───
The Auror Office, two floors beneath the Ministry of Magic.
In one of the offices, a man with deep scars gouged into his face sat at a desk. His left eye—not a real eye, but a grotesque magical replacement—spun ceaselessly in its socket. It scanned the ceiling, the walls, beneath the desk, and even the wall behind him. Though this was his own office, he never let his guard down for an instant. It was a habit ingrained over many years. No, by now it was closer to a compulsion.
A knock sounded at the door.
The magical eye snapped towards it and stayed fixed there, as though trying to see straight through it. For a moment, the man stared at the door without moving. Then he spoke in a low, gravelly voice.
"Come in."
The Auror who opened the door averted his gaze as he walked in. The magical eye swivelled swiftly after his face, scanning him up and down, but he paid it no mind, evidently used to the experience. Stopping before the desk, he took the thick file tucked under his arm and held it out.
"An incident at Spinner's End."
Moody reached out and took the file. Paper rustled dryly beneath his rough fingertips as he turned the pages. His real eye followed the sentences one by one, while the magical eye remained trained on the doorway. Watching for his reaction, the Auror continued.
"There are too many odd details at the scene to put it down to a simple case of uncontrolled underage magic. The condition of the bodies, in particular—"
"No blood left in it."
Moody muttered the words without looking up from the report.
"Yes. And only one of the bodies was affected. The other was intact. Given the scale of the destruction, we can't explain it."
Moody rested his fingers against his chin. His nails made a faint scraping sound as they passed over his scars in the quiet office. The hand holding the file remained perfectly still, but his gaze travelled over the same sentence again and again. After a long silence, he snatched up a sheet of parchment from those scattered haphazardly across his desk. The nib of his quill scratched rapidly over it.
"I'll go to the scene myself."
He folded the parchment carelessly as he spoke, leaving crooked creases.
"Send this by owl."
"To whom?"
Rather than answer, Moody lifted the battered flask hanging at his waist and unscrewed the cap. He tipped his head back, drank several deep gulps, then roughly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Only then did he give a curt reply.
"Newt Scamander."
───
Moody arrived at the scene three hours after the incident. The rain had eased by then, but the wreckage was still wet. His gaze went first to the centre of the site. A boy lay unconscious there, a woman's body held in his arms.
His magical eye spun rapidly, surveying the surroundings. Moody took a few steps forward, then stopped and addressed the Auror beside him in a low voice.
"It's been three hours. You haven't done anything?"
The Auror flinched.
"We did... try to check whether the boy was alive and examine the bodies. But whenever we tried to approach—"
He paused to choose his words.
"Something like black smoke appeared and blocked our way."
"Blocked you?"
Moody's brow furrowed. His real eye stared straight at the Auror.
"It didn't attack, just kept you back? Are you sure of what you saw?"
"Absolutely."
The Auror's answer was emphatic.
"Whenever we approached, it simply barred our way. It made no move to hurt us."
Without warning, Moody raised his wand.
"Stupefy!"
A flash of red shot through the air towards the boy. Before it could reach him, however, something like black smoke took shape in an instant and blocked its path. The flash struck the black substance and scattered.
"Have you gone mad, Mad-Eye?!"
The Auror beside him shouted in alarm.
"You thought that was a reason to fire a Stunning Spell at him?!"
Moody did not so much as blink. Still watching the black substance, he asked indifferently,
"Tried Transfiguration?"
For a moment, the Auror looked lost for words. Then, remembering that this was hardly the first time the man had done something outrageous, he let his shoulders sag.
"If that had worked, do you think we'd still be standing here...?"
Following the black substance with his eyes, Moody spoke curtly.
"An Obscurial."
"What?"
The Auror stared at him.
"The boy. He's an Obscurial."
Moody continued without taking his eyes off the boy.
"Report it to our superiors."
The word 'Obscurial' meant nothing to the Auror. He gave Moody a doubtful look, but nodded rather than ask.
"Understood."
The Auror turned and left the scene. With a pop, he vanished.
There was nothing unusual about his reaction. Obscurials had all but disappeared by the twentieth century. Only a handful of Aurors knew the name—veterans like Moody, who had spent many years in the field.
Moody lifted the flask at his waist and took another sip. Feeling the lukewarm water slip down his throat, he surveyed the fine rain still drifting over the wreckage.
'Let's hope that owl gets the letter to Scamander quickly.'
About eight hours after the incident, a pop broke the silence of the darkness.
"Alastor!"
Moody raised his wand and lit its tip. As a familiar face appeared in the wavering light, his stony expression softened a little.
"Newt! How have you been?"
The two clasped hands. Their handshake was brief, and so were their greetings. Newt's gaze was already fixed on the centre of the scene. Once he spotted the boy amid the wreckage, surrounded by the black substance, his feet carried him that way of their own accord.
"That boy... is he an Obscurial?"
"Yes. All the classic symptoms. That's why I called you. You're the only person who's ever separated an Obscurus from its host."
For a moment, Newt watched the boy in silence. The black smoke still circled him, undulating close to the ground.
"There's one thing, though. It's different from every Obscurus we've known so far."
Newt turned to look at him.
