He was fighting Grindelwald to the give-and-crash of spells around him, at quarters close enough that he could see eye to that pale blue eye, so pale it could barely be told apart from the sickly white encompassing it. For some reason, he had misled his wand and was conjuring up new and deadly weapons from his open palms. Grindelwald roared, and the sky filled up with smoke; but Percival only dealt him a whistling blow on the head with his teapot. That was what pots were for – and a few other things, such as providing a home for uprooted tea leaves and warming one’s hands at wintertime, and…
Wait, what?
He opened his eyes with a gasp of annoyance. They felt gummy, and he had to rub them before he could take in the scene : the four o’clock sky, hurried clouds over steadfast blue, the louder tide, Tina kneeling before a small bonfire. Flotsam wood, it was, carefully ring-fenced by a trench carved all around in the wet sand.
"And an invisibility charm, " Tina said, reading his mind. She handed him a steaming mug. " Good thing Newt remembered to pack his old campfire kettle along with his old whistle."
Percival, wrenching his thoughts away from Constant vigilance, phooey and a blue streak of self-admonition, blinked. "His…"
"Call whistle. Twelve-tone, orichalcum, coming-of-age present from Theseus. Newt’s been trying it on the rising tide."
"Any results?" His nose duly rubbed, Percival set his glasses back to perpendicular rectitude. He could make out Newt further along on the beach, strolling, hands shoved in his trousers pockets. He appeared to be scanning the waves.
"Four Hippocubs, one baffled lifeguard. Nothing worth cutting off your forty winks."
"But you were the one…"
"Hush, Percival. I needed the waking time too." Tina sat down again, her body a neat zigzag as she drew her legs carefully under her. "So I could think things through."
The verb rang a bell, a red bell above the water, an alarm bell. Fully awake, he set the mug down. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I’ve figured it out – why you sent me your owl. Why you wanted me in England today, saving an innocent. I mean" – Tina now spoke with full-frontal clarity, her face transfixed with that determination he had fallen hard and fast for that first time, aeons ago – his office, her voice, young then, shaking with nerves and will, sir, she beat him under my eyes, she beats all of her children - now saying, "that I know who was killed last July".
He moved his eyes to the waves.
"And I dont know if I love you or hate you for keeping it from me."
The white horses were rearing higher, their mother-of-pearl manes scattering in a froth at each new crash of waves. He could see a new one loom up, tall, taller as it inched forward, its long hair matted with brine and dripping kelp as it cantered towards…
"Newt!" He was on his feet and running out before he knew. "Newt!"
"It’s all right!" Newt didn’t turn, but his voice held quiet reassurance. He lowered it. "Just hand me my… ah, yes, thank you, Tina. A sea Kelpie, now that’s unheard of. They’re mostly river bound."
Where they made a business of luring mindless humans on their backs for a ride on the nice horsie before diving underwater and eating up the rider, save for the entrails which they kindly allowed to resurface. Percival grabbed the next elbow within reach. "Behind me. Both of you."
"No, no, I’ve got this. I’ll have her eating out of my hand in a jiffy. Just…" Newt had finished rummaging in his pack and was now standing, one hand in his back, doing his best impersonation of a Magizoologist doing his best impersonation of a casual idler. The other two watched as he sidestepped his way to the Kelpie.
"Oh, please," the Kelpie said. She had transformed into a cross-armed young woman in a one-piece bathing suit, and her tone was distinctly unimpressed. "If you insist on pony play, at least pick a partner of your age. And species."
Newt stopped to drop the bridle at his feet. "I…can offer a hairbrush?" he said hopefully, hurrying to add "for your mane! It gets tangly!" when she raised an eyebrow.
"Takes one to know one," the Kelpie said, glancing at the wind-tousled mop. "You can keep the pressies, Gramps. I’m here because word’s got around in the deep blue sea you’re looking for a worm."
"A Norwegian Ridgeback," Newt said firmly. "Slur-calling is beneath your dignity as a fellow creature."
"Yeah, whatever." The Kelpie turned her head to spit out a chunk of seaweed. "Anyway, I spotted his new stomping ground only an hour ago. Thought you might want to know."
"We do." Tina had stepped forward. "What’s your deal?"
"Ah. Now we’re talking." The Kelpie’s eyes lit up under her strong fringe of eyelashes. "Well, talking’s one word for it. I’m not gonna tell you anything. But I can change back and take you there, all three of you, if this one –" she jutted her chin at Newt - "will put in a good word for me."
"To the lifeguard?" Now it was Newt's turn to look baffled.
"Oh, for Hengist’s – " The Kelpie let out a high-pitched whinny of frustration. "In your books! You went all yadda-yadda on that berk, Nessie, and all he ever does is pop his head out of his tail when there’s a whiff of fog and a cruise boat splashing by. World’s largest kelpie, my rump. You book me a spotlight in your next Pulitzer, mister, and I’ll row you three out straight to Wormboy."
