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December, 1929
FUCK, FUCK, FUCK.
Those are perhaps the only thoughts running through Theseus' head. When he left Circe behind, he didn't fully realise what he had done. It dawned on him only when he sat down in the meeting room, in between Tobias and Phil.
Theseus isn't even sure what he's saying. He catches a few sentences here and there. Like the fact that Grindelwald has been spotted again. The Head Auror didn't hear where or when.
The other Aurors must've noticed that Theseus is completely out of it and not paying attention. They stare at him weirdly. He looks up at Longbottom. Alastair eyes Theseus with a raised eyebrow.
"I was talking to you, Theseus," he informs him.
The Head Auror shakes his head. He chews on his bottom lip, sitting up straight in his chair. "Sorry, sorry. I'm here. I'm listening."
"You sure?" Longbottom asks dubiously.
Clearing his throat, Theseus nods. "Yes," he replies, masking his obvious hesitance.
Tobias nudges Theseus in the arm. "You okay, mate? You look like you've seen a dementor," he whispers to him worriedly.
"With the look on his face, he could've kissed one," Phil remarks, chuckling.
The word kiss makes Theseus shift in his chair, his entire body tensing. Putting his hands on the table around which the Aurors are sitting, he focuses his eyes on Alastair Longbottom and pretends to listen intently to every word he says.
Theseus catches only certain words.
Scamander. Head Auror. Grindelwald. Close. England. Capture. Aera Dalton. Prepare.
"Do you understand?" asks Longbottom. He eyes every Auror in the room, though his gaze sets on Theseus, lingering much longer than anybody else.
