Janus Price, Connoisseur of Magical Beasts
feat. His Crabby Godson & Newt Scamander

Technically, Evander Greaves isn't aware of a great many things. Does he have suspicions? Of course he does, he's not daft. But that's all it is: suspicion, hearsay, theories. Perhaps his godfather is involved in a few illegal transactions, but it's hard to he sure as he's never been treated to the specifics. Honest.

Really, Evander knows just enough to warn him away from learning more.

"Can't snitch if you don't know what you're snitching about," Janus used to tell him, followed by a rough noogie. "Scram, nugget. This is adult business, not made for tiny people like you. How 'bout you get the kettle boiled?"

At six, Evander loved getting the kettle boiled. Didn't last long, but yeah: those were the golden years.

As he grew up into a teenager he became less willing to trot into the kitchen, start on two cuppas, and forget about whatever maybe-illegal thing he'd witnessed. He started wondering which maybe-illegal thing he was witnessing.

Because his godfather dabbled in a lot. As you do.

Like, seriously, the old man needed a better hobby.

If it wasn't escorting cages into their Extended basement, it was sacks of eggs, or potions, or documents, or warded cases that Evander was emphatically told never to touch. One time, it was a stinky old sock that his godfather pinned next to their lunar calendar (Evander couldn't come up with an explanation for that; only knew that one night, he came over to find it roasting in the fireplace).

Despite the vague criminality that acted as a fairly consistent backdrop to his childhood, Evander didn't have much to complain about, being raised by Janus. The house was cozy, the neighbours had always been willing to look after him, and Evander was allowed to attend muggle school for a while to "broaden his horizons". Apart from the whole orphan thing, he really had it good.

"Don't go telling your Aunt that," Janus says once Evander gets in a mood and says as much. "She'll get ideas."

"Ideas of you being a suitable caregiver?" Evander huffs. "So terrible, is it?"

"In fact, you ponce, it is. I'm not related to Clarice Greaves and quite honestly consider it a blessing that she does not make regular visits to my house out of polite, familial obligation, just so she can have tea and passive-aggressively comment on how my drapes indicate that I have a genetic disposition for depression and savagery."

It's certainly an informed opinion to have on Evander's aunt, although not inaccurate. She likes to criticize. For the moment, her favourite subject is Evander's haircut and his poor posture; and if she were any less mind-addledly disgusted by the state of Janus Price's life, she might entertain the urge to say something about it. All in the name of helping, of course.

"I don't think Auntie Clary would want to visit you even if she knew you weren't completely incompetent with me."

"Kind of you to say so, Evan. Bollocks, but kind enough."

Evander shrugs. Possibly, he's underestimating his Aunt's compulsive need to stick her nose in everyone's business. The slightest hint that Janus wouldn't bite it off, and she might just do it to him, it's true. "I'll continue telling her that you're abusing me, shall I?"

Janus goes still — mite bit concerning — before he makes a small sound of amusement into his tea. "Abusing you?"

"Oh, terribly. You cane me. Sometimes, I'm not fed for days because you're too busy blowing our money at the local pub. I sleep on the floor, and haven't shopped for clothes in years!"

Janus smirks, which doesn't mean that he won't be smacking Evander up the head for this whole thing later, but indicates that he might not if Evander plays his cards right. "Bet Clarice loved to hear that. Explains why you keep coming back with new clothes and a full stomach."

"Not the death stare though?"

"She's been giving me them for years," Janus says, sounding terribly casual about it. "I'm used to them."

"Well, now I'm dead curious. Why doesn't she like you?"

Janus taps his fingers against the cup, squinting like he does when he's trying to figure out a way to not say what Evander clearly wants to hear. It is not Evander's favourite expression. "Clarice is… not a big fan of your mum."

"She's never mentioned it," Evander tries, and Janus snorts as if the very thought is hilarious. "What?"

"Clarice wouldn't. Same reason she doesn't come in when she drops you off. She doesn't talk to or about the topics that really drive her mad — your old lady is such a topic."

"What's that got to do with you?"

"As far as she knows — or anyone, really, since I went to her so young — Rhea Plonsonby was my older sister. Naturally, with her death, the animosity of all the people she pissed off was transferred unto me. Yippee."

Janus doesn't sound particularly upset about it, but it makes Evander angry. True, he doesn't know a lot about his mother or her personality problems. It doesn't change that Janus raised him, and raised him well. No matter what alleged sins his mother committed to earn the animosity of her husband's family, he knew one thing for certain: Janus Price didn't deserve it.

Evander grinds his teeth. "That's not fair."

