. A slow-speaking, limber weed of a wizard, youthful and spry in these early years, he had coached many a prodigy to the championships and yet never played a game since his school days, remaining as unremarkable and unmatchable as a moke hiding amongst the shoals.

He was the sort of man who would never abide bullying.

"Something to say?" Moore inquired, holding up one hand to halt his troop of first years midair before meandering to stand by Theseus. "This isn't official classwork. They asked for extra practice."

"I'm not here on inspection," Theseus stated.

Stepping to the side, one eyebrow lifted in question, Moore scanned him from head to toe, much like a drab brown lizard angling for a closer examination; the swiftest and cleverest and yet the most commonly overlooked. "Working too hard, Scamander? You look peaky. Years are catching up."

"Ministry obligations," Theseus said shortly. "I need to ask you about the Ravenclaw Quidditch team."

Pausing to process the request, Moore nodded and gestured to his first-years. "Descents and swerves. Team up and help one another. Stay low out of the storm."

He held his silence until they had walked a safe distance away from the group and then turned, waiting for Theseus to speak. Holding up a few shards of stone, crumbled under the oppression of an irrepressible force, Theseus cupped them into the instructor's hand. "Anything you notice?"

"Granite," Moore said, peering closely at the glittering interior. "Common field stone. What of it?"

"Smashed to pieces," Theseus said, nodding his head towards the distant pitch. "By a bludger."

Moore blinked slowly and slid the pieces into his overcoat pocket. "I'm listening."

"The Ravenclaw team was practicing," Theseus explained briefly. "Newton and I were sitting about fifty yards outside of the pitch when Cassandra Davis knocked a bludger outside the boundaries. This rock was between us." He could see Moore tracking the trajectory and estimating the velocity and force required to clear a bludger not only from the ring, but the stands and the surrounding 'safety zone.'

"Team was aware?" Moore asked after several heartbeats.

"No interference, no apologies," Theseus confirmed.

Nodding once, Moore sidled away, hands tucked into his pockets as he garnered his own conclusions. "Kid all right?"

"Just a graze." Thank heavens it hadn't been an inch closer to Newt's fingers.

"I'll have a word with the team," Moore said. He shuffled off like some great tawny stork, closing court and dismissing the judges. Theseus had no doubt as to the verdict.

Ravenclaw was going to be scrambling for a few House Points this year.

The deed done, Theseus set off for the castle before the plodding raindrops could soak him through. A good rain was the best remedy for his violet skin tone, Madam MacQuoid had assured him. At least he would be spared that minor humiliation when he spoke to his brother.

He had a feeling Newt wasn't going to make it easy for him.

Had a briefing with Newt been imperative, it would have been more prudent to wait inside the case until his brother returned. Theseus tutted as he jumped the final rungs, stepping over a ferret who was prancing about imperiously with Newt's wand gripped between its teeth. Rescuing the gnawed wood, Theseus set it back on the table amidst a collection of charred papers that reeked of pepperup potion. Merlin, was this the point to which Newt's attention digressed when he was agitated? Stained teacups and unstoppered potions? Shuffling the mess into the center of the table where it was least likely to topple, Theseus arranged it to his liking and tilted his head, listening to the shift and murmurs of the beasts outside. All was quiet.

A sigh indoors, one that could only be associated with a featherless, misplaced hippogriff foal, directed his attention to the nest in the corner. Oh, Newt... Kipped down unseemingly early, sleeping on top of the afghan as though he had thrown himself onto the nest and passed out, he looked more like an exhausted second-year than the wizard who had fought Grindelwald twice and survived.

"You ninny-headed bandicoot," Theseus murmured, crouching to tuck Newt's dangling arm back into the bunk. No need for one of the ferrets to see it as a chew toy. He paused for a moment, listening to the even breaths, letting his mind dwell on blue flames and ash, remembering what could have been. Only the flickering dance of lightning apparation had stolen his brother from the tomb before the cavern could become his monastery. Rigorous instincts honed by years of taming unfathomable monsters, evading wings and talons and fangs and claws, had proven their worth. Steely dragons had snatched away Theseus' aurors, yet had careened in frustration as the most unlikely of all eluded death.

