Newt felt sick. He knew that that man was his wampus. The man who had kept him alive, who he prayed had fathered his child. The man who had sworn he would find him, no matter what, that he wouldn't be alone. And he had looked straight at him and seen nothing. He bit his lip in an attempt to stop himself whimpering. The lady who had brought him in was talking about wand permits, about laws, but he couldn't care about any of it. He just kept thinking back to his wampus, his American. The name still escaped him, drifting from him, but he remembered the rest. Remembered how his wampus had fought like a wild cat when their captors had hauled Newt away. How he had held Newt when he cried, sung to him. He could still hear the tune in his head, and he hummed it under his breath.
He remembered being grabbed by one of the captors, looking up. He couldn't recall their face but he knew that they had snarled down at him in a way that made his stomach twist. He'd been dragged from the room, and he'd heard his lover scream behind him. And then there was a flash of light, a vivid green that stained the air and stole his lover from him. He had screamed, and screamed, and the man had shaken him. He'd been handed over in exchange for one of their friends, and then... he had written down, everything he could recall. None of it was enough.
His wampus strode into the room. The movements were more obvious - Newt recalled him moving like a predator, slow, careful. Now, he moved with pride and confidence, head held high. "Mister Graves sir." Tina greeted him, and Newt swallowed. Had they not been separated, his name now would be Newt Graves. That thought made him blink back tears. They would have a child, a boy of eleven now. They would have been so happy... He heard himself sob, glancing up at Graves as he tried to recall a first name. Nothing sprung to mind.
Mister Graves regarded him coldly, and Newt wondered if this was his punishment. Whether Graves was angry at Newt for not protecting their boy, not finding him. He couldn't believe the spell had a stronger effect on Graves than on him. But if he remembered, that meant he was choosing not to acknowledge Newt. "I'm sorry." He murmured, and Graves looked at him curiously. It was the first time he'd looked Newt in the eye, but even then there was no spark of reaction. He swallowed nervously, trying to work out what he could possibly say, but no words came to him. He wanted to apologise for failing their son. He shuddered, blinking back tears.
Graves walked forwards, placing his hand on Newt's shoulder, but something about the situation felt wrong. Newt tensed. He was sure that this man was his wampus but there was a fear in his heart at that moment which he couldn't even begin to understand. He took a few slow breaths, trying to fight down sickness. A tear trickled down his face, and he was unable to stop it. "There's no need to cry now Mister Scamander." Graves said, and he almost purred Newt's surname, as though he recalled that at least. "It won't help anything. It won't excuse your actions. All it will do is get my handkerchief wet." At that, he reached his hand into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. It was initialed with the letters P.G. He leaned in to wipe away Newt's tears, and Newt tried not to show his concern.
This was his wampus. This was the man he had dreamed of making his husband, that had promised him he would love their child regardless of parentage. This was the man he dreamed of, the man he missed every day, the man he thought was dead. But something was worrying him. He couldn't begin to explain why, but he was driven by the knowledge that something about this man was wrong in a way he couldn't even begin to explain. He didn't want the man to touch him.
His wampus was the only man he had ever truly loved. He had felt hope, that he could be wanted, when he had been with him. Even in the hell that he had faced, his wampus had given him strength. When he was alone, sure Graves was dead, he had tried to remember, hoping to tell their child everything about it. His body had continued to grow, and he had slept with his arms around his swollen stomach, humming what he could remember of the tune Graves had sung.
The labour, when it came, was painful, but Newt had delivered enough creatures by then that he knew what to do, how to care for himself. He had found somewhere isolated, and got into position on his hands and knees, casting a spell to silence the screams that escaped. It had hurt worse than he had imagined, but he got through the pain, and cradled his son in his arms. The boy had a mess of dark hair on his head, and Newt had held him as he cast a few spells in an attempt to clean himself up. He had promised the boy he was loved, that he would look after him, and had fed him before sleep had claimed him.
He was woken by a gun bumping against his forehead, and looked up to find himself surrounded by muggle soldiers wearing uniforms - mostly British, with a few from the colonies. He was surrounded. He curled up around his child, aware of the blood that was still on the ground a few short feet away. One of them had stepped forwards. "Where is she?" "Who?" "The girl who you killed. Whose baby you stole." The man spat, and Newt gagged, holding his son closer. He had been exhausted then, too weak to fight. His magic couldn't work when he was this exhausted. When the first man had kicked him he had reached for his wand, but one of the muggles picked it up, and snapped it before his eyes.
