"Hehe!" Newt let out a high pitched giggle when they arrived, his eyes rolling around.
"Sounds like he's had too much Gigglewater…" Pomfrey muttered, "Oh… It's you again…" she said dryly, "What have you gotten up to now?" She eyed them suspiciously.
"Well," Noelle smiled at her, "We figured out the culprit behind Trelawney's collapse. And he got drunk. On Firewhisky." she replied, twiddling her thumbs.
"Just like she did." They all examined the sleeping teacher, who was snoring slightly. "Ok. That's wonderful!" The nurse exclaimed sarcastically, "Two drunken souls. Give him here!"
"Ok." She walked with him over to her, holding his hand, since his balance was still malfunctioning.
"BYE GUYS!" Newt childishly yelled at them, waving at them with both hands, "See ya soon!"
"See ya," Theseus muttered, waving back to him. He attempted to walk away, but his feet were glued to the spot, staring at his brother, who was now laughing uncontrollably.
"Come on Theseus! He's fine! He's only your brother." Leta extended her hand out to him.
"Yeah, right. My only brother," he muttered under his breath. "Fine." he bitterly conceded, shuffling awkwardly over to the trio. Theseus began complaining within minutes once they had walked out of Newt's earshot.
"How come he's always ending up ill? First, he's allergic to cats, not his fault, born with that." he looked sternly at Noelle, who avoided his steely gaze. "And then… he becomes high on alcohol! Just by the fumes! He didn't even consume it." He stamped his foot hard on the floor, clenching his fists.
"He probably just has a poor immune system," Leta suggested.
"I don't think so." he snorted.
"Alcohol does strange things. People become addicted and go crazy on those substances. Some people consume it for a living. Newt's received a mild case of alcoholic symptoms. A mild case." Amelia explained, attempting to put things in perspective for Theseus.
"True." he nodded. "I can't believe it. I just can't. He's suffering and we aren't. He's the constant victim of casualties in this group of ours."
"At least you aren't ill, you have to compete in the Triwizard tournament!" Noelle piped up, trying to look for the positives.
"True that." A mysterious voice travelled through the air, a figure blocking their path.
"Dumbledore?" Theseus glanced up at him, tilting his head to the side.
"Yes. It's me." he sighed. "Like you, four were saying, the Triwizard Tournament."
"When do we receive the info for the first task?" Amelia asked.
"Tomorrow."
"Yes!" Amelia and Theseus cried, exchanging glances, their faces lit up. "Thank you." They replied politely.
"You're welcome. Now, Newt?" he segwayed.
"Ill. Again." Theseus answered mildly.
"Oh, God! What now?"
"Alcoholic symptoms."
"He's been drinking alcohol?! Must be depressed."
"Haha. No. In fact, he's the opposite. We solved the case of Trelawney's collapse, with Cormac McLaggen of Gryffindor house from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry causing this mishap. The miasma from the alcohol affected him greatly."
"Well done for investigating. I'll give him a punishment sooner or later." he nodded, taking into account the extensiveness of Theseus' report.
"Also," Noelle interrupted, "Mcgonagall was stalking us! She locked us in the classroom and called us criminals. We were stuck there for some time until Theseus kicked the door open!" she recalled, grinning at Theseus. He smiled meekly back at her, before suddenly turning his attention to his scuffed shoes.
"It was nothing…" his voice trailed off. "It was actually Newt who suggested it."
"Why are you walking away from him then? We better go see the poor boy." Compassion was scribbled all over the Headmaster's face. The incoming group surveyed Newt from a distance, who was singing softly to himself:
"Open your eyes,
Look up to the skies and see,
I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy,
Because I'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low,
Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me, to me."
His voice was like a gentle whisper, floating through the air like a magical fairytale. Ever so enchanting.
"Oh Newt," he sighed to himself, "You've dug yourself into a deep ditch haven't you?" he chuckled, "This state of mind better be over in a couple of days because I can't tolerate being ill anymore. Firstly, I've collapsed, several times, thanks to Noelle's ruddy cat. Now I'm high on alcohol!" He grimaced at the thought.
"He always sings miserable, lonely songs." Noelle commented, "Poor thing."
Newt flashed his head to the side to find everyone observing his soft, secret singing. His eyes twitched at the sight of them.
"H...H…" He was at a loss for words.
"We aren't here to hurt you." Dumbledore raised his hands, "We are just making sure you are ok."
