fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme | Prompt Post #1

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Prompt Post #1

ROUND 1

FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER

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During the time period of the film, the wizarding world has laws that make it the head of a household's decision who the other members marry. The younger members have no legal say in who they marry (although they can be granted a divorce in cases of abuse or infidelity).
Newt has been married at least twice before, each time to someone who treated him terribly. Just before the movie, Theseus became head of the household. Theseus genuinely cares for his little brother and just wants him to be with someone who treats him well. Because of this, he decided to ask his penpal, Graves, to marry his brother, because he knows he's a decent guy. Graves, feeling sorry for Newt and wanting to help out his friend, had agreed. However, by this point, Newt's too traumatized and wants nothing to do with arranged marriages anymore (maybe not even relationships in general).
He sets off running from the engagement, traveling from place to place because if he stays in one country too long, the wizarding government might force him to go back to England and get married.
The events of the movie happen, and Graves is rescued. MACUSA keeps Newt from leaving at the end, with the intention of forcing him to go through with the marriage. Graves, however, demands that they let Newt go, because he agreed to the engagement to help Newt, not to traumatize him further, and now that Newt helped save Graves and all of New York, the least they can do is let him come and go as he pleases.
Newt leaves, but grateful for Graves's gesture, starts a correspondence with his fiancée, and they become friends, maybe slowly evolving into something more.

Yes Please

So much thirding.

Hello! I come bearing an attempt at a fill for your prompt, which I hope you like. It's a bit of a slow-burner, because I am incapable of being succinct in my writing. I hope it hits the desired points of your prompt!

------

The first time Newt is married, he is two months away from his 18th birthday. He is young to be married, even by the standards of the day, but the Great War has already been going on for two years and already more lives have been lost than anybody thought possible. The wizarding world of the UK has arranged with the muggle government to following similar conscription practices, and already the pride of the Scamander family, Theseus, is on the front lines and making a name for himself as a soldier.

Newt, just barely too young to be conscripted for the war effort now, will undoubtedly be dragged away from them, and neither can bare for that to happen.

Newt is working at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, as a clerk for the Office of House-Elf Relocation. He makes very little and has even less hope of promotion- never mind the war, nobody wants to hire a wizard who nearly killed a first year student with a magical creature as a sixth year. Newt stays because it gives him ample time to observe the house-elves and take notes about their natures and habits, and because it’s the only place where he isn’t scoffed at for his interest in magical creatures. (At least openly.)

When he is notified of his marriage, he almost thinks it’s a joke- who’s worried about arranging marriages for their second sons in the middle of a war? But his father is standing there in the study with a parchment with the marriage contract awaiting his signature and seal, and his mother sits by the desk, wringing her hands.

“Father?” he asks.

“You’ve heard, I’m sure,” his father starts. He is standing straight and his hands are held behind his back. He takes a breath, “The muggle government has passed a new conscription bill. They’re desperate for soldiers. And despite the emergency decree, there has been pressure in the Ministry to let wizards participate. There is news that there are a variety of dark wizards gathering.”

“Yes,” Newt agreed. “Theseus has said as much.”

“Yes, well, with your brother being off and refusing to return, and making the case for wizarding participation… We will not have both our sons lost to this war if the Ministry gives into pressure, and the Prewetts need to marry their eldest before she reaches spinsterhood. So we’ve agreed with the Prewetts.”

“I- I’m sorry?”

“You are to marry their eldest daughter.”

Newt’s ears ring. His hands clutch so tightly around his knees that he has red prints on his skin hours later. “Marry?”

His father starts talking again: The Prewetts are recently married into the House of Black, but they are still far enough away from the main house that the Blacks would accept someone like Newt. The Scamanders need an old, respectable name to be attached to if Theseus is going to make it in the Ministry once the war is over, and the House of Black needs the cash the Scamander Hippogriffs bring.

Newt hears it but can’t comprehend. He wants to protest, to threaten to sign up for the war anyway, but he sees the seal of the House of Black on the contract. The contract is legal and accepted; Newt has no place to protest under the law. He signs his name to the marriage agreement without seeing the paper under his quill.

Three months later he marries the Prewett daughter, a woman whose name he will later have Obliviated from his mind. Newt remembers the wedding. He remembers the guests, so few for a wedding between pureblood families. He remembers receiving politely restrained congratulations that border on disdain, and impersonal gifts. He doesn’t remember the bride’s face, but knows she was about as interested in marrying him as he was in marrying a woman, though he hadn't dared to say it at the time. It was still a nice enough wedding and they are safe from conscription.

Once the ceremony is over, she wants little to do with him. Newt is okay with this, though he attempts to be cordial in the hope they'll have a friendship at least. She is not inclined to tolerate his preferences, though she does seek her pleasure elsewhere. Newt doesn't think it fair to try and stop her. (He would have done the same had there been anyone to seek pleasure with.)

His blind eye does not endear him to her, but her freedom lasts until her brother stumbles across her and her lover out in public in the muggle world, attending a play and retreating to a hotel. Had this reached the wizarding news, it would have been grounds for divorce and even distant Blacks Did Not Divorce.

+

Newt is given news of his divorce when he wakes up in St. Mungo’s burn ward. He has his wife Obliviated from his mind two days later.

As soon as he is proclaimed fit, he forces Theseus to give him a commission and joins the Great War. He’s sent to the Eastern front, where Ukrainian Ironbellies are known to live. (There is information that Grindlewald and his followers are trying to create an army of dragons. It’s Newt’s job to make the Allied Wizard an experimental unit first.)

Brilliant start - so glad someone is filling this, and I love how you establish the background and include the history of the time. Really enjoying this

Re: FILL [1/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

(Anonymous) - 2017-01-17 15:54 (UTC) - Expand

I like that you made the Scamanders the "nouveaux riches" of the story - an interesting take!Looking forward to more.

Re: FILL [1/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

(Anonymous) - 2017-01-17 15:57 (UTC) - Expand

in with there is some more fudging of wizarding involvement in wwi and younger sons are essentially treated like daughters would have been

------

Newt stays on the Eastern front for the remaining two years of the Great War. At first he spends his time observing the Ironbellies, learning their social structure and habits and how they conduct themselves, getting them to trust him, figuring out how a wizard and a dragon can work together. There are very few volunteers when Newt is ready to prove to Theseus and the other generals that rider pairs can be created, but the few who do show up keep the Eastern front free of dark wizards until World War I finally ends.

+

Newt returns to the Scamander home three months after the muggle governments finish their Treaty of Versailles. He stays for a joint moot between the American and other European wizards on what to do about the rise of dark wizards under Grindlewald as the only man to successfully create a dragon training regime.

He turns 23 a scant few days after his return.

It seems strange to go back to work after a war, but he dutifully returns to the Ministry. He is granted a permission to the Beast Division thanks to his work with dragons during the war. (It’s a promotion according to Newt, anyway, because he not only continues his work with dragons and expands it to other magical creatures- he now gets actual funding.) He is even in talks of perhaps writing a pamphlet that details his time with dragons and provides a guide for other wizards who come upon them. His parents are pleased with the change, but his salary is still meager and they want for Newt to find someone who will be able to support him after carnage that has left a generation in ruins.

It’s only a few months after his return to England that his mother arranges his second marriage with his father’s permission- his father is too sick now to take care of the negotiations himself. Theseus acts as an advocate for Newt, which their father had not allowed during the previous negotiations due to the war.

When Newt is summoned for his formal notification of marriage, he tries to hide himself in house visits for some of his last house-elf allocations before the war and then under the pretense of checking in on some diricrawls he has just rescued from a disreputable breeder in Scotland.

Unfortunately it is hard to run from one’s mother.

“Love, please,” his mother says, “You're certainly old enough now. Do you expect Theseus to take care of you for the rest of your days?”

“I've been doing fine on my own so far. If my book comes through I'll be doing even better.”

“But you can't know that it will- even if you do come to write it, what are the chances of it making much money?”

Newt bites his lip to keep from frowning. He knows wizards don't put much stock in magical creatures, but a guide to dragons will surely be worth a little. Even if only to the Ministry employees. Of the Beast Division.

His mother smiles softly. “You see? I'm sure it won't be a reflection of your talent; you've always been good at essays. It's just that there's very little interest in beasts, on the whole.”

She reaches her hands out to him, the way she always has when trying to convince him of her point. Newt can't help but take them.

“Your father is not well, love,” she says softly, “It isn't going to be long now. The Scamanders have always been just on the periphery of the big wizarding families, despite our money. Your brother will need good connections when your father dies-”

“Both for his position in the Ministry and to marry well, himself,” Newt finishes. He grins crookedly at her. “I know.”

His mother smiles, “And the Greengrasses have them. I want you to be taken care of.”

For the first time, Newt almost wishes he still had the war to run to. At least this time his mother knows of Newt’s preferences. She has taken care to look for suitable match, and even Newt has to admit his intended is perfect- on paper at least.

Julius Greengrass is tall, handsome, charming, witty and wealthy. In his photographs he gives a crooked smile that is both roguish and charming. Julius is 28. He keeps a well known stable of Hippogriffs (several of which are from the Scamander herd) for racing and security, and the family has an extensive owlery. Newt hopes the animals will mean that they will have an interest to bond over that is not simply their mutual duties in fulfilling a contract.

So Newt resigns himself to a marriage for the good of his brother.

They are married in summer, at the Greengrass estate in Wales. Theseus joins the wedding party as Newt’s guardian, to witness the vows and the sealing of the contract in place of their father.

The Welsh hills that make up the Greengrass estate are far from the Scamander townhouse on the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow. Newt is beyond nervous that he is now expected to live so far away from his family, but with Theseus there to observe and approve it doesn't seem so bad. The estate is beautiful and Julius has said he is fine with Newt keeping his job at the Ministry, so Newt will be able to see Theseus at work and he has hopes that this marriage might turn out okay.

+

Julius Greengrass is a patient husband, and Newt is thankful for it.

Julius knows that Newt and his former bride never consummated their sham of a marriage and that Newt has not been with anyone sexually beyond some hurried and sloppy kisses at school. He teaches Newt how to pleasure with his hands first, then with his mouth. They are married two months before Julius decides that Newt is ready to be taken to bed so he can show Newt how to be a real and proper husband. It is painful at first. It does get better over the next few weeks, and eventually Newt allows that there is pleasure in fornication.

He just also happens to think it’s a bit much that they must have sex every day.

He writes to Theseus about it at one point, mostly curious to know if his brother thinks Newt is overreacting about it, because sometimes it is so hard to understand people, and fornication is one of those things that he knows is just normal in other relationships if the gossip rags are anything to go by. But Newt has never really understood other people, not like his brother does.

Julius comes storming into his room that evening. “How dare you?!”

Newt tenses at his desk, startled. He looks up from his notes unsurely and half stands. “Julius?”

His husband slams his hands down on the desk and shoves his face in Newt's. There is a piece of parchment crumpled in one fist. “How dare you write such slanderous things about me to your brother?”

“What do you mean? I haven't- I wrote but haven't even gotten a-” Newt looks down at the hand with the parchment. Indignation wells up. “Did... did you read my letter?”

“I am the master of this house and I will read anything I wish,” Julius snarls. He grips Newt’s wrist in his free hand and pulls, nearly causing Newt to fall on his face on the desk. “Just as you will be available to me for anything, any time I wish. You are the lesser partner, here. Understand that, or I will have to make you understand it.”

Newt feels the blood drain from his face and his legs start to tremble. “I- I’m sorry, I just. I thought-”

“You aren’t here to think!” Julius snaps. Then he sighs, and his body loosens from its tense rage, and his voice is soft when he looks up at Newt. “I allow you to work. I allow you freedom to come and go. I haven’t even asked that you learn how to be a proper pureblood.”

“Am I not?” Newt asks, both earnestly confused and wary.

“Oh, Newton,” Julius shakes his head.

The smile that spreads across his face is not comforting.

+

Newt learns. He learns that Julius is a good husband who will do well by Newt, if only Newt would listen. He learns to leave work early to direct the house elves and make sure dinner is ready for Julius’s return, no matter how late, sitting by the table and keeping it warm with warming charms if needed. He learns his husband’s tastes and how to act in public when they go out, because Scamanders have no idea how proper society works and it shows in every movement. (It almost doesn’t matter because Julius doesn’t want them to go out very much. He prefers to keep Newt’s pretty face in private, because Newt uses that pretty face to lead on other men and make Julius angry.)

Julius simply wants Newt to be good for him, and Newt is just not trying hard enough, so Newt must be punished. Newt may not see his family- not while he is such a disgrace; they'd think Julius wasn't teaching Newt anything. His notes for the book on his time with dragons are burned when he forgets his place in public and argues with Julius, but he agrees he should not have been so stubborn and those were just slightly more polished, so it’s not really so bad.

And it should be enough that he’s allowed to keep his job and go about in public without a house elf to chaperone. Newt learns to hide the bruises that come when he fails to uphold his duty to his husband. He learns to put people off with his awkwardness so they don’t ask too many questions. He learns to be silent until spoken to and to keep his eyes down so he doesn't entice the wrong attention.

He never quite learns to be good enough.

+

Three years after their wedding, Theseus appears unexpectedly to tell Newt that their father has died. He comes to the estate because Newt hasn’t been to work in three days and none of Theseus’s owls have delivered his letters. He finds Newt with open wounds on his right hip and one eye nearly swollen shut.

Julius is served with the divorce notice via Howler delivered by junior Aurors to his hospital room.

Newt doesn't have Julius Obliviated from his mind, because he doesn't want to look at the scars on his hip and have to wonder where they came from.

oh Newt... oh baby... this nearly made me cry, the poor thing... he's so trapped here, and i can see how easy it is to believe Julian's words... Theseus must be so angry at everyone, including himself, for what has happened. Beautiful writing, but oh poor Newt

Re: FILL [2/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

(Anonymous) - 2017-01-18 19:50 (UTC) - Expand

100 points for Gryffindor for Theseus' actions. Make that 200 if he broke Julius' hands.

I knew Newt's marriages weren't going to be nice, but this one was just awful. Julius behaved like a typical abuser, pretending that his victim deserved punishments, somehow. Poor Newt; just how much he was scared of Julius if he didn't try to write to Theseus from work? :(

Re: FILL [2/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

(Anonymous) - 2017-01-18 19:53 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [2/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

(Anonymous) - 2017-01-18 20:10 (UTC) - Expand

And now the real story begins. I guess? orz

------

A week after Theseus finalizes his second divorce, Newt speaks for the first time, to give his consent to breaking the marriage. A month after finding his voice again, Newt returns to work. He locks himself up in his office and only leaves to go home or to supervise any creatures brought in after an Auror sting on shady breeders- and on one memorable occasion, a smuggling ring.

A year later, Newt still sees a Mind Healer twice a week. He’s relearned how to initiate a conversation without expecting a slap, and how to ask for things without flinching away preemptively to ward off a fist. But a touch that he doesn’t see coming, even if it’s just a brush of arms as someone passes him in the halls of the Ministry, will send him into a panic attack. He still can’t look most people in the eye without his skin crawling, particularly if they have strong personalities. He only ever feels truly safe when he’s in the hippogriff stables at home with the hippogriffs who have known him all his life to protect him.

Luckily there are very few people who work the Beast Division.

His work starts to bring him a modest acclaim in his own right, instead of standing on his brother’s position as Head of the Auror Office (these days the Ministry is abuzz with rumors of Theseus’s pending promotion to the Director of Magical Law Enforcement). The observations he’s made and studies he’s done have unlocked potential uses nobody else has thought of. There are a few wand-makers across the globe who have included diricrawl and fwooper feathers in some trial wands based on his work.

It takes longer than he would like, but he manages to pull together a pamphlet on dealing with and training Ukrainian Ironbellies (inasmuch as they are trainable) from his notes and recollections of the war. His pamphlet catalogues the feeding and socializing habits of the dragons; how to be aware of their body language to gauge their moods and levels of danger a wizard might be in at any given moment.

The printing house doesn't demand anything more than a thank you when the first printing run is finished and the Beast Division employees actually put together a party for him to celebrate it. The head of the Beast Division tells Newt that the Ministry intends to expand the Division to include a dragon-specific department, using his pamphlet for a guide. It's a week before Newt realizes that he's not expected to compensate for the inconvenience.

Augustus Worme commissions a book just before Newt’s 28th birthday, when the Ministry is celebrating Theseus’s promotion to the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There are too many creatures in the world wizards don't know about, and even is Augustus is the only one who cares, he's willing to pay Newt to catalog all of them for his own satisfaction.

Newt accepts the offer before he remembers he has to ask his brother for permission, since travel is still fairly tightly controlled after the mess left by the Great War and all the wizards who took to the fight in spite of an emergency decree that they were not to participate. He’s lucky Augustus finds his awkward ways charming.

