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Definitely Neptunian


Leo Martin was an American, living in Chelmsford, with a little brick house and a garden full of geraniums, marigolds, and spearmint. Loads and loads of spearmint. His daughter and grandchildren, who he travelled overseas to see once a year in July for his birthday, always said that he smelled of spearmint and soap. Upon his head he wore a funny golf-style plaid cap with a pom-pom on top. He was sitting in his kitchen, playing chess against himself, one of his favorite past times, when the doorbell rang.

Leo pushed himself up out of the seat at the kitchen table, took hold on his cane - which had an American Bald Eagle’s head for the handle - and wandered his way back through the house to the living room, and peered through the peekhole in the door.

A funny man with greying auburn hair and too-large front teeth stood outside, clutching a briefcase and looking about. He wore a funny scarf and a coat, despite how warm it was outside, and it made Leo instantly distrust the bloke. He hesitated, thinking about pretending at there being nobody at home and letting the funny man go away, but the man knocked again and he called out, “Hullo - Mr. Martin - it’s me, Mr. Scamander… We spoke on the hellyphone…?”

Leo opened the door, “Sorry, old legs take longer to reach the door,” he lied. “Come in.” He opened the door wide, shuffling backwards to admit Mr. Scamander into the room.

Newt stepped inside and looked about, “So this is where it, uh, it happened, Mr. Martin?” he asked.

“Yes,” Leo Martin nodded fervently, “Just the other day. Come home from cribbage club at the church, found my front door broke down - that’s a new one there,” he waved his cane at the door he’d just finished relocking, “Had to pay the Howser boy down the street a pretty piece to get him to install a new one.” Leo shook his head, “Insurance won’t cover it as they say my policy doesn’t cover alien damages.” He grunted.

“Preposterous,” muttered Mr. Scamander, shaking his head, “I do apologize.”

“And none of you goons would come down here to inspect it, either,” snapped Leo, glowering at Mr. Scamander, “Kept puttin’ me off, telling me not to worry, to give the a ring when the thing hatched! Well, damn it, I’d rather not see what’s inside that egg, thank you very much! Probably some horrid creature from Mars or Neptune.”

“Yes, I’m very glad it didn’t come to that. I only just got back, you see,” Mr. Scamander lied, “Investigating some curious happenings in… uh… Roswell.”

There was a tiny sneeze and he looked down to see the Niffler’s nose poking out of the briefcase.

“Bless you,” said Leo, not noticing that it hadn’t been Mr. Scamander that had sneezed (though it was such a dainty sneeze, he really ought have done).

“Yes, thank you,” replied Mr. Scamander and he poked the Niffer’s nose back into the briefcase with his extended index finger. “Would it be possible to, uh, to see, to see this egg?”

“Yeah,” Mr. Martin muttered, “C’mon, this way.” He shuffled along through the house. On the wall as they passed by, a cuckoo clock chimed two o’clock and Mr. Scamander hurried after.

Leo Martin had called the local police department no more than thirty-three times seeking an investigator to come and inspect the funny thing in his yard. ”Aliens don’t exist, Mr. Martin,” they kept telling him, but he kept insisting that they couldn’t say that for certain until they’d had a look at the egg in his backyard. He’d waited over a month before Mr. Scamander had called that morning, shouting into the telephone that he’d be over later that very same day to inspect the egg.

Leo Martin’s backyard was a splendid garden - it was easy to tell that it was the man’s greatest passion. Mr. Scamander paused to look at a funny plant by the door with a great orange flower that he hadn’t seen since he’d last been to New York in the Public Gardens - they were among Tina’s favorites. “These are lovely,” he said to Leo.

“Transplanted them,” he said, “From my daughter’s garden in America. Nobody believed I’d keep them alive. Been four years now.”

“Brilliant,” Mr. Scamander nodded, and hurried along as Mr. Martin showed him ‘round a little walk way, past a shallow pool in which some large goldfish swam, and to a large tree, around which was a small stone garden with squat little plants and oodles of spearmint plant.

