I hope I’m doing the right thing. Boy, do I hope so! But he – well, that man – except you make it sound like he’s a rotter! And he’s not. He’s a good strong man, only he’s walled up and all in knots, and so he’s calling out. If anyone can dig it, Percival, that’s you and I.
But I’m also doing my truest best not to fail you. See, Madam Rappaport says it’s wrong to ‘imperil the segregation between the American wizarding and No-Maj communities’, but Newt is a Brit. Also to ‘limit communication with No-Majs to the necessary’. If the heart ain’t a necessary, then I don’t know what else keeps us alive! So I’ve sent on the letter in his letter (in your letter) via Bat who, may I say, is not an office owl. She’s mine. Grampa’s gift when I came of age, because he said a good owl is worth far more than rubies. If she gets caught, it’s all on me. But, Percival, she won’t. She’s an honorary Goldstein, see. Bred to fly by, come hail or high water.
So hush worrying about me, honey. I’m not a whit upset. Last year, see, I thought my joy was all tied up to one fella. I was such a kid, I thought him smiling meant I was the cat’s meow to him. And because he kept smiling whenever I came by, I never reckoned my meow was only that I was calling up his sweet thoughts of another. I was caught, like in a Bubble-Head Charm. And when it popped… sure, it hurt, but it did me good. I’d been so focused on seeing a No-Maj close, I’d forgotten strength and goodness were here all time, even closer, right in our world, if I’d just – listen good.
Oh my, the prattling again! It’s all your fault for being such an absolute gent. Yes, in the cabbage too. And the Lounge. And on the floor. Actually, the two witches and the wizard Hopping next to us kinda thought it a pity!
Yours sincerely too, Queenie
(Perhaps we could do it again, then? If I promise to make it a teetotal binge?)
---------------------------
Dear, dearest Jacob,
This is Batsheva and she’ll be expecting a treat. You won’t be able to bake one, and she’s likely used to eating some ‘instant worm-flavored’ ersatz, being a NY city owl. But if you’ll let her into your storage room, she may rid you of a mouse or two. A fine courrier and scavenger, from the look of her.
Sweet Merlin, and now Niffty’s giving me the Stare. He’s so
He misses you so much. It’s breaking my heart, to see him hold a hopeful paw out for the letter. He’s even offered to trade a brass button for it. And the Mooncalves will swing their heads to and fro and stop on feeding hour, waiting for me to hum a jazz tune. And the Occamies have claimed your old sweater for their nest, that you made me wear against the cold at night and I never returned. They huddle and cuddle in it, and I like to think it’s your body warmth they feel along mine.
Things are not just the same without you.
Things have been – I have been – an aeon of chaos. Jacob, there were days I didn’t know what to feel – anger, at myself, at you for letting me get away with getting close before you pushed me away. It’s happened once before. In my school years. I thought I’d been wrong to think I had grown, I had changed enough to let myself love someone again I trusted. And you are so – steadfast and single-minded, Jacob, in your generosity, I just did what I always do, let my words scarper. Ah, well, I’m just no good at keeping things behind latches!
But I should have stayed that night. It wasn’t fair, to bolt at you only to bolt away next thing without letting you have your say. And I thank you from the heart, Jacob, for your letter. It’s cleared the chaos – partly. I’m not sure I get all of it. Fairies, well, we have some too but we use them mostly for consensual Christmas decorating. (See my book.) And I’d have to wear a dress and put on make-up? I mean, we do have robes, but they’re getting a bit rococo, although Mother insists on my father wearing one on Hogwarts’ Alumni days. I don’t quite understand the bit about cops either.
What I do understand is that you shoved me because you want to protect me. Want to keep me from the harm that would befall me if we mated in your world. Well, mine is otherwise. Take my elder brother – he’s more of a ladies’ man, but he’s had the odd fling with a fellow Auror, once or twice, and my mother is bent on matchmaking for him and Director Graves. Or take my godmother. Auntie Batty. She’s been Firecalling me – Tease asked her to, before he left again – and telling me all about the woman she loved when she was younger, and how she’d just made up her mind to say the M-word when her Kendra died accidentally. Jacob, that was a year before our century started!
