1927, Paris

The moon cast an eerie glow over the Père Lachaise Cemetery, where Grindelwald’s rally had transformed the hallowed grounds into a battlefield of chaos and destruction. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, mingling with the sharp tang of blood. The place echoed with the groans of the wounded and the crackling of the fading blue flames that had incinerated nearly all the Aurors and wizards who had dared to defy Grindelwald.

Those who had survived the initial onslaught were left grappling with the aftermath, moving cautiously through the smoke, wands raised, casting healing spells and searching for signs of life among their fallen comrades.

Amidst the chaos, you found yourself struggling to stay upright. You were not an Auror, not trained for battle, but a concerned citizen who had come to bear witness to the rally and, perhaps, offer some small defiance against the dark tide threatening to engulf the world. Your body ached with wounds, each step sending waves of pain through your limbs. Blood trickled down your face, blurring your vision and turning the world into a haze of indistinct shapes and flickering shadows.

You stumbled forward, desperate to find someone—anyone—who could help. The chill of the night air bit into your skin, mingling with the warmth of your blood.

Theseus Scamander, the head of the Aurors, stood at the center of it all, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield. His heart pounded with the adrenaline of battle and the desperate hope that his brother, Newt, and his friends had survived. As he surveyed the scene, his eyes fell upon a lone figure staggering through the smoke, bloodied and struggling to stay upright.

He withdrew his wand, its tip glowing with readiness, and moved toward you with cautious determination. As he approached, his eyes narrowed with concern. "Are you alright?" Theseus called out, his voice cutting through the night like a beacon of hope. He reached your side, his presence a reassuring anchor in the chaos. "Can you hear me?”