"Moody brat," says Janus, and he laughs. The sound startles Evander out of his red haze. "Seriously — you tell them I'm abusing you, then get mad when they believe it? It's fine. I'm not hurting you, and there's nothing Clarice Greaves can do to take you out of my custody, not since her husband left her. No harm, no foul."

Except Evander knows Janus would never treat him like that. His godfather is a criminal. There are artefacts and living creatures under the kitchen floor that would send Janus straight to Azkaban. He's entrenched in shady business and Evander is endangered simply by existing around it. But Janus has never raised a hand to him. He's never let him go to sleep on an empty stomach. He sends Evander away instead of making him help, and it's frustrating that someone could look at Janus and believe that he'd hurt Evander. That he could possibly want to.

"You're a berk," says Evander, "but it's not as if I wanna go anywhere else."

Janus waggles his eyebrows. "That'd be the Stockholm talking." Evander groans, caught between relief and annoyance that his godfather feels the need to Curse every shred of genuine affection that's offered to him. "Oi. Get me the biscuits from the cupboard, would you? Should have shortbread somewhere."

"Can I use my magic?" Evander asks, not moving.

"Depends. Are you seventeen?"

"No—"

"Capital. There's your answer."

"Well, can't you use magic?"

"And let you grow complacent? Never, Evander. Never. Hurry with the shortbread, Merlin, you're a sloth. Chop, chop!"

"Where do you go every month?"

"Alofi, Niue."

Evander frowns. "Bless you. Are you going to—" This is about when he realizes Janus' shoulders are shaking, and he snaps, "Why are you laughing at me?"

"I was answering, not sneezing. But hey, not my fault you didn't hear me. I'm not repeating myself."

Evander's blood starts to boil, he knows because he can feel his face growing hot. Could be frustration, could be humiliation. It's probably frustration, though. He hadn't expected his godfather would just — tell him the truth like that.

"That's not fair," He starts, flustered. "Say it again, I wasn't—"

"Not my fault. Should have paid attention the first time." Janus grins sharply, looking far too triumphant for Evander to be happy about it, and leaps to his feet. "On that note, I'm going to the basement!"

Evander stands as well. "Let me come!" He demands as if he expects his godfather to bow to his whims, when historically Janus has done everything in his power to keep Evander away from the underground level and doesn't seem interested in switching up that agenda.

Janus laughs again. "Bloody unlikely." He says, cheerful.

Case in point.

"Janus—"

"Why don't you write to your friends while I handle my business, Evan. You have an owl for a reason. Damn bird'll atrophy if you keep up the hermit act any longer."

Evander says, horrified, "Wilbert is not atrophying," and realizes belatedly that he's given Janus precisely the reaction he was going for, judging by the snicker he makes as he waltzes out the room. Evander shouts at his back: "And I'm not a hermit!"

"Could have fooled me, boy!" Janus voice already sounds far away. Then, the footsteps simply stop. Evander stands in the empty drawing room for as long as his curiosity allows (about half a second), before snapping into a run. He slides into his godfather's study, the room he heard his voice from, and finds it empty.

It's always empty. Evander habitually checks for secret compartments or warded shelves, but comes up with nothing to show for it. There are two entries into the enigmatic basement, and even after a decade of living on top of the cursed thing, Evander is no closer to figuring out how to use either one of them. He doesn't even know where the doors are.

Once again thwarted, Evander glares expansively at the room.

"I'll figure it out," he swears, "You can't outsmart me forever!"

But Janus tries. And actually succeeds for another six years. Impressive enough for a Hogwarts drop-out.

"On an intellectual note, it is all very impressive," Newt is saying, "But on a legal note, I think your uncle might end up going to prison for this. Which is spectacular, by the way."

Evander knows that. And he agrees, less because he's concerned with morality and more because he is aware of the law of this country, which expressly says that wizards aren't allowed to have a nest of occamy living in their basement.

Evander has a nest of occamy living in his basement.

In fact, Evander has plenty of creatures living in his basement. Not a single one should be. Not even Jemima; kneazles need to be registered as familiars, and Janus "hasn't gotten around to it yet."

Bollocks.

"Godfather, actually. And I thought you'd enjoy it," Evander says, crossing his arms. "You're not gonna turn him in, are you?"

Newt shoots him — well, his shoulder — a shrewd look. There is a tense pause where Evander considers that he might have to pull a wand on a former school friend.

Newt shakes his head. "Despite the reputation of his career and the general disposition of smugglers, the animals are being taken care of. To the best of your godfather's ability, I see. Would you… is there a particular reason I'm here, Greaves?"