Theseus is, understandably, hesitant when Newt brings it up at dinner the next night; but he's never been the sort to deny Newt outright. Newt tries to hold Theseus’s gaze while Theseus finishes his sip of wine, hoping to convey how much he wants to do this. He watches emotions flit across Theseus’s face- he knows what it takes for Newt to look someone in the eyes now.

“A book?”

Newt nods and takes a breath. “I'd have to travel for it. It would require a lot of time- there are so many countries to visit to make sure I have the most complete list, assuming I won't be able to find some of the more shh species. I'll have starting points of course. I plan to make a list of all currently recorded species and what is known about them to see if I can track and corroborate the accounts.”

He's rather pleased with himself for having thought of a solid base point, so Theseus knows he's not going into this as a waste of everyone's time. Well. Probably not. Augustus did say that he was commissioning it for himself, so...

His mother doesn’t look happy, but Theseus watches him steadily before sighing and trying to hide a little smile that twitches at the corner of his lips.

“You’ve thought about this quite a lot, haven’t you?”

Newt nods slowly, and dares to hope.

“Very well,” Theseus says at last, smiling fully. “This could be the best scientific opportunity of our age, so go. I’ll get visas, safe conduct, and letters of introduction sorted for you. You’ll have to fill in the wand permits yourself.”

Newt Apparates out of his seat to Theseus’s side and grabs him in a hug.

+

Theseus presents Newt with a suitcase for his trip just a few days after agreeing to it.

The suitcase is a small thing, barely big enough for a couple shirts, a jacket, some underwear and a couple pairs of trousers. Maybe if he packs well there’s enough room for a scarf and a book. Then Newt spots the little latch on the front and turns off the Muggle-worthy charm. When he reopens the case, he finds that there is now a ladder descending into what Newt thinks looks like a shack.

“Undetectable expansion charm? But-”

“Head of the DMLE, remember? I took care of it. You’re going to need a place to keep things if you’re going to be in a new country every week for a year,” Theseus says, chuckling, “Make it your own.”

Newt grins. He has always been very good at charms. “Thank you.”

+

As soon as Theseus agrees to send Newt on his book commission, their mother starts hinting that it would only be proper if Newt has a husband. For many weeks, Theseus refuses to bring up the idea with Newt before he leaves, despite his mother’s many attempts at nudging him into starting the conversation.

Sometimes Theseus wonders how much their parents knew about Newt’s first marriage- Newt is silent about it now, even as he was when he’d shown up at Theseus’s tent in Germany, hunching his tall frame and diminishing his presence so much that a third person entering the tent didn’t even notice him. Theseus knows his mother doesn’t know much about the second marriage save that Julius is an abuser. Theseus will never give her details, because he will never forget seeing his baby brother bloody and bruised at the hand of his ex-husband and he doesn’t think she can live if she knows. As it happened it was almost two full days before he could convince her to leave Newt’s bedside while he was in hospital.

She means well in wanting to see Newt married again, but as far as Theseus is concerned, a new marriage is still too tender a subject to broach, even for their mother’s peace of mind. He’s told her this. It doesn’t stop her trying once more two weeks before Newt was scheduled to leave for his first country.

“It's dangerous to allow your brother to be on his own for this book. We have no idea how long he’ll be gone for; he’ll be out all alone in who knows what country.”

“Mother...” Theseus sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “We know his itinerary. Barring emergencies we know exactly what country he’ll be in and for roughly how long. He’s estimated a year for introductory field work and he’ll be able to use the spelled parchment in an emergency.”

“But Theseus, what if something happens? What if there’s trouble- you know how he attracts trouble around creatures. And you can’t just up and leave England anymore. You lead the DMLE now and you don’t know what the year will bring. Newt won’t have anyone to take care of him while he’s out there. It’s been over a year since the divorce- tongues are already wagging.”

“They were already wagging when we brought Newt to St. Mungo’s for a second martial-related visit, and the wagging only sped up when we announced the divorce,” Theseus grinds out. He relents some when he sees his mother’s wounded look. “Mother, I really don't think he'd take well to another marriage right now. He can still hardly hold eye contact with me- how could forcing a new husband on him help?”

“There must be someone who would just take care of him,” their mother insists. “You know how society will treat him if he isn’t married by 30, and the law won’t recognize him if something happens to you. If we can’t find someone suitable and trustworthy here among the old families, isn’t there anyone you know?”

Personally Theseus thinks society can take a long walk off a short pier. But he knows exactly how little value the law places on unmarried younger sons and he finds himself considering his colleagues in spite of himself. He has Auror contacts all over the world, after all, and many live in places where pureblood and half-blood don’t matter in the same way they do at home; some come from cultures where the wizards are more indulgent of their creatures.

He must know someone who would be a steady influence with pull enough among the wizarding worlds to keep Newt safe- someone who would be willing to indulge their partner, someone who would be careful with a partner who has been as hurt as Newt is, but who would also take looking after them very seriously.

Oh. Of course!

“Theseus?” his mother asks.

“Hm?” Theseus blinks. He realizes he’s been sitting in silence and flushes. “Ah, sorry mother.”

She smiles fondly. “What were you thinking?”

“I might know someone,” Theseus says slowly, “I’ll need to speak to him, but... it might just work.”

Love how Newt asks about the book, how excited and hopeful he is, and how his work is being valuable. You write the damage that has been left on him so well. And I'm glad Percy's about to show up - poor boy needs some good in his life

Re: FILL [3/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-01-22 18:59 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [3/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-01-19 20:58 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [3/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-01-22 19:47 (UTC) - Expand

And lo! A wild Percival appears. Also there is fudging of wizarding laws, because I'm pretty sure JK didn't have wizarding authorities getting involved with marriages in mind when she started writing. (I'm thinking that for all intents and purposes here, the pure-blood obsessed old families are the ones who wrote the laws to make sure magic marries magic.)

------

My dear Percival,

Tales of your exploits continue to reach the shores of England, and the ministry employees in my office are grudgingly impressed. Naturally I tell them that you’ve learned everything from your correspondence with me. (You’re welcome.)

It has been too long since we last spoke. I know I could just call you, but I wanted to put this request down in a letter so you will take time to consider it in full.

You remember my brother, Newton- I know I’ve spoken of him to you. Have I sent you his photograph before? I include one here, if not.

I am looking to make a third marriage for him. (Yes, third. When you call I will explain our laws, assuming that they are different from yours.) I may not have told you of his two previous marriages, as they did not end well and it was hard to speak of. Even now he carries… well, I hesitate to say trauma, since I don’t know everything and he has made great strides in Not Talking About Them, but trauma is the only word I can think of.

Newt is getting ready to take himself on a world tour, so to speak, to begin field research for a book which has been commissioned by one of our esteemed book-sellers. He leaves in a week. My mother is most anxious that he should have someone who will take care of him during this trip. I know that neither you nor I are available to go to him at the drop of a hat, but she will not if I fudge the details, and I think you may be the only man my brother would not be afraid of. (When you call, Perce, promise.)

If you are still lacking a partner, please think on this. I’m available all day the next few days barring an emergency. I will be in my office study at the Ministry.

Yours sincerely,
Theseus

(PS: Please let Antigone rest with you before sending her back with your reply. She’s quite friendly and will respond well to a carrot or two if you have some.)

+

Theseus is reading the Daily Prophet at his office desk.

His secretary knocks on the door, an envelope held out to him as she approaches his desk. “Sir, you’ve received a message. Looks like it’s from the DMLE at MACUSA.”

Theseus raises his eyebrows and smiles a little. Must be Percival’s reply. He reaches out to take the envelope from her. “Thank you, Helene. Please let it be known that barring an emergency from Himself, my office is closed to visitors until further notice. Is Antigone safe and resting?”

“Yes, sir. She's in the stable.”

“Excellent. That's all for now.” Theseus goes into his study and glances at the parchment.

The parchment is short and sits in the envelope in front of a photo. Percival glances out at him from the photo, looking tired but smiling faintly. He keeps looking from the camera to his little sister, who holds Percival’s hand in her left and a medal in the other. Theseus recognizes the moment from a story about two years ago- Percival had been awarded something or other to do with finding a ring of kidnapped children.

Only you would send a letter with a Thestral. We have seagull post for international comm. you know. Photo here, incase you need it. Best I had. Call me.

Theseus prepares to do just that. Percival long ago convinced him to invest in a Muggle telephone, and he has to admit the man is right about the contraptions. Experiments with the floo network never turn out particularly well for either fire-calls or full-body transportation across oceans. There is a special branch of wizarding post that is set up to take advantage of Muggle ships, but it’s slow.

With the telephone, Percival and Theseus have a direct line to each other that neither is willing to tell others about. (When attempting to have a Muggle outfit your office with electricity, it helps to be the heads of your respective Auror Offices but it also pays not to let too many people in on the job.)

Theseus picks up the receiver and spells the room with a silence charm. (America wizards worked out some sort of operation that keeps their lines separate from the Muggles, though crossed wires have been known to happen. Apparently Muggles are very good at telling themselves they’ve just misheard something.) He gives the operator the number for Percival’s home in New York.

The phone picks up after one ring. “Theseus.”

“Percival! Good to hear your voice.”

“What's this about your brother?”

“What- you don't want to hear about what I've been up to?” Theseus teases.

“I'm pretty sure I know how your job works,” Percival says. His voice is deep and fond. “Assuming you do half the work I wind up doing. So. Why do you need me to marry your brother?”

“Once a wizard is married,” Theseus starts, and he shakes his head even though Percival can’t see it. “they are expected to stay married; a divorce is allowed for abuse or infidelity, but it’s never to be left as a permanent state. I have full say in who Newt marries, but I love him. The law could get involved if he doesn’t marry, and he’d have no say in what happens to him then.”

“And he’s inclined towards men, I assume, if you’re speaking to me. But he’s afraid, you said.”

Theseus tells Percival everything he knows: the first marriage and how it ended, the war, the second marriage and how it ended, how Newt is still suffering from both of them and how that suffering manifests. He’s pleased to hear Percival making one or two angry exclamations as he relates the story.

“Why me, after all that he’s been through?”

“I think you’d be good for him, as a companion. Newt’s not been focused save when he’s writing, and when he’s writing it takes all his focus. I’ve seen you with hurt children.”

“Your brother isn’t a child.”

“He needs gentle treatment as though he was- he’s still scared to speak before he’s spoken to. And I need someone I know will be reliable, who will have reliable people. Newt’s going to be in places that we don’t have a lot of contact with their wizarding communities, and where the Muggles aren’t friendly towards our Muggles. We can compensate for any lack of physical relations, if you agree to this match, of course. It will be a proper contract.”

“All right.”

“Sorry?”

“I’ll marry your brother. Arrange the contract however you wish and I’ll sign it. Give him a couple years before it needs to take effect so he can write this book without me hanging over him. I don’t need anything except a place to stay near you- I’m not going to keep him away from you year-round. Oh... maybe one of your mother’s best breeds? I hear that hippogriffs are excellent guards.”

Theseus closes his eyes and breathes out a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you, Percival.”

“I hope your brother is okay with it,” Percival says softly, “Do let him know that I won’t require anything of him he’s not willing to give.”

“I will. I’ll send Antigone back to you with the contract tomorrow.”

Percival chuckles, “How you got permission for a Thestral as personal messenger I will never know.”

“Benefits of running my department after a war- nobody was really around to say no. We’ll talk soon?”

“Of course.”

Theseus hangs up the phone and un-spells the room. He pulls out the copies of Newt’s previous marriage contracts. Generally wizards are left to draw up such contracts between themselves unless a barrister is demanded by one side or the other. He trusts Percival to make changes as he deems fit that will not negatively impact Newt.

Now he just has to tell Newt.

+

He has the contract laid out on his desk, as his father would have, because he doesn’t know what else to do. Their mother sits on the settee, hands in her lap. They are clenched tight and betray her nerves. As soon as Newt comes into the study and sees the parchment his eyes grow wide and betrayed. Theseus closes his eyes and swears to himself. This is not the best way to start.

“Newt, please, listen to me,” he says.

“Theseus, how could...” Newt’s voice is strangled. He closes his eyes tightly. “No. I will not... I will not!”

Theseus has to grab for Newt’s wrist before his brother can run from the room. Newt shakes under his grip. He looks at his mother, throat closing up on him. He’s never not been able to talk before- getting people to do what he says is part of his job but this is his brother. He’s never terrified his brother.

“Darling-” their mother says, standing. She comes to Newt from the side and waits until his eyes are open before she takes him by the shoulders and makes soothing little noises as she hugs him. “Darling, listen to your brother. Please. You need a fiancé, if not a husband, if you want to travel freely for your book. You know the law- ”

Newt chokes on a breath and tries to turn away.

“Percival doesn’t want anything from you that you don’t want to give, Newt, I promise you that,” Theseus says, “He’ll only be there to support you, and make sure you’re safe on your travels. He’s my counterpart in America. Bringing up his name to any wizarding law enforcement will-”

“Do I not have your name- my own name- anymore?” Newt snaps.

“His name as your fiancé will be stronger than mine,” Theseus says. He tries to keep his voice neutral but firm, and he pulls Newt gently towards the contract on his desk. “Please, read the contract. Percival really is a good sort. You don’t even have to get married right away- we’ve agreed on a two year engagement so you can write your book in peace. He just wants to help.”

“Because you threw me at him!” Newt shouts. Immediately he bites his lip and looks away from the parchment and Theseus, curling in on himself. There is quiet until he shakes his head firmly. “No. I will not do this. I don’t much care if you think it’s for my own good or not. People can talk all they like- they always have before. I’ve had quite enough of matches and spouses. You- I can’t believe you’d-”

Theseus wraps his arm around Newt’s shoulders and moves so Newt is bracketed between Theseus and their mother. “I know you don't want another marriage now, but I do think you'd get on well with Percival and I think he could help you-”

Newt pulls away from them both. He wraps his arms tightly around himself. “I don't need him, or his help. I don’t need you shunting me off to some unsuspecting American. And if you think-”

“Newt, don’t blame your brother,” their mother interrupts softly, “He’s only doing his duty under our laws, and at my insistence.”

“Our laws don’t seem much to care that they affect people,” Newt says bitterly.

At least he isn't turning his anger on their mother. That’s a hopeful sign, Theseus decides. Their mother wouldn't be able to take Newt’s anger. He might not be the first born or the star of the Scamander family, but he’s always been her favorite.

“Think about it,” he says, “I’ll leave the contract here for you to sign before you leave, okay?”

“I've thought about it," is the brusque reply. "You marry him if you like him so bloody much.”

“Newt!”

Their mother’s voice is admonishing but Newt has gone still with mulish stubbornness.

“I can sign it for you as head of your family,” Theseus says, his voice low, “You know how that will make you seem in the eyes of others. I don't want to do that, but this is negotiated and agreed. I will not allow the law to settle your future for you if I can help it. Don't make me, Newt. Please.”

Newt looks up at his brother, horrified and hurt. His eyes lock with Theseus, pale green studying dark gray in hope of finding an out. He finds only the calm certainty that Theseus will sign the contract if Newt does not, because the laws say he must. Newt swallows back a series of swears. He storms to the desk and scrawls his name in the sloppiest, most bitter handwriting he can coax from the quill.

“There. You may commence selling off my effects.”

His mother and brother are silent as he pushes past to go to his room and Newt already feels guilty.

+

That night, Newt shoves the guilt he feels deep down, burying it under hurt, anger and panic. He runs.

Let them try to find him. Newt has always been very good at going unnoticed.

Re: FILL [4/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

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Re: FILL [4/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

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Newt will make it to America, I promise- I just wanted to give him a bit of a break to go through his travels first.

------

Since Newt’s travels and itinerary were already approved, his visas, safe conducts, and passport are all valid, albeit shoved by the fistful into his various coat pockets. Still, nobody tries to stop him when he boards the ferry from Dover to Calais. Newt watches Dover recede into the distance with his shoulders hunched against the cold. When he can no longer make out the shore he heads into the cabin and presses his back against a wall in the darkest corner the ferry has to offer.

He’s unable to relax throughout the three-hour trip and spends his time forging new dates on his documents to throw off anyone who knew his schedule. He rushes off the ferry in Calais, going directly to Muggle transport.

Newt takes a train from Calais to Paris, then the Orient Express from Paris to Bucharest. Though he has the money to purchase passage in a private cabin, he takes a shared one in third class. He spells the suitcase with a confundo charm to make sure the Muggles in the cabin don’t notice it and descends into the shack to take in what he has to work with: A bed, a dresser, a chest, a desk, two chairs and two lamps. Basics. He’ll probably have to change things as he travels.

On the desk Newt finds a photograph of a man he’s never seen instead. Frowning, he flips the photo and finds an inscription in his brother’s handwriting.

Percival Graves (with sister Dorothy, taken about 2 years ago). Stay safe.

“Merlin’s beard, Theseus,” Newt mutters angrily, “You utter plonker.”

