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The Scamander home stood in the heart of some nameless mountain valley in Britain. A broad river flowed lazily past its front, while a towering mountain range spread behind it like a folding screen. The sky and river changed colour with the seasons and the hours, blending into a view that might have been lifted straight from a picture postcard.
At the centre of that landscape stood a wooden house several storeys high. The timber of its walls had darkened with age, but the yellow and black painted over it—the two colours associated with Helga Hufflepuff—remained vivid, giving the house a distinctive appearance. With black window frames and roof beams set against warm yellow walls, it was instantly recognisable even from a distance.
In a cramped old room in one corner of the Scamanders' attic sat an old case. From the outside, it was nothing more than a battered suitcase with a worn handle and scuffed leather, but stepping inside revealed an entirely different world.
Vast expanses were divided into an X-shaped arrangement. In one lay white snow that swallowed the feet ankle-deep; in another, an enormous bamboo forest grew so thick it seemed to blot out the sky; elsewhere stretched a desolate desert of endless golden sand. Different climates and seasons existed side by side within a single space, never encroaching upon one another.
At the centre, where all those habitats met, stood a small workshop. Among the old workbenches and haphazard piles of tools, a boy lay asleep on a makeshift bed. Newt sat beside him.
He kept running his fingers over the tip of his wand. His brow was furrowed like a mathematician confronted with the problem of the century. His gaze shifted between the sleeping boy's face and the faint black haze still drifting around him. Again and again, he raised his wand, only to lower it.
"Ah..."
A low sigh escaped him.
He already knew from bitter experience that separating an Obscurus from its host was no easy task. But calling this case difficult did not begin to describe it.
As though it had been part of the boy from the very beginning, the Obscurus refused to move even an inch away from him. Whenever Newt touched it lightly with the tip of his wand, the black haze flinched and burrowed deeper into the boy's body instead. As though it were trying to protect him—or feared the very act of being separated from him.
Newt stilled his wand hand and sank into thought.
Could an Obscurus that did its host no harm really exist?
There were precious few specimens of Obscurus to study. They had all but vanished since the turn of the twentieth century, and despite all the advances in magic, they remained an unsolved mystery. Every recorded case had followed the same course: the Obscurus consumed its host and ultimately destroyed them. Credence had been no different. An Obscurus did not protect its host. It existed by eating away at them.
Yet the one before him was different.
That something belonging to the realm of so-called Dark magic should react as though it were trying to protect its host left Newt utterly at a loss. Every precedent and theory he knew was useless in the face of this boy.
Newt climbed out of the case and carefully closed the lid. Leaving the cramped room and descending the stairs, he caught the delicate scent of tea drifting from the sitting room.
Porpentina was tipping the teapot to fill a cup. Looking up at the sound of the door opening, she spotted Newt and asked,
"How is the boy?"
Newt hesitated before answering, unable to find the right words.
"I can't quite tell... whether he's all right."
Porpentina's eyebrows rose slightly, but she did not press him. Newt perched on the sofa and put a hand to his forehead. This reaction differed from every previous case. Nothing he knew could explain it.
Should I send for Professor Dumbledore...?
Just as the thought crossed his mind, a loud pop! sounded outside. A moment later, the front door opened and Moody stepped inside.
"What's the situation?"
Moody's question was curt. Newt explained everything that had happened so far.
When he had finished, Newt asked,
"How does the Ministry of Magic intend to handle this?"
Moody paused a moment before speaking.
"They won't press charges. Uncontrolled underage magic is common enough."
He sank into the old sofa and continued.
"But this was too big to brush aside as an ordinary outburst. There were deaths, too."
Porpentina quietly set a cup of tea in front of Moody. He gave her a brief nod of thanks before going on.
"They'll register him as an Obscurial. Put him on the watch list."
"The watch list."
Newt frowned.
"The boy is only nine, Alastor."
"His age doesn't matter."
Moody's voice was firm.
"Unless we can separate the Obscurus from him completely, that thing is still inside his body. No one knows when it might erupt again. As far as the Ministry is concerned, this isn't something they can leave unmonitored."
Newt could say nothing. Moody was not wrong. He picked up his cup, then felt how cold the tea had grown and set it down again.
"Besides, there hasn't been a case on this scale since the turn of the century. The Ministry has no choice but to keep a close eye on this boy. For better or worse."
Newt pressed his fingers firmly to his temples. A deep sigh escaped him.
As though losing both his parents in an instant were not enough, the boy now carried something like a ticking time bomb inside him—and would have to live under government surveillance as well. It was far too much for a nine-year-old child to bear.
"There's no way for him to live like an ordinary child, is there?"
Moody looked down at his tea and was silent for a moment.
"Not by any normal means, no."
At his matter-of-fact reply, Newt's expression darkened.
"But,"
Moody continued, a subtle change entering his voice.
"This boy's Obscurus is different from anything we've seen before. You saw it yourself. An Obscurus that doesn't harm its host—have you ever heard of such a thing?"
Newt raised his head.
"I'm saying there may still be a glimmer of hope."
Credence Barebone's face flashed through Newt's mind.
