Prompt Post #1

[fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme]

 ROUND 1

FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER

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Comments

Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (3/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Jacob's section was the hardest to write so I'm really glad it worked for you!

Rowling is terribly, delightfully heavy-handed with Queenie's period lingo (and Newt's Briticisms). I'm keeping three tabs open for 1920s slang!

Booklegger & Smutelf is a variation on "Bookleggers and Smuthounds", a fascinating essay on the circulation of "gallant" (read: smutty) books during the Prohibition era. The author mentions at one point that some retailers didn't look into the books, just snatched whatever title sounded titillating, and so I just had to write poor Newt spotting his darling book on a naughty flyer. Mr Smutelf should buy himself some glasses!

Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (4/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Mr Scamander,

Your mother is indulging the misguided notion that I have taken you under my wing. Somehow, I doubt that the man who saw through my Doppelganger captor while everyone else let him chat up young unfortunates and order bretzel with his coffee breaks needs a minder. Tell her so, and feel free to call on me otherwise. Case-free, if possible.

Since her brief to me included a note to you, I have asked Miss Goldstein to pass it on.

Truly yours (and self),
Percival Graves

-------------------------

Newt,

I’m sending this care of the Delta Hotel, where you said you were a boarder. Why I have no idea. I only saw the place once, after it went all-out Ragnarok on poor Mr. Kowalski, and it looked gloomier than a troll’s Christmas list. Why don’t you room with us? We’ll pass you off as our southern brother.*

Your book is great. And it’s great that kids are loving it. Who knows, perhaps they’ll make it a school book some day?

All good things,
Tina

*I can be a sister to you, Newt. Comes with the territory, when it comes to me.

----------------------------------

Newton dear,

I wish you’d tell me when and where you’re leaving. It is highly inconvenient, having to ask Theseus for your whereabouts when most days there is no saying where he might be. That Herr Grindelwald could have waited another decade for his hoity-toity crusade. All it’s done so far has been to keep your brother away and bring in those beastly taxes. Yes, Newt, I’m using the b-word. I have every reason to. Two nests down with the foot-and-beak disease, and Balin is moulting again, poor darling. Your father too, but that’s par for the course.

And to top it all, Abraxias Malfoy has just unplaced his order for a Blue-Fledged yearling, saying that he ‘favours peacocks’ all in all. Peacocks. Unbelievable. And asking for his deposit back. The gall of that flaxen-haired ninny!

Which brings me to my point. Since you are in wizarding America, I expect you to make the most of it. They have girls over there, Newton. In case this slipped your notice (much does). Perfectly nice girls with fathers in the broom business and the corporate Patronus business, who would love nothing more than a son-in-law with an Old World pedigree. (V. sensible of them. Look where inbreeding left the Malfoys.) And it’s not as if the estate couldn’t do with a little remodeling, which I certainly cannot afford, not with the Ministry pinching my best mounts for the war effort and Certain People favouring honking featherdusters for their lawns.

Somebody has to do the honourable thing, Newton.

(And we both know about your brother’s life motto. ‘Bit of whoopee in the gunroom’ probably sums it best.)

Now, Mrs Wanderbell – a dear friend of your godmother’s, and quite the hostess in New York – has agreed to give a little party for your book. She has three daughters, and they all have friends. I want you to go there and look your best, and I want you to write back and report on the young ladies, chapter and verse. Do buy a new coat, dear, and do try not to mention the dung beetles at meal.

Yours affectionately,
Mother


------------------------------

Queenie,

Saturday, eleven, bakery. I’m in.

Resolutely,
Newt

----------------------------------

Hey chickadee,

Look, it’s not my fault I was late at the show yesterday. I know I’d said 5, what with the tickets selling like hot cakes, but Mr K. was on the slow track. Sorta dopey. You’d not of thought he’d downed five cups of joe with that guy and that doll in the a.m. (Guy was shifty. Spoke like Stan Laurel and wouldn’t look me in the eye. Made me suspishous that he’d he’d put a Mickey Finn in Mr K’s cup as himself would drink none of it, and a fresh strong brew it was. Doll was all right.) They all kept talking and not talking. More like, Guy would start and stop, and Mr K. would say ‘Oh’, like he’d just won the ball pool, and then Doll would say something very fast, all dimples. At first. Then no dimples. It’s a phony world.