So it’s iron hard not to beg you to come and be with me. Here, where nobody will look twice at you or take a crack at you if we join hands and a make a new kinship. But – it would be wrong. Because I’ve set my mind on live souls living where they belong, and, Jacob, New York is your habitat. I can’t ask you to unroot yourself for me. Tp give up your business, your breads, your Friday night craps evenings, the whole magic – a woman told me once and she was evil, but she was right, too, about the movie theatres and the wireless, and the automobiles – all of that is your habitat.
And there’s been danger, here, for Muggles. Grindelwald is still at large and bent on mischief. In New York, you are safe – America may have been a hideout, but MACUSA still makes a pretty good job of shielding it.
It was selfish of me to pitch my happiness against your safety. I am sorry too, Jacob.
But I’m glad that you wrote me. And I’m glad, selfishly, beyond-words-glad, for our time together. I’m hoarding the map of it, to be explored and explored again, and never Obliviated.
Yours, Newt
-----------------------------------
Albus, dear boy,
Why it is that young men – strapping young lads, too, and of sound mind (well, not my Gellert, but it’s all down to those bleaching charms, I say, made him balmy on the crumpet) – will get into such scraps of the heart, I don’t know. But more of that infra.
Albus, I need another sound mind to plot with. I take it you haven’t taken to bleach yet? Good. You’re a white-headed boy in and of yourself, and I still say you’ll mark your time to come. But for now, I want you to call on Godric’s Hollow, glasses and all. If you don’t do it for me, then do it for young Newt. You know, my godson. You helped him once, not so long ago, and now’s the time to repeat History. I can’t explain it all here, but he’s gone and tangled himself in an American tragedy, and here am I trying to wrap my old head around that ridiculous Rappaport’s Law, which has more twists and turns to it than Hogwarts’ staircases. If anybody can out-twist it, Albus, we both know who that is.
Quickly does it, my boy. There’ll be tea and raspberry jam for your trouble.
Bathilda Bagshot
[And we're done with this chapter! Four down, one to go. Almost there...]
Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (12/?)
I hope I’m doing the right thing. Boy, do I hope so! But he – well, that man – except you make it sound like he’s a rotter! And he’s not. He’s a good strong man, only he’s walled up and all in knots, and so he’s calling out. If anyone can dig it, Percival, that’s you and I.
But I’m also doing my truest best not to fail you. See, Madam Rappaport says it’s wrong to ‘imperil the segregation between the American wizarding and No-Maj communities’, but Newt is a Brit. Also to ‘limit communication with No-Majs to the necessary’. If the heart ain’t a necessary, then I don’t know what else keeps us alive! So I’ve sent on the letter in his letter (in your letter) via Bat who, may I say, is not an office owl. She’s mine. Grampa’s gift when I came of age, because he said a good owl is worth far more than rubies. If she gets caught, it’s all on me. But, Percival, she won’t. She’s an honorary Goldstein, see. Bred to fly by, come hail or high water.
So hush worrying about me
, honey. I’m not a whit upset. Last year, see, I thought my joy was all tied up to one fella. I was such a kid, I thought him smiling meant I was the cat’s meow to him. And because he kept smiling whenever I came by, I never reckoned my meow was only that I was calling up his sweet thoughts of another. I was caught, like in a Bubble-Head Charm. And when it popped… sure, it hurt, but it did me good. I’d been so focused on seeing a No-Maj close, I’d forgotten strength and goodness were here all time, even closer, right in our world, if I’d just – listen good.Oh my, the prattling again! It’s all your fault for being such an absolute gent. Yes, in the cabbage too. And the Lounge. And on the floor. Actually, the two witches and the wizard Hopping next to us kinda thought it a pity!
Yours sincerely too,
Queenie
(Perhaps we could do it again, then? If I promise to make it a teetotal binge?)
---------------------------
Dear, dearest Jacob,
This is Batsheva and she’ll be expecting a treat. You won’t be able to bake one, and she’s likely used to eating some ‘instant worm-flavored’ ersatz, being a NY city owl. But if you’ll let her into your storage room, she may rid you of a mouse or two. A fine courrier and scavenger, from the look of her.
