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fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
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Prompt Post #1
ROUND 1
FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER
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Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-05-27 09:26 pm (UTC)(link)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 poemI 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) 2017-05-29 04:33 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-05-29 06:07 pm (UTC)(link)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) 2017-06-04 07:08 pm (UTC)(link)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) 2017-06-05 09:48 am (UTC)(link)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) 2017-06-11 06:14 pm (UTC)(link)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) 2017-06-11 06:36 pm (UTC)(link)Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (9/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-06-12 09:04 am (UTC)(link)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) 2017-06-12 08:18 pm (UTC)(link)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) 2017-06-12 08:24 pm (UTC)(link)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) 2017-06-12 08:26 pm (UTC)(link)Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (10/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-06-20 09:46 am (UTC)(link)Percival,
Look what the owl brought in. Somebody had a copacetic evening, hmm?
Seraphina
The Levicorpus Lounge to MACUSA High Command
With Their Compliments
Table #17 (Mr Graves)
3 Nettle Juleps………………………………..………15 Drag.
3 Imbolc Celebratory Menus………………..….60 Drag.
1 bottle Mage Blanc de Blancs 1908…….....44 Drag.
2 Brandy Brooms……………………………………..9 Drag.
2 Witch’s Tipples………………………..……………9 Drag.
2 Salem Sides………………………………………....12 Drag.
2 Lobe-Blasters………………………………………..8 Drag.
1 table……………………………………………………56 Drag.
Total : 213 Dragots
You wild kid, you, Percy.
------------------------------
Dear Miss Goldstein,
Please accept my deepest, heart-deep gratitude for your help yesterday. You were, as we say, a brick (that’s lingo for spiffing). And I’m still sorry that I ruined your midnight fun by having you rig up emergency Portkeys rather than honour me with a dance. I’d have asked Graves *, if he hadn’t been so busy hoofin’ it on the floor.
Journey home was A-1, thanks to you. I had to report in the wake of arrival, but made sure Newt was fed and watered first along with his crew. He’s not spoken much. From what I’ve gathered, he did or said something rash to his host, grasped his case and bolted. Keeps saying it’s all his fault. (But then, he knows how I’d react if it had been the other fellow playing rash without a by-your-leave.)
Kid siblings, eh? Out of the crib into the cauldron fire, Miss Goldstein, and all we can do is try to soothe the burn. At least he is safe. And dashed lucky in his choice of friends.
Sincerely yours,
Theseus Scamander
*Not for a dance, mind.
-----------------------
Mr Graves, Percival, I left a banana on your desk. Please to eat it first thing, on account it has potassium and I don’t hold with ‘hair of the crup’, not on the occasion of a gentleman’s first-ever binge. (I’m sorry, it kinda flashed itself to my attention.) Also we had a great Imbolc time – I loved it all, the ducky dinner and the drinks, all the drinks, and you telling me about your Grampa and how he proposed to your Gran with a two-leaf clover, I loved that story. Just wish Tina could have heard it – too bad she had to App’rate back to M-A to take care of that unlocked – what, Teenie? Oh yes, and thanks for seeing me home in a yellow cabbage. (I still don’t get the No-Maj slang!) But enough of my prattling. You take care of yourself, now, for a… you do, and if you need an extra cup of Java, just send me a rat.
(And I loved the dancing best! See? That you have it in you? You brought the house down, Mr Graves, Percival, you did!)
-------------------
Miss Queenie,
The letter inside this one – can you see your way to sending it to Newt?
You’re such a nice lady and I don’t want to, like, cause trouble at work for you. Heck, no. But I don’t know who else to turn to. See, Newt thinks he’s made me mad. And now he’s left my digs, taking the creatures with him, and I got absolutely no clue how to get through to him.
Hell, I’d let your kind take me in and zonk me out again if I could just leave word for him in between.
So I’m taking a chance, Miss Queenie, seeing that there’s no one here to dive-and-roll me into that great build building of yours. I’ll just slip this under the door. It’s got your name on it and URGENT, and if somebody opens it, and the other letter, they’ll find that it’s nothing political. Just a guy trying to set things right. But perhaps they won’t – perhaps they’ll just figure it came by owl post and was dropped by mistake.
I’m kinda desperate here, Miss Queenie.
Newt’s friend
Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (10/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-06-20 11:02 am (UTC)(link)(And Queenie's letter should be in small type except for the "what, Teenie?" part. I suck at htlm.)
Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (10/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-06-22 07:10 am (UTC)(link)Yes, everyone's doing their best to comfort everyone else, the dears. Tina, in fact, fibbed a bit about rushing back to MACUSA (and leaving the other two to their cups, or cocktail glasses). Protective Theseus has met his peer in protective Tina! But now Jacob's written Queenie, the beans might still be spilled.
Graves, it seems, has been initiated to the Roaring Twenties and their Be A Souse ethics. The list of cocktails was inspired by an article I once read on the daily consumption of drinks by Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. It was enough to make you want to keel over by proxy! In Queenie's and Percival's case, thank Merlin, it's only an occasional habit.