"H… Hi…" he replied meekly, his voice trembling, "L-L-Leave me alone. P-Pl-Please…" he stammered, his eyes welling up slightly.
"You've never been this scared in your life!" Theseus noted aloud, "What's wrong?"
"Leave me alone!" he exclaimed, the droplets cruising down his face, "I need peace, serenity, my thoughts, my songs!" he listed, gesturing with his fingers, "I don't want spies watching my every move. You know? I'll be honest with you," he huffed, crossing his arms, "I'm in that frame of mind where I'm just full of pain, agony and darkness. And it's good to be there once in a while, but this continuous emotional and physical trauma has pushed me past my breaking point!" he sighed with exhaustion, "Do me a favour and give me some privacy, will ya?" He rubbed his sleeve on his eyes.
"Are you alright though?" Leta questioned softly, her eyes wide.
"I'm perfect!" he exclaimed sarcastically, jumping out of bed and opening his case, "Good day to you all!" he saluted with irritation, before jumping in.
"He's in a bad mood!" Noelle commented.
"I can still hear you!" he called out to them. "Don't go gossiping! That's the last thing I need..." he muttered, before sprinting over to his Bowtruckles, who let out high pitched squeaks and bounced up and down at the sight of him.
"Titus, Finn, Poppy, Marlow, Tom, Pickett!" he cried joyfully, engulfing them in his arms, "I missed you guys!" They continued to trill, an aura of calm surrounding them, "They just don't understand me, do they? They don't understand." Marlow, Pickett and Tom nodded, acknowledging his emotions. The others glared at him, dumbfounded.
"I'm just a misunderstood, twisted, unnoticed figure in the eyes of…" he paused, his eyes glistening once again, "Practically everyone! But look, guys, as I'm sure you've noticed, I'm quite down at the moment, both mentally and physically. So if I suddenly become angry or irritated or unhappy or tearful or jolly or anything else, that's the reason why." They all began to climb up one of his sleeves and brushed their bodies against his cheeks. He felt the wonderful feeling of comfort rushing through his veins.
"Thanks, guys!" he cuddled them back, "I have to do my rounds now, k?" He broke away from them and rushed to the Nifflers.
"Oh Good Lord!" he muttered as he surveyed the broken cage on the floor, jewellery scattered everywhere. He also noticed that three of the seven Nifflers he owned were bruised, screeching loudly.
"You're alright, you're alright." he comforted them, scooping them up and laying them on his desk for treatment. "How'd this happen?" he asked them, grabbing a few droppers standing upright on the shelves above him, labelled: 'Ointments. If you are not Newt Scamander, do not touch!'
The furry creatures stared at him longingly, before miming what looked like a pair of ears with their paws. They scurried around and attempted to meow. Newt observed their charades, amused.
"It was the ruddy cat, ain't it?" he chuckled, the alcohol kicking in once again. "I'll fix you up real quick." He applied the ointments to one of the Nifflers' wounds, the blood that was seeping slowly healing. "It isn't gonna bite, but it will sting a fraction. Stay still, Molly." He encouraged the brown and white Niffler, who winced. He quickly bandaged it and moved on to treating the other two Nifflers, whose names were Adam and Eve.
Newt then scurried over to the broken cage, pointing his wand at it and muttering,
"Decipula reparo." The rusty cage was fixed in an instant. He ploughed up the jewellery with his arms and carefully placed it where it belonged.
"In you hop," he encouraged the Nifflers, who were sitting still at what was once a crash site. They hesitated but were reassured by Newt's gentle hand that pushed them towards it.
"He's so genuine," Amelia commented, the five of them eavesdropping from the outside.
"I know," Noelle replied.
"The reason why he's in Hufflepuff. The Sorting Hat made an excellent choice. These kinds of people embody the traits of compassion, empathy, loyalty and a hard work ethic."
"I better head back out…" he muttered, the loss of human interaction consuming him. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and clambered out.
"Feeling better?" Theseus asked.
"Yeah. The alcohol's still there... It seems to spontaneously hit me with its effects, I just hope it's not permanent." he replied.
"What did your cat do down in my case?" He jumped back on his bed, sitting on it, cross-legged. He drew his attention to Noelle, who smiled with guilt.
"She… May have attacked those fluffballs…" she hesitated, twirling her hair, "I hope she didn't cause any trouble!"