Mr K. couldn’t string two and two together after that. Baked the cinammon rolls at sponge temp and these babies came out all gooey, So who had to do another batch? And the inventory? Yours truly, that’s right. Boss just pawed at his neck and beamed. (Could of been a poisoned dart, then, like in that Capone gang story you and I read in the Mirror.) But he did say I could have all of next Sat afternoon. Meaning, we could have a stroll and supper before that jazz talkie. Eh, chick?

I hope you like the orkid. It cost me a pretty dime.

Yours,
Henry

Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (4/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Wow, thanks for the adorable long comment! Working on part 5, will try to post it on Thursday or Friday.

It's a good warning about young Henry's letter: I know I can get carried away with the "period voice" thing. I'll tone it down/smooth it out. Henry's not quite an OC by the way - we see him all of two seconds at the end of the film, when Jacob directs him to the storage room.:)

Mrs Scamander is a precipitate of all my Wodehouse, Mitford, etc. readings - strong, no-nonsense county woman with a love for hounds and horses hippos and an eye to practical matchmaking. Her sons love her - but have found it to their benefit not to haunt the family estate!

Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (5/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Dear Newt,

I made a thunderbird tonight,

It came to me right after you’d left. It had been such bright fun, meeting with you again, I was fit to burst with it and I didn’t want to let it get by again. But I’m not a thinking man, Newt. I’m not big-knuckled up there like you. My craft is in my hands, and they were itching for a shape to bake that brightness in in as a keepsake, come what may. (More of that may to come.) And so I softened my butter and took a measure of flour and spices, and the dark brown sugar I’d meant to cook with tonight’s sausage, and I made a giant ginger bird. A thunderbread!

I stayed long after Henry and I had closed shop, waiting for the bread to rise, like the bird the last time I saw magic. My face ached from smiling, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t, Newt. Just the shock of you here, you hauling that blessed case up and onto my marble slab right next to my own glass case. I kept figuring that some little guy or other had scarpered again and was lost under a shelf, and once, I think, I said: ‘C’mon, buddy. Warmth and comfort for two over here.’ All the way loud. But there was nothing.

I wish you’d stayed longer, you and Queenie. But I get that she gotta be careful. She’s a real nice girl and I sure as hell hope they didn’t give her what for at that crazy capitol place where she works.

Speaking of. It’s been eating on me, that you’ve gone and taken a room at the Delta. By God, that joint! Been there myself when I knew and had no better. Heck, it’s where you and Miss G. – the sister – tracked me again, am I right? That how you got the address? But, Newt, it ain’t for you. They need to treat you better, whoever it is that got you here, you a man of letters and all. Or you need to shake that dirt off your feet and rest them here.

I mean it, Newt. Plenty of room upstairs where I live. And I could help with your folks like I did that night, feeding them and all. I’d love that. You didn’t say how long you’re staying but, long or short, you got an open voucher at Kowalski’s. Think on it?

Now, I’m gonna glaze that bread, just the beak and the tip of the wings, and I’m gonna stick a nip of candied orange for the eye. And then I’m gonna wrap it in waxed paper and keep it for you. Careful! Gingerbread’s fickle quick to dry up, and it spoils past a fortnight.

Top of the day to you, pal.

Jacob

----------------------------------

Queenie,

Is your head better? Is it something I did? I have this knack for talking too much – talk the hind legs off a ‘griff, Tease’s words – v. annoying – but you said you wanted the other fellows gone, and so did I. All of them. And Jacob was ever so chuffed! Nothing can keep him away from the sunny memories, Queenie, no rain, no drug of any sort. Not our Jacob. And they made his face so warm and excited – lit up by the gold inside, like Niffty’s treasure cave. Did you see it? I know I did.

But I saw you too. Saw you wipe your eyes, Queenie, with that paper bag you Accioed on the sly. Don’t think I didn’t.

I only have a fortnight left on my leave. Please, let us not part two sad people. Let me know what I can do.

Newt

-----------------------------------

Mr Graves, sir,

If I may respectfully bring the enclosed to your attention…

Pompey Abernathy
Head Supervisor and Clerk-in-Command
Wand Permit Office
Magical Congress of the United States

Dear Mr Abernathy,

Please to note that I ain’t showing up at work today and won’t be all of the week, since my health requires a change of scene. I’ll be at Cagliostro’s Café, Chicago. Only don’t write me there, seeing that I’ll be undercover as a cigarette girl.

