The Legacy of the Magizoologist

It was a crisp morning when Jamie surprised Newt in the kitchen. The Magizoologist was brewing tea when the boy entered, his hazel eyes glinting with urgency.

"I think someone is calling for help," Jamie said softly.

Newt set the teapot down, turning to face him with a curious expression. "Who's calling? One of the creatures here?"

Jamie shook his head. "No, it's coming from the forest. It feels… urgent."

Newt's expression grew serious. Over the past few months, he'd learned to trust Jamie's instincts. The boy's connection to magical creatures was profound, and when he felt something, it was rarely trivial.

"Show me where," Newt said, grabbing his coat.

Jamie led him through the garden and into the dense forest beyond. The trees stood close together, their branches weaving a canopy overhead. Occasionally, Jamie paused, pressing his hand against a tree trunk or listening to the rustling leaves.

"There," he said finally, pointing toward a sunlit clearing where golden light dappled the ground.

In the center of the clearing lay an injured Thestral. Its shimmering black hide was streaked with mud, and one of its wings hung limply at an odd angle. It let out a mournful cry as Jamie and Newt approached.

"Poor thing," Newt murmured, kneeling beside the creature. "Its wing is broken."

Jamie moved closer, his face filled with compassion. "It says it was hit by a spell. It was running away from someone."

Newt frowned. "A spell? That means someone deliberately tried to harm it."

Jamie nodded, gently resting a hand on the Thestral's side. "It's scared. But it knows we want to help."

"We need to get it back to the case," Newt decided, pulling out his wand. With a careful levitation charm, he lifted the Thestral off the ground, guiding it gently back to the house.