Newt Scamander was not an ordinary boy, and never had been. Ever since he first came out of the womb, he had a fascination with animals. First, it was the family Crup. Then, he had found a baby Bowtruckle, and kept it in a cage in his room. At the age of seven, his mother had begun to allow him to help tend the Hippogriffs that she bred as a hobby and he had begun to dismember Horklumps to get a better idea of exactly what these creatures were made up of. When he was ten, he’d been given a Blast-Ended Skrewt from his grandfather and had somehow found a way to tame it. He’d taken Care of Magical Creatures in his second year – not for credit of course – because the teachers had seen such extraordinary promise in him. Now, at seventeen, Newt was looking for something else. Something that no one else had ever seen before – or at least, not in a long time. He’d had, seen, or been almost killed by half the magical creatures known to the wizarding world – alright, that might be a slight exaggeration, but not by much – but he wanted to do more. He wanted to discover new creatures; to write a book about them. He wanted to be more than the poor Irish boy whose parents had barely been able to send him to Hogwarts, due to lack of resources.
So, here he was. Out in the moors of Scotland searching for the beast that had been sighted once in the history of the known world and then quickly written into legend.
This beast was said to be like a miniature dragon, and there were many theories as to how it came to be. The most common was that a Dementor and a Dragon had mated (which Newt found entirely fantastical, but crazier things had happened) many years ago. The offspring was about the size of a large dog, and according to legend it shot ice rather than fire. This coldness came from its Dementor heritage. What the dragon had given it, no one knew really. All Newt knew for sure was that it was black as night, cold as winter, and basically impossible to find. Hence the only seen once bit.
Making it the perfect creature for him to start off his expedition with.
Sitting on a rock under a large bush, Newt pulled out his worn leather diary and began to write:
May 9, 1914
I sit here, under the scorching sun of the Scottish moors, waiting for my prey. In seven days I have found evidence in the form of a frozen leaf that such a beast as the Caîthon may indeed exist, but have not seen hide nor hair of a single creature. Either they do not exist at all or they are in hiding. I hope the latter is indeed the truth, or else this expedition would have been for nothing.
Newt studied his words carefully, and then touched the quill to the paper once more.
I gave myself a month for this trip, and I believe I will let the time play out as it will. Perhaps, if the beasts are indeed here, they will get used to my presence and realize that I am indeed no threat. I am not one to give up easily, so why should I choose to do so here? My family will ridicule me if I come back empty-handed, and I am not yet willing to face such a blow to my pride.
A leaf to his right moved slightly, and Newt jumped, turning. A beetle scuttled back under the bush and he sighed. He needed to stay under control – getting jumpy was not an option here.
I shall stay here tonight, and then begin scouring the Oceanside caves tomorrow. They seem like the type of place such a creature would choose to live in. I will update once more when I have more information.
Newt placed a blot of ink next to his name as was his customary signature and sighed. As much as he enjoyed writing, it became tedious when there was not a whole lot to say.
May 12, 1914
I found a few more clues today that may point towards the existence of the Caîthon. A frozen rock outside of one of the ocean caves. A black scale washed up with the tide. Still, I have not spotted any sign of the bearers of these signs. I am beginning to wonder if I ever will.
I stopped in at a small village today to refill my supplies and spoke with the man descended from the one person who has supposedly seen these strange beasts. He spoke of them with disgust, saying that he was certain they were responsible for the strange disappearances of sheep from the village herd, along with other things. Apparently they have made many a search for these creatures, with the intent of eradicating them once and for all.
They are demons, he said. Creatures of the night.
Perhaps, if they do exist, it is best that they are not found.
May 19, 1914
I was certain that I caught sight of a small black creature darting into a cave earlier this morning, but it could have been a trick of the light. Or my mind, deciding to give me what I so desperately want to see. I have found an exorbitant amount of evidence now for the existence of these creature. Traveling deep into a cave yesterday I found a place in which the entirety of the walls were covered in ice. The perfect spot for the mythical Caîthon.
Or not so mythical.
Day Twenty Six
Newt looked up from his writing almost as soon as he started. He sat on a small rock, feet dangling in the cool ocean water. A growl had sounded from behind him.
An unearthly, deep, semi-threatening growl.
A growl that made him wonder if turning around was the correct way to handle this situation.
So, of course, he turned around.
Staring him down from about five feet away was one of the cutest and yet strangest things that Newt had ever seen. The creature looked like a baby dragon, but it was quite obviously full grown.
He knew this because puppy-sized versions of the “larger” one were poking their heads out from just behind.
“Hey there,” he whispered to the creature. It continued to emit a low growl, but then surprisingly it crept closer.
In a moment, it was just beyond arms’ reach. Newt had a feeling that touching it might not be the smartest thing to do at the moment.
But, of course, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.
Reaching out a hand, Newt touched the beast lightly on the head, rubbing softly. The low growl changed to a soft purr and the creature – Caîthon – rubbed its head against his hand.
June 1, 1914
It turns out, the Caîthons might not be quite as cruel or demonic as some believed. They act almost like Crups – loyal, sweet, and true. It is obvious that they look at everything with innocent eyes, though they are slow to trust. I am sure that had I left after day seven, or even day twenty, I never would have seen them.
Just like the villagers here have never really seen them.
And probably never will.
It is almost certainly best that way.
I have decided that I may keep this finding to myself. The Caîthons do steal sheep after all – I have seen them in action – but only enough to feed themselves. I do not believe the farmers will appreciate this, however good their intentions are.
If they found out what it took to gain the trust of these creatures, I believe it would end in bloodshed. So I shall keep them my secret.
I have enclosed a drawing that I have completed of the creature herein, as well as a copy of their black as night scales. This, combined with their bloodshot eyes and talons, would be enough to make anyone believe the demon myths.
But they are untrue. That I can now say with utter certainty.
To anyone who may read this entry, I ask that you be careful with the knowledge you have obtained, lest one day these creatures be brought to extinction.