Nothing and nobody making sense now, but who cared? Newt was laughing too, carefree and dizzy, his heart pumping sudden truths as he threw his arms around his friend and embraced him fiercely. We are grey. We are old. But we’re a long way from dying. He felt a touch of lips to his temple and a step back: watched as Percival Graves walked over to Tina and handed her wand back to her, wrapping Tina’s hands around it and bowing his head to them as before a sceptered queen. They gazed at each other and breathed silently, the high of the fight still half-seen in their eyes. None of them felt like breaking into speech.
But speech was due, and Percival, true to self, took command of it.
"Better go now. They might have sent five men after the sad old bunch, but when they fail to return…it might be fifteen next time."
"Right." Newt prised himself loose from the high, glanced around. The dragon, still entranced, was half-grunting, half-vibrating some sort of dragon lullaby to himself. He would be pliant enough, Newt thought. "I think I can persuade him into flight – three riders may be a bit of a shock to him, but –" He looked again at Percival ‘s face and dropped sharply into silence. "No. Not three."
"Newt..." Tina’s hand was at his arm, once again clad in sensible brown.
"I should have known." He swallowed, forced the words through the aching lump in his throat. "I should have known the minute you mentioned the portkey. Two cufflinks for three of us. You never meant to go back, did you?"
"What’s there for me, back?" Percival spoke calmly, but his eyes had that familiar depth to them; pupil-dark; that blend of loss and lucidity, seen again and again since the day Newt had followed his Demiguise to a hidden cache in MACUSA’s sewers and set a captive free. "The young’uns are up and eager, thank Mercy, and they’ll have the knack of progress before I do. Here is a war. And our side is hard-pressed enough that it will take a gift horse, even an old charger, without looking it in the teeth."
"But why? Why? You’ve known about that war for two years now! Why change your mind now?"
"Because…" The dark eyes shut briefly, opened again. "Because of who they killed last summer."
"Charity Burbadge," Tina said. "She taught Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. You may have read her pamphlet in The Prophet, denouncing the… the witch hunt on Muggles and Muggle-born wizards. It was very forceful, very effective. But then, she knew about the power of words. She knew what she was doing, going public with hers."
Newt could feel the unspoken weight behind Tina’s own words, as if she was using some sort of double-speak. But he couldn’t parse them. Not yet.
"Then, back in July, we learnt that she had taken early retirement. I thought she was taking shelter, really – and so I did not write to her, did not make a fuss. Neither did Percival. We both thought her undercover. She’d always been good at…hiding who she really was."
"Who was she?" Newt asked. He couldn't bear the grief in her voice any longer.
It was Percival who answered. "Before she changed her name, she was known as Modesty Barebone."
The name raised a long-lost echo in Newt’s mind. Modesty. A young girl with blond plaits coiled round her head, hanging at Tina’s side but refusing to hold hands with the stubborn vulnerability of children who have learnt too soon to be on their own. Tina’s protégée, brought to her by Percival after he’d been told about Credence and the whole poignant Obscurus fiasco. It had taken years for Percival to let go of his vicarious guilt and for Tina to let go of the little girl. At Ilvermorny, when she was eleven, and from school into the wide free world. And now…
"No! " Tina’s voice was vibrant. She had a long life and she lived every day, every day of it as she chose. This is what I’ll remember when it’s remembrance time. And if you fight her executioners, Percival, then so will I. Don’t you dare see me safely home."
"Oh, and I am to be safe?" Newt asked harshly. "No. No sodding way. Where you two go, I’ll go."
"Absolutely not." Percival’s eyes once again on him, a warmer dark, pleading, pitting half a century of complicity against Newt’s furious scowl. "You’re a wanted man, Newt Scamander. Milly, Mauler, Rolf, they all need you at home. And right now, there’s a dragon waiting to get safe conduct into a bright new world. So you get on his back, and – wait, what’s this?"
Once again they turned to look at the sky, now a deeper blue. But where there’d been five shapes there was only one: a gleam of silver against the evening light. It rode the crest of a wave, took off again, soared above their heads. When the plover opened its beak, they heard Queenie’s voice :
"Trouble at Hogwarts, honeys – looks like You-Know-Who might be planning an assault. Ain’t gonna be a quiet night. So don’t look me up on your way back, willya? And look after y’all."
