Theo Scamander's first steps into Newt Scamander's house were careful, though he did not realize he was stepping into a world very different from the one he had briefly known with his parents. The door creaked as Newt pushed it open, and the air inside smelled of damp earth, herbs, and something faintly metallic that made Theo wrinkle his nose in curiosity. The house seemed impossibly large, corridors twisting into rooms he couldn't yet imagine, doors opening into spaces that seemed alive. But it wasn't the house itself that caught his attention—it was the creatures.
A kneazle pranced across the polished floor, its amber eyes sharp and flicking, tail flicking in mild annoyance at a cluster of glowing insects hovering near the ceiling. Theo froze, small fingers clutching Newt's coat. He did not feel fear. He did not even feel surprise, not in the way a typical child might. Instead, he watched. His eyes followed the kneazle's movements, noting the rhythm of its steps, the twitch of its ears, the way it paused mid-stride to sniff the air. The kneazle paused, as if considering him, then continued on its path. Theo felt a quiet satisfaction—it had not fled, nor had it attacked. Perhaps, he thought, he could understand them.
Newt crouched beside him, voice low and gentle. "They are not to be feared, Theo. Watch first. Understand before acting. And if you feel unsure, pause. That is how you begin to know them." Theo's gaze lingered on the kneazle, then the glowing insects, and finally on a small, pulsing plant in the corner. He reached toward it with the tiniest, most careful movement, and the plant quivered slightly—but did not recoil. Theo blinked and withdrew his hand, satisfied that his touch had been neither dangerous nor intrusive.
Tina appeared behind him, balancing a tray of tea with surprising grace for all the magical chaos around her. "It will take time," she said softly, bending down so that Theo could see her. "Even Newt had to learn patience, and he still does. These creatures, these plants—they have their ways. Watch them, listen, and respect what you see." Theo's lips curved into a quiet, deliberate smile. He did not yet understand everything she meant, but he felt it—the rhythm of patience, the pulse of attention, the quiet joy in careful observation.
The boy wandered slowly through the house, each room revealing new marvels. In one, a small group of translucent-winged Nifflers tumbled over one another in a chase for tiny, glittering trinkets. Theo observed the way their wings flickered in the light, the way their movements were both chaotic and precise. In another room, Kneazles pranced lightly on the furniture, tails swishing in rhythm with their steps. Theo followed, crouching low, silent, as if by doing so he could become part of their world.
Newt followed him quietly, occasionally murmuring small instructions. "Always notice how they move. Patterns are everywhere, even if you can't name them yet. One day, you will see more than most adults ever can." Theo nodded. He did not understand fully, but he was learning without knowing. Already, he was cataloging the subtle distinctions: how a Kneazle's tail flicked differently when it was curious versus cautious, how a plant's leaves quivered slightly when sunlight touched them, how the smallest hum of energy seemed to signal life itself.
Hours passed in quiet observation. Theo did not wander far from Newt's side, but he felt a growing confidence in his ability to watch without disturbing. He noticed the creatures' trust—or their lack of it. Some allowed him to approach within inches; others retreated a careful step, testing him. Each response was a lesson, though he could not yet articulate it. He began to understand, intuitively, that the world was full of life that demanded respect, that the smallest movement could be noticed, and that patience mattered far more than haste.
As the sun sank and the house grew quiet, Theo curled up in a small armchair near a glowing plant, medallion clutched in one hand. He listened to the soft rustle of creatures settling in their places, the hum of the magical energy that seemed to pulse through the walls. He did not cry. He did not tremble. Instead, he thought about what he had seen—the rhythm of life, the patterns of creatures, the silent instructions of Newt and Tina. And though he did not yet understand the full weight of the lesson, he felt it: observation, patience, respect.
Newt crouched beside him once more, voice gentle. "You have a gift, Theo. Not every child notices these things. Not every child cares. But you… you watch, you feel, and you understand more than you realize." Theo looked up, eyes wide. "But I don't understand half of it."
"
You will," Newt said softly. "All things take time. Today, you simply notice. Tomorrow, you will begin to understand. And one day, you will act with calm and certainty, even in danger. That is the gift you have, and the responsibility you will carry."
Theo's gaze drifted to the glowing plant near the window. He did not yet know how to measure responsibility or courage. He only knew the creatures trusted him, the house allowed him to observe, and the world—though large, unpredictable, and sometimes frightening—could be understood if he watched carefully.
And somewhere in that quiet room, as he traced the edges of the plant and the medallion in his small hand, Theo Scamander felt the first stirrings of certainty: he would watch, he would learn, and one day, he would face the world with calm curiosity and unwavering attention, just as he had done in his first hours in this new, magical home.