Evander stares down the top of Newt's head. Squirrelly fellow, always has been. Somehow, Evander isn't surprised that Newt isn't any less nervous to be in a smuggler's basement than he was in their Charms classroom.

"We — that is, Janus' employees — found a… beast. We don't know what to do with her. It's a bit above his pay grade to care for, and my godfather — well, he has a bit of a code of honor with our animals. If he can't properly care for them, he won't keep them, and I heard from a friend of a friend in the Department about what it is you do now. Augustus Worme, yeah? Anyway, thought it'd be right up your alley."

Newt's face does something curious, and his eyes dart all over the room. The basement is charmed to hell and back to suit the habitat needs of the creatures they're handling — not perfectly, of course, but judging by the way Newt's tensing up, Evander isn't expecting their ignorance to be tolerated much longer. Newt seems to think he'll see the creature so long as he wills it into existence.

It doesn't, because that's not how magic works. Newt eventually asks, "And what is she, exactly?"

"A graphorn."

Newt swings around, shocked and alarmingly not alarmed. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah… we have a graphorn." If Evander sounds tired, he doesn't hold it against himself. Graphorns are large, powerful beasts that can and will take on a troll. They also don't much like cages, which is what this one is currently in since she's beaten up and threatening to bring the roof down on them all. "Have any experience with them?"

Newt is practically vibrating. "A graphorn? I've — yes, yes, I have some experience. Though I'm sorry to say that I'm not terribly learned on them, they haven't come up much in my travels; they prefer mountainous habitats, as you know, and I've just returned from Greenland. This is brilliant. May I see her?"

"That is why you're here, Scamander." His former housemate hardly seems to hear him, so Evander shakes his head and leads the way to their makeshift graphorn enclosure. "She's aggressive, so just… keep your distance."

Newt shoots him a look of unmitigated offense.

Evander isn't having it. "I remember the thestral lesson; you lose all self-preservation instincts when you meet a creature you're curious about. Today is just to observe, agreed? Tell us what we can do to make her more comfortable, speed up the healing."

Newt's mouth twitches.

"You're not — I understand I'm here to consult, but you can't possibly expect I'll assist with the graphorn only to let you sell her to the highest bidder?"

"I do have an idea of your character, actually. Funny that. We were roommates for seven years, Scamander, I did learn a thing or two about you." Newt seems perplexed, but relieved enough that his shoulders loosen up. "Janus will want to observe the beginning stages before he lets you spirit away with the merchandise."

That lights a fire in Newt's eyes. He ducks his head as if it'll hide the shortness of his voice. "They are not merchandise."

Well.

"Keep the smuggling humour to myself, then," Evander says, although he seems to have lost Newt. Oh well. He'll be sticking around for the week, at least. Evander will have time to redeem himself, if there is even a desire to. "Regardless, here we are. Behind me, remember?"

"The graphorn, please."

"Merlin, you're just the same. Alright. Janus, can I come in?"

The lock flicks, and Evander can hear the frightened roar of the graphorn. Barely louder is his godfather calling, "Only if you got that schoolmate of yours with you!"

Since Newt is at his elbow, Evander opens the door. The room rattles when the injured graphorn throws herself against the warded bars of her cage; it does little more than dizzy her as stumbles back. Evander catches the way one of her bottom legs gives up. Briefly, long enough to suggest damage. Her run is uneven, too.

Doesn't stop her from charging again. Janus clicks his tongue when the two sharp horns hit the wards, making them light up: brilliant, stable blue. Janus' wand resolutely stays up, feeding the spell despite the tremor in his wrist.

Evander purses his lips, suggests, "I can take over."

"You are cooking dinner," Janus says, an unsubtle way of shooting him down. In actuality, he thinks Evander's wards are shite. He is not wrong. "Newton Scamander?"

Newt jumps at being addressed. He's so far been staring lovingly at the horned-and-hooved monstrosity, and seemed quite content to keep on doing that. "Yes?"

"Heard of you. You make trouble in my type of circles, you know. Quite infamous considering it's been a few months since you went out into the world. Busting up rings left and right, keep losing contacts."

Newt replies, "It was my pleasure."

The honesty makes Janus laugh, at least. "Fair enough. Any experience with a prissy graphorn?"

"I have some ideas," Newt says. He adjusts his hold on his suitcase, shoots a cautious glance at them both, then gently sets it in the corner of the room. "Would you mind if I stepped closer?"

"Absolutely," Evander says, exasperated. "Because I'm not getting near, and you are supposed to stay behind me."

"I am consulting. This is how I consult. Can I get closer?"

"Are you listening to me at all, Scamander?"

