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The Ministry forces are scattered across what’s left of Primrose Hill. The battle has been raging for hours or days, Theseus no longer knows or cares. They’re high above central London and covered in so much smoke and darkness the Muggles must surely only see a wide, strange storm hovering over the city.
Inside the terrifying cloud, flashes of light and thunder split the air as wizards fling their spells across the heath. Somewhere beside him, a body thumps to the ground.
Over and over again , Theseus thinks. Over and over again.
He’s been in battles before, survived the Great War, but he never gets used to it. He stumbles slightly against a tree, narrowly avoiding a green burst of light. It’s almost impossible to see anything in the darkness, but Theseus strains his eyes in every direction anyway. He lost sight of Newt hours ago.
Theseus hadn’t wanted him in the fight at all, but their ranks were thin and Newt was not one to stay behind. The two had fought side by side, their wands moving in eerie synchronicity, till Grindelwald’s forces drove them apart.
Maybe that was days ago, or maybe minutes. Theseus is having a hard time keeping track.
“Newt!” His shout gets swallowed up by the wind. He screams his brother’s name again and again, trying to find him in all this madness.
Where are you where are you where are you
Around him, wizards dart back and forth across the field. Someone grabs his arm and yells at him to take cover, but Theseus shakes them off and keeps walking. A large plum of dirt explodes beside him but he hardly notices. His limbs are heavy and vision starting to blur, but all he can think about is finding Newt.
How could you lose him how could you lose him
“Newt! Newton!”
A fit of coughing drops him to the ground, his knees sinking into the mud. When he wipes his mouth the back of his hand comes back smeared with blood, but Theseus pays it no mind. Clutching his side, he staggers to his feet and keeps walking.
He’s lost Newt before. Once, when they were both young. Their parents had taken them to London for the day and the brothers had a rare chance to wander around a Muggle department store. Distracted by the shiny bits and bobs, Theseus never noticed Newt wander away. When he’d finally looked up his baby brother was no where to be found. He’d torn through the aisles, remembering Muggle stories he sometimes read where children were snatched up and stolen from their families for no reason. He’d screamed Newt’s name then, just as he was doing now, remembering a captain who liked to feed children to alligators, an old hag who boiled little boys and into soup. He ran harder through the store, knocking into people and pushing through racks of clothing until he was close to hysterical.
The same fear grips him now as he wanders the battlefield. Newt lying cold in the mud, Newt captured by Grindlewald’s forces.
I told you to stay beside me I told you to stay beside me
His fingers are numb from the cold and he’s barely able to grip his wand, but Theseus keeps his feet moving. His clothes feel tackey and wet, but none of that is important. He’s in the thick of the battle, wizards apparating and disapparating all around him but none of them are Newt. He’s seen too many still bodies and the worst thoughts push to the front of his mind.
What would I do if I lost you
Tears of frustration spring to his eyes and he looks around wildly. Someone grabs him and throws him behind an outcropping of rocks, screaming at him to stay out of sight. The motion makes his head spin something awful. Things jumble in his brain. An 8-year-old Newt being snatched up by Grindelwald. Newt, with his coat and suitcase, looking lost and afraid in a department store. He wants to call for him, tell him to get somewhere safe but the words stay stuck in his throat.
“Theseus!”
Someone calls his name but when he tries to respond he only coughs up blood.
“Theseus!”
He can hear running now, footsteps thumping towards him, the sound of his name getting louder. “Theseus!”
Newt comes crashing through the clearing and grasps him by the arms. “Oh god, Theseus.”
Theseus almost cries, faint with relief. “Newt. Are you alright? I was looking for you.”
Newt pats his face and holds him up. “I’m fine, Theseus, I’m fine,” he says softly. He pushes back Theseus coat and gently touches the deep gashes all along his side. When Newt pulls his fingers away, they’re covered in blood.
