everyone else is secondary | closed.

'I've seemed to have come across a rather peculiar creature and need your assistance.' Theseus had been sat at his desk for Merlin knew how long, staring down at the slightly crumpled letter. There were small bite marks that edged the paper, evidence that Newt'd not taken care to keep his letter writing to outside of his trunk. The missive was short and a bit unexpected, but Theseus knew that his brother wasn't one to ask for his help when it came to his creatures, more wont to go to their mother. He wrote a quick memo on a scrap piece of parchment from his desk before banishing it onto the Head Auror's desk, and grabbing his cloak on the way out. He loaded into the ministry lift, facing forwards as the small metal box lurched every which way, waiting for his floor to be announced. When the disembodied voice stated that they had reached the Ministry's Atrium, he swiftly stepped off and strode towards the Apparition Area, a simple turn on the spot and he was gone, arriving moments later in the parlour of his brother's flat with his wand drawn, finding Newt sitting at the table eating what looked to be soup. There was a boy sat next to him, his head bowed low over his own bowl, but it appeared to be untouched and Theseus took slow steps towards the pair, unsure of what was going on. "Come along Theseus, don't dally about. Your soup will get cold." Newt spoke in between spoonfuls, his head turned barely to the side to make eye contact with Theseus. It was the first time in months he had seen his brother, but he could tell that there was something off about the situation, and so decided to take his brother's lead on this, walking over and taking a seat at the table. He looked at the boy, his eyebrows pulled down in confusion, and it was not abated when a bowl was floated in front of him and Newt nudging his spoon into his hand. "Please, it's quite good."

Credence knew from a young age that he was a daft boy, a stupid boy who knew not the world around him. It was engraved, etched from blood and torn into skin and tissue carelessly upon his body. Witches were real, witches existed beyond even Ma's expectations. They were far more powerful, and even the Lord's Prayer didn't seem to preoccupy them or their interest in him. Such a sinful, foolish boy as Mary Lou spoke so venomously as he took his belt off and offered it to her as a way of forgiveness. The punishments never worked to forgive his soul, damnation was before him in the form of trusting one wizard with kind eyes, kinder than any eyes he had ever witnessed before in his life. Soft words, gentle touches as he huddled closer into the corner. The witches had tried to kill him, magic flying into him and wounding him worse than any lashing his Ma could ever accomplish. There were words he heard before, Obscurus was the most popular. Mister Graves, the name sent chills down his spine, had spoken of a child who could do fantastic and magical things that would help him learn magic. It was almost humorous how willing Credence was to believe such a lie. He wasn't capable of magic. Newt Scamander explained that he was the obscurus, that he had a parasite attached to his magic and it thrived off his repression of it. The words meant nothing to him, mindless chatter as he was forced to pretend to understand, he was simply glad Mister Scamander didn't attempt to explain further. Too much information, wasted breath on a daft boy who couldn't comprehend. Seeing the pain and misery magic brought, Credence only found himself fearing the world around him, and the tendrils of the obscurus surrounded him most nights while he tried to sleep. He never found sleep, focusing on keeping the darkness inside his own sinful body. Newt had taken him to London, which was never argued since the boy didn't have a home any longer, and they were sat in his apartment. Credence sat on the edge of the seat, perched on the ledge and ready to get away from the table if he was told he wasn't meant to eat there. There was never a want to impose on Mister Scamander's hospitality. A sudden noise drew him out of his thoughts as he stared at the soup before himself, but he dared not make a move in case. The familiar coiling within him was tearing him apart, making him want to cry out for something. He flinched noticeably at Mister Scamander's words, believing he was being addressed he took a few hasty spoonfuls before his stomach felt far fuller than it had before. Watered porridge and bread was all he had known, he knew not what was inside the soup to make it taste as good as it did. Credence kept his gaze directed at the bowl before him, unwilling to see who the knew person to join them was. Mister Scamander and him kept peaceful silences, the older man not expecting words from him. It was simple, it was easy to surround himself with.

Theseus had noticed the obvious flinch the stranger gave off any time Newt spoke, how he shrunk down into himself while the space around his seemed to undulate against him. It was a rather odd sight, like he was corporeal, but had an intangible presence that collected around him, a moving shell almost. Theseus didn't know what to make of it, didn't know exactly what it could be, only that it permeated the air with a dark tang that almost felt heavy on the back of his tongue. The boy gave off a sense of uncontainability, like the space he occupied was not enough for his physical self, and Theseus was wondered at what exactly his brother had gotten himself into. He ignored the stranger for a moment and grabbed Newt's hand, giving it a squeeze and receiving one in return. It was a gesture their mom had always implemented when they were younger, a system to check and see if they were alright without the unnecessary words that both Newt and her were never very good with. He could remember days when Newt would pull away from him without any reciprocation, days when he wouldn't even allow Newt to get near him. It was easier for them, for him to check, with a family that left words for moments when they would find the most impact. He gathered up his bowl a little closer to himself, his spoon in his left hand before he began eating, realising he couldn't quite remember when he'd last ate. With the chaos that was their world, he didn't have much free time, and what he did he rarely spent on arbitrary things such as eating, much preferring a nutrient potion when he could acquire one. After a couple mouthfuls and long silences where the quiet scratch of spoon to ceramic sounded obscenely loud in the still room, he finally turned his eyes from his discrete observance of the stranger to his brother. He still had his head bowed low, taking measured bites of his food at specific intervals to appear as if his main focus was on his food, but he could see the slight tilt of his head towards the boy, the whites of his eyes rather noticeable, telling Theseus that he was watching his guest. He took one more bit before placing his spoon back on the table as softly as he could, his mind supplying him with the information that the stranger was one to be cautious around. Even still, the noise caused that same expanding of presence around him, the wispy tendrils of something dark billowing off him almost unseen. Theseus decided to file this information with the rest, though this created an even more confusing picture in his mind, and he was even further from a possible explanation than he'd previously been. He scooted back in his chair, leaning into the backrest fully before addressing Newt, his hand folded neatly on the table. "Did you get Frank home?" He asked, hoping this was a topic neutral enough, that Newt could answer and then proceed with the rest of his explanation of his trip. Theseus usually had to give Newt a jumping off point, because he was rather more likely to talk in circles about nothing important, forgetting that other's had not shared in his experiences and would like to hear of them.