"Unfortunately for you, she caused quite a mishap, on two fronts. Firstly, the Nifflers. They were hurt by Mittenfudge scratching at them. Don't worry!" He waved his hands reassuringly, "They're fine. I healed them up in a couple of minutes. Secondly, there is a lot of fur down there. I'm probably going to have to wear gloves now…" A pause.
"ACHOO!" he sneezed violently. "Oh God. History's repeating itself…" He smacked himself down on the bed. "Oh Lord…" he muttered, double vision now activating itself, most likely because of the alcohol. "Anyway, downstairs needs a thorough cleaning, which you'll have to do, because of…" He indicated his current state.
"That... I know. Sorry."
"I may have let you off the hook last time, but my tolerance is running out. Fast, like an hourglass. And you know what happens to an hourglass timer?"
"It stops running?"
"Usually, yes. But in a human brain as emotionally intelligent as mine…" he smiled to himself, attempting to casually brag, "It will explode!"
"As I said… I didn't mean it… Cats have their own minds you know?"
"I know. But they can be tamed!" he rubbed his hands together, quite glad to be discussing his passion, "Look here at my Bowtruckle. Remember Pickett?" He opened the case that sat on his bedside table and the stick insect clambered out.
"Yes," she said blandly.
"He has a mind of his own. A misunderstood one, much like mine. He is bullied by his peers and has an ongoing common cold, being the reason I keep him in my pocket when possible."
The Bowtruckle sniffed a little, a clear substance with specks of green dribbling. Newt fished around his pockets for a napkin. "Aha." He found a handkerchief in his left side pocket.
"Pickett, in the pocket, now," he instructed sternly after wiping the substance away. He obeyed, crawling slowly into his breast pocket, Newt patting his head. "You can tame your cat the way I tame my creatures! It's quite simple! Feed it, love it, give it treats for good acts and a slight scolding for bad acts, give it a daily routine… The list goes on!" he sighed with contentment.
"That's too hard!"
"Not if you put your mind to it. Commitment is key."
"Well, I don't have that."
"Just give it a shot! Honestly… it's not that hard!" he muttered. "Maybe let Amelia take charge once in a while. Mittenfudge seems to dislike you, so let her have a taste of your sister."
"Yeah. Right." she scoffed, tossing her head to the side, "As if she's going to love her any more."
"Let's put it to the test!" he smirked. "Keep her a good distance away. You know the consequences if you don't."
"Right…" She let the cat out of the bag. The feline stretched and meowed longingly at Noelle, its eyes blinking sweetly.
"She wants you, huh? Interesting. The lack of socialising means that she'll try anything to gain a sense of belonging."
Mittenfudge rubbed its face at Noelle's legs, something she hadn't done in a long time.
"Of course!" he muttered, taking notes now, titled, 'Noelle's cat: Muggle animals.' "She's doing that as an act of possession. Her scent glands are located on her cheeks and it's making you hers."
"When did you ever study cats?" Dumbledore questioned.
"I didn't." he chuckled, "A lot of my creatures do similar things. They also have surprisingly similar anatomies."
"Impressive." he nodded.
"Good girl, Mittenfudge!" The cat stopped its acts of kindness immediately, waddling over to Newt.
"Why me?" she cried sulkily, dropping to the floor, her hands open wide for Mittenfudge, beckoning it to come back.
"Oh, please!" her sister slapped her hands on her legs, "It's just a cat! Don't go sobbing over her. She'll turn round."
"Quite right." he nodded to Amelia, pausing, "Ah! No, Mittenfudge." He commanded, a tinge of anxiety crawling up his spine. The cat paused, continuing to blink sweetly at him, before rolling around on the floor playfully.
"Phew…" he sighed with relief.
"Now I can cuddle her! Oh, sweetie!" She wrapped her arms around the cat, squeezing it tightly.
"Let her go!" Newt cried, "Felines don't like that! They hate being crushed…"
Noelle ignored his advice and hugged it even more. Minutes later, a swipe to the face, three lines of streaked crimson trickling down her delicate, rosy left cheek.
"Ah! God!" she yelled, "Bad Mittenfudge!" She pointed her index finger straight at its face. Her supposed feline companion gave that a good biting as well.
"Told ya," he remarked. "Take this." He chucked another napkin that he found at her, this time, in his right side pocket.
"Why do you have so many napkins?"
"Precautions." The cat meowed angrily and bolted away from Noelle.
