Theon looked up quickly the moment the question was asked. His gaze was wild beneath the brittle white hair, distrusting in an instant in spite of the food he had eaten, the wineskin he now grasped. He licked his dry lips slowly, and narrowed his eyes to focus once more on the man before him. Red. Red and slight, but taller than he himself was. His shoulders drew up with a sickening grind, bone upon bone, aching from tension and his time on the cross. He watched the hand as it moved, motion attracting his attention far more than any other visual cue. His vision had faded so much.

He moved slowly, carefully, filth and blood staining the snow as he shifted. His upper lip curled for a moment in a snarl, but when no further motion happened, he did indeed obey. The firmness, the order - those were things he could understand it seemed. One filthy hand extended, and beneath the bandage it became readily apparent only three fingers remained: the ring finger, the index, and his thumb. The rest were nothing but stumps, festering ugly wounds the bandage did little to help.

His hand was hot to the touch beneath the bandages, shaking even though he set it within Newt’s grip. His body was tense enough to be ready to run at the smallest possible sign of distress, though it was doubtful he had the strength to do so.

“Theon,” he murmured as his voice cracked. “Theon Greyjoy.”

Newt stayed low to the ground, trying to appear as small as possible as he examined the stranger's hand and his obviously poor state. Mentally and physically, this man was mangled. Slowly, he pulled a potion from his pocket and gently poured it onto those fingers, watching as the stubs and everything else it touched was cleaned. This allowed him to look at the damage beneath the filth as it started to heal.

"You don't happen to still have... these, do you?" As he asked, he gestured subtly to the missing fingers. Now that Theon was talking, Newt could see how far his comprehension went and deepen the conversation. The man seemed to be waking up a little bit mentally, which was a good sign and something he wanted to see how far he could run with.

He didn't put too much thought into the fact that he was a man who seemed to thoughtlessly use magic (he used it like it were as normal as water) in a place where magic wasn't often seen. Not real magic, anyway.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Theon Greyjoy." Special attention was paid to the syllables of that name, but his eyes remained diverted from the other man's; for the most part. There were flickering moments where he'd make eye contact, mostly where it seemed appropriate, but he'd always lower his gaze back to that hand. Not because he needed to assess the damage and consider what other potions might help aid in the healing process, but because eye contact was not particularly pleasant for Newt. He kept the discomfort off of his face though, and continued to look soft, gentle, and strong.

While Eleanor worked on getting dinner onto the table, Newt had been in the nursery, putting last minute touches on a variety of different things. It had to be baby proof, wizard proof, and it had to be spelled to keep the magical creatures happy that Newt would inevitably allow in so that they behaved around the baby.

All of that ended when he heard the plate fall and his head popped up around a corner seconds after his name was called. He surveyed the scene, then calmly walked to her side and took her hand. "We'll get you to the hospital," he promised, looking her in the eyes before his gaze faltered and his attention went to the task at hand; taking care of his child and the love of his life. He had studied births from the very first moment she'd told him she was pregnant, and he researched babies, children, and birth with as much focus as he put into his magical creatures. He was a wizard, so he walked Eleanor into the living room and laid her out on a spot on the floor and with a wave of his wand, the floor rose up to meet her and lay her back comfortably. His head popped into the fire place, popping out at St. Mungo's and he coughed politely before speaking. "Excuse me, midwife for the Scamander family, please."

He pulled his head back into his own home and he moved back to his wife's side. Before he could get there, the midwife walked through the fireplace.

"If life was meant to be fair, I'd be ruling it," Draco began, smirking smugly before turning to look at his fellow Slytherin. His hands raised as his sides as if gesturing to his minions and let out a chuckle that somehow sounded like a taunt. "Oh wait.~" // @hpwc //

The sound of that knock echoed in the large room that Draco called his own, causing him to turn and look in the direction of the door. Hartley entered and spoke, causing a smile to grow on the Malfoy boy's face as he held out his hands at his sides.