Credence kept his head low, cautiously listening for any signs of whatever might occur. Mister Graves never gave much warning before doing magic before him, healing his wounds without regard of the fear it invoked or the sickening nauseous feeling that held onto him as he appeared in Modesty's old home. This new world, the new life that was promised to him before being brutally stripped of the fantasy he allowed himself to believe. It wasn't his reality, he was never meant to be a witch like Mister Graves or Mister Scamander. At the newcomer's voice, Credence lowered his head more, ignoring the floating bowls and obvious magic that surrounded him. The magic he seemed to possess wasn't like everyone else's, for it never made soup or healed wounds. Instead he was plagued with the weight of death and decay permanently surrounding him. "Yes, he's back in America again. I had to release him in New York because, well, I am sure you've heard the news about why." Newt's words only caused Credence's mind to become more tangled, a never ending web of unanswered questions and carefully phrased words from the magizoologist. There was little he remembered about New York after his confrontation with Mister Graves, when he remembered just how foolish his own blind belief in a new life was. The anger consumed him, sadness lying heavy in his bones before he allowed himself to let go. There wasn't much time for him to find out exactly what he had done, who had laid victim to his emotions before Newt found him and invited him a safe place, away from his own destruction. He felt as if he didn't deserve it, but with nowhere else to stay, he carefully agreed. "This is Credence Barebone," Newt introduced him, tone barely above a mumble as Credence's body hunched further into himself.

Theseus saw movement in his peripheral, the boy bending even further into himself, and he wondered at how uncomfortable the position had to be. He was unsure of how to respond, knowing that anything he said to the person he now knew as Credence, would be met with no response. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Credence Barebone. I'm Theseus Scamander," he decided on, settling on the thought that he should attempt a normal conversation even if it was given silence in return. He paused for a moment, wondering if there would be any sign of acknowledgment on the boy's part before turning back to his brother. "And yes, I've heard vague mentions of it, but I don't believe anything pertaining to Frank was ever spoken of. Some rather interesting events that occured on over there, huh?" He'd been quickly briefed when the news broke in the British Ministry, though he'd got only the bare minimum of knowledge, as the Department of Mysteries took the files containing the information minutes after the news had made it to their office. He'd hoped to get more information on the case as he knew Newt would be arriving their at that time, but the DoM had silenced any further spread of news, and he could only find quiet conversations spoken in haste around the Ministry. Unfortunately, all these accounting's sounded as though they'd had a quick ring around the rumour mill and came out wildly embellished at the end, and he found he had no reliable source at this time. Letters dispatched to the American Ministry were sent back unopened, citing a Ministry-wide International Ban on interference at this time, so that he left him a few feet of wasted parchment and time that he could have spent elsewhere. "But, sadly the DoM gathered up the case files we'd just started compiling and locked it away with all the rest of the unexplainable things. Didn't get much but a small scratch of the surface of the whole thing."

Credence allowed himself to give this man, Theseus, a small look of acknowledgement. It was the least he could do if not for him than for Newt. While there was never much of a family that he could remember himself, he understood from the orphans on the street who cared about their younger siblings how strong a connection could be. He believed he had that with Modesty, of course, but only saw that as soon as he showed his true colors, the true darkness inside himself that saved her, she couldn't look at him without fear evident in her eyes. "Pleasure," he echoed back, still hunched over as he tried to focus on how he was fine. There was no reason for the darkness to consume him, to take hold and protect himself from these men. He needed to protect them from himself. Newt knew how dangerous Credence was, but yet he insisted on helping him, on protecting him, and there was even talk of trying to get the darkness out of him. How someone could remove darkness and sin from him was unknown, but he assumed that witches could do anything they pleased. The conversation around him was far too advance for his own liking, so many questions on the tip of his tongue, but he knew better than to speak out of turn, or to assume he could ever know about this side of the world. You're unteachable, Credence, the words mumbled. The talk of a Squib, a word that was spat out with venom in it. "Too many Muggles had seen the events, Frank helped Obliviate them, it was quite amazing to see. He is much happier to be back home than in my case, I am sure." Newt sounded like he was awed by the entire situation, as though this Frank was a fantastic being, something much more interesting than the people he talked of with slight disinterest. "I almost had too much adventure. Americans are so complex, I'll have to tell you about them one day," a breath was taken, as if finding the best way to approach the conversation, "but I need your help Credence. He is quite fantastic, you see." The words only caused Credence to nervously move his spoon in the soup before him.