He isn't. He's looking at Janus, who is stupidly looking back. After a moment, Janus shrugs like it's all no big deal and says, "I'm keeping up the wards, so don't ask me to stop that."

"I won't," Newt says, then: "Tomorrow, I might."

"Expect no less from a blasted Hufflepuff," Janus says. Easy. Once again, like it's no big deal when it very much is. "Careful approaching, though: big girl's dangerous."

"She is aggressive. Not dangerous."

"There much of a difference?"

And Newt, very disappointedly, says: "Of course there is."

"The thing I've never been able to understand — even more so considering the… news — is how I'm your godson."

Janus doesn't quite raise his eyebrows and declare Evander an idiot, but it's a close thing. "Your parents elected me for the duty. Which is how it usually happens. Legally and in every other way pertaining to the assigning of a godparent. Weird how you don't know that by now."

"Yeah, see, that's why I'm asking," Evander says, disbelieving. "How could any human adult with sense look at you and decide, 'Sure, he'd be a good role model for a child!' Walk me through that, please."

"I'm not an expert on the subject, but bet it had something to do with the fact that your mother was not human nor sensible. She is the one who bit me," Janus sips his tea. "And your father must have been batshit crazy to marry her in the first place. If it helps, I didn't want you. You... you rather happened to me, Evander."

"Thanks," says Evander. He considers that information. Your mother is the one who bit me. "Nice bit of tact. My mum bit you?"

"Truly. In all seriousness, your mother didn't trust anyone else."

"With me?"

"In general." Janus wrinkles his nose, rubbing at his wrist absently. "Bit of a paranoid insomniac, your mum. Bit me when I was fifteen because she was mental with loneliness and she wouldn't bite your dad. Took me in after my parents and the school gave me the sack — really though, it was the least she could have done."

Fifteen. Janus was seventeen when he officially took in Evander. That's a bit of a shock, those seem to keep on coming. Evander should just roll with the punches at this point: revelation after revelation.

"You were with mum for two years? How did you — I mean, did you forgive her for — for the whole —"

Janus appears amused. "Nope."

Which… isn't surprising, considering everything. Janus still winces. "Have you, yet?"

"Not planning to. Rhea was barking; she ruined my life, no ifs, buts, or maybes about it. I am quite pleased that she's dead; for a couple reasons, one of them being that I got you out of it," Janus blinks, and offers a slightly sincere, "Sorry. Can't be nice to hear."

Evander thinks it might have been if he had any designs on his mother being a good person in the first place; the way his aunt and godfather have gone twenty-three years maintaining telling, pointed silence on the subject while singing praises about his father… some part of him already knew. The truth simply doesn't hit as hard as it might have, is all. Evander is more breathless that Janus was glad to have him.

(Is glad.)

"No problem," It's the best he can manage. His head throbs. Tonight has been a bit much for him, yet he's loathe to abandon the conversation so early. It would be idiotic to retire when his godfather isn't lying for the first time in forever. "Niue…"

"Ah. It's about twelve hours ahead of London. Day when it's night. The sunset tends to match up with London's sunrise; most of the time, I escape a transformation. Sometimes, I don't." Janus looks vaguely uncomfortable, but Evander can't tell if that's because of a memory or because Janus has looked ill since he returned from the opposite side of the world.

"And this madness has worked for twenty-five years?"

"Twenty. Twenty years. To be precise."

"I was three?"

"I, er, used to drop you off at Clarice and huddle in the basement — that's what it used to be for, actually. It's how I knew the wards would hold up against most beasts. Nevertheless, I discovered the trick accidentally. I was moving a Fwooper. Wasn't watching the calendar, but luckily, Fiji was a good eleven hours ahead. I was an absolute horror to be around since my wolf had been locked up for a month, but without the full moon to trigger the curse, I held it down. No transformation. Eventually, I got important enough in the industry to have endless connections to international portkeys. Started travelling to Niue instead of risking you. It was easier."

Evander swallows.

"You said it sometimes didn't work. Was it… bad? When it didn't?"

"I love when you ask dumb questions," replies Janus. "Any others?"

Evander probably has a few. None pressing, he figures, and rubs his forehead when that painful throbbing returns. What a mess. His entire childhood, watched over by a werewolf. A werewolf. They're supposed to be vicious, uncontrollable beasts who eat children and randomly attack peaceful civilizations. Monsters.

Janus is an arse, but he's never been that kind of person. It's exceedingly troublesome to reconcile the two truths. Borderline impossible, he's finding. One of them can't be true, and he knows which is, yet still...

Merlin's soiled underpants, this is boggling. Alright. Dunno what Evander is supposed to do with all this, but… alright.