Of course, things were different now. Credence's Obscurus had continued to eat away at him, ultimately leading to catastrophe. Yet even amid that destructive power, there had been no denying his extraordinary magical talent.
It was remarkable enough that a child who had never been trained, who had known nothing but repression, could wield such power at all. It could not ultimately be called a complete success, but there had certainly been moments when Credence himself had managed to suppress and control that power, however briefly.
If that talent had allowed him to cling to a thread of reason even in the darkness of the Obscurus...
Newt thought of the sleeping boy. He had awakened his Obscurus at an even younger age than Credence, under even more extreme circumstances, yet its power had acted to protect its host. Perhaps there was something within this child that surpassed even what Credence had possessed.
"All I can do towards that is help the boy grow strong enough to control his Obscurus."
Newt looked at him.
"So before I came here, I volunteered to be the one monitoring him."
"You, personally?"
"Better me than leaving him in someone else's hands."
Moody's magical eye swept across the ceiling for a moment before returning to Newt.
"Take me to the boy."
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The boy's eyelids slowly opened.
An unfamiliar ceiling came into view. When he sat up, the makeshift bed shifted beneath him with a creak. Everything around him was strange. Boxes piled haphazardly, unidentifiable tools hanging on the walls, specimens of feathers and scales from creatures he did not know. A sense of busy disorder filled the entire room.
Where... am I?
His head throbbed. He had no idea how much time had passed. Hazy fragments of memory flickered through his mind, but before he could grasp them properly, footsteps sounded by the door.
The door opened and two people entered. One face was familiar—the man with the many scars and the grotesque artificial eye. Beside him stood someone the boy had never seen before: a man with untidy hair and an old coat, whose face had a certain gentleness to it.
Seeing that the boy was awake, Moody strode towards him.
"Things have changed, lad."
He spoke in his usual blunt manner.
"We were supposed to separate that thing inside you from your body, but one wrong move and you could di—"
"Alastor, please!"
Newt hurriedly cut him off.
"Watch what you say in front of the boy!"
Moody cleared his throat and stepped back. With a faint smile, Newt approached the boy and sat beside his bed.
"Listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you."
When the boy gave a tentative nod, Newt began in a calm voice.
"There is something called an 'Obscurus' inside you. When a very young wizard is forced to hide or hold back their magic, those pent-up feelings and that power come together to form it. That power is meant to protect the young wizard, but if it's suppressed for too long, it can end up hurting them instead."
The boy's eyes slowly widened. Newt paused to study his expression, then continued.
"I can't know everything you've been through, or how much you've had to hold inside—but I can say for certain that the power within you is trying to protect you, even now."
The boy's expression wavered.
"If it really is trying to protect me, why did it kill Dad?"
His eyes reddened again.
"I... I don't want it to hurt other people just to keep me safe."
For a moment, Newt could say nothing. What he saw in the boy's eyes was closer to fear than grief—fear of himself.
Meeting the boy's eyes, he spoke slowly.
"It's only natural to feel that way."
He did not push him.
"Someone was hurt, and it was because of a power that came from inside you. I won't tell you to force those feelings away."
The boy's shoulders began to tremble. Newt waited a moment before continuing.
"But let me ask you one thing. In that moment, did you decide you wanted to hurt your father?"
The boy shook his head. Hard.
"No, it wasn't like that. I was just... just scared, and sad... I wasn't thinking anything at all."
"Yes. That's what an Obscurus is. That power doesn't think before it acts. It has no reason to tell it who is an enemy or who is threatening you. It simply reacts to your fear and pain, bursting out on instinct. You didn't mean for it to happen. You weren't controlling that power—it had overwhelmed you."
The boy could only stare at him in silence.
"So what we need to do now is make sure that power never runs wild against your wishes again. You need to learn how to become its master. So that when you want to protect someone, you can do it in the way you choose."
He gently rested a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Then nothing you don't want will ever happen against your will again. Would you like to learn how, together with me and that man over there?"
At last, the boy nodded.
"Good. I'm Alastor Moody. I'm an Auror."
He gestured to the man beside him.
"This is Newt Scamander. You're in his house."
Newt gave a gentle nod as well. Moody asked another question.
"What's your name?"
"Ivan."
The boy answered in a small voice.
"Ivan. That's a fine name."
Ivan looked from one man to the other for a moment, then spoke hesitantly.
"Can I ask you something? I'd like to go... to where Mum is."
Moody and Newt exchanged a glance. After a moment, Newt nodded.
"Of course. Let's go."
The two men led Ivan out of the workshop. Following a path behind the house, they came upon a small hollow among the trees.
A single white gravestone stood quietly at its centre. No name had been carved into it. It simply stood there, blank and white.
Ivan walked slowly towards it. A few steps short, his feet stopped of their own accord. He stood like that for a while, then bent his knees and sat before the gravestone. With both hands resting neatly on his knees, he stared blankly at it. No words would come.
Newt watched his small figure for a moment, then lightly tapped Moody on the shoulder.
"Let's give him a little time alone."
He spoke in a low whisper. Moody nodded without a word. Treading softly, the two men left the hollow and disappeared down the path.
A gentle wind stirred the grass in the hollow. In its midst, only Ivan's small figure remained, sitting silently before the nameless gravestone.
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