He can’t quite make himself throw the photograph away, but he chucks it carelessly into a desk drawer and turns to the door at the far end of the shack. It opens into nothing, but Newt’s worked the undetectable expansion charm to respond to his magic since receiving the suitcase. He calms himself by making a garden that he can open the door into.

In Bucharest, he waits a day in case there is some kind of a tracking spell on his suitcase. When nobody appears to drag him back to England, Newt allows himself to relax. He gets his bearings and finds the local wizarding Ministry. The elderly witches and wizards staffing service desks are at least as chatty as any back home- all it takes is the right question to get them talking about legends and local stories, and to point him in the right direction to start his hunt for magical creatures.

Before he heads off for his first destination, he writes a quick note home to say he’s made it safely to his first destination and that the food is fine- which he hadn’t been expecting, but he now knows because the grandmothers he’s met have a strange obsession with feeding people. He sends it from the Rumanian ministry owlery and only after the owl is gone does he remember he didn’t say where he’s going next.

+

Newt’s work technically starts en route from Bucharest to Constantinople- mostly by accident. The train is paused at a rest stop when a woman from a second class car shrieks that her necklace has been stolen and police are called.

Newt spots the niffler right away, just as he spots a rather shady character trying to catch it. Further down the platform, there is a cage with the door hanging open. After a moment Newt realizes that the shady character also has a wand and he watches as the man jabs the wand angrily in the niffler’s direction several times. Each time nothing happens to the niffler and the man swears soundly. It can’t mean anything good for the creature, and Newt readies himself to pounce almost before he realizes he’s decided to take action.

He drops a sickle to the ground at his feet. The clang of the coin on the platform makes the niffler stop in its tracks. Newt bends his knees slightly. He waits, dead still, tracking the other wizard with his eyes. The niffler approaches. Newt snatches it up as soon as it grabs the coin. It struggles, whining, holding the coin tightly in its paws. Newt wraps his coat over it and hushes at it, moving slowly to get somewhere out of the way, where the Muggle police won’t realize what’s happened.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmurs, petting the niffler’s soft tummy, “And how are you so far from home, hm?”

The niffler stops squirming and locks eyes with Newt. It looks suspicious.

Newt chuckles softly. “You can keep that, I promise. I just need the necklace back, please. If you don’t give it back there’s going to be trouble. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“That’s mine!” snaps a gravelly voice. It’s the wizard, and he grabs for the niffler. “Give it back.”

“I assure you, the coin came from my pocket,” Newt says neutrally, dodging the grab.

“The niffler, you berk. I’ll have you arrested for theft.”

Newt smiles pleasantly and holds up his Ministry ID so the wizard can see ‘Scamander’ written there. “Are you quite sure? Do you have a permit to be moving a niffler across borders? Where is his habitat?”

Newt finds himself in possession of the niffler in surprisingly short order.

+

Theseus is not looking forward to his phone call with Percival. He’s got his office muffliato’d and his study door silencio’d, so it should be a very private call. He doesn’t like to think how Percival is going to take the news.

Percival picks up the phone and asks: “How did he take the news of the arrangement?”

Theseus grimaces and is silent as he tries to figure out how to explain what happened without telling Percival that his fiance is so afraid to be married that he signed the contract and ran away, and now they don’t know where he is- Theseus knows his brother well enough to know that he’s changed his itinerary. The only way they’ll find him now is official search party.

He’s been silent too long. Percival’s voice is low and demanding when he speaks again. “You fucked up.”

“I fucked up,” Theseus agrees, sighing heavily.

“What did you do?”

Theseus leans back in his chair and shifts the telephone receiver to his other ear. “I had the marriage contract out on the desk behind me. He saw it before I got to talk to him about you. It threw off the whole meeting. I should have known better- that must have been how father presented his other marriages.”

“And?”

“And...” He scrubs at his face, “I made him sign it. On pain of I would do it for him if he didn’t.”

“Mercy Lewis, Theseus, you said he’d been hurt by his other matches- what did you think forcing him to sign a new contract of marriage would accomplish?”

“I know, I know,” Theseus says quickly, grimacing again, “But, Perce, if the issue of him marrying again winds up in the Ministry’s hands, he will be hurt again, possibly worse than before, because the Ministry doesn’t care. I don’t dare think what might happen to him if that should happen.”

“You explained that to him.”

“Yes, I told him. He heard, but he was so angry. I only just got your photo into his coat before he left.”

“Left?”

“He was scheduled to start his book travels at the end of this week, but he disappeared last night,” Theseus murmurs, “His first stop was Calais, but from there he was supposed to go to Germany and I haven’t heard of his visa being processed there. He could be anywhere by now.”

He can almost hear Percival frown on the other end of the phone. “Will he be safe?”

“He’s worked with dragons,” Theseus says, mouth twisting up, “but I don’t know.”

+

In the mountains between India and Tibet, Newt finds a Demiguise. (Or maybe it’s that a Demiguise finds him.) It takes him a while to realize what it is- even though he can hear and see it from the corner of his eye, the creature disappears every time he tries to see it head on. The old accounts and his research confirm that it must be a Demiguise, which turns invisible when frightened, and he starts to leave food out for it. He takes his own notes as the food is either eaten or left to rot but otherwise leaves it alone.

Three days later the Demiguise comes to Newt while he’s working on a sketch of the niffler (whom he’s taken to calling Hobbs) and climbs onto Newt’s back, snuffling at his hair. Newt stays very still but he smiles and his insides buzz with excitement.

“Hello, there.”

The Demiguise chirps, running fingers through Newt’s curls. He peers down from over the top of Newt’s head and blinks at him. Newt chuckles. The Demiguise almost flips and falls into Newt’s lap at the sound- Newt reaches instinctively to steady the creature.

“Hey now, steady,” he murmurs.

The Demiguise blinks big eyes up at him, then nods. Nods? Newt tilts his head, wondering if he’s just projected onto the animal, but then the Demiguise nods again and this time hugs Newt around his neck. Newt puts his arms gingerly around the creature. The Demiguise’s fur is matted with dried blood and there are extensive bald patches down his back.

“Poor thing,” he says softly, “You need a place to heal. thought you were supposed to be from much farther north than down here- closer to China. Do you need to go back? Would you like to come with me? I have plenty of food. Or I can find it.”

The Demiguise cups Newt's cheek and makes another chirp. Newt takes that as a yes. That night he goes foraging for more of the berries and fruits that the Demiguise seems to favor, collecting them in a tub Transfigured from some bark, and extends the undetectable expansion charm in his suitcase to include a bamboo forest, just to the right of Hobb’s nest.

+

Theseus has the pages of the Daily Prophet’s international section spread out over the floor of the living room as he studies them. Sometimes it’s easier for Theseus to pick information out of a paper when he can see everything at once and read it all three times, and short of sending out every Auror in the Ministry to find Newt, the papers are his only hope. Mother stopped asking him not to clutter the living room three weeks ago.

She stands next to him, face tired and drawn. “Still no word?” she asks.

Theseus shakes his head. He banishes the paper to the bin.

Re: Graves/Newt, Newt/Others, Theseus- Learning to Trust, angst, h/c, past abuse, arranged marriage

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Re: FILL [5/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

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More creatures, continuing from the last part; but we're almost to Newt's trip to America.

------

Newt hikes through the Urals and a taiga forest and winds up in a place called Novgorod. Without meaning to, he finds the few wizards and witches who live there. They are suspicious of him until Newt presents his letter of introduction and safe conduct. Once it’s established that he’s not there to upend Russian wizarding politics they take him in and ply him with strong tea in a glass and hot beet soup.

Between everyone, there's enough broken English and Newt’s horrid Russian to tell Newt of a family of Bowtruckles (it may not be the official way to describe a group of Bowtruckles, but that’s how they act) that live in a tree in what used to be a courtyard. The buildings that once surrounded the courtyard were staffed by Muggle soldiers and the local wizarding community can't Obliviate them owing to something happening in the Muggle government. They're afraid the Muggles will burn the tree and that they may have to let it happen.

Newt sits up straight and before he can stop himself says: “No.”

The elder wizard- Newt thinks his name is Dmitri- stares at him. Newt goes cold all over and looks down.

“Then what?” Dmitri asks gruffly, “We can do nothing.”

Newt swallows thickly. “Let me try. Please. I'm a scientist.” Nobody looks particularly impressed and Newt’s stomach churns with nerves. To distract himself he digs around his coat pockets for his MoM credentials. “See? I’m- you could call me a magizoologist. I can help; it's my job.”

There is soft discussion and head shaking. Newt knows an argument when he sees one. He shrinks back in his seat, holding his tea glass tightly in his hands. They’re going to let the Bowtruckles die. He’s going to have to find them on his own.

As if sensing his distress, Dougal pokes his head out of the suitcase and clambers onto his lap. Newt wraps one arm around Dougal, keeping his hot tea safely away from wandering hands. “What have I told you about toying with those clasps?”

Dougal chirps his unrepentance. Newt realizes the room has gone silent and Dimitri has leaned forward.

“That is Demiguise.”

“Yes. I found him on my way through Tibet. I believe he’d escaped from someone harvesting his fur. He wouldn't let me leave without him once I was finished with my work in China,” Newt unsheathes his wand and points the tip to his temple. “I will show you if you like.”

“No need. Demiguise stays, and not invisible. Good. You try with Bowtruckles- save them and tree.”

Newt goes to the courtyard. Dmitri’s daughter keeps watch while Newt wonders how best to convince the Bowtruckles that they should join him. Their tree is a skinny thing that is about as tall as Newt. He would think it was a sick tree if he hadn’t just been through a forest full of them. It’s probably a moor birch, though he will have to check his books to be sure. Newt stands in front of the tree and considers it, a bowl of woodlice in hand. Unfortunately, he doesn't have quite the same time with which to bribe them that he had with Dougal, and Bowtruckles aren’t dumb enough to simply follow a trail into his suitcase.

Uproot and shrink the tree, maybe?

It could work, but only if he can get the Bowtruckles down- and from the angry-sounding chattering they’re doing in the branches overhead he’s not sure that’s an option. Although... one Bowtruckle is much farther down than the rest and its head is tilted as though it’s curious.

Newt holds out the bowl of woodlice to that Bowtruckle. He moves very slowly.

“Hello, up there. I’m sorry to disturb you, but the Muggles don’t seem to like this building much, and they want to burn your tree down.” The Bowtruckles go silent. Newt bites his lip, unsure what the silence means, but he takes a breath and persists. “I’d rather not see your tree burned, or you. I’m here to help if you’ll let me. I’ve got a place for you to live, with Hobbs and Dougal. I do a lot of traveling but I don’t think you’ll notice- I can take your tree with me.”

The curious Bowtruckle climbs down further and leans forward, peering into the bowl. Newt holds it closer. Apparently, this one is an adventurous sort, as it ignores the slightly panicked sounding chatter and crawls onto Newt’s arm. It reaches in and plucks several woodlice to eat.

Once the curious Bowtruckle is content, the rest seem to decide that Newt is a viable food source. Another comes down, sounding and looking like he’s chiding the first Bowtruckle. Newt stands as still as he can, suitcase open at his feet. Soon the whole family is crowding around the branch by his hand, trying to get to the woodlice. Newt takes a step back and puts one foot into the suitcase. The remaining Bowtruckles launch themselves at him, and Newt suddenly has 6 crawling over his shoulders or clinging to his arms.

“Easy, please. We don’t want you falling off,” Newt mutters, descending, “Or me falling down this ladder.”

When only his head is left visible, he pulls out his wand and shrinks the birch tree, bringing it down with them. He plants it just to the other side of the Hobbs’s nest and lets it take it’s height back. The Bowtruckles grab for the woodlice and start climbing back up the tree branches. All but one, which stays sitting on his shoulder and occasionally cheeps until Newt lifts the woodlice bowl so it can reach.

Newt hums at them and watches as they make themselves comfortable again. “There, that’s much better, isn’t it? Now, I’m going to need names for you lot. Who’s first?”

+

“Any luck?” Percival asks.

“To an extent,” Theseus says, “Contacts in Constantinople and Shanghai say they’ve seen him.”

“That’s... quite a distance.”

“I know. It’s been 3 weeks since Zogby’s letter; Yuèzhèng’s just came a couple days ago. Apparently, a massive black market trade in Occamy eggs in Shanghai collapsed.”

“You think that was Newt?” Percival is, unable to completely contain the surprise in his voice.

“Oh, yes,” Theseus says, shaking his head, “He’s quite good with dragons and their kin. At any rate, both letters agree that he was in one piece and seemed well.”

“Reassuring,” Percival remarks. His voice is light, but the lightness sounds forced. “I’ll reach out to my people, see if we can’t come up with a better timeline of his movements between us.”

Theseus chuckles, but it comes out as little more than a strained noise. “I’ve asked everyone I’ve contacted to stay back unless he’s visibly hurt or sick. I don’t want to… I don’t want to frighten him again. He’s got very good at hiding since he turned 18.”

“Understood. I’ll direct the same.”

“Thank you, Perce.”

+

In Abyssinia, Newt runs into a nundu. Somewhat literally, as it happens. He's been following the trail of a smuggling ring he first heard mentioned in Constantinople, and later in Medina, Hejaz, and again in Aden. Rumors of the power the group has in Abyssinia due to the weird creatures it keeps finding has Newt changing all his plans.

They have a compound set up in the middle of nowhere, in the mountains of Abyssinia. Newt’s seen some similar set ups by Muggle scientists in his travels, but here the outer buildings are empty shells. Newt leaves his suitcase in one of these and sets wards around it. He commences reconnaissance to find the heart of the compound, sneaking around under a Disillusionment charm.

He finds a warehouse guarded by Muggles with guns, but with no other wards or alarm spells that he can detect. Newt moves carefully to peers through a window. The inside is crammed with cages containing animals.

“Not scientists, then,” he mutters.

He looks around to make sure the area is empty, then casts Alohamora on the lock and slips inside. There is stirring among the cages but it sounds lazy to Newt’s ears. He creeps from cage to cage, peeking in and frowning. The animals are non-magical, which is a relief, but very lethargic, like they’re under a ridiculous amount of sedation.

And then Newt comes across the cage towards the back.

“Oh, bugger.”

The nundu is very young. There’s some sort of binder around its neck that keeps it from inflating. It's so drugged, it can hardly move a paw. Newt thinks it’s probably too young to do much damage anyway, but inevitably the cub’s parents will track down the camp and it will not end well.

He hears footsteps outside and ducks down, pressing himself against the nundu’s cage. Once it is silent again, Newt creeps back out of the warehouse and locks the doors behind him. He retreats to his suitcase and writes to the Aurors of the East African Alliance to tell them of Muggles trafficking nundus. He sends the letter with a quick spell and turns to his notes. He reads everything he has on nundus or anything that seems tangentially related to one. His sources seem to agree that at such a young age the cub probably can’t kill with its breath. Newt hopes they’re right.

He gathers raw meat from storage and starts up a batch of potion that should remove the sedative from the cub’s blood stream if they get to that point. He sneaks back into the warehouse and sits by the cage, casting Silencio on it before putting bits of raw meat on his spare scarf and pushing it through the bars.

The nundu growls softly and tries to inflate its neck, but Newt stays stock still. He mimics the nundu’s vocalizations back at the creature. Soon enough it noses into the meat. Newt holds his breath as the cub takes a careful lick, then a mouthful, then another.

“That's better, isn't it?” Newt whispers, as the cub eats.

When the scarf is empty of meant, the nundu paws at it and chuffs softly. It blinks large eyes at Newt as though it’s only just noticed him. Newt takes another handful of the meat he’s brought with him and places some of it on the scarf. The rest he holds in his palm.

The nundu sniffs at both scarf and human hand, and whines.

“Shhhh, shhhh, I'm only here to help,” Newt says, soothing as he can manage, “Here, now, you need more food, don't you? Come on, eat up. We’ll have you feeling better.”

By the time dawn breaks he’s fed the nundu all the rest of the meat he’d brought with him by hand, and he’s gotten the nundu to allow him to touch a paw. Newt brushes the cub’s fur gently as he murmurs a good-bye. He sneaks back to his suitcase in the outer building and sets an alarm for a two hour nap.

When he wakes up, the sedative-removal potion is done. Dougal has joined Newt, curled up at his side and holding Newt’s hand tight. He looks worried and Newt bites his lip. Dougal only gets that look when he foresees something about to go wrong. Well, worrying means you suffer twice.

He is perhaps a little too brazen when he casts bombarda maxima to destroy the shells of the outer buildings. Several of the inner circle of buildings also catch fire, because the shells were so flimsy that the debris blew inward. Less time than ever. The Muggles are shouting all across the compound.

One of their guards is pointing one of those small Muggle weapons into a cage at the far end of the warehouse when Newt runs in. Newt stuns the guard perfunctorily and levitates him carelessly through a window. The nundu cub is roaring in distress. Newt runs to the cage and opens it. He throws his suitcase inside. The confused shouting outside the warehouse is getting closer.