My best thanks for your understanding,
Queenie Goldstein

--------------------------

Mrs A. J. Wanderbell
and
Miss Louella Wanderbell
request the pleasure of your company on January the Twentieth, One Thousand Twenty-Seven,
to honor Mr Newt Scamander ‘s poetic suite, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

Opening Talk by Mr Carlos Williams Carlos

A Themed Buffet Will Be Served At 7PM

Wanderbell Chateau, 660 Fifth Avenue, New York - RSVP

--------------------------


Hey Newt,

Excuse the choppy writing, as I’m doing the same on a train. Head’s better. I swear. Just, it got a bit of a bang from all the reading there I’d never planned on. Silly me, forgetting that minds can be loudest when happy too.

What can you do, honey? Well, here’s me telling you.

Don’t go back to England. Go back to Jacob’s. And when you see him, take him on the offer he’s gonna make you. Trust me on this. You were his first Portkey into magic, Newt. You still are. And I’m not a taker.

Love,
Queenie

Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (5/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Okay, not only did my htlm skills fail me once more, but the opening speech at Mrs Wanderbell's launch party for Newt is by William Carlos Williams. Gdi, brain.

(I find his works so magic, I had to make him a wizard here!)

Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (5/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Oh my god, don't apologize! If anyone can vouch for the manicness of work, it's me. It's lovely to see a new comment from you, but I don't want commenting to turn into a chore!

I'm glad the latest part pleased you! Yes, Queenie was hard hit, poor sweet. But she is plucky too. She is taking her own path, but she's not taking it quite alone: see below...

Yup, next part coming up! It concludes chapter 2, so I'll post the cleaned-up version on AO3 later tonight or tomorrow.

Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (6/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Miss Goldstein,

Whatever you think you’re doing, you will cease, desist and proceed directly to my office for a cup of coffee. Your sister is in no small degree of concern.

P. G.

Dear Mr Graves,

Can’t. Your owl is fast, but the 20th Century Limited won’t stop for love or money.

Please don’t blame this on Tina. I was just helping sort out the spell records, and it’s not like they was classified stuff or something. Besides, your folks got it wrong.

Q. G.

Miss Goldstein,

You have no brief, no training, no partner, and – I pray to Oz – no idea of the hazards a young unattached witch will face at Cagliostro’s. My ‘people’, as you say, have spent five weeks month tracing back Mr De Soto’s Transfiguration spells. What could they have got wrong?

You will use the return ticket herewith, Queenie, or there’ll be hell to pay.

Percival Gregory Saturnus Graves

Mr Graves,

Oh no! The full-name signature! Gee, what’s a girI to do?

Sure they got it wrong. Turning gigglewater into sloe gin, to pump into the No Maj black market? Nah. Only works if you chase it with a shot of Felix Felicis. Not worth the production cost. Now, the way I dig it, your Mr D. is into distribution, and he’s using an Extension charm to make portable speakeasies. Like, a matchbox. You know. So when the No Maj please pops up, it can be slipped into that cute basket thing that’s held by a vapid blonde. You know. Like me.

Q. G.

Queenie,

You’re not vapid. You’re anything but – not the woman who kept her wits about, smuggled three Most Wanted out of MACUSA and heard my all-but-last breath across three walls. Or I wouldn’t have offered you a job.

The offer stands. But I can’t let you turn it into an off-and-on escapade, when the stakes involved go way beyond your needs or my pride. This I was taught last year. I am trusting you to dig it today.

P. G.

Mr Graves,

You know why I turned it down. I had other prospects at the time, and I made no secret of them – to you and Teen. (Also, the dragonhide coats. They itch. My family has, like, a case history with dragons.) But I appreciated it.

Look, I get it. Me not telling you to mind your own yard when I have both feet it. But I ain’t coming back. Not yet. Not when I gotta do something I can bank against all the empty in me – you know? But I’ll tell you what.

I’m at the Hotel Blake, same block as Cagliostro’s. and the groom there has a chum who knows a bookie whose sister is necking with Mr D.’s right hand. I’m only two eyebats away from a job. So I’ll stick it here today, and you can find me a booze Auror to work with. Deal? I gotta buy an undercover camiknicker, anyhow.

