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The sun was shining brightly in the sky, and the weather was scorching hot. Not a single bird soared overhead, seemed to choose to seek shade of their nests. It was certainly a day made for staying indoors, enjoying a couple of popsicles, and getting lost in an adventurous book.
But that didn’t apply to Newt.
The three-year-old was entirely unbothered by the hellish heat. He roamed the backyard freely, exploring every corner, perfectly content playing by himself.
Meanwhile, Theseus had surrendered to the comfort of the living room sofa, doing everything in his power to reduce the heat while diving into the newest addition to his favourite novel series.
In this fourth book, the protagonist—Auror Cassian Flint—finally confronted the mastermind behind all the previous crimes: Lloyd Hartwood. And perhaps, Theseus thought excitedly, Cassian would finally catch him in this final volume.
The eleven-year-old swung his dangling feet excitedly and began reading the first chapter after spending two whole minutes studying the cover and rereading the summary. He finished two popsicles without even realising it, buried so deeply in the depths of his book.
Theseus was the type who easily became absorbed in stories, so absorbed that he often forgot time and, occasionally, the real world around him. It was around half an hour in when a drop of melted popsicle landed on the corner of his book, making him jerk upright. “Oh no, no, no,” he breathed, rushing to the kitchen to fetch a napkin.
Theseus does not—for the love of Merlin— accept any damage on his books. Even a slightly bent page could irritate him beyond measure. So, a popsicle stain was a major problem for him. It was, however, entirely his own fault for forgetting he was holding a popsicle as he was far too absorbed in his novel.
He carefully dabbed at the page, making sure not to crumple it, until the stain was faint enough to meet his personal standards. Once he was satisfied, he returned to the living room, ready to continue his interrupted adventure.
The living room sofa faced the sliding glass doors that opened to the backyard, the place where Newt had been spending his time on this hot day. As Theseus reclaimed his spot on the sofa, his gaze automatically drifted outside.
Except… when he looked out, the backyard was empty, almost like Newt had never played there at all...
Theseus felt his heart drop.
Soon after, he berated himself, and he half-blamed his parents. Why would they choose to go out today? On the day his new book came out, on the hottest day of summer, and leave him to watch over a three-year-old who doesn't care about the weather and refused to be contained in the living room.
Earlier, when Theseus had explained why Newt should stay indoors, the toddler had shaken his head wildly, curly hair bouncing in every direction, “No, Thee! Newt go outside! Newt play!”
Theseus had only relented because Newt promised that he would stay within sight. But apparently, his little brother had not kept that promise at all…
The eleven-year-old sighed deeply. He had really hoped to spend the first days of summer holiday in peace…
Theseus quickly strode to the backyard, he opens the sliding glass door and steps outside. The heat immediately touches his skin, and he feels the sunlight burning the top of his head. The size of the backyard was not particularly large, but it was certainly big enough for a three-year-old boy as small as Newt who is an expert at hiding.
First, Theseus searched for his brother behind the roses. Newt had already learned his lesson months ago—before Theseus left for Hogwarts—when he tried to hide among the rose bushes and got caught on the thorns. Their game had barely lasted a few seconds before Newt burst out crying, his arms scratched and one sleeve of his shirt torn. Ever since then, he had never gone near the roses again.
Still, Theseus checked carefully, unwilling to overlook even the slightest chance. Lest the little boy's beaming curiosity overweigh his trauma.
No curly brown hair could be found behind the bushes, so Theseus continued searching, feeling slightly like auror Cassian from his book.
He searched every nook and cranny of the backyard, but there's no sign of the three-year-old boy. Theseus began to call his brother, "Newt! Where are you?"
There was no answer.
After several minutes, Theseus headed back inside. Maybe Newt had slipped in quietly while he was reading his novel.
So, he began searching the living room; behind the sofas, beside the lining drawers, and under the coffee table. But still, there was no sign of Newt.
“Newton! Where are you hiding? I thought we agreed that you’d stay in sight!” he shouted, hoping that his sound could reach his brother. But all he can hear is the peaceful, quietness of the house.
He checked the kitchen, the bathroom, their bedroom, even their parents’ room. His calls echoed uselessly, calling Newt through every room. His last hope was his father’s study. But even there, no three-year-old boy could be found.
Frustration and worry gnawed at Theseus. He began pacing. With a sinking feeling, Theseus tried his last attempt: calling Newt by his middle name.