"It isn't aggressive. I tested that myself. Even when I fired a spell at it, all it did was block it. No retaliation, no deflection. It simply got in the way. Nothing like that has ever been recorded in an Obscurus."
Newt did not particularly question the fact that Moody had fired a Stunning Spell at the child. Apparently accepting that this was just the sort of thing Moody might do, he took several steps straight towards the boy.
The black substance reacted at once. It swelled up in front of Newt, barring his way as it rippled low in the air. There was no sign of aggression. It merely blocked him. Newt watched its response quietly, his eyes brightening. Fascinating behaviour. It was unlike any Obscurus he had ever seen.
But his fascination was short-lived; another problem soon presented itself. To separate the Obscurus from its host, he would at least have to get close enough to touch the boy. Yet he could think of no suitable way through that barrier. Resting a hand against his chin, Newt studied the black substance's movements. Trying to force his way through might provoke the child instead.
At that moment, the boy stirred faintly. His closed eyelids slowly opened.
───
In his dream, the boy was running across a wide field. Soft grass brushed beneath his feet, and the wind was warm. The cottage in the distance was no ramshackle hut. Its wooden walls were smooth, without a single crack, and white smoke drifted lazily from its chimney.
His mother stood in front of it.
She was smiling. Waving to him, she smiled so broadly that the corners of her eyes crinkled. The boy ran towards that smile. He was out of breath, but it did not hurt. Here, his mother was not suffering.
"Mum!"
His voice rang out across the field. His mother opened her arms. He was so close that their fingertips could almost touch.
Then the sky changed colour.
The blue sky turned ash-grey in an instant. The cottage walls split, becoming old, weathered planks, and the grass beneath his feet turned to wet mud. His mother's smile vanished. A shadow approached from behind her.
"No—"
The boy cried out, but he was too late. A liquor bottle swung through the air. His mother crumpled to the ground.
The boy ran. He drove his feet forward with all his strength. But the distance would not close. Instead, his mother's fallen body grew further and further away. The landscape blackened, and darkness surged in from every side. He felt the ground vanish beneath his feet.
"Mum! Mum!"
He screamed until his throat felt raw, but no answer came. The darkness swallowed him whole.
—
The boy's eyelids trembled.
Cold night air brushed his eyelids, where rainwater had pooled. Through his blurred vision, he saw two unfamiliar faces looking down at him.
"Are you all right? Do you know where you are?"
The boy could not answer. His unfocused eyes darted back and forth, and unintelligible words escaped his lips. Meanwhile, Moody's real eye was inspecting the area around him. The black smoke that had enveloped the boy was slowly thinning and dispersing.
The boy's dazed gaze slowly drifted downwards. To what he held in his arms. A body gone cold. A pale, bloodless face.
"Mum..."
His voice shook. Hugging his mother more tightly, the boy looked up at the two men. Tears streamed endlessly down his cheeks.
"Save her... Please... Please save my mum..."
For a long moment, neither Newt nor Moody could speak. A heavy silence settled over the wreckage. At last, Newt managed to open his mouth, but only a few words came out.
"I'm sorry."
He could find nothing more to say.
Moody quietly put his wand away. Then he began walking slowly towards the boy.
"Wait...!"
Newt cried out urgently. With the Obscurus still present, there was no telling how it might react to his approach.
But Moody did not stop. His magical eye had already scanned the boy's surroundings several times. There was no sign of a threat. He walked right up to the boy and knelt on one knee, bringing their eyes level.
"Look at me."
Moody's voice was low but steady. Swallowing a hiccup, the boy looked up at him through eyes still brimming with tears. Slowly, he fixed his gaze not on the spinning magical eye, but on the other one.
"I know it's a cruel truth. But sooner or later, you have to accept it. If we leave things like this much longer... we won't even be able to give your mother a proper funeral."
The boy flinched. Moody paused, then laid a hand on his shoulder. It was a rough, thick hand.
"And let me make one thing clear. Your mother's death was not your fault. Not in any way."
The boy bowed his head and began to sob again. His shoulders heaved, and the tears he had been holding back spilled uncontrollably once more. Moody kept his hand on the boy's shoulder and waited without a word.
After a long while, when the sobbing had begun to ease, Moody spoke again.
"The old gentleman behind me is an expert in this sort of thing. Have a little sleep, and it'll all be over when you wake up."
The boy's tearful eyes moved to Newt, then back to Moody.
"I'll see to it that your mother gets a proper funeral. I promise."
The boy gazed at him for a moment, then gave a small, weary nod.
Moody raised his wand and waved it gently. The boy's eyelids slowly grew heavy, then closed altogether. His body, which had been shaking with sobs, gradually grew still.
With another wave of Moody's wand, a stretcher appeared out of thin air and floated quietly into place. He carefully moved the mother's body onto it.
Newt lifted the sleeping boy into his arms. He paused to catch his breath at how much lighter the child was than he had expected, then turned to Moody beside him and spoke in a low voice.
"I thought my heart was going to stop. If the boy had kept crying or refused, I thought you might fire another Stunning Spell at him."
"Do I look that bloody mad to you?"
'...Says the man who fired a Stunning Spell at the boy earlier just to see what would happen.'
Keeping that thought to himself, Newt answered with nothing more than a faint sigh.
───
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