Sweet Merlin, and now Niffty’s giving me the Stare. He’s so
He misses you so much. It’s breaking my heart, to see him hold a hopeful paw out for the letter. He’s even offered to trade a brass button for it. And the Mooncalves will swing their heads to and fro and stop on feeding hour, waiting for me to hum a jazz tune. And the Occamies have claimed your old sweater for their nest, that you made me wear against the cold at night and I never returned. They huddle and cuddle in it, and I like to think it’s your body warmth they feel along mine.
Things are not just the same without you.
Things have been – I have been – an aeon of chaos. Jacob, there were days I didn’t know what to feel – anger, at myself, at you for letting me get away with getting close before you pushed me away. It’s happened once before. In my school years. I thought I’d been wrong to think I had grown, I had changed enough to let myself love someone again I trusted. And you are so – steadfast and single-minded, Jacob, in your generosity, I just did what I always do, let my words scarper. Ah, well, I’m just no good at keeping things behind latches!
But I should have stayed that night. It wasn’t fair, to bolt at you only to bolt away next thing without letting you have your say. And I thank you from the heart, Jacob, for your letter. It’s cleared the chaos – partly. I’m not sure I get all of it. Fairies, well, we have some too but we use them mostly for consensual Christmas decorating. (See my book.) And I’d have to wear a dress and put on make-up? I mean, we do have robes, but they’re getting a bit rococo, although Mother insists on my father wearing one on Hogwarts’ Alumni days. I don’t quite understand the bit about cops either.
What I do understand is that you shoved me because you want to protect me. Want to keep me from the harm that would befall me if we mated in your world. Well, mine is otherwise. Take my elder brother – he’s more of a ladies’ man, but he’s had the odd fling with a fellow Auror, once or twice, and my mother is bent on matchmaking for him and Director Graves. Or take my godmother. Auntie Batty. She’s been Firecalling me – Tease asked her to, before he left again – and telling me all about the woman she loved when she was younger, and how she’d just made up her mind to say the M-word when her Kendra died accidentally. Jacob, that was a year before our century started!
So it’s iron hard not to beg you to come and be with me. Here, where nobody will look twice at you or take a crack at you if we join hands and a make a new kinship. But – it would be wrong. Because I’ve set my mind on live souls living where they belong, and, Jacob, New York is your habitat. I can’t ask you to unroot yourself for me. Tp give up your business, your breads, your Friday night craps evenings, the whole magic – a woman told me once and she was evil, but she was right, too, about the movie theatres and the wireless, and the automobiles – all of that is your habitat.
And there’s been danger, here, for Muggles. Grindelwald is still at large and bent on mischief. In New York, you are safe – America may have been a hideout, but MACUSA still makes a pretty good job of shielding it.
It was selfish of me to pitch my happiness against your safety. I am sorry too, Jacob.
But I’m glad that you wrote me. And I’m glad, selfishly, beyond-words-glad, for our time together. I’m hoarding the map of it, to be explored and explored again, and never Obliviated.
Yours,
Newt
-----------------------------------
Albus, dear boy,
Why it is that young men – strapping young lads, too, and of sound mind (well, not my Gellert, but it’s all down to those bleaching charms, I say, made him balmy on the crumpet) – will get into such scraps of the heart, I don’t know. But more of that infra.
Albus, I need another sound mind to plot with. I take it you haven’t taken to bleach yet? Good. You’re a white-headed boy in and of yourself, and I still say you’ll mark your time to come. But for now, I want you to call on Godric’s Hollow, glasses and all. If you don’t do it for me, then do it for young Newt. You know, my godson. You helped him once, not so long ago, and now’s the time to repeat History. I can’t explain it all here, but he’s gone and tangled himself in an American tragedy, and here am I trying to wrap my old head around that ridiculous Rappaport’s Law, which has more twists and turns to it than Hogwarts’ staircases. If anybody can out-twist it, Albus, we both know who that is.
Quickly does it, my boy. There’ll be tea and raspberry jam for your trouble.
Bathilda Bagshot
[And we're done with this chapter! Four down, one to go. Almost there...]