The boy hated, absolutely hated his middle name: Artemis. Theseus didn’t know why. He suspected Newt simply didn't know that it was a part of his name. Because he was only used to being called "Newt."
Once, Theseus had spent the entire day teasing the three-year-old, calling him “Artemis” at every chance. When Newt finally had enough, he stomped his little feet as loudly as he could, palms spread and ready to smack his brother. But he was far too small, his tiny slaps only reached Theseus’ legs. Theseus pretended to be hurt just to indulge him.
Then, Newt puffed out his chest, still frowning in apparent displeasure, and slapped a hand against his chest repeatedly, “No Art’mis! Newt, Newt, Newt!” he shouted, making sure that Theseus would absolutely remember. Theseus let out a snort as he tried—and failed—to muffle his laughter.
The flashback made Theseus’ heart pang. A flicker of panic rose in his chest, this was the longest his brother had ever gone missing...
“Artemis!” he tried his last resort, calling out the three-year-old's middle name as he searched every room. Again.
But still, no answer.
He leaned against the living room wall, trying to think. His worry was mounting now.
Newt could be annoying at times, yes, but Theseus loved him dearly. And Newt had been gone for nearly twenty minutes. This was starting to get out of hand…
Theseus took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. He didn’t want to worry his parents, and he certainly didn’t want to get in trouble.
The eleven-year-old decided to take a breather. The weather had cooled a little, a light breeze drifting through the air. Theseus stepped back into the backyard once more, letting the wind ruffle his neatly combed hair.
As he walked, he heard a small whimper from somewhere in the distance. Theseus froze, He strained to listen the sound. It was… vaguely familiar…
The whimpers start again—closer, but still faint.
He followed the sound until he stood before the old English oak tree towering over the yard. “Newt…?” he called softly, trying for the nth time.
“Thee…?” came a tiny, trembling voice from above.
Theseus immediately snapped his head upward, adjusting his stance as he searched for the source of the sobbing.
“Newt, are you up there?” he called, half in disbelief and half amused.
“Newt up, Thee! Up here—help…!” the three-year-old cried, his voice desperate and a little hoarse.
Theseus could not believe his eyes.
There—far too high—sat his three-year-old brother, clinging to the branches. As soon as Theseus spotted him, the three-year-old locked eyes with his brother.
Relief could be seen washing over Newt’s face; his little arms stretched out toward Theseus even though he was perched far up the tree, his tiny hands opening and closing, eager to be saved.
Theseus felt the same relief flood through him. He had never been so grateful in his life. Still, Newt’s frantic reaching was a bit worrying for someone sitting on a high branch, “Okay, Newton—stay still. Hold on to the trunk and don’t move. I’ll come get you…” Theseus instructed. The little boy immediately obeyed.
Now Theseus needed to figure out how in Merlin’s name he was going to save Newt. Magic was entirely out of the question, underaged students weren’t allowed to use their wands during the holidays. And even if they were, he didn’t know a single spell that could safely bring Newt down from that height.
So, he decided to head for the shed, where all the tools and trinkets his mother stored were kept. “I’ll be right back, Newt. Stay still,” Theseus called, reassuring him. Newt nodded obediently, clutching the trunk.
A familiar thrill of adventure washed over Theseus, he could almost recall a similar scene from the second book of his favourite novel. The shed door let out a loud creak as he pushed it open, and he flicked on the light. The space was surprisingly tidy, his mother often used it to store her inventions and the equipment she needed for her magical beasts.
Theseus searched through the shed carefully. There were tons of items crammed into the space, and he sifted through them one by one, looking for anything that could help him retrieve his little brother.
After a few minutes, he spotted a strange-looking device near the small ladder. It consisted of four black half-circles with straps attached. Curious, Theseus peered inside one of the halves and found that the inner surface was made of some kind of sticky pad. He tested it with his finger, only to realise it was so sticky that he couldn’t pull his finger free. Then he noticed a small button beside the strap. He pressed it, and only then was he able to release his finger.
Instantly, Theseus understood what the tool was for, it’s one of his mother’s climbing inventions. Without wasting another second, he dashed out of the shed and ran toward the looming oak tree. “I’m coming up, Newt!” he called as he strapped all four sticky tools onto his hands and feet. Then Theseus began to climb.
He moved carefully but steadily, pausing now and then to press the release button before reattaching the pads to a higher spot on the trunk. Inch by inch, he made his way up until he finally reached Newt.