Would Newt have survived that night if not for his own training? Immersed in a reckless andragogy contradictory to Hogwarts' book-learned methods, tempered by near-brushes with death, schooled to act on instinct rather than complex spells, he was already equivalent to a veteran auror. Theseus had been too focused on that simple lack of certification to see.

"Whatever will I do with you, Newton?" Of course there was no answer, nor did Theseus wish for one. Newt was sleeping peacefully for the moment. Apologies could wait.

Rising quietly, Theseus retrieved a broom and nudged at the scuttling ferrets, letting them pounce and bare their teeth with frenzied delight at the new play before sweeping them one by one out of the shack. (No mere feat given that each spunky ferret ducked back inside every time he turned to shoo another into the night.) When at last the fifth growling weasel had bounded out the door Theseus shut it firmly, pondering whether the ferrets were a live food source or if they were an endangered branch of their species. Probably the former. Something had to keep the predators satiated while Newt was running about.

He was prepared to sneak back up the ladder when he noticed the photograph.

Snatching up the picture, gripping it so strongly as to strain the glass frame, he stared at it with the fervor of one recapturing a moment. Those days so long past. Every second he remembered.

She was younger in this profile. Aloof and lively, with the same mysterious smile that would entrance him in the nineteen-twenties. Those daring brown eyes would never look upon him again. The future he returned to would be empty and pointless without her.

Do this for Newt. The aching resolve pulsed in his chest, a daily reminder as he remembered what could have been. Do this right, and you won't be alone.

Grimly setting down the photograph, Theseus watched her smile, free of Grindelwald's influence, worried only by the next party or O.W.L., as brilliantly poised and fearless as she ought to be. How he missed her.

The sense of something being out of place drew his attention to a higher shelf. Something had moved that hadn't been there before... Curious, he lifted the toppled photograph, wondering who else his brother reminisced while traveling. Perhaps it was Porpentina's portrait, or a group of friends he'd never referenced in his letters. Although it was natural for a boy to want to spend time with his brother while he had the opportunity, Theseus had yet to meet any of his acquaintances.

He tilted the photograph sideways, peering at the streak in the dust, and his heart plummeted with anguish.

It was the train station.

A joyous smile captured a boy's soul, echoing in his silent laughter as he ducked under his brother's arm. Unfettered. Unaltered by years and distance; a boy going on an adventure, confident that nothing in his precious world would ever change.

Theseus had wrangled for the day off, exchanging his Christmas holiday so that he could see Newt to the station. They'd splurged in Diagon Alley, indulging on sweets and butterbeer, exclaiming over the newest broom model, squabbling over pets and whether or not an owl could best a falcon for delivering mail. (Owls always trumped - every wizard knew a falcon only shredded its parcels.) When at last they had regrouped at the station, Newt fairly dancing about with nervousness, Mother had called for one more picture. Theseus couldn't resist a final tease as he fairly squashed the first-year against himself, and Newt...

He'd scarcely heard the boy laugh at all this second year.

What happened to you, Little One? Where is your smile? Why don't you run about with your friends, or introduce them to your brother?

Did Newt have any friends, he was forced to wonder. Gently blowing on the glass, Theseus brushed the dust away with his sleeve and set the portrait back on the shelf, aware that Newt would not have wanted him to pry. He stole another look at the slumbering magizoologist. We're going to discuss this. One day you're going to tell me everything.

For now, however, the hour was early yet. He wouldn't disturb Newt's scant rest. There would be time enough to corner him with a cup of earl grey and badger him until he told his story. Theseus had waited for years at a time to see his brother. He could hold off for one more evening.

Slipping out of the case, he closed it gently behind him and locked the office door. No one would disturb his brother until the morning.

As for himself, he wouldn't sleep at all tonight. He might as well hunt through the library.

Returning to my Mon/Thurs posting schedule to keep things flowing. :) Thank you to Astro and XZYArtemis for reviewing last chapter!