It was in the air.The smell of another one just like her. Wet dog. Almost any other time she would of hated the smell but, it was almost full moon. Her nose pulled her to the smell. She killed to know were the other was. She had a few werewolf friends but, they were few and far in this small area.

Before she could even tell she was right in front of the other, she had ran straight into the man with the headphones in. She fell to the sidewalk, looking up. She was sure, he was were the smell was coming from. Her blue eyes glared up at him.

It wasn't getting any easier to sort through the plethora of intense senses that were attacking Jude, so he didn't notice the girl walking in his direction until it was too late. He thought he smelled another wolf, but he wasn't sure what that was supposed to smell like. Still, he was almost sure; like his body was trying to tell him that despite never having smelled another wolf before, he was smelling one now. It was more than smell too, he could feel the other wolf.

And then he could really feel her as she bumped into him, but his inexperience with others like him made him doubt himself. She was glaring at him, even though she'd walked into him and knocked them both onto the ground. His headphones were pushed askew, taking away the modest serenity that they had offered him now that they sat around his neck instead of protecting his ears. He didn't know what to saw, so he stared at her from his position on the ground, acutely aware of the sound of his own mildly panicked breathing.



Scorpius smiled to himself as he wandered the streets of London, running a few errands for his mother. It was his turn to go out for groceries and his mom was letting him pick out the ingredients for the next few meals they were going to make together. Scorpius had always loved making dinner with his mom and even after graduating from Hogwarts, that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

Although as he walked, he noticed someone (in strange clothing and with a strange hairstyle) staring longingly at the bakery he was passing. He chuckled and walked over, placing his hands behind his back and tilting his head. 

“Would you like some help getting some of those cupcakes? I’d be glad to help!” Oh Scorpius. Ever the helpful soul. Luckily he did have some Muggle money on him. Came in handy when he’d go to the one muggle grocery store he came to like.

While looking through that window to stare at the pastries inside, there wasn't much that Credence wasn't thinking about. As still and single-minded as he appeared, there was a lot beneath the surface. There wasn't anyone he'd left behind that he thought would be affected by his presence being removed, and he didn't wonder if his absence would be noticed because he was sure it wouldn't be. It didn't seem like a sad thing though, it was for the best. He did wonder if he'd be safe here, and if magic would continue to find him; and if that would make him safe or put him in danger. The amount of knowledge he had about what he was, both wizard and Obscurus, was very slim. Would he kill again?

Then a kind stranger approached him and gently shook him from his thoughts. His eyes went up first, catching a glimpse of the blond man's facial features before ducking down again to look down at his own feet. Eye contact was difficult, especially when he felt so exposed and vulnerable. His gaze did bounce upwards more than once while he politely listened, but never high enough to make eye contact again.

One of the ways that he had been controlled was money. He knew right away that the only money he had on him was whatever he'd found in the street that day. Sometimes, he'd catch a glimpse of their shine on the ground and before going home, he'd give away whatever he found to someone that looked to be in need. He wouldn't be allowed to keep it anyway, it was best to get rid of it before he could be found with it and get himself in trouble. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he managed to find a few Buffalo nickels and a Liberty Walking half dollar, which meant he had less than a dollar. In the 1920s, he could afford a pound of bacon and some bread, but he was smart enough to question whether that would be enough where he was now.

Control wasn’t something that Jude would ever boast about having, especially when it came to his werewolf side, but the last couple of days had been weird- even for a werewolf. The new moon had come and gone, leaving him feeling so drained of energy that he hadn’t even turned on the town’s social media, let alone leave his home. It was during one of his post-new-moon-naps that he felt the first tingle. He started dreaming that he was out on the full moon, roaming the forest again. Wolf dreams weren’t rare, but this one felt so much more real. When he woke up, he thought he really was in the forest.

And his fingernails weren’t fingernails anymore, they were claws.