The three-year-old’s eyes went round as buttons, as soon as he saw his brother. He reached out immediately, desperate to grab Theseus, who was still holding tight to the trunk. “Wait, Newt. Stay there—I’m coming to you,” Theseus soothed.
The eleven-year-old shifted himself until he was safely positioned beside the branch where Newt sat. Once he was close enough, he motioned to his brother, “Carefully, Newt. Climb onto my back.”
Newt followed his instructions. Once he managed to climb onto Theseus’ back, he clung to him tightly, then nuzzled his head against his big brother’s neck.
Theseus felt relief wash over him, though he quickly reminded himself that he still needed to get them both down from this very tall tree. “Okay, Newton—hold on tight. We’re going down.”
They began their descent, slowly but steady. Theseus couldn’t help being impressed by his mother’s invention, it worked like a charm. Even though he was using it for the first time, it seemed to adjust perfectly to any user.
Finally, after what felt like hours, they reached solid ground. Theseus could have kissed the earth, but his little brother was still clinging to him like a baby koala. He removed the sticky tools from his hands and feet, then quickly shifted Newt to face him.
At arm’s length, he finally let his emotions spill out. “How did you even get up there?!” The words burst out of him, a mix of relief, anger, and worry all tangled together. Theseus realized he really couldn’t bear the thought of losing Newt again.
The tone of his voice made Newt flinch. The little boy immediately looked away, refusing eye contact, and Theseus saw his eyes start to fill with tears. As the silence stretched, Newt’s tears only grew heavier. Soon he began to sob again, his small feet still dangling in the air.
Tears streamed down his chubby cheeks, and the sight made Theseus’ heart twist. He pulled Newt back into his arms, settling him against his chest. Newt’s head dropped to his shoulder, and Theseus gently patted his back.
“Shh… shh, I’m sorry. I’m not mad, Newt. I’m just… worried,” he said, in a much softer voice.
But Newt was far too busy crying to hear a word Theseus said. He sobbed so hard that Theseus began to feel a damp spot on his shirt. So, he decided to take Newt inside to help him calm down. Still gently patting the three-year-old’s back, he carried him toward the house. He made sure to close the sliding door behind them, that’s more than enough backyard for one day, he thought with a weary sigh.
Theseus sat down on the sofa he had abandoned hours earlier, his book still lying forgotten on the coffee table. He shifted Newt onto his lap, facing him. Now he could properly see his brother’s tear-streaked face, cheeks flushed red as tomatoes, and he could hear Newt’s occasional hiccup left behind from the fading sobs.
Gently, Theseus wiped away the boy’s tears with his thumb, his other hand continuing to rub Newt’s back in slow, soothing circles.
His little brother’s hiccups had finally begun to subside, though he still wouldn’t make eye contact. So, Theseus gently lifted his chin, trying to get the boy’s attention, “Newt, can you look at me for a sec?”
Newt gave a tiny nod and looked up at him reluctantly, almost timidly.
“Remember, I’m not mad at you, Newton,” Theseus said softly. “I’m just asking… how did you get up the tree?” He gestured toward the direction of the tree.
Newt turned his head to glance at the tree—no curls bouncing this time, because his hair was damp with sweat, making it stick to his forehead. He then, looked back at Theseus and tried to explain.
“Newt see pretty bird… Newt really want up… then Newt stuck… and Newt really scared…” he said, reenacting the whole ordeal with frantic little gestures. As he spoke, Theseus could not help but noticed the scrapes on Newt’s right forearm and both of his knees.
Listening intently, Theseus then asked, “So you’re saying you really wanted to see the pretty bird, and you somehow ended up in the high tree? Magically, Newt?”
Newt nodded firmly.
Then it has to be accidental magic, Theseus thought. It wasn’t uncommon for young witches and wizards—but Merlin, Newt’s accident could really stop a heartbeat…
“Alright,” Theseus sighed, relieved, “problem solved, I think. It’s good to know you weren’t being naughty. And that you didn’t break your promise… on purpose, at least.” He gave Newt a gentle pat on the head in approval.
Newt nodded along, not really processing the words—only happy that his big brother wasn’t mad at him after all.
“We’d better clean those scrapes before Mother and Father get home.” Theseus pointed to the small wounds. Newt looked down and only now seemed to realize they were there, examining his right forearm and knees with mild surprise. “Wait right here, I’ll get the medicine box.” The eleven-year-old set his brother down on the sofa and hurried to the bathroom.
Theseus returned moments later, box in hand, he founded Newt sitting exactly where he’d left him, now surrounded by a small stack of colourful picture books. He was already absorbed in the yellow one. Why didn’t he choose this activity from the start? Theseus thought with an exhausted sigh.
