Oh my fucking Merlin, this prompt. Here you go, OP.
--
Theseus Scamander had one huge weakness: his brother, the magizoologist.
Newton. He's a flighty bastard, and he's got excellent instincts. He's quick to catch on when he's got someone on his tail.
However, the past year had been full of surprises. The ginger bastard had shacked up with that stuck up asshole Graves.
That just makes it so much more interesting. Graves didn't have any visible weakness before. Only that fellow Grindelwald had the guts and the skill to fight him directly and come out on top.
But now... Now it'll be like killing two hippogriffs with one stone.
To top it all off, Newton had started relaxing, so assured was he in Graves' presence. He hasn't noticed that someone's been shadowing him closely for the last week.
It's going to be a great year indeed. My name will finally be recognized. I'll be known as the one who'd dealt a huge blow to not only Theseus Scamander, but Percival Graves as well. I can't wait!
--
Newton Scamander is incredibly easy to predict.
Drop a word here and there, make sure it reaches the right ears. A demiguise. Or an occamy. Or a unicorn. Or all three combined, more's the better.
Leave traces in places only Scamander would think to look at. Leave the bare minimum so the Aurors dismiss it as nothing substantial.
A couple of semi-transparent demiguise hair strands. A very small piece of silver Occamy shell. Some unicorn horn shavings.
Newton falls for it hook, line and sinker, while Graves denies the existence of any sort of smuggling operation in his beloved city. Even better, Newton storms off in a huff, heading back to the location of the unicorn horn shavings. Alone. Fuming and so very determined to save a creature that doesn't exist.
Graves doesn't follow. Theseus Scamander is more than a thousand miles away.
--
Anti-portkey, Anti-apparation. Colloportus and more on all the entrances and exits. Wards to deflect everyone's attention away from the site.
No one is going to come rescue Newton anyway, but it's better to be careful.
Now, the only question remaining is how to do it.
How do I make sure this is extra painful for the bastards when Newton is found?
Not a fast death, no. Avada Kedavra would be too simple. Newton's pain and suffering needs to be drawn out.
He needs to be shown that all he is, all he ever will be, is a weakness. He's the key to making Theseus Scamander and Percival Graves bleed.
A silent Petrificus Totalus while his back is turned. Accio his wand; he won't ever need it anymore. Blast that fucking green twig in his coat pocket to smithereens.
Conjure a sharp, sharp knife. A hundred thousand cuts seem like a good place to start.
The color and smell of blood is so satisfying. It's everywhere. The stains will never come out.
Newton's back and front is a beautiful lattice of cuts. His arms should be next, before his legs.
What's this cocoon on his sleeve?
OH MERLI--
--
If there ever was a competition for the most horrible way to wake up, opening one's eyes to the hiss of a Swooping Evil in the face should be at least third place. Percival Graves barely restrains the urge to wandlessly blast the winged serpent away.
It's only because he's been inured to dozens of rude wake up calls from various beasts over the past few months that he doesn't. This is the first time he's been woken up by the Swooping Evil.
He's not even inside Newt's case. He'd fallen asleep on the couch, waiting for Newt to come home.
He's up and out the door before he knows it, because the Swooping Evil never leaves Newt's sleeve without good cause. For the Swooping Evil to be here and not with Newt...
He hates all of the scenarios that pop up in his mind on the end of that thought.
The Swooping Evil flies fast above the rooftops, a barely visible blue-green speck. Percival apparates several times to keep up with it, eventually realizing they were headed to the location where the unicorn horn shavings were found. He apparates there directly in a flurry of snow-- and his knees go weak at the sight awaiting him.
Newt had crawled out of the building, trailing blood behind him. He's lying on his back now, staining the freshly-fallen snow bright red.
There's so much blood.
Percival gracelessly drops to the ground beside Newt, uncaring of the cold, wet snow and blood tainting his slacks. He reaches out, moving to cradle Newt in his arms.
Panic is a very hard beast to tame.
"Newt! Merlin, Newt, don't you dare die on me..." he begs, voice breaking. He shakily raises his wand to the sky, sending sparks meant to mobilize the Auror force. He doesn't remember getting it out of his pocket.
He regrets not learning extensive healing spells. He knows first aid, all Aurors do, but...
"So... peaceful..." Newt whispers. His glassy eyes are raised to the sky, now an all-encompassing blanket of blackness after the earlier snow fall.