"I told you he was a witch." The man spat. "Filthy creature. He killed some woman to take her pregnancy as his own. Unnatural." He snarled, as someone else called him wicked, and a third called him a monster. The blows came faster, and he had curled around his son in a desperate attempt to protect the boy.
Hob-nailed boots hit his head, and the world went black as he fell limp.
He woke two days later in a magical medical wing, broken bones still knitting themselves together. It had fallen on one of the healers to take his hand, to squeeze softly and look into his eyes. "I'm sorry." The man had told him. "They killed the child. They nearly killed you."
At that moment, Newt had thought his life was over. He had been prepared to die. He probably would have done if he hadn't met someone who had worked with dragons, who asked for his help. Helping save creatures gave his life back a little of the meaning he had lost.
"I'm sorry I couldn't protect our child. But he still lives." He whispered to Graves, hoping for some kind of mercy, hoping the news would bring him joy. Graves regarded him coldly for a moment before nodding. "Thank you for your help Miss Goldstein. I can handle it from here."
"But sir the... the niffler?" "I can handle it Miss Goldstein." Graves insisted. "You get on with your work."
She walked away, but as she left she glanced back at Newt. Newt tried to catch her eye, silently begging her to stay, and after a moment she nodded before leaving the room.
Graves pointed his wand at the case. "Incendio." Flames licked over the leather, and the air filled with the smell of burning bread. Newt watched in horror, trying to understand what was happening as Graves placed a hand on his arm. "I think we need to talk. Don't you Mister Scamander?"
Newt nodded, feeling numb. Nothing was making sense. He knew his case was warded against fire, which meant that what had been burned wasn't his case, but his wampus, his lover, had tried to destroy his most precious thing. Graves led him along the corridor to his office. Newt let him guide him inside, catching sight of Miss Goldstein following them before the door closed.
"I think we should start-" Graves said, and Newt couldn't help noticing all the ways that he was wrong. He could barely remember the man he had loved, but he knew that every part of this was wrong. The smile was wrong. The eyes, the stance, every part of it screamed at him. "With you explaining exactly why you are here?"
Newt thought of their son, in New York and in need of saving. He thought of the centaur's words: "He needs a parent's guidance, now more than ever." He glanced towards Graves, thought of the pile of ash which stood where his case once was, and held his tongue.
The Heart Grows Fonder (4/?)
He remembered being grabbed by one of the captors, looking up. He couldn't recall their face but he knew that they had snarled down at him in a way that made his stomach twist. He'd been dragged from the room, and he'd heard his lover scream behind him. And then there was a flash of light, a vivid green that stained the air and stole his lover from him. He had screamed, and screamed, and the man had shaken him. He'd been handed over in exchange for one of their friends, and then... he had written down, everything he could recall. None of it was enough.
His wampus strode into the room. The movements were more obvious - Newt recalled him moving like a predator, slow, careful. Now, he moved with pride and confidence, head held high.
"Mister Graves sir." Tina greeted him, and Newt swallowed. Had they not been separated, his name now would be Newt Graves. That thought made him blink back tears. They would have a child, a boy of eleven now. They would have been so happy... He heard himself sob, glancing up at Graves as he tried to recall a first name. Nothing sprung to mind.
Mister Graves regarded him coldly, and Newt wondered if this was his punishment. Whether Graves was angry at Newt for not protecting their boy, not finding him. He couldn't believe the spell had a stronger effect on Graves than on him. But if he remembered, that meant he was choosing not to acknowledge Newt.
"I'm sorry." He murmured, and Graves looked at him curiously. It was the first time he'd looked Newt in the eye, but even then there was no spark of reaction. He swallowed nervously, trying to work out what he could possibly say, but no words came to him. He wanted to apologise for failing their son. He shuddered, blinking back tears.
Graves walked forwards, placing his hand on Newt's shoulder, but something about the situation felt wrong. Newt tensed. He was sure that this man was his wampus but there was a fear in his heart at that moment which he couldn't even begin to understand. He took a few slow breaths, trying to fight down sickness. A tear trickled down his face, and he was unable to stop it.