“Please come. I'll help you,” he says breathlessly, “I promise.”

The entrance to the warehouse crashes and crumbles in a haze of burning pieces. Newt waves his wand in a frantic, messy circle. The animal cages open all at once and any animals still conscious pour out out of them in a cacophony of frightened sounds. Newt blows back the confused Muggles- Statute of Secrecy be damned. The animals flood through the opening in the flames, shoving poachers to the side and trampling them.

The fire spreads quickly.

Newt casts a shield around the nundu and his suitcase as flaming debris falls on top of them. Flames lick at the bars of the cage. Newt barely points a finger at the binder and it snaps apart, releasing the cub’s neck. It inflates instantly. Newt absently hopes he’s not about to die.

He hears shots from those Muggle weapons- they’re firing wildly.

The fire blazes against Newt’s shield. He can feel the heat through it. It’s starting to falter; he’s kept it up too long. Smoke starts to filter through. When Newt coughs, the shield splinters. The nundu lowers its front to the ground, looking like a cat ready to pounce. Newt knows he can’t let it. The Muggles are firing towards them in the cage now.

The nundu jumps.

Newt grabs the cub mid-air and Apparates into his suitcase shack. When they appear the cub buries its teeth in his shoulder. Rather than scream and frighten the cub further, Newt bites down so hard on his lip that he bites through it. He wrestles the shaking cub to the ground and clambers back up the ladder, ignoring the pain. In a hail of weapons firing, Newt throws himself out of the suitcase and slams the lid shut.

He’s never Apparated with his suitcase. He’s always been good at it, and he’s gotten even better since embarking on his field work, but to bring the suitcase and put all his creatures in danger… He doesn’t really have a choice. Newt grabs the handle.

He pulls all his magic in desperately, and Apparates once more.

uh. apparently this was too long for the comment box.

------

It’s dark and Newt is freezing.

His suitcase is clutched tightly to his chest, and at first, Newt isn’t sure why he’s holding it so tightly. Then he feels someone trying to pull it away from him. He can’t see the person but he won’t let them. Never. There’s a babbling sound, which is probably meant to be soothing, but Newt isn’t fooled. He’s going to save these animals. They won’t be used and caged again.

The hands stop and the babbling sounds pause and there’s shuffling. Newt feels himself dip as a weight is deposited on the bed. He hears muffled words and feels a gentle hand on his forehead. Newt stills. The words become more distinct as he relaxes. The voice is accented but sounds a little like his mother.

“You’re safe,” says the soft voice, “Your creatures are here. Sleep now.”

He sleeps.

Newt wakes and finds that everything is hot and blurry. He hears noises rather than words and he can’t tell if that’s because nobody is speaking or if he just can’t hear. He can also see this time, but not very well. He sees that there are wizards in the room with him- nobody wears robes like that in the Muggle world- and some of them look grim. Authoritative. They don’t have uniforms like Healers at home.

Aurors.

They’ve found him. Newt struggles to sit up despite the fact that he feels like his body is going to shake apart. He grasps blindly for his suitcase. The wizards come in closer, pressing around him. Some have their arms out. They’re going to take him to America.

Newt tries to throw his legs over the side of the bed but he can hardly move. He tries to Apparate but nothing happens. He thinks someone might be talking to him but he can’t understand it. There are hands on him. He struggles, tries to get away, but he’s so tired. His body feels so heavy.

He slides back into the dark.

Newt wakes to bright lights and purring vibrating deep in his bones. His vision is clear and the room is very quiet. Pickett the Bowtruckle is curled up on his chest. There’s a Healer- an elderly African woman with graceful hands- patting his forehead with a damp cloth. Newt blinks, turning to get a better look at the woman.

She smiles and leaves the back of her hand against his forehead. “You’re back.”

“I am?” Newt croaks, “Where?”

“Harar. We didn’t want to move you too far. We had to follow your magic from that letter you wrote to the Alliance,” she says, “First we found a burnt out poacher’s camp. We thought you'd gone until your Niffler friend stumbled into us. That was a week ago. It’s been 4 days since you last woke.”

Newt furrows his brow. The rest of him feels too numb to do anything else.

“We weren’t entirely sure we’d be able to help you. Your nundu may not be completely deadly yet, but her teeth did quite a number on your shoulder and she still has enough toxins that she gave you several diseases. When you woke last you were very agitated. You nearly made yourself relapse.”

Newt reaches slowly for the shoulder he can’t feel very well and finds that it is bandaged. His fingers brush fur. He cranes his neck. The nundu from the camp is curled up. Its head is resting on top of Newt, nose pushed into Newt’s hair.

Newt licks his lips. “The camp-” he tries around his dry throat.

“Is quite- hm- incinerated,” the woman says, bringing a glass of water to Newt’s lips and helping him drink, “Though we were surprised to see that there were no fatalities and only a few injuries, considering. We had quite a lot of Obliviating to do, but if the Muggle authorities could know, they’d thank you.”

A knock on the door of his room interrupts her. She stands and smiles, patting his hand. “Rest, yes?”

Newt sits up slowly and reaches for the envelope. The Healer turns and opens the door to leave. There are Aurors are standing outside, grim-faced. Even once the door is shut Newt can hear their voice and see their silhouettes gesturing and he knows they’re talking about him.

He hears a voice that carries an American accent and goes cold. They know who he is- they must know who he's engaged to. They must be here to bring him to America. Newt gathers his belongings, gets Pickett into his coat, gets the nundu back into his suitcase.

He has slipped out by the back steps by the time the Healer returns.

Re: FILL [6.5/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to tr

(Anonymous) - 2017-02-02 20:01 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [6.5/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to tr

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Re: FILL [6.5/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to tr

(Anonymous) - 2017-02-03 00:48 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [6.5/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to tr

(Anonymous) - 2017-02-07 00:55 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [6.5/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to tr

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Re: FILL [6.5/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to tr

(Anonymous) - 2017-02-07 00:59 (UTC) - Expand

Okay, a couple last bits of Newt and his creatures before we turn to the US and get back into the meat of the prompt. (I meant for the traveling to be so much shorter, but I am incapable of succinct writing. I'm sorry! OTL)

------

Newt flees all the way to Cairo because Cairo is the only place he can force out of his lips between lingering fever, dull but constant pain in his shoulder, and panic. He makes the trip in a record two and half days, traveling through the night on the road from Harar to Addis Ababa, a Muggle boat up the Blue Nile to Khartoum in Anglo-Egyptian Sudan, and a Muggle train from Khartoum to Cairo- all to keep anybody from picking up on his magic.

It is only once he reaches Cairo that Newt concedes he may not have needed to flee at all.

“I fear I may have been a bit hasty,” he muses aloud, working on the habitat for Martha (the nundu shows no interest in leaving and Newt can’t just throw her out), “The Healer would have mentioned my name if she’d been through my things and found my ID, or if there was some sort of search order for me.”

Pickett chirps an agreement. The bowtruckle is sitting on his shoulder, where he has been almost constantly since Newt woke up in the hospice in Harar. Newt has tried getting Pickett to return to his tree and his tree-mates, but Pickett has refused each time.

“I suppose I should have considered that those Aurors were not looking for me as the wayward finance of some wizard called Graves. They would have been there to ascertain the specifics of what happened at that poacher's camp.”

Pickett nods and chirps again. He seems to be taking pleasure in watching Newt shape the Undetectable Expansion Charm and coax grass and trees to grow and plateaus to form, which Newt makes a mental note of for his book.

“I’m glad you think so,” Newt says dryly. He runs the hand attached to his good shoulder through his hair. “Now. Do you think Martha would prefer a more mountainous form? Or more of a rock outcropping?”

+

“He was in Abyssinia less than five days ago,” Percival’s voice says into his ear. “In Harar.”

“Source?”

“Healer Ibsituu of the East African Alliance.”

Theseus immediately spells a pin into the city on the map, much like he has pins in every city any of his informants have mentioned. Shanghai, Constantinople, Calcutta, a possible sighting in Yekaterinburg that was long ago enough that his contact couldn’t be sure, Budapest, Sofia, now Harar. Not counting all the places Newt had undoubtedly been without detection. No logical path of where he’d been; no way to tell where he might be going to.

“I’ve heard of her. Not one of my personal contacts. How does she know?”

“She’s one of mine,” Percival says. He goes silent. Theseus knows that sort of silence.

“Perce. How does she know it was Newt?”

“She... He was in her care for 9 days.”

“What happened?” Theseus barks.

“The poachers snagged a nundu,” Percival says in a long breath, “Very young- not toxic yet. She says Newt wrote into the Alliance when he realized what the poachers had. They acted as soon as they got the letter but found a smoldering pile of wood and Newt in the mountain scrub nearby. He’s brought down a Muggle poaching ring which had been gaining power like the Muggle mafia around Abyssinia and Somaliland.”

“And what happened to him?”

“He rescued the nundu, and the nundu bit him. He’s not dead because it was so young. And if she’s to be believed, the nundu has... ah. It has adopted him.”

“By Hecate,” Theseus says slowly, but with deep passion, “I’m going to kill him when he comes home.”

+

Newt stays in Cairo nearly two weeks in order to allow his shoulder to heal and get to know Martha better. (He actually books himself into the Shepheard Hotel on the Nile- given the abuse his shoulder took, Newt decides it’s worth the expense.) He’s quite pleased with the progress she’s making; she’s taken to her new habitat quite well and she’s been very careful with her teeth. It’s been very exciting watching her growing out of her emaciated state (getting the right kind of raw meat is costing him a little more, but it shouldn’t be a problem for a while yet) and gaining confidence in herself.

Now that he can lift his arm over his head without wincing, it’s time to move on.

Newt hums idly as he looks at his maps and his calendar. He finds it hard to believe, but in just a month and a half he’ll have been in the field working on this book for a year and he’s not yet gotten over to the Americas. All of his personal notes cover creatures from Asia, Russia, Eastern Europe, and Africa, working from his old sources. He found about a smidge more than nothing on creatures from the “New World”, so it’s time to look to South America.

Before he leaves he’ll send Augustus Worme the notes he’s taken on all the creatures he’s come across for proof that he’s working on his commission. He supposes he should send a note to Theseus. It has been a year since they’ve spoken.

The railways that exist are less reliable than a steamship between Egypt and the west of Africa, but there are enough of those railways plus roads to get him to Rio Muni* if he walks and hitches rides between them. On the outside he’ll probably need a week to make the trip, but considering he hasn’t been through the west of Africa that it’ll be a good opportunity. He can then books passage for himself on a steamship to Brazil. If he does that, he can send his note from Cairo and still keep Theseus in the dark as to his whereabouts.

Dougal grabs Newt’s hand.

Newt leaves his finger on a rail timetable and looks down at the Demiguise. “What is it?”

The demiguise chirps and climbs into Newt’s lap. He reaches for one of Newt’s research notebooks.

“Have you seen a creature nearby, is that it?” Newt asks. He opens a desk drawer to put his maps and timetables away and give Dougal easier access to his notebook. As he puts the maps away, his eyes land on the photograph of Percival Graves as he does. He bites his lip and reaches into the drawer slowly, taking the photo gingerly between his fingers. “I forgot about this.”

Dougal makes a grasping motion. Newt places the photograph in Dougal’s hand as he puts everything away and closes the drawer again. The demiguise is studying the photo thoughtfully and looks somewhat sad.

“What?” Newt asks again, rubbing his fingers across Dougal’s head.

The demiguise sets the photograph on the desktop and shakes his head.

Newt hoists Dougal into his arms so he can stand, smiling softly. “Come on, then. The hatched occamies need to be fed and I’m worried about those last two eggs. I need to think of some sort of new way to incubate them. Then you’ll have to show me what and where the creature you’ve seen is.”

+

Dearest Percival,

You missed our call. I tried ringing you the other day, but it didn’t seem like it went through- I’ve never heard that sound before. Are you upgrading your equipment without telling me? Hardly seems fair.

Assuming you’ve been kidnapped to an enforced vacation, I’ll try again in a week or so.

I remain yours,
Theseus

+

Dougal takes Newt to a place in the vicinity of the Citadel at the edge of Cairo. He’s surrounded by sprawling Muggle cemeteries on one side- and neglected hovels on the other. Newt thinks the neighborhood must have once been a fairly prosperous area, but the few elderly Egyptian men Newt sees in the streets glare side eyed at him and walk to the other side of the street when he passes.

Newt almost misses the building Dougal wants him to stop at, it’s so crammed in among other dilapidated buildings and hovels. It’s lucky that he has Dougal, invisible and clinging to his back, to insist on stopping; otherwise, he’d have simply walked by.

On a hunch, Newt checks for a Disillusionment charm. Sure enough, the whole building is under one.

He checks the streets on either side to be sure that nobody is paying him much attention- he finds them all but deserted- and then moves into the alley alongside the building to check for alarms or the presence of other wizards inside. Either the wizards who operate out of this place are confident in their Disillusionment skills, since the alarms are only on the backdoor and upper windows, or nobody is home.

Newt casts a Disillusionment on himself before going back around to the front of the building. He casts Alohamora on the front door and creeps in just far enough to close it behind him. It seems quiet, which is not necessarily an indication of nobody being home, but there’s a stillness to the air that Newt has come to associate with emptiness. He hopes he's right, as he doesn't fancy another altercation. There are various Anti-Apparition wards set in the attic and upper floors.

“Dougal, stay with the others, please,” Newt murmurs.

Dougal obligingly hops into the suitcase. Newt closes and latches it before continuing into the building. The wards are strongest leading to the basement, so that is where Newt decides to check first. it takes him about 60 very intense minutes of hoping nobody comes in and surprises him before he's able to co-opt the spell work and release the wards to go downstairs.

There are massive storage containers of all sorts in the basement. Some are stacked in piles to the ceiling. Newt spells one open and immediately recognizes all kinds of feed- much like he keeps for his creatures. Checking through several cabinet and cadenzas turns up caches of creature parts: Ashwinder eggs, erumpent horns, piles of fwooper feathers, vials labeled Phoenix Tears, and other horns and tails and hairs that most apothecaries wouldn't dare carry without very special licenses and in very limited quantities.

He's standing in a major source of black market materials.

Newt frowns to himself, sifting through the stores of materials more thoroughly, making mental notes of everything he comes across. Proper authorities should be alerted, but will this place even be here by the time he does? Though, now that he’s looking closer, there is a fine layer of dust on everything that isn’t enclosed in some way. Perhaps this place has been abandoned. Newt vaguely knows that there’s trouble between the British Muggle government and Egyptian Muggles, but how much trouble it causes the Egyptian Ministry is hard to say.

In the back of one of the cadenzas, Newt comes across a clear jar of red-gold feathers; feathers like Newt’s never seen before. He pulls one out and runs it through his fingers. It's the softest thing he's felt in months.

He slips it into his pocket, considering his options. An operation like this, so well stocked, usually starts up because someone has their hands on the creatures they get the most money from. Newt wavers just a second, then sends all the cached material into his suitcase so nobody else gets their hands on it and turns back to the rest of the basement.

The storage is all spelled to keep food fresh, and the spells haven’t worn off, so if this place has been abandoned, it’s fairly recent. There could still be creatures trapped down here. It’s that thought that has Newt searching for more alarms and wards. He finds a closet door which all but lights up.

“Mmmhm,” Newt murmurs, “What have we here?”

He gets started picking at the warding.

+

Dear Percival,

Antigone returned without a reply to my last letter. I have decided this was not due to rudeness on your part but because she waited three days and you were not there to reply. I thus send this by regular international post.

Your telephone still appears to be off the hook (is that the phrase?). Have you been discovered and made to get rid of the thing? I don’t hold it against you- you’ve had much less of a chance to make the office your own since your country lost so few wizards, I know.

News has reached of an upset in your politics. Anything I should know about? You could do me the courtesy of sparing a few words this time. We are colleagues and counterparts, after all.

Have you heard from Ms Pearl White lately?

I remain yours,
Theseus

Re: FILL [7/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-02-07 16:23 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [7/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-02-12 03:35 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [7/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

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Re: FILL [7/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-02-12 03:40 (UTC) - Expand

The plot thickens! Probably. Maybe?

------

A thunderbird. There’s a thunderbird in the closet. It looks exactly as the only book of North American creatures Newt was able to find says it should, but sickly. Its feathers- which clearly populate the jar he found- are dull, and it looks weak both in legs and wings. The closet has been expanded with magic to fit the creature’s size, but there is no access to sunlight or fresh air.

Newt suspects it’s not been allowed to fly or move very much, either, judging by the heavy iron chain around its neck. He steps cautiously into the closet, taking long, slow breaths, “Hello.”

The thunderbird reacts immediately, stretching its wings out as wide as they’ll go, calling at such a volume that Newt flinches. He grips his trousers to keep from making sudden movements.

“Easy now,” he murmurs, “I’m not here to hurt you. I promise.”

The thunderbird calls again and stares at Newt suspiciously. It lowers its head lowered threateningly.