"She doesn't love me… Why?" She dabbed the napkin at her face, the lines painted mixing into smudges now.
"It's evident. She needs what I already have. Comfort. Support. Help. Space. I'd gladly take her in if I didn't have this goddamn allergy!"
"I'd gladly give her up! She's hideous!" she huffed, aloof.
"Don't say that! It's gorgeous! It just needs love…" he hesitated, "Like you…" he muttered under his breath.
"Sure." she replied sarcastically, "I'll work on it." Her body was gone as quickly as a shooting star.
"Gooey schmooey." Leta muttered under her breath, "Nice to see you all." She was also instantly removed from sight, swirling like smoke from a campfire.
"Unpredictable, that one," Dumbledore commented. Theseus' ears pricked up.
"What?" he questioned.
"As I said, unpredictable. She either remains or leaves. Confronts or avoids. Strange, if you ask me."
"Strange indeed." He pondered on Dumbledore's thoughts for a few moments, "But that's just her. Strange..." he paused, "Ly beautiful." He sighed, staring into space, suddenly realising he was in the company of Newt, Amelia and the Headmaster of school. He straightened his posture and placed his index finger on his chin, adopting the appearance of a mind at work.
"What... was that?" Amelia questioned, slowly and sternly.
"Nothing!" he rapidly responded.
"Ok…" she replied with suspicion, "Are you sure?"
"Yup." He remained unfazed, continuing to pose.
He glanced over at Newt, who met his gaze. Theseus mouthed the words, 'I need to get out of here.' His brother nodded and stretched out his right arm lazily, his other hand resting through the gap in the handle of his case. Amelia watched their acts and nodded with agreement, wishing the same as Theseus.
"Ah…" he sighed, "That's better." He moved his arms in a circular motion.
"Oho!" Dumbledore exclaimed, cracking onto the now silent conversation as well as he did with everything else, "You two brothers have lovers! I knew there was something up!"
Newt raised his eyebrows at the pair. Amelia quickly sidestepped over to Newt, taking his hand. Theseus did the same. The trio immediately flashed out of sight, landing in the Hufflepuff common room, breathless.
"Holy smokes, holy smokes, holy smokes!" Newt whispered three times in quick succession, gripping his brother's hand tighter. "He's gone, he's gone, he's gone!" he continued, hyperventilating now. "Phew…" he exhaled greatly, releasing their hands, falling into the comfort of the yellow armchair and fire. He released the case from his grip, which fell from vertical to horizontal with a 'Plonk!'. The next minute he was seen. Lopsided. Snoring. Sound asleep.
"Close call, huh?" Amelia stared straight into Theseus' eyes, still grasping his hand.
"I know. Dumbledore is of the stalking type. Too close for comfort." he chuckled.
The two stood still, a strong, silky, silence drifting through the air. Amelia broke it swiftly.
"Is this too close for comfort?" She edged closer to him. He stared at her, blinking a couple of times.
"No." he whispered, rolling his head in full revolution, his hair flicking into perfect form.
"Wonderful." she chuckled, staring at his charming smile. "Now?" she questioned him again, running her hands through his hair. He stood, shell shocked, before removing her hands from his brown curls, eyes fixated on the floor.
"Do you trust me?" she asked him. He flicked his head up. Motionless.
"I mean, sure, but..."
"Wait there." she interrupted him, smiling back reassuringly.
He expected her to grab something or make some kind of movement, but she stood still in front of him. She slipped her wand behind her back and fashioned up a small rose, that was wrapping itself in ivory. Theseus didn't notice, his eyes darting around the room. She hesitated before flicking her wand once more, adding a few thorns.
"Sorry. Now, wait there." He drew his attention back to her, tilting his head to the side. Amelia shuffled away from him, hiding behind a nearby cabinet door, rose in hand.
"Oh." Theseus muttered to himself, "What's she doing?" He pondered the thought. "Probably something for me." he chuckled to himself, fidgeting with his fingers as he remained there for whatever was in store.
Amelia took her time, pulling out a small vial from her pocket, filled to the brim with a light pink liquid. She carefully laced the thorns with it, making sure not to apply too much.
"He's gonna love this!" she muttered, rubbing her hands together. She sealed the vial before tucking it back into her pocket and striding out casually.
"I'm sorry." she blushed.
"It's alright." he replied, "I'm in no hurry."
"H…" she gulped, "Here." She pulled out the rose from behind her.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, taken aback by her present, "It's lovely." He rotated the flower in his hand, admiring the ivory and the crimson red petals.
