The air was thick with smoke, damp earth, and sorrow. Seventeen-month-old Theo Scamander sat quietly in Newt Scamander's arms, tiny fingers gripping the edge of a folded handkerchief. Around them, mourners whispered words of sympathy and grief, their voices trembling like leaves in a cold wind. Theo's parents were gone—not through carelessness, not through cowardice, but because they had hesitated at the wrong moment, offering kindness to the wrong people. The world could be cruel, even to those who acted with good intentions.
Yet Theo did not cry—not in a way anyone could see. His large, curious eyes traced the fluttering of a white dove released into the sky, following its wings as they beat in a perfect, mesmerizing rhythm. He noticed how it dipped and curved, how it reacted to the wind, and the subtle way it tilted its head when a shadow passed over it. Already, he was observing. Already, he was learning.
Newt and Tina, his new guardians, moved around him with careful efficiency, their hands gentle but firm. Newt adjusted the small coat around Theo's shoulders and whispered, "Remember, little one, hesitation has a cost. But so does cruelty. Never forget that balance." Theo's eyes flicked up to meet Newt's. He did not yet understand the full weight of the words, but he sensed their importance. The world was bigger than he had imagined, and every action mattered.
The coffin was lowered into the damp earth, a soft thud reverberating through the quiet graveyard. A small, metallic object slipped from Theo's mother's pocket—a tiny medallion engraved with the Scamander family crest. Tina picked it up and handed it to Theo, who clutched it instinctively. It was warm against his palm, as if it held a fragment of his parents' essence, a piece of the love they had shown so briefly. Even now, Theo felt the lesson: mercy could be dangerous, hesitation could be costly, but remembrance and respect were never wrong.
As they walked through the narrow, cobbled streets toward Newt's home, Theo's attention wandered. A cluster of pigeons pecked the ground in the alley, moving with sharp, deliberate motions. One of them paused, lifting its head to regard him for a long, unblinking moment. Theo felt, almost instinctively, that it understood him—or that he understood it. He smiled quietly, a small, assured grin, though he did not know why. Perhaps, in some way, this quiet connection was the first sign of the affinity he would one day have with all creatures.
At Newt's home, the chaos of magical creatures was immediate. Kneazles pranced across the floor, their tails flicking and ears twitching with curiosity. Tiny, glowing plants pulsed in the corners, casting soft light across the room. Theo's gaze lingered on everything, absorbing the motion, the energy, the small rhythms of life around him. He did not yet know it, but one day he would understand them all—the plants, the animals, the subtle patterns of movement and behavior. For now, he only watched.
Newt knelt beside him, eyes soft but piercing. "You will grow strong, Theo. You will face choices, and some will weigh heavily. Remember your parents—not as frightened people, but as courageous souls who acted from kindness." He paused, glancing at Tina, who placed a reassuring hand on Theo's small shoulder. "And when the world tests you, as it will, always decide with both your heart and your mind."
Theo's little fingers traced the edges of the medallion. He remembered his parents' lives—not fear, not weakness, but calm, deliberate acts of kindness. And though he did not fully understand the concept of life and death yet, he knew that decisions mattered. That one day, he would have to be clever, brave, and ruthless when required. That one day, he would face a world where kindness could be dangerous, but cruelty was never necessary.
In the kitchen, a pair of translucent-winged Nifflers tumbled over one another in a chase for shiny trinkets. Theo watched the way they darted and twitched, the way they communicated without words. Even this small, chaotic scene gave him lessons he could not yet articulate. Life was complicated, and every creature, no matter how small, had rules, patterns, and instincts. He felt a spark of fascination—this was a world he wanted to understand.
As evening fell, the house quieted. Theo lay in his small crib, medallion clutched in hand, and listened to the soft sounds of creatures settling in the shadows. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees. Theo's eyes, half-closed, reflected a calm curiosity. He did not yet cry, he did not yet rage, but he felt the weight of what had happened. And somewhere in that quiet understanding, a small, unshakable certainty began to grow: he would learn, he would observe, and one day, he would face the world with the same quiet confidence that had guided the wings of that white dove.