He approached the three-year-old and began rummaging through the box for the Bruisewort Balm. Before he could open it, Newt jabbed his tiny index finger repeatedly at a page in his book, “Look, Thee! Pretty bird… like up the tree!” Newt said proudly. Theseus glanced at the picture—and his eyes widened. It was a Jobberknoll. Of course he recognized the 'pretty bird's’ name, it was one of their mother’s fantastic beasts.
Curious now, Theseus checked the rest of the little stack Newt had gathered. He flipped through a few pages, glanced at the covers, and examined each book one by one. Apparently, every single one of Newt’s books was about fantastic beasts.
So that explained why he always carried strange-looking animal plushies to bed, why he crawled and jumped in such peculiar manner whenever he got excited, and why he begged to follow their mother whenever she went to feed the beasts she kept in the shed’s enchanted trunk. Of course, all of it was an influence from their dear mother.
She had tried many times to share her hobbies with Theseus, but he had never taken an interest to pets, let alone fantastic beasts. His interests leaned far more toward his father’s: inspecting, observing, solving cases. That was why he spent most of his days reading—not just adventure novels—but real crime reports and mysteries from across the wizarding world.
So, after failing to pull Theseus into her world, their mother had apparently chosen to bring Newt along instead. And Newt was, without a doubt, completely invested.
As the three-year-old rambled excitedly about the creatures in his book, flipping pages and occasionally glancing up with sparkling eyes to make sure Theseus was listening, Theseus worked on applying Bruisewort Balm to the scrapes. He nodded whenever Newt poked his arm for attention, “Yes, I’m listening, Newton,” he reassured as he dabbed balm onto Newt’s left knee.
“Newt cool, right, Thee?! Newt wanna be like Mama!” Newt declared proudly.
“Yes, yes, little brother, very cool.” Theseus answered, a little distracted as he checked the last of the scrapes.
He really did appreciate his mother’s hobby, but it could be very dangerous sometimes. And Theseus simply could not imagine Newt doing the same thing. So, he wasn’t exactly excited about this new “interest” of Newt’s.
“All right, all done,” Theseus announced. The balm worked quickly, the scrapes faded as if they had never been there at all. His father always said that this balm was a must-have in a house with two boys. Theseus had scoffed at that, convinced it applied far more to Newt than to himself.
Suddenly, Newt hopped off the sofa. The three-year-old was like a tiny tornado, zooming around the house as if he hadn’t just spent twenty minutes stuck in a tall tree.
But Theseus had just enough of his energetic brother. When Newt was about to start another lap of whatever invisible race he was running, Theseus snatched him around the waist and lifted him up. The little boy squirmed, kicking his legs in protest, “Stop, Thee! Newt wanna play!”
“Haven’t you played enough for one day, Newt? Why don’t you relax with me on the sofa?” Theseus tried to coax gently.
“Nuh uh! The sun’s up, so Newt play!”
Theseus racked his brain for something—anything—that could calm Newt down. His eyes landed on the popsicle wrapper he’d left on the coffee table after rushing to wipe the stain off his book. That’s it. There are still a couple of popsicles in the fridge.
As the three-year-old continued his rebellion, Theseus announced, “Okay then, if you don’t want to sit here, I’ll just eat all the remaining popsicles myself.”
Newt immediately froze mid-struggle. He twisted around to look at his brother, eyes wide. “Pops’cle?”
“Yup. But they’re only for the ones who sit nicely on the sofa,” Theseus continued, keeping up his act.
Newt agreed at once. “But Bowt’uckle and Puffskein eat too?” he asked, pleading.
“Your plushies?” Theseus asked, recalling them by their odd names. Newt nodded enthusiastically.
“Alright, get them and come back here.” Theseus barely finished the sentence before he set his little brother down, and Newt was already sprinting toward their bedroom. Moments later, he returned clutching the plushies, carefully placing both on the sofa before seating himself beside them, calm and still, a rare sight for Newt.
“Alright, I’ll get the popsicle.” Theseus headed to the fridge and retrieved one. When he returned, he found Newt already engaged in a deep, serious conversation with his plushies. The sight almost made Theseus laugh out loud.
“Here you go, Newt.” He handed him the popsicle, already unwrapped. Newt accepted it eagerly and began crunching it like it was some kind of cereal…
Then, without hesitation, he turned to his plushies—whose names Theseus could never remember—and proceeded to literally share the popsicle, smearing it all over their mouths. Theseus winced. That’s definitely going to stain.