Queenie

-----------------------------

Percy, you slacker. Yes, permission to skip the Imbolc Security Detail meeting. But you’d better be back next week, so I don’t have to suffer alone through the actual gala.

Seraphina

---------------------------

Wanderbell Chateau
January 21rst

Bathilda dearest,

So good to hear from you! I’m all agog about the new book – Omen, Oracles & the Goat sounds like an absolute eyecatcher – goat’s milk baths are back in trend, did I tell you? So it’s bound to be every bit as successful as A History of Hogwarts. Are you sure you don’t want to winter here? We’d be all fluttery to have you! I’ve just had Jeanne Beauvais re-do the guest suite in a natty peacock blue pattern. Peacocks are the dernier cri in England, I hear!

Speaking of goats and suites, we had young Newton over yesterday. Don’t thank me, dear! It is my pride and pleasure to oblige you. And your godson is a fine young buck. A teeny bit shy, maybe? He seemed to have trouble remembering names. Called my poor Lou ‘Miss Lobelia’ all evening – the girl was ever so mortified. But he’s very bright, I’m sure.

I was hoping for a juicy debate between him and Mr Carlos Williams, who gave us a devastatingly clever analysis of his book. Newton, I regret to say, looked unimpressed. He answered my query about collage with ‘Well, it’s a glossary, so it tends to follow alphabetical order’, which I thought the teeniest wee bit rude. And while we all cheered Mr C. W.’s exquisite tribute poem

I have stolen
the coins
that were
in the cuss box

he objected that Nifflers, as a species, are not given to apologizing. But then, he might have been distracted by the buffet. I noticed that he couldn’t keep his eyes off it.

It was a nice buffet, mind you– quite plain, as befits a literary soirée - all French cheese and those funny, animal-shaped breads from Kowalski. I’m not sure who or what Kowalski is, but they make these dandy little breads that Lou and her friends keep raving about, so I had her order two dozens for the cheese. They were actually quite good. Newton certainly seemed to think so – he Disapparated half-way through the evening, just when poor Lou was spelling up the phonograph, and where do you think I found him? In the kitchen. Clasping hands with the caterer, no less. I guess he was congratulating the man, which was very nice and democratic of him, except I wish he’d congratulated poor Mr C. W. first.

Anyway, he told me ‘I’ll come tomorrow, first thing’, which I found a teeny bit odd, since we’d only just had him. But he was looking past my shoulder, so it was a lit-tle hard to offer him the suite, especially as he then shook my hand, still beaming, and said ‘Goodbye and thanks awfully, and, and, goodbye’. Ah, the Art of the British Paradox.

Anyway, it was quite a successful evening. Even the caterer seemed to think so: he refused my tip.

All the very best to you, darlingr, and do tell me about the new book. I can’t wait to patronize it here!

Yours,
Eleanor Wanderbell III

Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (6/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Cleaned-up chapter 2: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10931328/chapters/24551592

Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (6/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Hey! Thanks for the lovely feedback.

Queenie and Graves: I'm tempted to take their relationship a notch further up, tbh, or hint at the possibility. I think they'd be immensely good for each other. But I'm wary of suggesting that I'm "sparing the pairs" or that Queenie can only be "fixed" by getting a new boyfriend! So I don't know. For the moment, they're consolidating their friendship and mutual respect. (And Graves might actually enjoy a little escapade back into the field.:D)

Yup, Newt is kipping with Jacob now. I had to get them closer, else they might have spent the next fifteen years exchanging heartfelt letters! They'll still exchange notes in the next part.

Off to work again this week, so I don't know if I'll find the time to post next part before Sunday, but the week-end ought to be quieter. Have a great week!

Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (7/?) - Here we go again!

[(Anonymous)]

Theseus, darling,

Wherever you’re ‘busting the blighters’ next, I need you to Floo back by way of New York and call on Newt. He is being contrary. And Mr Graves is being aggravating. ‘Incommunicado pending further return’ is not what I call an answer, least of all when asked about your brother. Who, as Bathilda informs me, is busy being a sandwich man. I do wish you children would keep me up to date with your career plans .