It had been a day or so since the dream, but Jude was feeling no more in control than he had that day. Being inside was starting to really drive him insane, and it was an hour until midnight, so he finally gave in and left his new home. Walking the streets didn’t feel like the safest thing, but he didn’t feel like he had much of a choice at this point. The cool air felt nice against his face, and he found himself wandering with his chin tipped towards the moon to soak up the warm feeling it provided him with.

He was actually starting to feel more confident in his level of control when it happened. The familiar feeling of his blood boiling under the moonlight’s power made him shake. Breathing became difficult, and he found himself dizzy, his head clouded while his hands and knees dug into the ground beneath them. His back arched and bones broke. The sounds that echoed and snapped were grotesque, the visuals even worse. The force of the fur of his inner wolf pushing towards the outside tore his skin as though it were nothing more than thin paper. There was a sound that could make even the strongest feel weak and a smell too, like that of steaming meat and wet dog. When all was said and done, he ate what remained of his human form. Shredded skin and hot blood was all that was left of his humanity. He was still standing in front of that pile, licking the copper and addictive taste of blood off of his face and body, when he heard the distinct sound of an approaching body. Back arched, paws curled, and his lips pulled back in a snarl as his bright brown eyes watched the individual with rapt attention and acute focus.

As someone who had only been a werewolf for a few months and had never met another wolf face to face, Jude hated the day before the first night of the full moon. The next three nights were going to be brutal, and he could feel it in his bones. They ached and felt restless, making him leave his apartment to go walking through town, even though the lights and sounds were bound to drive his senses wild. To compensate, he put on a pair of headphones and turned some instrumental music on low volume, taking out some of the real world noise and helping him feel comfortable surrounded by so many people, sights, sounds, and smells while his system was so sensitive.

Scorpius wasn’t intending on sending any spells at Draco period. He just wanted to find Dumbledore and find a way home immediately. The longer he stayed in 1996/1997 the more he risked never being born. At least in his opinion. He needed to leave and let things run their course.

But of course Draco, being stubborn guy he is and always has been, has to slow Scorpius down until he’s moving at a snail’s pace. He grips his wand tighter and lets out a yelp as he’s brought up into the air and back down to the ground. “Ow…” he mutters, sitting up and rubbing at his side.

He barely hears his young father order everyone to leave the premises, leaving the two Malfoy’s alone. Oh great so he’s probably figured out that Scorpius isn’t supposed to be there. That he’s the odd duckling. Which is obvious since he’s a Slytherin as well and all Slytherin’s knew each other eventually. He couldn’t lie and say he transferred. It’s the middle of the year.

Greyish blue met greyish blue and Scorpius shrunk in on himself like he normally did when being bullied (which still happened even in his 6th year which was ridiculous if you asked him).

He lets out a shaky sigh and whimpers a bit. “I don’t think I can tell you that. It might risk a lot of things happening that I don’t want to happen,” he mutters quietly. “I just need to get to the Headmaster immediately. Please, I don’t mean to upset you, or cause you harm,…or upset you. I’m not supposed to be here and I need to get to the Headmaster, D…Malfoy.”

Being a bully was supposed to make him feel strong and powerful, he had to remind himself. It generally did, but as he grew older, he had to remind himself more often. He'd successfully thrown more than one spell at this strangely unfamiliar kid, brought him to a lower level, and everyone had seen him do it. He had the upper hand, he was in control, he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

He stepped closer and muttered a quick, "Expelliarmus," to make sure he'd stay safe as he did. Bending at the knees, he hovered over the other boy, looking at his blond hair, blue eyes, and unfamiliar-yet-familiar features as he waited for an answer to his question. What he got wasn't quite what he was looking for and the disgruntled expression on his face said so. An eyebrow perked when he heard the first syllable 'D' come out, but assumed the other Slytherin was just about to call him by his first name; he'd never guess he had been about to call him Dad.