But oh well. If it kept Newt calm and seated, he’d allow it. He just had to survive a few more minutes until their parents came home. They’d said they’d be back by mid-afternoon, and that time was quickly approaching.
With Newt finally content—popsicle in hand and flanked by his sticky-mouthed companions—Theseus could at last return to his book. He sat beside his little brother—or one of his brother’s plushies—and immediately slipped back into his own world, picking up where he left off: Auror Cassian closing in on the criminal mind Hartwood. The tension was building, and Theseus leaned in, absorbed.
Suddenly the doorbell rang, jolting him straight out of the story.
Newt scrambled off the sofa at once and dashed toward the door. Theseus let out a long-suffering sigh, he’d been interrupted what felt like a hundred times today. When he reached the front door, Newt was already jumping up and down, stretching as far as he could to reach the handle. Of course he couldn’t, but he still does this every time the doorbell rang.
Theseus gently moved him aside and opened the door. Standing there, right on time, were their father and mother. Newt rushed forward, caught sight of his mother, and immediately launched himself at her, hugging her legs. “Mama!”
“Well, hello there, Newton. Did you miss me?” Mother asked, scooping him up into her arms. Newt nodded eagerly, smiling so wide his cheeks squished. “Oh? So you only missed your mother…?” Father said in a dramatically wounded tone. Newt whipped his head toward him. “Miss Father too!” he declared, patting his father’s shoulder. Father chuckled and ruffled his hair, Newt beamed.
“We’re back, Theseus. Did you have fun?” Mother asked as she and Father stepped into the house.
“Well, yes, I had fun… least of the time,” Theseus mumbled the last part as he closed the door.
“What was that?” Father asked, raising an eyebrow.
“What? Nothing. I said I had fun,” Theseus replied with an innocent smile.
“Alright… So, what have you two been up to? And why is your brother so sweaty?”
“I’ve been spending my time relaxing on the sofa, reading the newest addition to my novel collection,” Theseus explained. “Because who in their right mind would choose to roam the backyard in this hellish weather…” He shot Newt a pointed look, brow raised just a little.
Mother laughed. “Of course this adventurous little boy couldn’t stay still in the house.” She booped Newt’s nose, and he immediately broke into giggles.
Then, the three-year-old suddenly launched into an excited explanation. “Newt saw pretty bird! Up tree! And Newt—” Before his brother could say another word—and accidentally reveal the absolute chaos from earlier—Theseus cut in smoothly, “Ah, yes, Mother. Newt’s right. One of your beasts seems to have escaped… I believe it was a Jobberknoll?”
“Oh, that sneaky little bird. She always manages to slip out right as I’m closing my trunk…” Mother sighed. Then she turned to Theseus, eyes lighting up. “Wait—you remembered the name, Theseus? Have you finally grown interested in my fantastic beasts?”
Carrying Newt on her hip, she walked toward the sofa, with Father and Theseus following to sit down. “No,” Theseus scoffed lightly. “I remembered it because you keep repeating their names like you’re trying to brainwash me.”
Father laughed. “She’s got you there, honey. I still remember when you bought him a whole stack of fantastic beasts books, then tried to drag him into the shed, and Theseus didn’t even bat an eye.” He chuckled again, clearly amused by the memory.
“Well, I just wanted my boys to love the things that bring me joy,” Mother said defensively.
“Yes, Mother, but it seems Newt is the perfect subject for that,” Theseus replied, pointing toward Newt’s picture books and the plushies that were no longer in the center of the sofa, instead gathered beside Newt and Mother. “I didn’t expect you to drag him into your hobbies, Mother… I thought you’d already given up when I wasn’t interested.” Theseus raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, you have no idea how happy I am that at least one of my boys shares my interests. It all started when you were away at Hogwarts. With you gone, he began following me to the shed and peeking into my trunk. Of course I only show him the gentle beasts, he’s far too young for the bigger ones.” Mother gently brushed back Newt’s sweaty curls with her hands, revealing his little forehead.
The three-year-old didn’t even realise they were talking about him. He was too busy holding an intense conversation with his plushies. Again. Theseus still didn’t know how his brother had so much imagination.