“It’s just a few scratches,” Theseus manages. “Nothing to worry about. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Theseus, try not to talk.” Newt unbuttons Theseus’ waistcoat, his face falling when he sees the extent of the wounds. “Oh, Theseus.”
“I’m fine,” Theseus says but his words are starting to slur. His legs are shaking and head starting to loll against the rock. Now that Newt is here, whatever strength he had left has all but gone. Now that Newt is safe, he doesn’t need to search any more.
“Theseus!” Newt’s voice is sharp, bringing him back. “Stay awake, alright?”
“Newt, I’m cold.”
“I know, I know. You’re going to be alright.” Newt braces him up against his shoulder, while fumbling for something in his pocket.
“I was looking for you, Newt. I looked everywhere.”
“I know.”
“I told you to stay beside me.”
“Shhh.” Newt pulls out a bottle of something, uncorking it with his teeth.
“You always leave when you should stay put.”
Newt presses their foreheads together. “You found me, didn’t you? I’m right here.”
Theseus tries to speak but there’s a lancing pain across side and large black spots take up most of his vison. Newt pushes aside his coat and the first drops of dittany burn the length of side, making him scream.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Theseus but I have to.”
The potion feels like fire against his skin, and he wrenches away from the pain.
“Please stay still. I know it’s awful, I know it isl.” Newt holds onto to him the best he can, but Theseus feels himself fading. The pain make hims lightheaded, and by now his fingers and toes have lost all feeling. He holds on for as long as he can, clutching at Newt’s arm.
***
Dittany is a wonder in many ways but the one drawback is how badly the scars itch. Theseus wakes up slowly, already scratching at the wounds, till a warm hand covers his.
“Stop, the skin’s still too new. You’ll start bleeding again.”
He opens eyes, finds Newt sitting at the edge of his bed.
“How did I get here?”
“Dumbledore,” Newt says. He’s still in the same shirt from the night before, sleeves pushed up. Theseus’ blood is in rusty streaks across the front. There are dark circles under his eyes, stark against his already pale face.
Theseus sits up slowly, rests his head against the pillows Newt’s propped up.
“Did we win?”
“Not this one, no.”
“How many were hurt?” He doesn’t say killed. Won’t say it.
“More than enough.”
“Are you alright?”
Newt huffs out a laugh and pushes a gentle hand through Theseus’ hair. “You’re the one who almost died, Theseus, not me.”
Theseus closes his eyes, the panic and fear still too near. “I looked for you.”
Newt keeps running a hand through his hair, soothing him like a sick child. “No more scratching, alright? You’ll undo all my hard work.”
He’s already almost back asleep, but he fumbles for Newt’s other hand and keeps it tight across his chest.
It’s another two days before Theseus is able to get out of bed on his own. He lifts up his shirt in the bathroom and sees the long gashes running long his side, from his hips to his chest. The scars are a faint pink still, the skin stretching and burning when stressed.
“You were bleeding so much. I wasn’t sure I could get it to stop.” Newt is in the doorway. He’s been Theseus’ shadow since the battle, attuned to his every move. “I was lucky I found you when I did. Otherwise.” He stops short and gazes at the floor, hair spilling into his eyes. Newt’s slept as much as Theseus over the past few days, which is to say very little and poorly.
“I’m fine, Newt.” Theseus looks at his brother and for the first time in a long time, sees him a little more clearly.
“You were so pale,” Newt says, his voice soft. “Like a ghost. I looked for you, for hours. There were so many bodies on the ground. Every body I saw, I kept thinking ‘please don’t let it be him, please don’t let be him.’”
Theseus swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. “Newt — ”
Newt shakes his head and his voice comes out rough. “What would I do, if I lost you?”
Theseus reaches out, pulls his brother into a tight embrace. He buries his face in Newt’s hair, feels fingers dig into his back. That day at the department store, Newt had come tearing down the aisle and crashed into him, shaking like a leaf. In all this time, Theseus marvels, it never occurred to him that Newt might have been searching for him too.