“There,” said Leo, pointing with his cane, “By the roots.”

Mr. Scamander edged closer and found there in the crook of the roots was a large egg, the size of a Quidditch quaffle, a beautiful shade of cornflower blue with purple speckles and a spectacularly silver glow to it. He inched closer and pulled a measure tape from his coat pocket, holding it up to the egg and musing, taking notes and then quickly drawing the egg on a little notepad.

“Any idea what it is?” Leo Martin questioned.

“Definitely Neptunian,” Mr. Scamander mused, nodding.

“I knew it,” muttered Leo Martin and he looked quite vindicated.

“I will tell you what,” said Mr. Scamander, “Let me take this egg back to my office and I will do quite a lot of study on it and we will let you know as soon as we know exactly what it is.” He smiled in a friendly sort of manner. “I certainly can’t identify it without bringing it back to my laboratory, after all.”

Leo Martin nodded slowly; this made sense.

“Very well.” Mr. Scamander carefully put down his briefcase on the ground, opening it so that Mr. Martin couldn’t see inside, though he did try to have a peek to no avail as Mr. Scamander quickly reangled the suitecase and clucked his tongue, “Musn’t be - be peeking,” he stammered, then picked up the egg - without so much as a pair of gloves on! - and tucked it into the briefcase. “Careful now, don’t drop it,” he murmured, and Mr. Martin thought how funny it was that Mr. Scamander was talking to himself and telling himself not to drop the egg after he’d got it into the briefcase. Mr. Scamander closed the case, snapping the case shut with a click and spinning a knob on the end of it. He looked up at Mr. Martin. “Well then. I’ll be off.”

“That’s it?” Leo Martin looked perplexed.

“Did you expect more?” Mr. Scamander asked.

Leo Martin had seen science fiction films before, read the books, and he’d sort of expected fancy gizmos or perhaps some finger printing or testing of some sort to the site. He’d expected baggies of dirt to be collected and laser beams and loads of experiments being conducted by men in funny white lab coats and thick magnifying glasses.

“No,” Leo Martin said.

“Well, then, you got, uh, exactly what you’d expected!” Mr Scamander smiled brightly. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be in touch.” He bowed and Leo looked confused but bowed back, and Mr. Scamander walked quickly back through the yard and out the front door, clutching his briefcase tightly. He hurried down the block, glancing back to be sure Mr. Martin wasn’t watching, and then dove through the nearest yard and into the woods.

The moment he was clear of the tree line, he found himself a safe spot in a thick brush, pushed opened the briefcase and climbed down the ladder.

“Is it safe?” he asked the moment he was in.

“Got it wrapped in blankets under the incubator lamp,” called Tina, she was staring through a glass box that looked like an empty aquarium, a brilliantly orange light glowing off the blue-sliver egg. “Safe and sound.”

Newt scurried over and peered through, too. Professor Veigler and Remus Lupin were standing around it as well, looking in at the egg. “It’s quite a, uh, a large Charkorais egg. No wonder they’d tried to steal it, I reckon that - that would catch a, uh, a fair deal on the market.” He stared at it quite in awe.

“It’s beautiful,” murmured Remus. “No wonder such pretty birds come from them.”

“Yes,” Newt nodded, “Such pretty eggs for such pretty birds, yes.” He paused, turning his head at an awkward angle, “One of the most expensive illegal exports in the world is a Charkorais egg… second only to a Karkadaan horn…”

“A Karkadaan?” asked Remus.

“Unicorn rhinoceros, very mystic, very powerful… The uh, the horn could heal a hundred thousand dying men if used in the right potions,” Newt stammered.

“Bloody hell,” murmured Remus. “What’s this egg do?”

Newt mused, “It’s one of the ingredients in a very powerful potion… very illegal potion… hasn’t been brewed in… centuries…” he rubbed his chin. “At least not successfully.”

“What’s it do?” Veigler asked.

“Creates a sorcerer’s stone,” replied Newt Scamander.