"One." Evander says. He surprises himself with it.

Janus arches his eyebrow. It's a wan expression, empty of the usual scalding snark. "Go ahead, killer."

"How did you… raise me… how could you raise me after everything my — Rhea did?"

Janus looks annoyed now. He says, "You took the 'dumb question' thing seriously, didn't you?"

"Must have," Evander snaps. "Can you just—"

"You didn't choose her," Janus interrupts. "I know 'cause I didn't, I can tell it in other people, and I'm not the sort of pillock who doesn't realize that a kid can't pick their parent. That's why I raised you. Because you aren't her. Happy?"

He… is.

He is, and it's flowing, bubbling, terrifically embarrassing with its intensity. Evander must be tired. Grown men shouldn't be this quick to cry, it's not done, which doesn't do much to ease the lump in his throat. It does, however, make Evander duck his head and desperately want to groan. He doesn't dare. He has a feeling any sound that comes from him will too closely resemble a sob.

There is buzzing in his ears, singing. It masks the sounds Janus must make when he stands; he's leaning on the table beside Evander's head, offering his comfort but not presuming to give it. It would be nice if Evander didn't suspect that the consideration is actually born of something uglier. Savage beasts, he had thought. Monsters that eat children.

Evander puts his arm on the table and lays across it, burying his face away. "You're wrong," He mumbles.

Janus doesn't reply straight away. Once, he would have asked Evander to repeat himself: it's impossible to understand him when he's muttering. Now that he's being all truthful about his wolfy powers, he doesn't bother pretending he can't hear, "About what?"

"Children can pick their parents."

"Okay, except they literally can't?"

That's Janus: always needs it spelled out. Evander's ears start burning preemptively. "I mean, I picked you. Didn't I?"

Silence. Evander's face is so warm he can feel it through his sleeve.

"Oh," Janus sounds alarmed. Shaky. "Oh, you can piss off, Evander Reginald Greaves."

Evander looks up so fast he nearly sprains something. He gasps. "Are you crying?"

Looking as surprised as his godson is, Janus scowls, his unshaven cheeks blotchy. "I don't bloody think so—"

"You're crying because I called you dad?"

Janus looks stricken. And teary. "You didn't call me dad," He says, strained, followed by a heartfelt, "you utter bastard. You can stay here and cry about it. I am going to chop some wood."

He storms out presumably to do just that. He might be growling. Hell. That just happened. All of it. His mum sucked, his godfather is the world's most creative problem-solver and a werewolf of the non-children-eating variety, and Evander loves him.

That's my dad. I want him to be my dad, he thinks. It's a distressing thought. I'm… so dumb.

Newt,

Usually, I keep the important news at the bottom of the letter and greet you with some pleasantries. Normal stuff to remind you how to socialize with humans instead of the creatures you typically favour. As nice as they are, the methods don't translate well. Which you very well know, so I'll get to the point.

My godfather. Found out why he goes across the planet to bloody New Zealand every month. Bit dramatic. Wasn't expecting it in the slightest, which is appalling and embarrassing. Every full-moon and I didn't catch the pattern. Merlin, I want to die.

Yes. To the point. You knew?! This is a thing you tell people, Newt! … Okay, it isn't. You can't go around telling whomever you damn well please about THIS!, but maybe you can tell your best friend? About important species-news regarding his godfather? Who he lives with?

Tell me when you're back in England. My tenuous emotional state would greatly benefit from smacking you, I believe. Preferably in your fleshy parts. I hope the next creature you meet whizzes on you, Newton Fido Artemis Scamander. It is the least you deserve, weasel.

Theseus visited. Please tell him to not do that, would you? I don't care for an Auror showing up unannounced, even if he wants to talk about how much he misses you with "someone who will understand." It's dreadful. He loves you so much it makes me sick.

Niue. That's where he goes? That's why? Honestly… I think I'm more annoyed that such an idiotic loophole works more than the secret.

Not that the secret keeping doesn't annoy me. Prepare for retaliation. Come back soon, so I can deliver.

Sincerely,
Evan

P.S. New owl. She gets nervous flying. Watch out for some vomit. She likes mice, too. (I assume you keep that sort of stuff in the pockets of all your waistcoats, so if you could sacrifice one to her, she'd appreciate it.)

Note:

Janus is a werewolf who avoids transforming by flat-out avoiding the full moon. He goes across the world and hasn't experienced a full moon night in years. It works because my word is law in this universe and I think Newt would get a kick out of that.

After he dies, Evander blackmails his way into the Ministry to do some good about werewolf regulation laws. Some Remus stuff, maybe, if I could squeeze it in.