Father then added, “You wouldn’t believe how invested Newt is in this new… hobby of his.” He paused to glance at the boy in question, then chuckled before continuing. “While you were gone, there were days when Newt only wanted to be called a Niffler, because apparently your mother keeps one in her trunk. Newt adored the little creature. The only problem is that Nifflers have a habit of collecting gold and gems to stash in their nests… basically anything shiny. And as you might guess, Newt—wanting to be a Niffler—started imitating it.
“He began collecting your mother’s jewellery and taking it to his bed. And you know how he always piles blankets in the middle of the mattress? Well, that became his ‘nest.’ He’d drop the jewellery there and sleep right on top of it, just like a real Niffler.” Father sighed as he finished the explanation.
Theseus burst out laughing—so hard that tears pooled in his eyes.
Father continued, “What made us realise something was wrong was when your mother was heading out and went to look for her earrings. She searched the entire house, until she found Newt holding them. She asked him where he got those, and Newt said he’d been collecting ’mama’s shiny gold!’ So, your mother followed him and saw the rest of her pieces scattered on his bed.”
Father shook his head with amusement. “And then he shouted—very proudly—‘Like Niffler, Mama!’”
“Oh Merlin, it gets better!” Theseus wheezed, still laughing and clutching his stomach. He couldn’t even imagine how chaotic that scene must have been.
“So, mother had successfully shaped Newt into a fantastic-beast lover. He even wants to become one…” Theseus said, still grinning as he glanced at Newt, whose meeting with his plushies had ended, and was now wriggling out of their mother’s arms.
“Yeah… a little too successful,” Father added, also watching the three-year-old, who had just slipped to the floor and toddled over to Theseus.
“Well, dear, I didn’t expect Newt to follow in my footsteps at all. He wanted it on his own. I’m merely supplying him with the things he’s interested in,” Mother defended herself lightly.
“Of course, my dear. He is adventurous, just like you,” Father said as he kissed her cheek.
Theseus cringed and looked away. At that exact moment, Newt stopped in front of him. “Thee, wanna play with Newt?” he asked hopefully.
“Whatever do you want to play now, Newt?”
Before the toddler could answer, Father intervened, “Ah, ah—Newton, I think it’s time for you to take a bath.”
Newt’s face fell. He clearly didn’t like the sound of bath. Without warning, he bolted toward the backyard. But Father was quicker, he scooped Newt up mid-escape and handed the wriggling three-year-old to Mother.
Newt squirmed wildly in her arms, but Mother coaxed him gently, “Newt, let’s take a bath with the duckies.”
The boy immediately lit up, his back no longer arched but now relaxed against mother's hold. And just like that, off Mother went with the chaotic bundle toward the bathroom, while Father and Theseus watched the scene unfold, both shaking their heads at the child’s endless, ever-surprising energy.
Left alone in the living room, Father loosened his coat and took off his cap before giving Theseus a knowing look. “Tired, Theseus?”
“A bit, yeah,” Theseus admitted, sinking deeper into the sofa. “Babysitting Newt is not for the weak.”
His father laughed. “You can say that again.”
“I mean, he really can’t stop moving. That’s why he’s out cold the moment it’s bedtime,” Theseus added.
“Yeah, your mother’s genes really dominate in Newt,” his father chuckled, giving Theseus’ shoulder a light pat.
Theseus smiled. “I just keep reminding myself that he’s only three years old, he doesn’t even know that Artemis is a part of his name.”
“Right? He absolutely hates being called that. We tell him every time, but he just doesn’t understand yet.”
His father paused, then continued more softly, “But Theseus… your little brother loves you. Those first weeks after you left for Hogwarts? He wouldn’t stop crying. He searched for you every day. It took him a while to understand. So now he’s really excited to have you back.”
Theseus’ heart fluttered. “Yeah… I can see that,” he said with a smile. I wouldn’t trade him for the world, he thought to himself.
His father slipped an arm around Theseus’ shoulders, half-hugging him as he shifted the conversation. “So, has the detective found the mastermind behind the case yet?”
Theseus immediately lit up, excitement thrumming through him as he launched into the newest developments in his book. His father listened closely, clearly intrigued.
But just as Theseus reached the most intense part, he stopped. “And… that’s it. I haven’t read the rest yet.”
His father practically jumped in his seat. “What?! Well, you’d better get on with it then!”
Theseus laughed and grabbed his book from the coffee table. Settling beside his father, who had already opened a thick volume on the history of murder cases.
From the bathroom, Newt’s delighted laughter echoed through the house, bright and loud.
Life couldn’t get any better, Theseus thought. A holiday, a loving family, and the energetic little whirlwind who kept their home alive.