"Newt, be careful." Percival was not going to let the wool slip over his eyes twice over. "It could be all a – "
"Oh, please. None of you are exactly spring chickens." The Kelpie snorted and turned her back, toeing the wet sand under her soles. "Going once…"
And this was how they found themselves riding a flesh-eating horse, whose back could apparently extend to the length of a beam, far into the deep blue sea. At least, Percival philosophized to himself, they’d had their tea first.
Fill: There and Back (8/?)
Wait, what?
He opened his eyes with a gasp of annoyance. They felt gummy, and he had to rub them before he could take in the scene : the four o’clock sky, hurried clouds over steadfast blue, the louder tide, Tina kneeling before a small bonfire. Flotsam wood, it was, carefully ring-fenced by a trench carved all around in the wet sand.
"And an invisibility charm, " Tina said, reading his mind. She handed him a steaming mug. " Good thing Newt remembered to pack his old campfire kettle along with his old whistle."
Percival, wrenching his thoughts away from Constant vigilance, phooey and a blue streak of self-admonition, blinked. "His…"
"Call whistle. Twelve-tone, orichalcum, coming-of-age present from Theseus. Newt’s been trying it on the rising tide."
"Any results?" His nose duly rubbed, Percival set his glasses back to perpendicular rectitude. He could make out Newt further along on the beach, strolling, hands shoved in his trousers pockets. He appeared to be scanning the waves.
"Four Hippocubs, one baffled lifeguard. Nothing worth cutting off your forty winks."
"But you were the one…"
"Hush, Percival. I needed the waking time too." Tina sat down again, her body a neat zigzag as she drew her legs carefully under her. "So I could think things through."
The verb rang a bell, a red bell above the water, an alarm bell. Fully awake, he set the mug down. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I’ve figured it out – why you sent me your owl. Why you wanted me in England today, saving an innocent. I mean" – Tina now spoke with full-frontal clarity, her face transfixed with that determination he had fallen hard and fast for that first time, aeons ago – his office, her voice, young then, shaking with nerves and will, sir, she beat him under my eyes, she beats all of her children - now saying, "that I know who was killed last July".
He moved his eyes to the waves.
"And I dont know if I love you or hate you for keeping it from me."
The white horses were rearing higher, their mother-of-pearl manes scattering in a froth at each new crash of waves. He could see a new one loom up, tall, taller as it inched forward, its long hair matted with brine and dripping kelp as it cantered towards…
"Newt!" He was on his feet and running out before he knew. "Newt!"
"It’s all right!" Newt didn’t turn, but his voice held quiet reassurance. He lowered it. "Just hand me my… ah, yes, thank you, Tina. A sea Kelpie, now that’s unheard of. They’re mostly river bound."
Where they made a business of luring mindless humans on their backs for a ride on the nice horsie before diving underwater and eating up the rider, save for the entrails which they kindly allowed to resurface. Percival grabbed the next elbow within reach. "Behind me. Both of you."
"No, no, I’ve got this. I’ll have her eating out of my hand in a jiffy. Just…" Newt had finished rummaging in his pack and was now standing, one hand in his back, doing his best impersonation of a Magizoologist doing his best impersonation of a casual idler. The other two watched as he sidestepped his way to the Kelpie.
"Oh, please," the Kelpie said. She had transformed into a cross-armed young woman in a one-piece bathing suit, and her tone was distinctly unimpressed. "If you insist on pony play, at least pick a partner of your age. And species."
Newt stopped to drop the bridle at his feet. "I…can offer a hairbrush?" he said hopefully, hurrying to add "for your mane! It gets tangly!" when she raised an eyebrow.
"Takes one to know one," the Kelpie said, glancing at the wind-tousled mop. "You can keep the pressies, Gramps. I’m here because word’s got around in the deep blue sea you’re looking for a worm."
"A Norwegian Ridgeback," Newt said firmly. "Slur-calling is beneath your dignity as a fellow creature."
"Yeah, whatever." The Kelpie turned her head to spit out a chunk of seaweed. "Anyway, I spotted his new stomping ground only an hour ago. Thought you might want to know."
"We do." Tina had stepped forward. "What’s your deal?"
"Ah. Now we’re talking." The Kelpie’s eyes lit up under her strong fringe of eyelashes. "Well, talking’s one word for it. I’m not gonna tell you anything. But I can change back and take you there, all three of you, if this one –" she jutted her chin at Newt - "will put in a good word for me."
"To the lifeguard?" Now it was Newt's turn to look baffled.
"Oh, for Hengist’s – " The Kelpie let out a high-pitched whinny of frustration. "In your books! You went all yadda-yadda on that berk, Nessie, and all he ever does is pop his head out of his tail when there’s a whiff of fog and a cruise boat splashing by. World’s largest kelpie, my rump. You book me a spotlight in your next Pulitzer, mister, and I’ll row you three out straight to Wormboy."
"Newt, be careful." Percival was not going to let the wool slip over his eyes twice over. "It could be all a – "
"Oh, please. None of you are exactly spring chickens." The Kelpie snorted and turned her back, toeing the wet sand under her soles. "Going once…"
And this was how they found themselves riding a flesh-eating horse, whose back could apparently extend to the length of a beam, far into the deep blue sea. At least, Percival philosophized to himself, they’d had their tea first.
--------------------------