Newt doesn’t move from the doorway. “You don’t belong down here. I know they were bad to you, but I promise they’re gone now. Oh, but you must have guessed that. Nobody has been around to feed you, have they?”

The thunderbird cocks its head, lifting it slowly. Newt wonders if it likes the sound of Newt’s voice.

Newt watches it calmly. “May I come over to you? Can I see if you need any help or medical treatment?”

He’s not sure if the thunderbird understands him, but there’s a part of him that’s already wondering if thunderbirds and hippogriffs may be distantly related because the thunderbird inclines its head. Newt takes a breath and a cautious step forward. The thunderbird stays very still as Newt crosses the distance between them.

Newt watches the thunderbird cautiously, reaching for a leg that shows evidence of infected sores. “You seem to have some bruising and old wounds here. I imagine your wings aren’t in much better shape- the muscles must be atrophied somewhat from a lack of flying. What would you say to coming with me? I can make you a sky.”

The thunderbird stares imperiously at Newt.

“Shall I bring you some salve? Or, no, food and water. Let me bring you some food and water,” Newt says encouragingly. “We’ll take the rest from there.”

The thunderbird looks skeptical and rears just slightly, letting Newt know he isn't trusted. Fair enough. Newt slides his wand out from his sleeve- he's gotten so used to the motion that he hardly needs to move his arm anymore, especially when facing down skittish creatures. The Thunderbird tugs his head away at the sight of the wand and Newt holds it up so the creature can see exactly what he's doing, his other hand held palm up.

“Shhh, shhh. This will never be used in anger to you,” he says softly, “I'm just going to bring you some food. That's all.”

Newt summons raw meat from the cold storage and two bowls. The thunderbird appears to be part bird and part large cat, and Newt wonders if he would prefer to eat after hunting, but he doesn't dare let him out of the chains just yet. Those wings could probably still send Newt hurtling into a wall.

He places the meat in one bowl, casts Aguamenti into the other, and steps back. “There we go.”

He watches the thunderbird lower his beak towards the bowls. He has one eye on Newt, who stays very still, but after a brief standoff, he can no longer stay away from the food. Newt makes a soft, encouraging noise and settles in to wait. He doesn't want to overfeed the thunderbird, not knowing enough about the proper eating habits, so when the bird empties his dishes, Newt banishes the food bowl and refills the water. The thunderbird squawks and stamps a paw.

“No more just yet,” Newt says, softly but firmly, keeping his tone neutral, “I don't know how long it's been since you last ate, and giving you too much at once will only make you sick. May I see to your wounds? That should give you enough time to digest and then I’ll feel better about giving you more.”

The thunderbird cranes his neck. His wings spread out to their fullest extent and then sweep back. Newt takes that as assent. He opens his suitcase slowly, keeping his movements deliberate. The salve is something he’s been working on since he began his trip, using plants from the places he’s been and that his creatures use. He finds it works quite well on himself, and he’s used it on Martha to great effect.

The thunderbird almost shoves his beak into the jar once Newt has it in range and Newt laughs, startled, “That’s not food, my friend.”

The thunderbird blinks and removes his beak from the jar, shaking it in a way that reminds Newt of a cat. Newt scoops a fingerful of salve out of the jar and tentatively reaches out a hand. He places it softly on an open sore, watching as the thunderbird shudders. For a moment Newt worries that he’s lost whatever goodwill has been built, but when the thunderbird doesn’t pull away or try to scratch Newt’s face off, he decides to keep going and spreads the salve slowly.

“There we go,” he murmurs, “That’s much better, isn’t it?”

He uses his wand to clean out partially open wounds and covers them and any sores he can find in the salve. When he is done, and the thunderbird hasn’t moved once, Newt decides he is calm enough to release him from the chain around his neck. He moves out of the way and unlocks the ring. The thunderbird’s wings spread and flex, and he tests out all his legs, but he doesn’t immediately lunge for Newt’s throat, watching Newt with his head cocked to the side.

Newt smiles softly. “Well, how’s that, then? Better?” He reaches carefully to brush his hand along the soft feathers and the thunderbird actually leans into it. “Well then, how would you like to go home?”

+

Dear Theseus -(stop)- Am well in Cairo -(stop)- Plan to leave for Americas soon -(stop)- Tell mother work goes well -(stop)- Found many animals -(stop)- Your brother -(stop)-

+

“Can't you mount a search and make your brother come home?”

“I could if you wanted to be sure he’d never trust either of us again.”

“Theseus! Be serious. He’s been gone a year.”

Theseus rubs his face with his hands, leaning back in his chair and setting aside a stack of match-making proposals. (It is finally his turn to marry. He was not expecting such an embarrassment of riches when it came to choosing a bride, but there will always be a generation of young men lost to the War, and with Newt engaged and no longer seen as a drain on resources, fathers who never would have thought twice about having Theseus for their daughters are now desperate enough to abase themselves.)

“The contract says two years before they must marry, and Percival will be more than willing to rewrite if we ask. Newt’s only been gone eleven months, anyway. There’s still work to be done for his book.”

“He doesn't write.”

“My contacts are looking out for him. And he has.”

Their mother throws her arms in the air, exasperated. “A three-sentence message sent through a Muggle telegram office from his last known place of existing doesn't count!” she looks pointedly at Theseus, “And Merlin only knows who gave him the idea to do that.”

“It worked, didn’t it? Muggles have useful technology, I see no reason not to use it,” Theseus shrugs. “At least we had that telegram. He could have given us nothing. We at least know that he’s on the mend, if not fully healed after the incident in Abyssinia, and he’s going to America.”

“Incident,” their mother snorts, “And the Americas take up an awful lot of territory.”

Theseus watches their mother pace the study floor in silence. Sometimes it can be hard to tell if she's looking to him as head of the family or just worrying about her baby son. After a long moment, he leans on his elbows on his desk.

“I'm sure he's fine, Mother. He’s tamed a nundu, for Merlin’s sake. Healer Ibsituu confirmed it.”

“He only nearly got himself killed to do it.”

“But he did it,” Theseus says gently, “He took the initiative to save a creature most would have run from at first sight. He doesn’t trust himself around people like that. Never has and his marriages didn’t help.”

Theseus immediately regrets his words- he tries not to bring up Newt’s marriages, knowing that she blames herself for them. Sure enough, her face crumples. She stops pacing abruptly and holds herself very carefully, head high. She goes to the window behind Theseus’s desk, staring out of it in silence, watching over her grazing herd of hippogriffs.

Theseus rises and moves to stand behind her, gripping her shoulders gently. “Mother, I’m sorry.”

“We only wanted him to be safe and provided for,” she murmurs, reaching up and putting her hand over one of Theseus’s. “We didn’t know what the Great War would bring. Your father knew Caesius Prewett for so many years and they were good friends, and Hastia seemed like our best hope...”

“Nobody could have known what Mettius would do to keep them from divorcing once she was found out.”

“And then we threw him to Greengrass right after the war.”

“We all thought the best of Julian, but that was the point. He knew exactly how to manipulate and charm. Nobody would have suspected his depravity- not even Newt. He’s never blamed you for that,” Theseus says and he squeezes their mother’s shoulders. “Don’t be so distressed. He’s going to have to come back to turning his notes into a book and give it to Augustus.”

Their mother smiles faintly and pats Theseus’s hand. “Yes, you’re right. Of course, you’re right.”

“You don’t sound terribly convinced.” That gets a soft laugh and Theseus counts it a win. “If he doesn’t show up in the next three months, I’ll get Percival and we’ll go looking for him ourselves. Promise.”

+

Theseus is reading through his reports (two wizards who have just been brought into the Ministry for trial, charged with breaking the Statute of Secrecy by hexing a hapless Muggle) and considering whether or not he should write to Percival again, or simply show up in Percival’s office to berate him for a month and a half of no-contact. He is reaching for a Howler when he comes across the envelope in Percival’s handwriting at the bottom of his letter basket.

My dear Theseus,

I am terribly sorry to have been so derelict in not replying to your messages before now. I was appointed to an urgent case for MACUSA that took much more time to crack than I expected. Uncooperative suspects can be so hard to get through to sometimes. I’m sure you understand.

Things largely fine here. New group called Second Salem is trying to gain traction but so far not much to report.

Pearl White is doing well, last I heard, but I’ve not been in recent contact.

As ever yours,
Percival

Theseus crushes the parchment between his hands, frowning darkly. There is no way this message comes from Percival’s hand. “Helene!”

Theseus’s secretary appeared in his office so fast she might as well have Apparated. “Sir?”

“Have you had any recent contact with any of our counterparts in MACUSA, DMLE notwithstanding?”

“I’ve heard there’s been some restructuring around the Congress offices, but that’s the only gossip as far as I can tell. Should I have heard anything in particular.”

“What do you think of this?” Theseus says instead.

He pushes forward the crumpled letter. Helene summons it from his desk and carefully works it mostly flat again, so she can read it. Her brow furrows as she gets to the end of the letter. “Who in the name of Morrigan is Pearl White?”

Theseus chuckles grimly, “American Muggle actress. Percival was a fan of her stage work- did some of those silent films in Europe once she quit the stage. Quite the businesswoman now, I hear.”

“And Percival got in touch with her?” Helene asks, eyebrows only slightly raised.

Theseus leans his elbows on his desk. “Pearl White wouldn’t know Percival from a kneazle, which means MACUSA has a problem.”

Re: FILL [8/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-02-14 20:22 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [8/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-03-13 19:00 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [8/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-02-16 19:34 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [8/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-03-13 19:08 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [8/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-02-21 04:29 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [8/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-03-13 19:09 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [8/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-02-22 18:58 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [8/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-03-13 19:09 (UTC) - Expand

So I recently found Critical Role and took a tiny vacation from writing to pound 3 episodes a day in order to catch up. (I tried writing through one episode. It. Didn't work.) But I'm back and this is still in progress- promise!

------

“Hobbs, don’t think I don’t see you trying to steal those shells,” Newt says mildly.

The rustling caused by the niffler’s movements behind him stops suddenly. Newt smiles crookedly as he looks over his shoulder. Hobbs looks back at him, one paw hovering over a piece of a broken occamy shell. The occamies are still asleep, curled around the last unhatched egg- clearly the only reason Hobbs even thought he could get away with the theft.

Newt stares at him, eyebrow raised. “Leave them, or I won’t stop them from exacting revenge.”

Hobbs pouts and scampers back to his nest. Newt sighs fondly and returns to his work, pulling his kettle off the fire to cool so he can store the new batch of salve in jars. It has been doing wonders on Frank’s still-healing injuries, and Newt wants to make sure he has plenty in stock for any other injuries that might happen.

He turns to the enclosures and finds himself trailing over to Frank's new desert habitat, pausing to pick up a small bucket of raw meat from the ice box. The thunderbird is far and away better than he had been just a week ago. He still has some trouble flying, but his body seems to be at full strength. Newt covers his eyes with his hand and peers into the distance of the habitat.

“Frank?”

He knows the thunderbird has heard him when the sky darkens. Newt holds his wand up and produces an umbrella before it can start raining, smiling softly. There is some wobbling mid-flight, but Frank settles on a large, flat rock formation. The storm clears shortly after and Newt puts his wand away.

“Well, good morning to you,” Newt says, reaching out slowly.

Frank pushes his face forward, into Newt’s hand, with a soft caw. Newt strokes his feathers gently, despite the feeling of unease that takes over every time he thinks about what must happen. Newt knows he no longer can put off his trip to North America- not even for time spent in South America. He does not relish the prospect, but Frank deserves to go home.

The only reason he’s allowed it to take so long is that Frank does need time to heal. The last thing Newt wants to do is set Frank free before he is able to defend himself or to re-acclimate to his home properly.

“We’re going to Rio Muni*,” he says, “I have a few more things to check there, and then we’ll be off to North America, to get you home to Arizona. What do you think of that?”

Frank coos and nudges closer to Newt, looking for scratching behind his tufted ears.

“Yes, you seem very happy indeed,” Newt murmurs, “We’ll have to go through New York to get the trains out west, unfortunately. We’ll try to make that quick. New York is really quite a small landmass for so many people.”

Frank cocks his head and makes a questioning noise.

Newt switches his scratching from left to right ear. “Don’t look so worried. I’m just keen to avoid… well, the magical folk of New York, let’s say. At any rate, you’ll be home inside of a month. How does that sound?”

The thunderbird pushes against Newt and nearly nudges Newt off his feet. Newt chuckles softly.

“Enough of that, now. Catch!”

Frank rears slightly and thrusts himself into the air, wings stretched wide to snap up the meat that Newt throws for him. Newt watches the thunderbird fly up into the heights of the undetectable expansion charm and then turns back to the rest of the habitats. Dougal is watching the occamy nest- keeping the eggshells safe until Newt decides the baby occamies are ready for him to collect the shells for study. (They don’t seem to need to eat them or break them down, but they seem to appreciate having them left alone.) Some of the occamies are awake and chirping. The last eggs still shows no signs of hatching.

“And how are we doing?” he murmurs, placing his arms in their nest. He rests one hand on the unhatched egg.

The babies swarm around him. One slides up his arms and drapes around his shoulders. Dougal watches with sharp eyes. He’s adopted the occamies as surely as Newt has.

“We’re nearly to Rio Muni,” Newt muses to Dougal, shifting the occamy on his shoulders into a more comfortable position, “If we get off the trail when the caravan stops and start moving west on foot I’d say we’ll make it to Bata by the end of the week. Should be easy enough to book passage to America within a few days of that.”

Dougal chirps and watches the occamy slither down from Newt’s shoulders back into the nest. Newt summons the storage container he keeps their food in and spreads a handful among them. They dive in a chaotic frenzy for it. Newt picks up the unhatched egg while they’re busy and holds it close to his chest. Several of the occamies looked up, wide eyes blinking, cheeping.

“Mummy’s going to carry this one for a while,” Newt murmurs to them. Dougal tilts his head as if in question and makes a soft sound. Newt strokes the egg gently. “I think it’s still viable- it looks like the last one just before it hatched. I think if it’s near my body the extra warmth will help.”

Dougal hops down from the nest and follows Newt back into the shack. He climbs up on Newt’s desk and palms at the world map. His hand lies over North America.

“Yes, I know,” Newt says, “Of course I’ve been putting it off. And we are on our way. But if we left for the Americas without seeing the west of Africa I might have missed a great opportunity to do complete research for my book.” He smiles a tiny, bitter smile. “If I’m found out in New York, who knows if I’ll be able to leave again?”

The four-day trip from Cairo so far has taken Newt through the Libyan Desert and the upper range of the territory that makes up French Equatorial Africa. The caravan that Newt’s chucked his lot in with for this part of the trip (he’s been on 4 different trains and had to hitch rides with six caravans just to get here) is currently on its way through Cameroon.

The travel has been equal parts beautiful, delightful, and disturbing.

Newt has found a growing unrest and tensions have run deep under the surface of every interaction he’s had since leaving Cairo both among muggles and wizards (it has something to do with the aftermath of the Great War and colonies and European Wizards in West Africa seem to be following the lead of their Muggle governments), but he has tried his best to be out of the suitcase and exploring as much as he can at every stopping point.

He spends enough time far enough away from people that it’s always just a little shocking when he winds up experiencing the uncomfortable tension himself. But even spending so much time keeping to himself, he’s taken to keeping his wand easily accessible.

Newt’s alert spell sounds in the shack and he looks at the mirror which he’s spelled to act sort of like a muggle film- it shows him the scenery directly in front of the suitcase. Currently, it seems to be showing a sort of a rest stop. The spelled map of Africa shows Newt on the border between Cameroon and Rio Muni.

“Excellent. Give it a minute and then we’ll slip out.”

+

“Bloody American wizards and their bloody aversion to all things Muggle,” Theseus mutters, stopping himself from reaching for his telephone for the third time that day.

He rubs at his eyes.

It’s become such habit over the last year to simply call Percival so they can coordinate information about Newt sightings, or, more disturbingly, reports of Grindlewald. Now he can’t even be sure that Percival is really Percival. It’s driving him slowly mad.

Are Percival’s contacts still sending Percival information about Newt? Newt’s telegram mentioned his intention to go to the Americas, but didn’t specify North or South. What is Percival wasn’t Percival? Would they know what Newt’s relation to Percival was? Would they act on it if they did? Without knowing anything for certain, however, he can hardly make an intimation that something is wrong with Percival to the Magical Congress of the United States of America.

He stands abruptly and leans on his desk, “Helene!”

Helene pokes her head in from the open study door, “Sir?”

“I need to speak to the Minister,” Theseus says.

“Which one?”

“Himself,” Theseus replies, coming out from behind the desk to slip into his robes, “What’s his schedule like today?”

“Empty as he can afford for it to be,” Helene says. She lifts her eyebrows into her hairline, “You hate Himself.”