"You must be one of Potter's friends," he spat, narrowing his eyes. It made sense. If someone that was wandering these halls wasn't already known by every single other student on campus, they were likely some intruding friends of Harry's; someone there to help him save the day or whatever nonsense he was up to now. Though he was sure his assumption made sense, he couldn't shake the feeling that the features on the boy in front of him were eerily familiar. It almost felt like looking in a mirror. But that was impossible, he knew everyone in the Malfoy line. Purebloods were obsessively dedicated to making sure that everyone knew about every other member of their family. He'd been quizzed on his family tree every day since birth and he'd never seen this specific face.

Rising up to his full height, he pointed his wand at the seemingly defenseless boy while he considered what his next move would be. He could help the boy find Dumbledore, but that wasn't likely. It wasn't within his character to be helpful to someone he didn't know for no reason and no personal gain. If he was right about this boy being part of Potter's crew, his family, the Death Eaters, and Voldemort himself would be pleased if Draco stopped whatever his mission was. Should he spell the boy so that he couldn't escape and send an owl to his mother? Or rush to contact her in a quicker way, perhaps via the flames of a fireplace? The only thing he knew for sure was that he didn't want to be helpful towards the side of good at all.

Hart gives Narcissa a small nod of acknowledgement, snuggling into Draco’s arms and breathing in his scent. He didn’t care if he was surrounded by the enemy. If he was with Draco, he felt safer than ever. He closes his eyes and lets out a small sigh, smiling a bit at Draco’s words.

He could hear ever word of what was going on around them. Could hear Neville stand up for all of his friends, stand up for himself, and all around be the brave Gryffindor Hartley always knew he could be. He could hear the laughter around him, Voldemort’s taunting. All of it.

But suddenly out of the corner of Hartley’s eye he sees something fall to the ground. He moves out of Draco’s arms to get a better look and sees that it’s Harry. Oh well then…Of course he’s still alive. He makes a split second decision and grabs Draco’s wand, or well his mother’s, giving Narcissa an apologetic look. Hart’s own wand was missing so he guesses the entire Malfoy family and him will need to get new ones. He runs away from the Death Eaters and over to Harry. “Harry here!” He calls out handing the taller male the wand before running back over to the Malfoy’s.

Hart takes a hold of Draco’s hand as chaos starts around them. He stares up at the Malfoy’s with frightened and wide eyes, squeezing his best friend’s hand as he tries to catch his breath. He hears Narcissa speak and he keeps a hold onto Draco’s hand as Draco holds onto his mother’s hand as well. He follows after the two of them, looking over his shoulder as Lucius tries to keep up with them.

Small whimpers can be heard from the young Rathaway as they walk. 

When his mother beckoned them to follow her as she tugged them towards their swift exit, Draco felt relief wash over him. He was more than ready to run and hide and try to leave all of this behind him. It felt so simple, though it wouldn't be. He felt, in this moment, that if he could just get out... everything would be better.

But then Hartley was running off and Draco's eyes widened when he realized his best friend was running towards Harry Potter himself. That had to be the most dangerous thing that a person could do right now. Draco tried to chase after him, but his mother had a firm grip on him and would not allow him to leave her side. Before he could break free of her, Hartley was back, and the fear in his icy blue eyes was even more intense than it had ever been in his life.

"Don't ever do anything like that again, you bloody brave git," he said with desperation dripping in his tone. Honestly, had he been less worried with Hartley's safety he might have been the one to give Harry a wand; he certainly owed the chosen boy after years of bullying and making the wrong decisions. But Hartley doing it was just terrifying. If anything happened to him...

He didn't have long to think on it, Narcissa was dragging them along and he had to watch where he was walking to stop himself from tripping over his own feet. Without a wand, he was powerless. If someone were to attack them, they'd be defenseless. He'd be unable to keep Hartley safe, and that thought kept his feet moving as quickly as possible. Those whimpers pulled at his heart, and though escape was his top priority, he tried to keep Hartley close and he tried to offer as much comfort as he could.