Are you sure you won’t be home for Imbolc, dear? Mr Graves is welcome to join you if he is re-communicado and doesn’t mind sharing your quarters. I’m using the guest bathroom to stock up on flobberworms.

Love from,
Mother

----------------------------------------

N.,
Coffee’s on the stove, plenty of paczki to go. Gotta deal with the public health fellas this morning, but we can grab a bite at 12, if you’re in? Catch Miss Brook on the radio?

J.,
Rather! Feeding time’s 12 for the Graphorns, but we can use an Extendable Ear. If you don’t mind, that is. Joining me. And helping me convince Dougal that Miss Brook is not a Demidolls.

N.,
Pal! Was that a joke? Like, an American joke ? We’ll make a Big Apple man outta you yet! Pull on that ear, I’m closing shop in five.

---------------------------------------

Dear Mr. Scamander,

This letter to inform you that your request for an extension to your one-month leave has been denied.

As you may recall, Ministry servants are expected to take no more than three weeks’ annual pay off at a time. Bending the rule once is one thing. Bending them twice sounds like the onset of inexcusable debauchery. To quote the Minister himself, when shown your application, ‘there is a time for personal reasons, and there is a time for public duty and not being a walking Confringo’.

Please report at the earliest convenience to clarify your situation.

Sincerely,

Gareth Peppercorn
Wizard Resources and Management Department
Ministry of Magic

-----------------------


J.,
Sending Niffty to you as he just shuffled up to me, ducking his beak, and held out a ball of silver paper in its paw. Little scallywag. No chocolate slabs in sight, though, so I’ll go and check on his cache. And then I’d better start making amends to Carlos.

N.,
Aw, poor little guy. It’s just what makes him tick, Newt! Not gonna give him a licking for a ticking! Never mind about the chocolate, I’m baking us apple pie tonight.

Oh, so Carlos knows about Nifflers, does he? Who’s he – friend of yours?

J.,
Oh, no, no, no, no. Merlin forbid, no. Just a poet chap I met. Worthwords Carlos Wordsworth, I think? Didn’t quite catch his name. I have one Niffler-savvy friend in New York, and he is doing his magic with apples right now.

-------------------------

Tina,

And we’re done here. I’ve arranged for Queenie to travel ahead, as I need to tie up a few red tapes with our lads in Chicago. Your sister is fine. A-1, I’d say. And she is to report to me exclusively. Should Abernathy pester either of you, reroute him straight to me. Even better: tell him I want a complete write-up of the Imbolc memos for Monday.

Meanwhile, owl the memos to Auror Central, Ill. It’s that time of the year again.

P. G.

-------------------------

N.,
You’re a genius! Boy-oh-man, are you! I did just like you said – left the Ashwinder eggs in the oven 28 minutes sharp, then took them out and shoved the choux in. They came out a right good crop, golden crips, and smelling like a hundred bucks. Don’t knock the plate when you climb out.

J.,
I’m so glad. And it helps me too, you know, because I need to ascertain the heat absorbed in egg-friendly habitats such as, well. Your oven. If I can find them a domestic purpose, perhaps rally The Witch's Friend, the Ministry may reconsider the insta-freezing ban and give the breed a chance. All thanks to the choux!

N.,
That’s great news. Use the oven all you want. Ain’t no one can take that memory from me when you go – it will be top of the chart. And stay there. Whatever comes, Newt.

J.,
Well, I'm not quite leaving yet. I mean, it’s no use trying to book a Portkey any time near Imbolc, really, and the No Maj boats are packed. And the Puffskeins might get seasick. And I do want to see the Aquarium. You know. For research.

-----------------------------

Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (7/?) - Here we go again!

[(Anonymous)]

Hey! Thanks for staying faithful - rarepairs don't bring a lot of feedback, so your comments are always a pleasure.

With Mrs Scamander, sometimes flight is the wiser option! Although Theseus will, of course, dutifully "Floo back by way of New York", no matter if he is in Ireland or Bora-Bora, busting the blighters.

We hear more of Graves and Queenie in the next part! I'm enjoying moving their storyline forward.