More to come soonish, promise!
Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (11/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-06-27 02:11 pm (UTC)(link)I’m so damn sorry, Newt.
I never meant to raise bad blood between us.
My word, Newt. You know I ain’t a fella to back down from a fight, and I don’t shy of taking one to the scene when I gotta. But that’s not why I shoved you. And, fact is, I didn’t at first. Not when you took my hand – us sitting on the ground to watch the fire in the stove’s window, going like a heart – or when you kissed it. I’ll be level with you, Newt. The War, it took me places where touching a man close, his hand, his face even, was the real deal. When it’s hell outside and the fellas inside the only piece of human, still in one piece, you all stop reckoning about dos and don’ts, and you cling to each other any which way. I seen officers with their faces pitch black from the gunpowder rock a man to their chest to keep him warm and I tell you, it’s fellas like that made me believe in the next day.
And, Newt, I’ve been in their shoes. I done it once with a boy from Frisco – a nice lad, with sun freckles all over his neck and shoulders, when we washed at crack of dawn – that missed home so awful bad he went and sliced off his middle fingers. Figured they’d send him back then if he couldn’t pull a trigger good. That boy, he made my heart tender. I held him after he slunk away for two days and they found him, and then he kissed my mouth for comfort, his warm from all the crying he’d done due to the rot settling in and he being told it was no good. That he’d be gone by morning. Why, everybody was here and looking, and I never got bull from any of them if it was the right kinda kiss.
Maybe that’s why Mildred couldn’t keep steady with me. I think she knew, somehow, what the War had done to me. Opened a door in my heart and flesh that shut her out, kinda.
But. But, Newt. That was then. When you gave me that kiss, saying how you had changed, too, and wanted no other mate for life, you meant from now on. And – that’s the hard part, Newt – your words scared me. See, now’s another tale. You love a guy now, you got one way of making it a public thing. You gotta be a fairy. Bleach your hair and call yourself Mae West and go perform to the Bowery, where they hold the big Pansy Balls nowadays. Your nice blue coat with the flaring tails? That’s the sissy’s badge, they’ll say. And, Newt, they won’t all hate you, but they won’t trust that you’re a fighter, too. An explorer. They won’t believe that you’re mother and father both to your beasts. And the people who come in here and buy my breads, all the nice ladies and the good guys, they’ll be thinking, oh, Mr Kowalski’s the real man. The other, he’s the lady. And, Newt, I dunno. I got no quarrel with the queer men. It takes guts in my book to rouge your cheeks and come out in the open. But it’s not you. And the other way is just to hide, hide, hide. On top all the hiding that would come with me being a No Maj.
You’re so frank, Newt. It’s what got me smitten with you in the first place. You got no idea how to live the lie. And I don’t wanna be the reason why you try and fail, and take a crack from your folks at home or the cop round the corner.
Christ. I’m choked up just writing about it, Newt.
Please forgive me for the hurt.
Please be safe and well.
Yours,
Jacob
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Dear Queenie,
My first-ever binge, and my first-ever Whisperer in twenty years of office correspondence. The thought alone was a pepper-up, but I have duly eaten the banana. It saw me through the Imbolc Morrow and its batch of far-from-first offenses. (You’d think the younger wizarding public knew better than to invest in fiendyfire-crackers by now, but no.)
I am of two minds about my own sending. The letter herewith was brought to me at 8 by one of our cleaners. I haven’t opened it, but my head is sober enough that it can hazard a guess as to who used a fountain-pen to address it. And if I am straight with myself, and you, I don’t like it. I hate – forgive my bluntless – to think that it may upset you. That, whatever that man wants, it may take the edge off a joy that comes so rarely and naturally to you, and, once found again, should be safeguarded.
But the letter is yours. And to hex or heed it can only be your decision.
I trust you to do the right thing. Just – let me know you’re well, Queenie.
Sincerely yours,
Percival
(Apparently, we brought the table down. But yes – it was the greatest fun I’ve had in years, provided I behaved as a gentleman through it all. Or I shall rue more than a maiden hangover.)
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Mr Scamander,
It appears that there is a Bubo Americanus in the Owlry, bearing a letter for you. Please come and retrieve it without delay, and please, please, please, direct your non-professional messaging to your home address. Fraternizing with foreign correspondents is not what we want for our boarders.
What next, international bird unions?Gareth Peppercorn
Wizard Resources and Management Department
Ministry of Magic
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Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (11/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-06-27 06:52 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (11/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-06-30 09:13 am (UTC)(link)Director Graves, I'm afraid, is toeing the thin line between loyal friendship and... well, "that man" sounds a teeny-weeny bit jealous, as Mrs Wanderbell would say. But he's doing the honorable thing. Of course he is.
Yes, Newt is poor Mr Peppercorn's personal bête noire. When they split his heart post mortem, they will probably find THIS IS NOT HOW WE DO THINGS HERE, MR SCAMANDER engraved in it!
Thanks for your lovely feedback, as always! More to come...
Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (12/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-07-02 10:22 am (UTC)(link)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?)
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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
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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...]
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