“Not much to like- bloody coward kept us out of the War, even with the threat of Grindlewald’s dark wizards,” Theseus says, baring his teeth, “Almost like he wanted them to win. Between Grindlewald’s surge in prominence lately and this sudden change in my American counterpart’s behavior, I’m sure he’ll want to discuss proactive countermeasures for our security. Maybe even send an operative over to New York to have eyes on the scene.”

“An operative?” Helene asks. Her eyes light up.

Theseus chuckles, “Let’s see what Himself has to say about it, first.”

“I’ll start packing,” Helene says dryly, “I’ll just fire-call his offi-”

“Scamander!” shouts a voice from Theseus’s office fireplace.

It’s the one in his private study. Theseus and Helene look at each other with wide eyes. Theseus leaves his study door open so Helene can take notes and nods at her. She casts Silencio on his outer office. Only then does Theseus approach the fireplace. The Minister of Magic stares up at him from the coals.

“Minister,” Theseus says, “How can I help?”

“Grindlewald has disappeared from our sights in Europe,” the Minister says, “And I’ve just had a report from the President of MACUSA. Seems they’re being terrorized by some sort of creature over there, but so far they’ve been unable to figure out what it might be.”

Theseus keeps his face carefully neutral. “What did our Beast Division have to say?”

“The report from America is too vague for a conclusion, apparently,” the Minister says, grumpily. He peers up at Theseus intently, and his voice is hopeful, “Isn’t your brother over there- married to someone or other in MACUSA? He was expelled from Hogwarts for dealing in dangerous creatures, I recall.”

“He’s engaged, Minister, and still in Africa,” Theseus says tightly, “He’s still working on his book.” The Minister sighs and Theseus can almost see him deflating in disappointment. Theseus jumps on it, “I’m sure I can send a delegation of ours to MACUSA to offer our help if the proper diplomatic channels are open.”

The Minister nods slowly, “Yes, yes, they’ve extended a request for all nations to come together for a convention on the problem. Seems they’re sure a breach in the Statute of Secrecy is imminent; something about witch hunters gathering steam. The report is on its way down. Put together your best and I’ll inform the president that our delegation will be on its way.”

Theseus does his best not to roll his eyes: Americans are always sure that the Statute of Secrecy is about to be breached. He gives a brief salute. “I’m on it, Minister.”

+

When Newt finally reaches Bata, he finds shelter in the form of a British customs house and books his passage on the next steamship heading for New York through them. He’ll have to wait a week for the next ship out, but frankly, any delay is appreciated.

He trudges up the narrow, creaking stairs to the room provided. He sets his suitcase on the bedside table, wards the door to the room, and falls onto a thin, cheap mattress covered with a thin bedspread. It’s warm enough that Newt can’t imagine needing it. He allows the locks to pop on his suitcase and only opens one eye lazily as Dougal pokes his head out.

“How are the others?”

Dougal chirps happily, nodding- the other creatures are settled and content. He climbs out of the suitcase and goes to the window. Newt watches Dougal at the window for a moment. The trek from the border of Cameroon to Bata was one of the more trying hikes he’s ever had to take.

“What do you think, Dougal?” Newt asks softly, “In theory, I’ve still got several months before I must marry again. Will the Americans let me through?”

Dougal climbs onto the bed beside Newt and starts combing nimble fingers through Newt’s hair. Newt smiles softly and pulls the cocoon of the Swooping Evil from his pocket, holding it up to study it. He’d picked it up from a tribe just inside the border of Rio Muni. They’d been having problems with the creature, which apparently had a tendency to eat human brains.

“Must find a better, new diet for you that we can keep consistent,” Newt murmurs to the cocoon.

He sits up, dislodging Dougal’s fingers from his hair. He’s not entirely sure he’d call the week through Rio Muni a success research-wise. Outside of the Swooping Evil he’s taken to calling Hannah, he’s only learned that there are several non-magical insects and creatures who simply look like they might be magical creatures. It’s a disappointing but not entirely surprising; some of the older bestiaries he’s been working with were written from second or third-hand accounts.

“No time like the present,” he says, looking down at Dougal, “It looked like the Swooping Evil produced some sort of venom, didn’t you think?”

Dougal nods.

Newt nods back, “Well, then. Let’s see what we can figure out in a week.”

------

*Rio Muni/Equatorial Guinea: After doing some very rudimentary checking, Rio Muni and Bioko were united into Spanish Guinea between 1926 and the 1950s, and didn't actually become Equatorial Guinea until like the 1960s. So, Rio Muni it is.

Re: FILL [9/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-03-14 11:49 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [9/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-06 15:30 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [9/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-03-14 15:42 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [9/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-06 15:30 (UTC) - Expand

I'm trying to be better about posting, but I also fail. orz Also this chapter has a lot of not-Newt, because the way the MACUSA was portrayed in the movie kinda bugged me. Because I'm a pedant, and I am made of fail. But at least we're getting closer to movie-time? orz

------

Seraphina Picquery is a picture of serenity while she watches her cabinet members file into the meeting room and take their place at the table. (Hers is a serenity perfected out of necessity- an African American woman has very little choice if she wants to make it through an average week among the non-magical.) There are briefing papers at each cabinet member’s place, plus one for the addition of Percival Graves. The middle of the table is almost entirely covered by a map.

Seraphina sits as far back in her chair as she is able. Her elbow rests on the arm of her chair and one long-fingered hand frames her cheek and chin. “Good morning,” she says, “Mr. Graves will be joining us today as we will be discussing several points concerning his department. Secretary Harmal, your report.”

Secretary of War Juanita Harmal is an Auror and cursebreaker of 40 years experience who is an imposing woman even with her short stature and softly gray hair. Though there have been some calls to remove the position from her cabinet as America is no longer at war, Seraphina has resisted. She doesn’t yet believe that the peace achieved after the Great War will last- certainly not among the non-magical. She doesn’t want to be caught off guard again.

“Madam President,” Juanita starts, turning to the others, “In two weeks’ time, on December 7th, MACUSA will host our international allies to discuss the threat posed by Grindelwald and his followers to wizarding kind. Reports have been coming fast and freely, and we are unprepared to meet such a threat if the numbers, in fact, are true.”

“Who is confirmed to attend so far?” asks Randall Suess, Secretary of Domestic Affairs.

“France and the British Empire have confirmed delegates from their countries and all major colonies. It has not been confirmed, but we believe the British have recently lost secure contact with their embassies in China. We will have delegates from Russia and the East African Alliance. All representatives of the American states will be present,” Juanita says, looking over her dossier, “We have not received a reply from the Germanic states or Italy.”

Seraphina turns back to her map. The surface of it is marked by colored points, which correspond with their collected information on Grindelwald's last known whereabouts, his followers, the new cabals of wizards aligning themselves with dark magic popping up across the globe. Red points represent verified incidents but are dwarfed by green, which are unconfirmed. Six black points stand out amongst the others: there is 1 pin in France, 4 across the USSR, and 3 in Germany- the only confirmed sightings of Grindlewald since the end of the Great War.

“Secretary Elkhair, if you please,” Seraphina murmurs, “Where do we stand on activity abroad?”

The Secretary of the Magical State, Thomas Elkhair, looks at up at her with fathomless dark eyes. “We have received several new but single-source reports of wizards attacking the non-magical. If all reports are true the uprisings are believed to be directly related to the workings of Grindelwald's followers.”

Seraphina waves her free hand at the map on her desk. “Show us.”

Elkhair waves his wand at the map and a swath of new, green points spring up across it, covering parts of Africa and several Asian countries, and crowding into Germany, Austria, and Poland. They all cover places of violence related to current non-magical struggles between governments and empires and the people.

“These locations are aggregated from the new reports,” Elkhair says, “Unfortunately, as you can see, these reports come from currently contentious regions. We could be seeing Grindelwald's supporters torturing non-magical people. However, we know that the non-magical created new inventions of death during the Great War- the likes of which we have never seen- and it could just be continuing fallout of that. We have not yet received any confirmations or denials from our fellow wizarding governments. If these are indeed incidents of dark wizards it could be that they are too embarrassed to confirm them.”

Seraphina does not let herself frown. Embarrassed, perhaps, or they are simply unwilling to speak to America. There is almost too much information when it comes to the rise of Grindelwald's influence and the new prevalence of dark magic. So much of it can’t be corroborated through MACUSA’s Auror operatives overseas. If previously friendly and trusted international contacts holding their hands back, there is something else behind this.

“Luckily none of these have yet reached our shores,” Seraphina says, “More disturbing is a lack of veracity. Graves- why are we not receiving verified information from our own international operatives? Has there been a breakdown in your department?”

Graves sits back in his chair and steeples his fingers in front of his face. He’s had a new hairstyle for a few days now- the result of his head and hair being badly singed during a scuffle with a wizard resisting arrest. His hair is now closely shaved around the sides and the back but retains its previous length on top. It suits him, she supposes, though she’s not quite sure she’s in favor of it.

“Of course not, Madam President,” he says steadily.

Seraphina drops her hand from her face and taps her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Then you should have no problems in rectifying this. Two weeks of this silence without explanation is too long. You have a month to fix this, or I will appoint a separate commission.” Did Graves just narrow his eyes at her? It’s such a quick movement that Seraphina can’t be sure. She chooses to ignore it. “Where do we stand with the investigation into the attacks on New York?”

“We have no solid leads, but it must be some sort of creature,” Graves says, sitting upright. “Unfortunately, that means we have very little reference at our disposal. The creature is attacking what seem to be random points. We have found nothing to link the attacks, so for the moment we are comfortable in ruling out the idea that a wizard is directing them personally.”

Seraphina nods slowly. Graves hit upon this pet theory of a magical beast about a week ago. She agrees that a creature does seem to fit the bill, if only because she now has a special place on her desk reserved for reports on the damage caused. Nobody is any closer to giving her a viable solution- or even a different general theory- about what is actually attacking New York that she feels comfortable accepting. But Graves’s negative evidence is not proof of a positive.

“Madam President?”

She looks over and raises an eyebrow. Randall Suess, Secretary of Domestic Affairs, leans forward and rests his forearms on the table, hands clasped loosely.

“I believe we need to talk to the press. The non-magical citizens are worried for their safety. The magical community is doubly worried because of that Second Salem group. News coming out of the south and out west is that tensions are rising- some are convinced that these attacks are the result of experiments in dark magic gone wrong. They’re creating bunkers in the event that these attacks reach them.”

Seraphina frowns. Trust rumor to take hold and conspiracy theories to flourish. “Speak to the next Ghost reporter to calls. Talking points: We are following up on the attacks and whether they might not be caused by faulty non-magical inventions- exploding gas pipes, that sort of thing. It’s common enough. There have been no deaths, magical or non-magical, so we feel comfortable taking our time to ascertain all facts. We have full confidence that the best Aurors in MACUSA will be able to present a solution.”

“And the international meeting?”

Seraphina nods, “We have called on our allies to share their intelligence on Grindelwald and his followers so we can formulate a plan of defense should their influence reach our shores, as well as ensure that our secrecy is preserved. I will be addressing the people following the meeting to keep them informed.”

The Secretary’s quill scribbles her words on a piece of parchment as she speaks them. Seraphina looks at her cabinet; Elkhair, Graves, Suess, and Secretary of the Treasury Gladys Tierney. She stands from her chair and places her hands flatly on the table, leaning forward.

“Let us not bring a magical creature to the public attention just yet. Not until we know what we’re truly facing. The investigations into the attacks must take priority over any other domestic cases.”

+

After so many months of constant travel in cramped trains, caravans, and cars, going by steamship is something of a luxury. (Muggles have indeed come up with some ingenious things to compensate for their lack of magic.) No matter how luxurious, even as Newt steps aboard the steamship from Bata to New York, he’s thinking of ways he can hide himself to keep his contracted fiancée from finding him. At least when he goes through Muggle customs he ought to have an easy time passing. The ‘muggle worthy’ setting hasn’t failed him yet.

Newt takes his cabin in second class. He’s scrimped and saved, done odd jobs, bartered and negotiated for a year with all the various Muggle monies he’s had to change at borders and keep safe from pickpockets. If he’s going to potentially face the man he’s supposed to marry, Newt figures he owes himself space to himself.

He opens the cabin window, then sets his suitcase on the little dresser and pokes his head in, angling in the direction of the open shack door. Dougal is rooting around the feed bins, putting together the morning feed for the occamies.

“Dougal, we’re aboard and the coast is clear. I’m going to have a look around.”

The demiguise waves a hand up at Newt and trundles out to the occamy nest.

Newt goes back to the window and breathes in the sea air. There’s a bit of time yet before the ship is set to sail, but when Newt is traveling by sea, he likes to get acclimated with the ships before they leave the harbor. Newt locks the cabin door behind him and wards it against nifflers escaping, curious Muggles, and attempts at clairvoyance. With his wand tucked up in his sleeve, he heads out onto the ship decks.

“Good morning, sir,” says a cheerful crewman as Newt emerges into the daylight.

Newt jumps and clutches his heart. “Oh. Yes. Good, ah, good morning.”

“Terribly sorry, sir,” he says, “I’m the ship’s purser. The crew is just making sure everyone knows there will be a safety demonstration in about ten minutes’ time.”

“Yes, of course,” Newt murmurs, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Newt leaves the purser and meanders slowly along the deck, nodding absently at other passengers who are clearly exploring their new, if temporary, accommodations. His head swirls with conflicting thoughts. He’s made up a cover story for his being in New York should he require it- he hopes that nobody will notice him or care enough to ask for his story, but if he is asked to explain his visit, Newt figures that looking for an Appaloosa Puffskein is harmless enough.

Newt takes a seat on an empty bench and looks off into the skyline of Bata.

Even in the winter months, Africa has been warm and full of brilliant color and Newt breathes in deeply as though he can capture that color in himself. He doesn’t know much of New York save that it looks cold and gray in every photograph he’s ever seen, regardless of the season.

“Newspaper, sir?” a male voice asks behind him.

Newt’s entire body tenses so tightly his shoulders are almost to his ears and his hands claw at nothing. It takes all his will to breathe evenly when he turns to see who’s come up behind him. It’s an African man, probably the porter, holding a stack of newspapers. On the top rests a copy of the Daily Prophet International. Newt stays frozen, eyes darting up to and away from the man’s face and he immediately makes to turn himself away.

The porter merely smiles pleasantly. “Sir? A newspaper?”

“Ah. Yes,” Newt says slowly, “Well. I don’t have- that is- I haven’t any currency with me at the moment.”

“No matter, sir,” the porter says, “Prepaid service for year-long travelers.”

Theseus. Newt tries to keep his face neutral, “And how are year-long travelers kept track of?”

“Sometimes worried brothers have an office in the right place,” says the porter.

Newt forces himself to unfolds and a smile crosses his face unbidden. He reaches to take the paper from the wizard. “Thank you. How much are you required to report back?”

“Just receipt, sir,” says the wizard. He touches the brim of his hat. “If that’s all.”

Newt is already looking at the paper as the wizard Apparates away with a pop. The main story headline decries violence done by Grindelwald's supporters. Smaller headlines speak of a sudden lack of confirmed sightings of Grindlewald after a final rally he’d held in Germany.

There’s a letter wrapped in the folds of the newspaper. Newt hurries back to his cabin.

Re: FILL [10/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to tru

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-06 16:36 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [10/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to tru

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-06 20:21 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [10/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to tru

eliona - 2017-04-20 21:26 (UTC) - Expand

Things might be a bit slower than they were, in spite of my best intentions. I know where I want the story to go, but I'm wrestling to find the time and make the words do what I want them to.

------

Newt locks the cabin door behind him and pulls the tiny table into the middle of his small room, away from both the door and the window. His case is still open on the dresser and Hobbs is curled up in a depressed ball in the middle of the mussed sheets on the bed. Newt chuckles and lifts his eyebrows at the niffler.

“We’re on a ship. I don’t know what you thought you’d find in the cabin.”

Hobbs lifts his head and sniffs at Newt, eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“Not everywhere is open to thieving nifflers,” Newt says lightly, “You may not like it but it’s the best way to travel right now.”

Hobbs gives Newt an evil eye, which he ignores in favor of unfolding the Daily Prophet International. He drops the letter out of the folds and considers it, lying innocuously on the table as it is. There’s nothing to prove that the letter is from Theseus and the fact that it was presented by A Random Wizard doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. Then again, even if Theseus is indisposed by unlawful means, Newt can’t actually imagine anybody other than Theseus sending out letters to all corners of the wizarding community in hopes of reaching a wayward brother.

He drops the newspaper to the floor. When Theseus decided to train as an Auror, he insisted Newt learn every security spell known to wizardkind- and a few that weren’t, and Newt uses them all now. Once he is satisfied he slowly, gingerly, tears the seal. There is an immediate surge of magic, and Newt allows a tiny grin.

He knows that spell.

Copies of the letter have just gone up in flames around the world. Theseus came up with the spell during the Great War, one of the first things he did as part of the underground effort. It’s used by all Aurors in the Ministry, now. (Newt knows because everyone talks about it, even twelve years later.)