"There's no need to cry now Mister Scamander." Graves said, and he almost purred Newt's surname, as though he recalled that at least. "It won't help anything. It won't excuse your actions. All it will do is get my handkerchief wet." At that, he reached his hand into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. It was initialed with the letters P.G. He leaned in to wipe away Newt's tears, and Newt tried not to show his concern.
This was his wampus. This was the man he had dreamed of making his husband, that had promised him he would love their child regardless of parentage. This was the man he dreamed of, the man he missed every day, the man he thought was dead. But something was worrying him. He couldn't begin to explain why, but he was driven by the knowledge that something about this man was wrong in a way he couldn't even begin to explain. He didn't want the man to touch him.
His wampus was the only man he had ever truly loved. He had felt hope, that he could be wanted, when he had been with him. Even in the hell that he had faced, his wampus had given him strength. When he was alone, sure Graves was dead, he had tried to remember, hoping to tell their child everything about it. His body had continued to grow, and he had slept with his arms around his swollen stomach, humming what he could remember of the tune Graves had sung.
The labour, when it came, was painful, but Newt had delivered enough creatures by then that he knew what to do, how to care for himself. He had found somewhere isolated, and got into position on his hands and knees, casting a spell to silence the screams that escaped. It had hurt worse than he had imagined, but he got through the pain, and cradled his son in his arms. The boy had a mess of dark hair on his head, and Newt had held him as he cast a few spells in an attempt to clean himself up. He had promised the boy he was loved, that he would look after him, and had fed him before sleep had claimed him.
He was woken by a gun bumping against his forehead, and looked up to find himself surrounded by muggle soldiers wearing uniforms - mostly British, with a few from the colonies. He was surrounded. He curled up around his child, aware of the blood that was still on the ground a few short feet away. One of them had stepped forwards.
"Where is she?"
"Who?"
"The girl who you killed. Whose baby you stole." The man spat, and Newt gagged, holding his son closer. He had been exhausted then, too weak to fight. His magic couldn't work when he was this exhausted. When the first man had kicked him he had reached for his wand, but one of the muggles picked it up, and snapped it before his eyes.
"I told you he was a witch." The man spat. "Filthy creature. He killed some woman to take her pregnancy as his own. Unnatural." He snarled, as someone else called him wicked, and a third called him a monster. The blows came faster, and he had curled around his son in a desperate attempt to protect the boy.
Hob-nailed boots hit his head, and the world went black as he fell limp.
He woke two days later in a magical medical wing, broken bones still knitting themselves together. It had fallen on one of the healers to take his hand, to squeeze softly and look into his eyes.
"I'm sorry." The man had told him. "They killed the child. They nearly killed you."
At that moment, Newt had thought his life was over. He had been prepared to die. He probably would have done if he hadn't met someone who had worked with dragons, who asked for his help. Helping save creatures gave his life back a little of the meaning he had lost.
"I'm sorry I couldn't protect our child. But he still lives." He whispered to Graves, hoping for some kind of mercy, hoping the news would bring him joy. Graves regarded him coldly for a moment before nodding.
"Thank you for your help Miss Goldstein. I can handle it from here."
"But sir the... the niffler?"
"I can handle it Miss Goldstein." Graves insisted. "You get on with your work."
She walked away, but as she left she glanced back at Newt. Newt tried to catch her eye, silently begging her to stay, and after a moment she nodded before leaving the room.
Graves pointed his wand at the case.
"Incendio." Flames licked over the leather, and the air filled with the smell of burning bread. Newt watched in horror, trying to understand what was happening as Graves placed a hand on his arm. "I think we need to talk. Don't you Mister Scamander?"
Newt nodded, feeling numb. Nothing was making sense. He knew his case was warded against fire, which meant that what had been burned wasn't his case, but his wampus, his lover, had tried to destroy his most precious thing. Graves led him along the corridor to his office. Newt let him guide him inside, catching sight of Miss Goldstein following them before the door closed.
"I think we should start-" Graves said, and Newt couldn't help noticing all the ways that he was wrong. He could barely remember the man he had loved, but he knew that every part of this was wrong. The smile was wrong. The eyes, the stance, every part of it screamed at him. "With you explaining exactly why you are here?"
Newt thought of their son, in New York and in need of saving. He thought of the centaur's words: "He needs a parent's guidance, now more than ever." He glanced towards Graves, thought of the pile of ash which stood where his case once was, and held his tongue.