Theo woke before sunrise.
The room was still, wrapped in that soft, uncertain quiet that came just before morning. He sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and for a moment simply listened. There it was—the faint, familiar hum. The suitcase. Steady. Alive.
Today felt different.
He padded across the floor and knelt beside the suitcase, resting both hands on the worn leather. He didn't open it immediately. Instead, he breathed in and let his thoughts settle. Over the past months, the world inside had changed—not grown larger, not more dangerous, but more complete. And so had he.
When he opened the lid, golden light spilled out, warm and welcoming.
Twig was already awake, fingers twitching rhythmically as it adjusted its grip on the branch Theo had reshaped days ago. Shimmer peeked out from a carefully arranged cluster of leaves, a single shiny pebble tucked beneath one paw. Lum hovered low over the water, glow calm and steady. Twitch lay stretched along a sun-warmed patch of moss, eyes half-open but alert.
Theo smiled.
"Good morning," he whispered—not to any one creature, but to all of them.
Today was not for observation alone. Today was for preparation.
Newt had explained it carefully the night before. The suitcase was meant to be a traveling world one day. Not now—but soon. And that meant teaching it how to endure change.
Theo surveyed the space, notebook open beside him. He had already planned the adjustments—nothing drastic, nothing sudden. Just enough to strengthen the balance.
He began with the paths.
Using slow, deliberate movements, he reinforced the moss trails, pressing them gently so they would hold shape even if the suitcase shifted. Twig followed closely, testing each change with careful steps. Theo paused whenever the Bowtruckle hesitated, adjusting until Twig moved forward on its own.
"Your pace," Theo murmured. "Not mine."
Next came the water.
Theo adjusted the pool's edges, deepening one section slightly, smoothing the flow so it would remain calm even with movement. Lum's glow brightened as it traced the new currents, wings fluttering with quiet approval. Theo watched closely, ready to undo anything that caused distress—but none did.
Shimmer proved the trickiest.
The Niffler noticed the changes immediately, sniffing every altered corner, checking each shiny object's position. Theo resisted the urge to guide it too quickly. Instead, he waited. Shimmer circled, tested, then finally curled up near its chosen hoard with a satisfied huff.
Theo let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Twitch came last.
The Kneazle watched everything from a distance, tail flicking slowly. Theo adjusted the shaded areas, adding small elevations and escape routes—places Twitch could retreat to if startled. Only when he finished did Twitch approach, padding across the moss and leaping effortlessly onto one of the raised stones.
The Kneazle paused, then sat.
Approval.
Theo leaned back on his heels, heart steady, chest warm. The suitcase hummed—not louder, not brighter—but stronger. The balance held.
Newt appeared quietly at his side.
"You didn't rush," he said after a while. "That's important."
Theo nodded. "They don't like being rushed."
"No," Newt agreed. "Neither does the world."
They watched together as the creatures settled into their adjusted environment. Nothing panicked. Nothing resisted. Change had been introduced gently, respectfully.
"That," Newt continued, "is readiness. Not power. Not knowledge. But knowing when and how to act.
Theo thought about that as he closed the suitcase, resting his palm on the lid. The pulse beneath his hand was steady—unchanged by the adjustments, strengthened by them.
Later that evening, Theo wrote in his notebook for a long time.
He didn't sketch creatures this time. He sketched layouts, routes, fallback spaces. He labeled areas not by what they were, but by what they allowed—rest, escape, growth.
At the bottom of the page, he wrote:
A world should be able to move without breaking.
When he finally lay down to sleep, exhaustion pulled at him—but it was the good kind. The kind that came from responsibility carried well.
Theo stared at the ceiling, thinking not of spells or danger, but of patterns. Of patience. Of how every small choice added up.
He didn't know it yet, but this was the last time the suitcase would feel small.
Soon, the world beyond it would demand his attention. And when it did, he would be ready—not because he was strong, but because he had learned how to care, observe, and decide without fear.
The suitcase hummed softly beside him.
And Theo slept.