It’s only when he’s unfolding the parchment that he spares a thought to be grateful that this is just a letter, rather than a howler. (Though, to be fair, a howler would be much more difficult to make secure.)

Newton, my dear brother,

I hope you’re reading this before you’ve reached the Americas because it will mean you’ve not gone and died since your three sentence telegram (Mother’s still cross about that, by the way) and this warning isn’t moot. No sense in not trying.

I won’t dither. I have reason to believe that there is danger. What it is, I am unable to say. I only know with any certainty that Percival is not right. I fear something is amiss in the United States and most of all that the Magical Congress may be compromised.

I dare not give too many details of my suspicions, even with precautions taken on this letter. The paper may give you a hint of them; if we still think alike as we used to, I’ve no doubt you’ll figure it out.

Look, Newton, if you are planning on going through New York as part of your travels for any reason, please be careful. Try to avoid law enforcement. No more nundu-like escapades. (And I know, I know, yes, I’ve had people looking out for Newt sightings. I worry. Mother worries.)

Your brother,
Theseus

PS- Oh. I ought perhaps tell you now that Percival also had people looking for you in collusion with me. As you are not, in fact, married, before you decide to give the Americas a miss altogether kindly note that this was to make sure you were still alive and whole. Also for that reason, be extra careful if you have any reason to be in New York.

Newt reads the letter three times. In the middle of his second read through, the ship shudders and lurches and Newt all but jumps to his feet. All is calm but for the slow rumbling of the ship’s engines as they are stoked to full heat somewhere far below. Newt slowly sinks back into his chair and breathes out a sigh of relief. He turns back to the letter.

Only when he is In the middle of a third read-through does Newt absently look up and to the window. The harbor is shrinking as the ship pulls slowly away from the docks and it finally hits him that he is really moving away from Bata and towards North America. A brief panic flutters into his throat as he thinks of New York, and something wrong with his contracted fiance, and what does that even mean because Theseus may have a flair for the dramatic when it comes to the everyday mundane, but he’s not given to exaggeration when it comes to danger.

Newt resolutely swallows and taps his fingers on the table.

He reads the letter one last time. Then he picks up the paper and spreads it over his table. Headlines emblazon Grindlewald’s name and a last known photograph of Grindlewald stares up at him. His gaze is soulless. Newt shivers.

He skims through the articles, trying to think like Theseus.

If Theseus is worried that something is wrong in MACUSA, enough to write to Newt about it, there’s nothing trivial about it. From the letter, Theseus thinks Mr. Graves is not right and compromised, but can’t be sure whether Mr. Graves has been abducted, Impirius’d, or if he’s a simple turncoat (Newt’s chest tightens when he considers that Mr. Graves may be the cause of danger and he wildly wonders if Theseus would allow the contract to be broken). That means it’s more than likely that Theseus worries that the whole of the Magical Congress is compromised and it’s just a matter of how deep the corruption is embedded.

Newt considers Apparating off the ship immediately. It’s tricky on a moving object- and worse with his suitcase- but so long as Newt can see the shore he’ll be able to make it- he’s always been incredibly proficient in Apparating.

He could rebook passage to South America as he considered doing before finding Frank. He could still take Frank home from South America; it would just require more time. Did Bata have any ships that traveled between Africa and Brazil?

A knock sounds on the cabin door and Newt’s heart leaps to his throat. His wand is in his hand before he even realizes it. Another knock comes and Newt swallows.

“Y-Yes?”

“Mr. Scamander? The safety demonstration is in five minutes. Please report to the second class lounge.”

Newt breathes out a long sigh and stands up straighter. “Yes, of course. A moment, please.”

He burns the letter with a tap of his wand and banishes the pile of ash out to sea. He's on the ship and he's made his plans. Worrying means you suffer twice. He might as well stick with the plans he has.

+

Helene stands by international Floo fireplace with the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, his own secretary, whom Helene has never met before, and the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation Basil Carter. They’re all waiting for the signal that the Americans are ready to receive them on the other side of the network. (She tries not to look too excited since none of them do.)

The Floo network is not always reliable when crossing oceans, so it’s only used when there is an urgent need for international travel and the trip is very carefully scheduled. (That, and Helene has never been to America. She’s hoping there will be some time to sightsee between talks.)

The last time there was a need for this fireplace the Great War was still raging and the American President of the Magical Congress of the United States held an emergency meeting with the Minister of Magic to discuss wizarding participation. This use of the Floo network being the first after such an even makes the trip somewhat historic- though probably not enough to make it into a history book.

“Helene, good, you’ve not left yet,” says Mr. Scamander’s voice.

Helene turns on her heel. Mr. Scamander approaches hurriedly. He pulls up to her and pauses to give a half bow of greeting to the others. There is an envelope in his hand.

“Minister, Undersecretary. Basil, ready for New York?”

“Always,” says Carter. He checks his watch. “If they’d open the bloody fireplace.”

The Undersecretary is checking his itinerary and papers and going over some last few points with the Minister. They absently nod in Mr. Scamander’s direction- Helene thinks the mumbles are meant to be a greeting- before forgetting to pay him any attention. The secretary to the Undersecretary is checking her nails.

Mr. Scamander shoves the letters at Helene with an attempt at a smile. She automatically puts her hand out and sees her name on the top envelope right away. The other envelope, much smaller, is firmly pressed into her palm in such a way that it can’t be seen.

“Helene,” he says, and she hears his falsely light tone right away, “I figured as long as I can’t join you for the forum I’d write a quick letter of introduction to some of my favorite people. There’s also a sheet with some information on New York you might find helpful.”

Helene slips the envelopes into her inner coat pocket smoothly and casts a quick spell to keep it securely closed until she’s ready to open it. “Thank you, sir.”

“Quite welcome. And if you see Percival Graves, please give him my regards. Tell him I’m sorry I’ve not managed a reply to him yet.”

“Yes, of course,” Helene says. She pauses to search Mr. Scamander’s face. The look on his face is one she can’t place exactly, but she thinks she understands. She keeps her voice carefully light and teasing. “Didn’t realize you needed a messenger, sir?”

Mr. Scamander darts a glance over at everyone else. Helene follows his gaze out of the corner of her eye. Nobody else is paying them much attention.

“Well, you know how it is. My reply would get there long after you left if I posted it now and would probably be meaningless. Anyway, check my recommendations first if you can. Maximize your time to yourself, if you’re allowed any.”

These letters are something to do with his suspicions about Percival Graves, then, and probably contain instructions. Helene nods earnestly. “I will, Mr. Scamander.”

Mr. Scamander smiles and steps back, nodding to her. “Good girl. Don’t enjoy yourself too much- I hear you can’t get a decent cup of tea for all the money in the world.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive somehow.”

The fireplace flares to life behind her. Theseus steps back and smiles crookedly.

“Do make sure to come back. I’d hate to have to find a new secretary.”

Helene laughs, shaking her head fondly. “Of course, sir.”

She steps in line behind the others with a final wave before Theseus turns and disappears back down the hall. Once the Undersecretary disappears they waits the requisite 30 seconds. No alarm comes. The secretary and Basil Carter step into the fire one after the other, and finally it’s Helene’s turn.

“MACUSA!” she barks, and steps through.

thank you for writing <3

eliona - 2017-04-27 09:21 (UTC) - Expand

Re: thank you for writing <3

(Anonymous) - 2017-09-26 16:11 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [11/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to tru

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-27 11:55 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [11/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to tru

(Anonymous) - 2017-09-26 16:12 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [11/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to tru

(Anonymous) - 2017-05-01 16:28 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [11/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to tru

(Anonymous) - 2017-09-26 16:15 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [11/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to tru

(Anonymous) - 2017-06-17 04:29 (UTC) - Expand

So. Uh. Hi there. I exist! And this thing continues! For now, at least. I'm working on it- and I think I'm winning the writing fight, but it's always tricky. Um. Hope you enjoy?

------

Newt spends most of his time on the ship to New York trying to avoid thinking about Theseus’s letter. Worrying about it won’t do him any good- forewarned is forearmed but no amount of thinking about it will change the circumstances he’ll find in America. Despite having banished the ashes of it into the ocean, however, Newt keeps coming back to it and going over the text in his memory.

The letter stays with him as he works with the swooping evil (he’s taken to calling her Hannah, though he’s not sure the name fits her yet), training her to listen to his whistling commands and to eat a diet that doesn’t consist of human brains but keeps her nourished. It stays with him when he watches Frank flying, confident and strong in the air once again. It stays with him, in part, because a day into their voyage, Dougal begins to continuously open the drawer which houses Mr. Graves’s photograph and he’s getting tired of having to put it back

“Dougal, again?” Newt asks when he finds Dougal with the photograph the tenth time in two hours.

He starts to reach for it, but there’s something in Dougal’s face that makes him pause. About three weeks- an embarrassingly long time, really- after Dougal found him in the mountains, Newt learned that the stories of a demiguise’s ability to see the future were not just stories. Dougal is selective about what he imparts and when, so Newt’s never been able to test exactly how far into the future it is that Dougal can see. But he knows that look by now.

Newt kneels before Dougal and holds his arms out. “What did you see?”

Dougal looks mournfully at Newt as he climbs into Newt’s arms, pressing the photograph to his chest. Newt wraps his arms around the demiguise and tries not to shudder. He’s never exactly been able to forget its existence; he’s been holding onto his anger at Theseus over it for so long that knowing it remains in his possession is always burning in the back of his mind.

“What you saw... it wasn’t a good vision, was it?” Dougal shakes his head and burrows closer. Newt blows out a long breath and closes his eyes. “Was it to do with Mr. Graves?”

Dougal nods. Figures. Newt does a valiant job of ignoring the cold that stabs down his spine. Then Dougal presses his free hand to Newt’s cheek.

“Wha- oh, me?” Newt asks after a pause, “Your vision was also to do with me?”

Dougal nods again. Newt combs his fingers through Dougal’s fur looking at the far wall but seeing nothing.

“Okay, then,” he murmurs. “Does he try to hurt me?”

Dougal nods. Newt stops himself from asking if it has to do with their engagement- he thinks it’s unlikely Dougal saw something quite that specific, and he’s not entirely sure Dougal would understand what an engagement is, anyway.

Worrying means you suffer twice, he reminds himself. Between Dougal’s vision and Theseus’s letter, well. Some warning is better than none.

After that Newt decides to leave the photograph with the copy of the Daily Prophet International, side by side on his desk in the suitcase shack. It’s still hard to look at Mr. Graves’s face, with kind eyes and a fond smile for his younger sister. It’s just that now it’s less because of his anger that he’d been sold to the newest bidder and more because all he knows is that Mr. Graves is a danger to him now, exactly as Newt feared he would be. But Dougal’s only going to keep grabbing the photo out of the drawer, so he concentrates on memorizing Mr. Graves’s features, trying to learn his fear in order to face it.

With the faces of Mr. Graves and Grindlewald staring at him from where they’re pinned, Newt attempts to start a letter to Theseus repeatedly during the crossing to New York. Each time guilt starts to weigh his hand and he banishes the ink before he's gotten past three words.

Theseus’s letter means that his brother and mother haven’t yet given up on him, even though he stormed away in the dead of night and has since given them very little reason to. In theory, he still has five months before the contract stipulates his next wedding must happen. Theseus’s letter gave him proof that his family is apparently not inclined to rush his new marriage, and apparently, Mr. Graves was willing to wait, but no matter what Theseus says, Newt can't be sure how Mr. Graves will deal with an unfit husband.

Worse, if he pushes too far, he’s likely to learn sooner rather than later exactly what the American laws are regarding unfit husbands (he knows the Ministry can make the lives of those younger sons and daughters who do not obey in England very unpleasant and he has no desire to find out if America does indeed to everything bigger).

Newt starts his letter a fourth time. This time he’s gotten as far as Dear Theseus before he stops writing and drops his head into his hands. The sound Pickett makes is rather irritated and Newt almost laughs. He turns to glance at the bowtruckle from one squinted eye.

“Yes, I know, I know. I'm rather a mess at writing on a good day, let alone now.”

Pickett stomps on the letter, right on top of Theseus’s name.

“Well I can't just not write- not after this. He's my brother; like your tree-mates. If he turns out to be right and New York is ablaze because of some sort of take over at MACUSA…” Newt shrugs a shoulder, “And, well, he clearly could have had me brought back, but he didn’t. I should at least give him the courtesy of a reply.”

Pickett pauses in the middle of another stomp. He sets his leg down and folds his arms, considering the parchment. Then he nods and wanders onto Newt’s shoulder. He settles down and points at the pen almost impatiently when Newt doesn’t do anything.

Newt realizes that Pickett has decided to watch him write a letter. “Did... did you actually understand all that?”

Newt and all his creatures communicate in some fashion or other. Mostly Newt talks at them and assumes they’re agreeing or disagreeing based on their reactions. Body language tells him when they’re hurt or ill.

His family of bowtruckles have always given the impression that they understand a bit more than the rest- much like Dougal. (It helps that he’s never really had to worry about whether or not they agree with a proposal, because the raspberries they blow are loud and plentiful if they don’t like something.) Even so it’s not like they talk back to him.

Pickett pinches Newt’s cheek and chitters the clearest “yes” a bowtruckle can manage without speaking English. In fact, Newt has the distinct impression that he’s being chastised for not noticing sooner.

+

Seraphina Picquery does not normally greet delegations coming into MACUSA at the network fireplace. Protocols of international meetings dictate that meetings should occur between counterparts in lower positions first and she has staff to take care of greetings directly after travel. For this particular conference she doesn’t much give a damn for protocol, particularly when it comes to the party from the British Empire. If there is anybody she should be able to whisk away for an immediate talk, it should be America’s closest wizarding community ally.

“Undersecretary Abbott,” she says as soon as the man steps through, “It’s good to see you.”

“Thank you for having us to this international forum, Madam President,” says Abbott, reaching to shake her hand. “The Minister sends his regrets but has several very high priority meetings and situations to attend to.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Seraphina says graciously.

They step out of the way of the fireplace so the rest of the delegation can come through unimpeded.

“We’ve been hearing about attacks on New York the last few days,” the Undersecretary says slowly, as though he’s unsure that he’s allowed to bring up the subject. “But so far no deaths?”

“So far,” Seraphina agrees, “And few injuries. We count ourselves lucky.”

“And the Muggles?”

“‘Muggles’... oh, yes, yes, of course. The non-magical are startled, but we’ve had our Aurors on the case from the shadows. They’ve kept damage to a minimum and worked overtime to make sure they stay Obliviated. The head of our DMLE is personally involved.”

Undersecretary Abbott nods slowly, “Yes, we’ve often heard great things about your Mr. Graves. Mr. Scamander has spoken very highly of their collaborative efforts in the past.”

He smiles and claps his hands as the last of his party comes through the fireplace. The woman pats down her hair and brushes her skirt off. She bobs the sort of tiny, automatic curtsy that a person would give to a figure of royalty when she catches Seraphina’s eyes on her. Seraphina bites back a smile. She knows that Britain has not quite developed to the same acceptance of dark skin that American wizarding society has, and she appreciates the gesture.

“May I please present my secretary, Ms. Warbeck,” Abbott says, gesturing to the other woman in the party, and then to everyone else in turn. “This is Basil Carter, who heads the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and this is Ms. Helene Carteret, secretary to Theseus Scamander.”

Well, at least that’s something. Though, really, Seraphina’s fairly sure the Minister of Magic of the British Empire could have found a way to attend. The secretary to the head of British DMLE instead of Theseus Scamander himself she can understand, but America deserves a bit more consideration than just the Undersecretary.

“A pleasure, of course. Thank you for attending. You may not have met Randall Suess, my Secretary of Domestic Affairs,” Seraphina says, gesturing the man forward. He obliges her. “He’s taken care of the details of your accommodations and setting up the forum.”

“Are we the last to arrive?” Abbott asks.

Seraphina looks to Suess and crooks her eyebrow just so.

“No, no,” Suess says, looking through his papers, “We’re still waiting on a few more delegations to join us. We’ve received ambassadors from the Soviet Union and our Western European allies for the most part- we are still hoping Italy, Germany and Austria-Hungary will send ambassadors to join us but so far they have declined. Our representatives from across the country have mostly arrived. We are still waiting on some from the western states- they should be arriving within the hour. The East African Alliance’s delegation is scheduled to arrive this evening.”

The Undersecretary opens his mouth to make a reply, but he is interrupted by rapid footsteps down the hall and a brusque voice. “Madam president!”

Seraphina looks over and watches Percival Graves striding purposefully towards them.

“Mr. Graves,” she says. She looks back to the Undersecretary. “May I introduce Percival Graves, director of our Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

Abbott nods in greeting. “A pleasure, Mr. Graves.”

“Undersecretary Abbott,” Graves says, returning the nod.

