Theseus Scamander arrived without announcement.
Theo noticed the change before the door even opened.
The house felt… aligned. As if invisible lines had been pulled taut. The air pressed inward, not heavy, but disciplined—like a room waiting for inspection. Theo paused mid-motion, fingers hovering above a bundle of dried moonlace leaves, and listened.
Footsteps. Even. Unhurried.
"Theseus," Newt said from the corridor.
Theo didn't look up. He didn't need to.
Theseus Scamander never sounded rushed. He never needed to be. Men like him planned their movements long before they made them.
"Theodore."
Theo's hand stilled.
He lifted his head slowly.
Theseus stood in the doorway, tall and broad, his coat still dusted faintly with travel ash. His posture was straight without stiffness, the kind earned through years of discipline rather than conscious effort. Grey eyes—sharp, observant—took Theo in without disguising their assessment.
Not cold. Just precise.
"You've grown," Theseus said.
Theo shrugged slightly. "That happens."
For a moment, something like amusement flickered across Theseus' face—gone before Theo could be sure it was real.
"Theseus is staying a few days," Newt said gently, stepping closer as if to bridge the space between them.
Theo nodded once. "Okay."
He didn't ask why. Adults never traveled without reason.
They sat later in the back garden, the evening air cool and damp. Newt busied himself nearby, tending a cluster of puffapod sprouts that had begun to swell prematurely. He hummed under his breath, deliberately giving them space while remaining close enough to intervene if needed.
Theo sat cross-legged on the grass.
"Theseus," he said after a while. "Why was I named after you?"
The question hung between them.
Theseus didn't answer immediately. He stared ahead, eyes unfocused, as though replaying a conversation long past.
"When your father asked me," he said finally, "I told him it was a mistake."
Theo blinked. "A mistake?"
"Yes."
There was no apology in the word. Just fact.
"He said the name would remind you to act," Theseus continued. "I told him names don't make people strong. Choices do."
Theo considered that. "Then why agree?"
"Theseus exhaled slowly. "Because Elias said you would need reminding that kindness is also a choice—and that it should never be a reflex."
Theo's fingers dug lightly into the grass.
"My parents died because they hesitated," he said.
"Yes," Theseus replied.
No softening. No justification.
Theo appreciated that more than comfort.
"They weren't weak," Theseus added after a pause. "They were unprepared."
That distinction mattered. Theo felt it settle into place, quiet and solid.
When Newt joined them, his presence lightened the air without dispelling it.
"Theo's been raising magical plants," Newt said, pride clear in his voice. "He's very attentive."
Theo shot him a look. "You say that like they can hear you."
"They probably can," Newt replied mildly.
Theseus' gaze shifted to the small satchel at Theo's side—the miniature version of the suitcase charm Newt had crafted for practice.
"You care for living things," Theseus said.
"Good."
He met Theo's eyes again. "Does that care ever slow you?"
Theo didn't answer immediately.
"No," he said at last. "It makes me precise."
Theseus studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Good."
That night, Theseus asked to see the suitcase.
Theo hesitated.
The suitcase was private. Not secret—private. But he knelt anyway and opened it.
Golden light spilled outward, illuminating the careful ecosystem within. The creatures stirred—alert, curious, but calm. No panic. No defensive flares.
"These are young," Theseus observed. "Fragile."
"They won't always be," Theo said quietly.
"They shouldn't be," Theseus agreed.
He crouched, hands clasped behind his back, watching without touching. Unlike most visitors, he didn't reach out instinctively. He waited. Observed behavior. Patterns.
"You don't use them," Theseus said. "Not for protection."
Theo shook his head. "Only if I have to."
"Why?"
"They didn't choose my enemies."
The words came easily. Too easily.
Theseus straightened slowly.
"That," he said, "is a good answer."
Before leaving, Theseus paused at the doorway.
"Theo."
Theo looked up.
"One day," Theseus said, "you'll be forced to choose between mercy and survival."
Theo's expression didn't change. "I'll choose both."
Theseus raised an eyebrow.
"Just not at the same time," Theo finished.
Silence stretched.
Then—rare and unmistakable—Theseus Scamander smiled.