"Don't take the thorns off. They are a unique feature."
"Indeed." He swirled the flower around once more, taking in a waft of its delightful scent. Peppermint Butterbeer.
"Ah…" he inhaled deeply, "It's beautiful…" He slowly sat down on the nearby couch.
"What?" she questioned.
"Can't you smell anything?"
"No."
"Anyway…" he paused, reflecting, "I remember that ever so clearly." He watched the memory replay before his very eyes.
The pair rushed over to Hogsmeade, a chill creeping down their spines.
"Quick! The Three Broomsticks!" Leta turned her head, slightly ahead of Theseus.
"Right!" he responded, before tripping over on a branch hidden in the white wasteland, face planting into the snow.
"Ow." he groaned, "I thought it would be softer."
Leta halted in her tracks. She couldn't help but chuckle. "Good one!"
"No, honestly." He quickly stood up, dusting off the snow. "I've learnt my lesson. Snow doesn't make concrete any softer." He winced, rubbing a few of the bruises he received.
"Come on, klutz!" She smiled playfully at him, extending her hand out to him.
"Sure. But don't call me that." He half-smiled back, taking her hand.
The pair placed themselves at a small wooden table in the back corner of the cafe, near the fire, their scarves wrapped tightly around their necks.
"After that incident, my friend, I think you need a pick-me-up!"
He glanced around at the many people chatting, drinking and enjoying the time away from school. "I think so."
"What are you up for then?" she smirked, opening the menu placed neatly by the cutlery.
"Oh, I dunno." He took a few moments to consider his options, before pointing his finger at one of the items, which read, 'Peppermint Butterbeer.' "That looks nice." he muttered, "Yup. I've got it."
"Ok. Me too. We better order then." She twiddled her thumbs, not noticing the tall figure in a black jumper next to them.
"Ahem." The waiter coughed politely.
"Oh!" Leta swiftly tilted her head to the side, "I'm sorry." She motioned to Theseus to speak first.
"Right." he paused, "I'd like the peppermint Butterbeer, please."
"Same here."
"Ok. Great. Easy." The waiter walked away, leaving the order at the cafe's counter.
"Did you really order the same as me?" Leta asked him.
"I mean," he paused, the answer obvious, "Yes. I did."
"We must have some kind of mental synchronisation… or chemistry..." Leta muttered under her breath, staring down at the table and pondering on the thought, which Theseus left her to. The drinks arrived several minutes later.
"Thanks." Theseus nodded to the waiter. "Hey, Leta. Your drink is here." He clicked his finger, snapping her out of her trance.
"Oh," she muttered, quickly flicking her head to look up at him, blinking several times to bring herself back to life. Theseus took a long sip, receiving a brain freeze.
"Ouch." He held his hand over his forehead. "Damn, that's good."
"Klutz." she smiled, slurping her beverage. "Oh, God! That's disgusting!" A sudden impulse drove her to spit the fluid out all over the table.
"Good grief!" Theseus exclaimed, staring at the mess, "What's the problem?"
"It's kinda… repulsive," she responded. "Well, just for me, anyway."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Probably the cooling effect of the mint. Frog's breath…" she muttered.
"Frog's breath? Ha." he laughed. "Never heard someone call a drink so foul."
"Well, I did. Frog's breath!" she repeated, chuckling.
Theseus took out his wand, pointing it at the table. "Scourgify."
"Thanks, forgot about that. Klutz."
"Your welcome, give it a break. Frog's breath." He continued to rave over the Butterbeer's taste. "The mint is perfectly chilling," he muttered, slurping the rest of his drink. "I see you're done." He stared at her.
"Quite right. Nothing over satisfactory." She left half of her beverage bubbling at the table. After paying and giving their thanks, they walked out to embrace the icy temperatures once again, giggling at their nicknames and crazy misfortunes.
"Hah." he chuckled, "Frog's breath." Amelia banged her hand hard on the couch, snapping him out of his reverie.
"Excuse me!" she barked.
"I'll just go now…" he muttered, pointing to his bed.
"Oh no, you don't!" She blocked his path and punched him square in the face. He toppled over onto the floor, as he felt a stream of cool blood dripping down his face. The next minute, he was unconscious.
"Well, that's a good job done," she smirked, dusting her hands. She plonked herself back on the couch, drifting to sleep within seconds.