N and J... are getting there. In full nesting swing, although I suspect the beasts got wise to it first. But Newt is carping his diem without any plan B as of yet: his visa can't last forever and the Ministry is starting to tap his foot. And while Mrs Scamander is living and writing proof that m/m alliances are a done thing in wizarding England (I like that fanon!), the No Maj 1920es didn't exactly bask in a coming-out culture. So they may have a few more clouds up their sky. But nothing they cannot overcome.

Thanks again, and trying to post part 8 by the end of the week!

Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (8/?)

[(Anonymous)]

[Bit shorter, sorry! Chapter 3 is still three or four letters short, so I'll post the last snippet tomorrow.]

Dear Mr Graves,

You said to report to you for archiving and stuff, but I’m not sure what to tell you that you don’t already know! Also, I’ve never done reports. Well, there was that WizBiz survey on the new candlestick telephones which I still say is a waste of time – who needs candlelight to ring an Operator, even on night shifts? – but all you had to do was tick a box. Will this do?

Miss Queenie Goldstein thanks Mr Percival Graves for a perfectly delightful undercover booze week-end where all the right people were taken in and only six No Majs got Obliviated. She was a bit worried that her skills might come down to zero, what with the Chi accent and catching a head cold in that saloon skirt, but it was a piece of cake and she’s okay with the pinch, which was a professional hazard and not worth Mr G. socking the buster. Miss Goldstein also wishes to congratulate Mr G. on being a grand undercover thug, although he might want to at least try sipping his Flaming Gin and, yes, he could dance the Fwooper Hop real neat if only he would learn. He’s not that old.

I do feel better, but I’d still rather not be an Auror. My job is what it is, Mr Graves, but it’s a people job. You get to talking, not all the time but you do, and you get to knowing folks. And sometimes it feels like a small-people victory, having fixed Java for twelve the way they never taught you in Potions or charmed the quill sharpener right. And so I’ll stick to it for now. But I know it’s not all I can do, and, if you ever need Legi help some time or other, I could work the case? Maybe?

Gratefully,
Queenie

--------------------------

J.,
Dashing this off as the Ilvermorny Council insists I stay for another 48 hours. Their library is stacked with Wampus lore, etc., so I thought I’d better take advantage of the offer. But no longer. Not with Imbolc Night on Thursday, which

(Sorry, the Quidditch Coach wanted a word on Erumpent attack moves. I’ll make a fresh start.)

About Imbolc. There’s one thing I didn’t tell you, Jacob, and it’s rather important so I want you to read this carefully. It’s not just a feast of fires. It’s about the return of warmth in the dead of winter, and, more than anything else, it’s a home feast. This we tend to forget – it’s all fireworks and firewhisky, these enlightened days – but I like to remember. When I was in Hogwarts, my Housemaster had this phoenix I told you about, and on Imbolc Eve he gave it the run of the house. It sang and it shone, so brightly that it turned our yellow walls into like gold. Home was a country away, but on that night there was a hearth for me.

Jacob, you asked if I’d be at MACUSA on Thursday. The answer is no. My friends will attend the ceremony, I dare say. There’ll be speeches and bonfires, and President Picquery will bless the blackthorn, pour the milk before three hundred wizards. But the only fire I want to see is lit in your stove, with the little round opening that shines like a rose window and the good smells warming up.

See you in two days,
Newt

-----------------------

Mr Graves thanks Miss Goldstein for a perfectly adequate report, the most refreshing to have graced his in-box yet. As its self-appointed editor, Mr Graves wishes to emphasize that, while Miss G.’s skills were crucial to the success of Operation Booze Week-End, her physical integrity is and should be considered of equal note as his. Should Miss G. agree to act as a consulting Legilimens, she and Mr Graves will work on the understanding that they have each other’s back, and share socking priviledges as a result.

I’m afraid the Imbolc Gala is too austere for dancing, Queenie. But in case you and Tina want to see the Fire ceremony, I have written you up for the inner circle.

With my best regards,
Percival G.

Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (8/?)

[(Anonymous)]

SA Aaaand the first part of Graves's letter should be in italics, grrrrr htlm.

Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (9/?)

[(Anonymous)]

The Levicorpus Lounge
Will Be at its Brightest on Imbolc Night
with
Minnie Firebolt and her All-Girl Orchestra
Dinner at 7 p.m.
Dancing at 9 p.m.
Drinks at discretion!