Fill: Graves/Newt Blood and Snow TW: violence/torture
--
Theseus Scamander had one huge weakness: his brother, the magizoologist.
Newton. He's a flighty bastard, and he's got excellent instincts. He's quick to catch on when he's got someone on his tail.
However, the past year had been full of surprises. The ginger bastard had shacked up with that stuck up asshole Graves.
That just makes it so much more interesting. Graves didn't have any visible weakness before. Only that fellow Grindelwald had the guts and the skill to fight him directly and come out on top.
But now... Now it'll be like killing two hippogriffs with one stone.
To top it all off, Newton had started relaxing, so assured was he in Graves' presence. He hasn't noticed that someone's been shadowing him closely for the last week.
It's going to be a great year indeed. My name will finally be recognized. I'll be known as the one who'd dealt a huge blow to not only Theseus Scamander, but Percival Graves as well. I can't wait!
--
Newton Scamander is incredibly easy to predict.
Drop a word here and there, make sure it reaches the right ears. A demiguise. Or an occamy. Or a unicorn. Or all three combined, more's the better.
Leave traces in places only Scamander would think to look at. Leave the bare minimum so the Aurors dismiss it as nothing substantial.
A couple of semi-transparent demiguise hair strands. A very small piece of silver Occamy shell. Some unicorn horn shavings.
Newton falls for it hook, line and sinker, while Graves denies the existence of any sort of smuggling operation in his beloved city. Even better, Newton storms off in a huff, heading back to the location of the unicorn horn shavings. Alone. Fuming and so very determined to save a creature that doesn't exist.
Graves doesn't follow. Theseus Scamander is more than a thousand miles away.
--
Anti-portkey, Anti-apparation. Colloportus and more on all the entrances and exits. Wards to deflect everyone's attention away from the site.
No one is going to come rescue Newton anyway, but it's better to be careful.
Now, the only question remaining is how to do it.
How do I make sure this is extra painful for the bastards when Newton is found?
Not a fast death, no. Avada Kedavra would be too simple. Newton's pain and suffering needs to be drawn out.
He needs to be shown that all he is, all he ever will be, is a weakness. He's the key to making Theseus Scamander and Percival Graves bleed.
A silent Petrificus Totalus while his back is turned. Accio his wand; he won't ever need it anymore. Blast that fucking green twig in his coat pocket to smithereens.
Conjure a sharp, sharp knife. A hundred thousand cuts seem like a good place to start.
The color and smell of blood is so satisfying. It's everywhere. The stains will never come out.
Newton's back and front is a beautiful lattice of cuts. His arms should be next, before his legs.
What's this cocoon on his sleeve?
OH MERLI--
--
If there ever was a competition for the most horrible way to wake up, opening one's eyes to the hiss of a Swooping Evil in the face should be at least third place. Percival Graves barely restrains the urge to wandlessly blast the winged serpent away.
It's only because he's been inured to dozens of rude wake up calls from various beasts over the past few months that he doesn't. This is the first time he's been woken up by the Swooping Evil.
He's not even inside Newt's case. He'd fallen asleep on the couch, waiting for Newt to come home.
He's up and out the door before he knows it, because the Swooping Evil never leaves Newt's sleeve without good cause. For the Swooping Evil to be here and not with Newt...
He hates all of the scenarios that pop up in his mind on the end of that thought.
The Swooping Evil flies fast above the rooftops, a barely visible blue-green speck. Percival apparates several times to keep up with it, eventually realizing they were headed to the location where the unicorn horn shavings were found. He apparates there directly in a flurry of snow-- and his knees go weak at the sight awaiting him.
Newt had crawled out of the building, trailing blood behind him. He's lying on his back now, staining the freshly-fallen snow bright red.
There's so much blood.
Percival gracelessly drops to the ground beside Newt, uncaring of the cold, wet snow and blood tainting his slacks. He reaches out, moving to cradle Newt in his arms.
Panic is a very hard beast to tame.
"Newt! Merlin, Newt, don't you dare die on me..." he begs, voice breaking. He shakily raises his wand to the sky, sending sparks meant to mobilize the Auror force. He doesn't remember getting it out of his pocket.
He regrets not learning extensive healing spells. He knows first aid, all Aurors do, but...
"So... peaceful..." Newt whispers. His glassy eyes are raised to the sky, now an all-encompassing blanket of blackness after the earlier snow fall.
"Newt, please," Percival sobs.