[One final part coming up! Probably shorter, so I'll try to have it posted by tonight.]
Fill: There and Back (11/12)
But speech was due, and Percival, true to self, took command of it.
"Better go now. They might have sent five men after the sad old bunch, but when they fail to return…it might be fifteen next time."
"Right." Newt prised himself loose from the high, glanced around. The dragon, still entranced, was half-grunting, half-vibrating some sort of dragon lullaby to himself. He would be pliant enough, Newt thought. "I think I can persuade him into flight – three riders may be a bit of a shock to him, but –" He looked again at Percival ‘s face and dropped sharply into silence. "No. Not three."
"Newt..." Tina’s hand was at his arm, once again clad in sensible brown.
"I should have known." He swallowed, forced the words through the aching lump in his throat. "I should have known the minute you mentioned the portkey. Two cufflinks for three of us. You never meant to go back, did you?"
"What’s there for me, back?" Percival spoke calmly, but his eyes had that familiar depth to them; pupil-dark; that blend of loss and lucidity, seen again and again since the day Newt had followed his Demiguise to a hidden cache in MACUSA’s sewers and set a captive free. "The young’uns are up and eager, thank Mercy, and they’ll have the knack of progress before I do. Here is a war. And our side is hard-pressed enough that it will take a gift horse, even an old charger, without looking it in the teeth."
"But why? Why? You’ve known about that war for two years now! Why change your mind now?"
"Because…" The dark eyes shut briefly, opened again. "Because of who they killed last summer."
"Charity Burbadge," Tina said. "She taught Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. You may have read her pamphlet in The Prophet, denouncing the… the witch hunt on Muggles and Muggle-born wizards. It was very forceful, very effective. But then, she knew about the power of words. She knew what she was doing, going public with hers."
Newt could feel the unspoken weight behind Tina’s own words, as if she was using some sort of double-speak. But he couldn’t parse them. Not yet.
"Then, back in July, we learnt that she had taken early retirement. I thought she was taking shelter, really – and so I did not write to her, did not make a fuss. Neither did Percival. We both thought her undercover. She’d always been good at…hiding who she really was."
"Who was she?" Newt asked. He couldn't bear the grief in her voice any longer.
It was Percival who answered. "Before she changed her name, she was known as Modesty Barebone."
The name raised a long-lost echo in Newt’s mind. Modesty. A young girl with blond plaits coiled round her head, hanging at Tina’s side but refusing to hold hands with the stubborn vulnerability of children who have learnt too soon to be on their own. Tina’s protégée, brought to her by Percival after he’d been told about Credence and the whole poignant Obscurus fiasco. It had taken years for Percival to let go of his vicarious guilt and for Tina to let go of the little girl. At Ilvermorny, when she was eleven, and from school into the wide free world. And now…
"No! " Tina’s voice was vibrant. She had a long life and she lived every day, every day of it as she chose. This is what I’ll remember when it’s remembrance time. And if you fight her executioners, Percival, then so will I. Don’t you dare see me safely home."
"Oh, and I am to be safe?" Newt asked harshly. "No. No sodding way. Where you two go, I’ll go."
"Absolutely not." Percival’s eyes once again on him, a warmer dark, pleading, pitting half a century of complicity against Newt’s furious scowl. "You’re a wanted man, Newt Scamander. Milly, Mauler, Rolf, they all need you at home. And right now, there’s a dragon waiting to get safe conduct into a bright new world. So you get on his back, and – wait, what’s this?"
Once again they turned to look at the sky, now a deeper blue. But where there’d been five shapes there was only one: a gleam of silver against the evening light. It rode the crest of a wave, took off again, soared above their heads. When the plover opened its beak, they heard Queenie’s voice :
"Trouble at Hogwarts, honeys – looks like You-Know-Who might be planning an assault. Ain’t gonna be a quiet night. So don’t look me up on your way back, willya? And look after y’all."
[One final part coming up! Probably shorter, so I'll try to have it posted by tonight.]