Froglet,

Look, I get it. You’re in a miff, because I went and had old Graves update me on your Muggle baker… chum while you were away gathering beast intel, so I could check him out. Behind your back – not top form, I grant you. But did I have a choice?

You’ve blockaded yourself, and you won’t tell anyone home where you are and what you’re planning to do. Your visa is on its last legs. The Ministry’s breathing dragonfire down our collective necks. No, strike that. The Ministry’s two sparks away from making you redundant, Newt. What then?

Your Jacob looks a decent sort. No argument here. Steady. Jolly firm handshake. In any other circumstances, I’d give you the old blessing and talk the mater around. But, Newt, he’s off the reservation. You know what I mean – you know what their law say. If you stay, you’ll have to register with MACUSA and there’s no way they’ll let you bunk with him, even less wed him. Newt, Merlin’s sake! You can smuggle a case, but you can’t smuggle a lifetime, little brother, and I don’t have the clout to negotiate one for you.

What will you do if they march you out? Ask that man to give up everything he’s built up here to follow – what? Does he even know how you feel about him? Do you?
On the verso, my quarters for tonight, Not booking a hotel, since I’m Flooing back at dawn. Come and have a drink. Please. I’m not here to drag you kicking and screaming to the nearest eligible deb, brother. I’m here for you. Just Tease and Frog, as it’s always been.

T.

---------------------

Dear Percival,

That’s so sweet and thoughtful of you. We’re not exactly Imbolc girls, Teen and I – both raised in the Kabbalah – only Pa had a mix-and-stir attitude with tradition, calling it eclectism, and Teen takes after him – and she says she needs to keep an eye on things anyway, so thank you kindly and we’ll be there!

Pity about the dancing. Why don’t you join us after? The Lounge has the best wizz jazz and nettle juleps, and it’s a nice clean joint, no socking on the cards. Honor bright!

Queenie

-----------------------

Madam President,

Having given the matter serious consideration, I think that we can, indeed, skip the Pouring of the Milk. An early night may be to the benefit of our foreign guests. And Security will be less of a bother for any and all if cows are not involved.

I shall meet with you in the Lobby in an hour’s time.

Respectfully,
Percival

(Sera, how the hell does one dance the Fwooper Hop?)

---------------------

I’m not fifteen anymore. Just stay away, Theseus.

----------------------

Tease, I’m outside the door.

Please, take me home.

[And that's the end of Chapter 3. Don't kill me! Wind in the barley, clouds in the sky, all that. They'll be all right.]

Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (9/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Ha, thanks for your comment! I'm tearing my hair over some extremely dull translating/editing work, and they're a welcome distraction.

It means, I'm afraid, that Imbolc Night did not go quite well for Newt. Newt has a tendency to act rashly and explain himself later (cf. the movie), and bolt before he does so (ditto). Also, it's an epistolary fic, meaning I had to unglue him from Jacob's side and home at some point. But no worries. They'll get there.

We know little about the Pagan Imbolc rituals, but it seems that these did involve lighting fires and pouring milk on the ground as a symbol of fertility. (And I need to add a quick note to the AO3 chapter!) Cows in MACUSA = me being silly (and Percival being argumentative so he can curtail a very formal ceremony and go have fun for the first time in, what, forty years? Yes, he and Queenie are bonding at lightspeed. I like to imagine their little smiles while reading each other's notes.)

Probably posting part 10 next Sunday, as work is slowing me a bit down, but answer if and when you can. No worries. All the best for your moving out!

Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (8/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Yes, I see Original Graves as an old-school gentleman, but one that is smart enough to understand Queenie for what she is - a mix of humility and flapper autonomy, strong at times and vulnerable at others. While Queenie can "read" his decency, but also his tendency to wall himself in work and his public persona. They do each other a lot of good.

I know many authors assign Teacher!Dumbledore to Dumbledore, but my own headcanon is that, when asked to direct a House, he asked for Hufflepuff. Post-Ariana Dumbledore tries to cultivate humility, loyalty and collective spirit, and is wary of anything to do not only with power, but with fthe ethics of fighting. I rather liked the idea of him enrolling Fawkes on Imbolc Eve to comfort a bunch of kids, some of which - like Newt, if we read between the lines - must have been pretty homesick.

Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (8/?)

[(Anonymous)]

SA *to Gryffindor