Seraphina blinks- she was unaware of Graves having dealings with the Undersecretary before. But then Graves reaches her and leans in. His voice is low and steady, but she can see the anxiety on his face.

“We’ve just had reports. There’s been another incident. No injuries that we know of, but it’s the first time an attack has happened in daylight. The creature may be getting desperate.”

Seraphina frowns deeply, turning just slightly away from the British delegates so they don’t see it. Graves follows her movement. “Instructions, ma’am?”

“Go investigate. Find out what was seen before Obliviations are performed. Return to report your findings as soon as you can.”

Graves nods shortly and disappears back down the hall. Seraphina turns back to her company. The British delegates look appropriately solemn, but not surprised, which means the reports she ordered sent out have at least been disseminated appropriately.

Seraphina keeps her head high and smiles as graciously as she can. “I’ll leave you to get settled before tomorrow’s forum. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course, Madam President.”

As Seraphina turns away, Suess steps forward and gestures. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the Apparition point where you can sidealong to the delegate accommodations.”

Re: FILL [12/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

(Anonymous) - 2017-12-18 21:45 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL [12/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

(Anonymous) - 2017-12-29 16:19 (UTC) - Expand

Newt stands in an arctic enclosure, kept well away from the other creatures. It’s the farthest he’s dared to push the Undetectable Extension Charm in his suitcase. He doesn’t want to be standing here- normally he tries not to think about this enclosure. The charm’s magic trembles at the edges here. Newt isn’t entirely sure if it’s because the charm has been pushed too far or…

His breath curls around his cheeks as he watches the Obscurus.

It’s agitated. (Or Newt has assigned agitation to it. He’s not sure if it still has emotions.) It thrashes in its magic preservative, swirling and collapsing in on itself. Newt almost feels like its reaching for something. He just can’t say what.

Newt leaves the enclosure, chewing on his lip, and moves on to feed the Mooncalves.

+

Helene isn’t quite sure where she is Apparated to- for security, according to Seuss. MACUSA and its various adjunct buildings were located on Manhattan, but the Americans didn’t want to risk foreign witches and wizards (with differing opinions about how much they care about and how strictly they adhere to the Statutes of Secrecy) alerting Muggles to magic by accident.

The witch who Apparates Helene to the lobby of the delegate accommodations Disapparates with barely a pause. Secretary Seuss arrives a moment later and checks that they’ve all made it in one piece. He doesn’t speak much, which is somewhat at odds with Helene’s expectations of America and Americans, but of course, they are here for what is, apparently, a near state of emergency. She is the last to be shown to her rooms, which are at the far end of the hallway on the floor reserved for the American delegation.

Seuss gives a tiny bow as he opens the door for her. “Your quarters for your stay. The service button to summon your delegation’s serving-witch is just here,” he says, gesturing to the wall to her right.

“Thank you,” Helene murmurs, stepping through. She still finds it incredibly odd that each delegation is assigned a witch or wizard because Americans don’t do house elves. They dislike creatures just that much.

Seuss touches his hat brim respectfully. “I’ll take my leave.”

“Thank you again,” she says and closes the door behind Seuss's retreating form.

Her rooms look almost exactly like what she’d seen while peeking through the open doors of the other assigned rooms. They’re surprisingly comfortable, if nowhere as ostentatious as she expected them to be. The way her fellow witches and wizards talk about America, and Americans, she’d expected quite a bit more gilt and entirely too much plaster detailing on the walls and furniture. Instead, the rooms provided to her are almost bare and it doesn’t take long to explore them.

She starts in the small entrance foyer which turns into a parlour in about three steps. The parlour is appointed with layered rugs, an overstuffed chair, a low table, and a mahogany desk and chair under a window. A silver tea set and a silver coffee pot gleam in the light from the single window. Several paintings of landscapes adorn the walls. The walls aren’t even papered- they’re painted a pink so soft it’s almost white.

There’s nothing resembling a kitchen, but there is a small kettle on a trivet for boiling water and a little cupboard with the coffee and tea canisters. The door to the right leads to a washroom with a bathtub and a water closet, and the bedroom is off to the left.

She moves into the bedroom. The window there faces the same direction as the one in the parlour, down onto the streets of New York below. A large oriental rug that runs under the wardrobe and the massive four-poster bed. Helene hasn’t ever seen a bed so big in her life. She sits gingerly on the hugely fluffy mattress and takes off her gloves, leaving them on the bedside table, and runs her hands across the soft, luxurious green silk bedspread. After a moment she sinks down into it, sighing happily and remains splayed there while she spells her effects into the wardrobe.

That done, Helene considers the massive skyscraper outside her window from her upside down perspective and wonders where she is in relation to the island of Manhattan and the wizarding community therein. The building utilizes electricity, despite American wizards shunning muggle inventions as much as possible. Perhaps they make an exception for international visitors?

Helene finally, somewhat reluctantly, sits up, leaving the bedroom and spelling the water in her kettle to boil. She levitates the tea leaves into the teapot and pours the boiling water over them. While the tea brews, she casts Muffliato on the room, just in case, and undoes the security seal on her coat pocket and removes Mr. Scamander’s letters. Even though he put them in her hand himself, she checks for security spells. There are none.

She opens the envelope Mr Scamander allowed to be seen and scans the text. Her eyebrows creep slowly up her forehead.

“Secretary Juanita Harmal, please let me introd- Isn’t she in the president’s cabinet?” she mutters to herself, flipping to the next page, “Mr. Schniderman, please let me introduce…” to the next page, “Downtown Manhattan to Central Park… Brooklyn?”

Helene sighs and spells her teacup to her hand. She sips and casts a spell to reveal hidden text. Nothing. She levitates the letters to the desk, frowning a little. Mr. Scamander had apparently not been joking when he said he’d written her letters of introduction and a sightseeing tip sheet on New York. She contemplates the envelope Mr. Scamander had made sure to hide against her palm. There’s nothing written on this one, but it is sealed with wax that will not peel but melts away only she presses her thumb to it. She spreads them out and uses her wand to iron out the folds.

Ms. Carteret,

I must extend to you my apologies first. I fear I may be involving you in affairs that are largely personal. Please believe me when I say I'd like to be taking care of them myself.

I have two quandaries, you see, and both involve America and my brother.

Helene almost incinerates the letter in frustration. She'd been so sure Mr. Scamander had a real purpose for her to serve here- a purpose that wasn’t playing minder to some runaway, scandal-mongering social oddity. She satisfies herself with sipping her tea angrily. The hot tea on her tongue refocuses her.

First: My brother is likely on his way to the Americas. He was commissioned to write a textbook, and for the past year he has been abroad doing his research for it. At last contact, Newton was in Egypt, but that was months ago and I can’t be sure he won’t turn up in North America next. He does know something of American magical law, but he also has, at the very least, a nundu in his company.

“A what?!” Helene yelps. Everybody knows that a nundu is one of the most deadly- !

Yes, I know the look on your face.

Helen schools her face, which has locked up in a mild disgust, to neutrality. A beat later she feels guilt well up uncomfortably in her chest.

I’m sure you’ve heard the gossip. I know my brother has acquired a reputation, however undeserved it truly is, since his expulsion. Most take care not to talk about him directly in front of me now, but I am well aware of their supposedly private opinions. We are not such an old family that society doesn’t see it as their responsibility to make sure I don’t seek airs and graces above myself. It is not for me to write out the details, so I will tell you only that his marriages were ended by inappropriate actions against his person.

Abuse. Helene can read that code well enough. Her face pinches in horror and sympathy. Abuse that caused a divorce with no trial, if she remembers rightly. It certainly explains why Newton would prefer to work in the most understaffed department in the Ministry, regardless of his strange ideas about creatures.

More importantly, you should know that Newton is currently engaged to be married to Percival Graves of the American Department of Magical Law Enforcement in a year’s time.

Helene chokes on her tea. She valiantly keeps from spitting it all over the parchment. Mr. Scamander has never spoken of this marriage to anyone- gossip circulating the Ministry for months has been variations on the theme that Newton intends to remain a spinster after two failed attempts at marriage. Helene has tried to ignore it, in deference to her boss, but it’s persisted at every tea counter and snack trolley. Mr. Graves certainly hadn’t made an announcement in the American papers that Mr. Scamander insists on subscribing to.

Based on his reputation, Helene can’t imagine someone like Mr. Graves agreeing to marry someone like Mr. Scamander’s brother. It must be a testament to his and Mr. Scamander’s relationship that they even reached an agreement.

Second, as you already know, I believe Percival Graves has been compromised. Percival is my friend as much as my counterpart in magical security- we’ve traded information and tips for years. He has always been vigilant and careful, but if he has been captured, or put under the Imperius curse, or worse, we must consider the whole of the American DMLE compromised. Without being there myself, I can’t confirm my suspicions either way, but Percival has done nothing recently to allay them.

I’ve tried to reach Newton in order to warn him, but as of writing this, I don’t know if he’s received my letter. Worse, I don’t know what he’ll do if he does receive it. We did not part under the best terms.

Helene wonders idly if the engagement to Mr. Graves had caused the row.

You must watch Percival carefully, Ms. Carteret. Make every excuse you can to be professionally in his company- attend all the meetings I would and let nobody stop you. Tell me who he speaks to, and if his requests seem unusual to his staff or if they are taking his word as law. Find out if he has anything to do with these reports of a magical creature attacking New York.

I don't know anybody else in MACUSA nearly as well or whom I would have trusted the way I did Percival, but I have referenced you to Secretary Harmal of the President’s cabinet. We worked together briefly, long ago. If you can reach her, she may be our best chance of inside help. I trust she is too high profile to have been targeted the way Percival was but be wary.

And if Newton does reach New York, please try to get him through the city and far, far away. I don’t want MACUSA getting their hands on him and I don’t want him meeting Percival while so much is so uncertain.

Burn this as soon as you can, hm?

Yours sincerely,
Theseus Scamander

Helene stands and places the letter into the coffee pot, pointing her wand down into it. She whispers a brief, fierce “Incendio”.

The parchment catches fire. Helene watches it burn to ash and waits for the flames to sputter out. Just to be certain, she banishes the ash into the water closet and flushes it away.

During the two weeks to New York, Newt almost manages to forget that he’s going to the same city where his fiancé, who might well be under the influence of Grindelwald, exists. For most of it. Mostly. At the very least, Newt manages to not think about from dawn to dusk.

In fact, Dougal has only woken Newt from nightmares about a fiancé who isn't under any influence at all but believes in Grindelwald's truth, four times. (Because what if Theseus was wrong about Mr. Graves? What if Mr. Graves simply believes that mixed Muggle and magical blood is lesser than pure magical blood, or that creatures only exist for bits that can be used by wizards? What if, what if, what if?) Newt almost believes he’s gotten over it entirely.

And then the ship’s imminent arrival in New York harbor is announced with a long blast of the foghorn, and Newt’s whole body seizes.

The crewmen begin shouting instructions, indistinct and muffled and echoing through the ship’s corridors. An announcement system starts up, but Newt can hardly understand the words. His fingers go numb and he drops his teacup. He doesn’t feel the still hot liquid splash over his knees or hear the cup shatter over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. He must look a sight, because Hobbs, whose hobby on the boat is scratching at the cabin door and trying to get out around Newt’s charms, actually stops occupying himself and wiggles into Newt’s lap.

The niffler’s low rumbling sound (Newt tries not to think of it as a purr since the niffler is very much not a feline, but it’s quite hard to describe otherwise) brings Newt out of his stupor. He forces himself to relax; concentrates on his own breathing as he scratches behind Hobbs’s ear. When his hands stop trembling, a couple quick spells put the teacup back together and dry the spilled tea from the floor and his trousers.

“Sorry,” he murmurs to Hobbs, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I know you worry.”

Hobbs looks indignant and snorts what he thinks of that but otherwise doesn’t move.

“Oh, yes,” Newt chuckles, “That’s right, of course, you don’t.”

He and Hobbs may be comfortable with each other now, but it’s not often that Hobbs allows himself to be touched like this- Hobbs is not exactly a cuddler- so Newt sits there several moments longer to indulge in scratching him behind the ears.

There is another series of announcements that run into each other (why can’t Americans enunciate, anyway?). Newt eventually picks out the requests for passengers to ready for a final cabin inspection, as they will be docking at the harbor in fifteen minutes.

He stands and starts the process of trying to persuade Hobbs to get in, and stay in, the suitcase. After weeks of relative freedom in the cabin, Hobbs is not amused. It doesn’t help that Pickett has taken to living in the breast pocket of Newt’s winter coat. (He’s so small and he has a cold, and more importantly, he doesn’t spend his free time stealing from all and sundry, so Newt hasn’t bothered to remove him.) It takes Newt a bribe of three galleons and his favorite watch to get Hobbs into the suitcase at all, and when he does, Dougal is perched on the stairs, ready to climb out. Newt pushes Hobbs into Dougal’s arms.

“Dougal, no, we’re about to dock,” Newt says, “You can’t come out now. You’ll have to wait until we reach the train.”

Dougal looks mutinous as they hold a staring contest, though he doesn’t persist in trying to climb out. He slinks down the stairs into the shack, Hobbs in his arms, shoulders hunched. He looks distinctly like a sulky child who’s just been told off.

Newt bites on his inner cheek and frowns slightly. “I’m sorry, Dougal, but- ”

A knock on his cabin door cuts him off.

“Good morning, Mr. Scamander. Final inspections.”

Newt latches the suitcase shut behind Hobbs. His hands are trembling when he lifts it from the bed, though not as much as he’d half thought they might be. Dougal hasn’t come to him with any new visions, so perhaps he’s just gotten used to knowing that whatever happens, it won’t be good, which is not so different from most of his experience with fiancees and spouses.

“Yes, of course,” he says. He opens the door to allow the crewman in.

The man smiles and touches the brim of his cap as he steps inside. “Thank you, sir,” he says. His accent is broad and jarring after a year of rolling eastern accents. “The date is December 6th, 1926. We expect we should have the ship ready to debark at 9:30 this morning, precisely.”

“Thank you,” Newt mumbles, glancing at the uniform tag on the man’s breast, “Hugh.”

“It’s a good time to be in New York, sir,” Hugh says, pulling on white gloves and nodding his appreciation.

Newt watches him begin to pat down the bed, the dresser, opening the desk drawers and chest at the foot of the bed. “What is it that gets taken most?”

“Nowadays, alcohol,” Hugh says. He grimaces somewhat regretfully at the idea. “If you can keep it in your personals, well, we can’t go through those, and it was at least purchased legally. But with the amendment and the new law...” he shrugs as though he expects Newt to know what they are.

Newt nods along, even though he’s not entirely sure what required amending. He did hear vague complaints about an alcohol ban from American tourists drinking far too much in hotel bars while Egypt, but he’d not stopped to ask for specifics.

“You’d be surprised how many people try to smuggle so much in they need to hide it around the cabins,” Hugh continues, “and then we have to take it unless the Captain has orders.”

The way he says ‘orders’ tells Newt that he means ‘bribes’.

Hugh keeps talking as he does his inspection of Newt’s cabin. Newt puts on his coat and scarf and makes sure Pickett is comfortable when Hugh isn’t looking. When he gets the all-clear, Newt extricates himself from the cabin and climbs to the deck to watch the ship pull into New York’s harbor.

It’s been quite a while since he was last in cold weather- with a start he realizes he’s forgotten what winter felt like. He takes a seat on a bench and breathes in wintry air. It’s the Christmas season; he wonders if the city will feel like it. From the ship, it just looks gray, dirty, and mean. His heart starts to hammer in his chest as the New York skyline grows and grows until it seems to loom above him. There is something glorious about it, despite its intimidating and gray quality.

His suitcase squeaks as the latch flips open.

“Dougal,” Newt mutters- only Dougal has ever managed to mess with the charms on his suitcase. He bends down over the case and props his chin on his hands. They’re still trembling. It’s not the most comfortable, but he can at least keep his voice down enough that the Muggle passengers don’t hear him. “You settle down, please. It won’t be long- we need to get through to the train station before I can let everyone out again.”

He closes the latch again and worries at the suitcase, absently reminding himself to take it to a repair shop. When he gets home he should also have someone in magical repairs take a look- maybe between himself and someone who specializes in repairs a solution to keep Dougal from messing with the latch will present itself.

By the time the ship is docked and debarking can begin, Newt gets his hands under control. He nonetheless keeps his head down as he walks down the gang rail and proceeds to the port customs tables, passport clutched tightly inside his pocket.

“British, huh?” says the customs agent when he passes over the little book.

“Yes,” Newt agrees.

“First visit to New York?”

“Yes,” he repeats.

He glances quickly from side to side. There aren’t any obvious signs of Aurors. Relief almost behinds to well up in his throat- they must really not know of his travel. Then he recalls that American wizards try to segregate themselves, so it’s just as likely that they’re either invisible or hiding, and the relief disappears. There’s a sudden, sharper edge to the customs officer’s voice and Newt blinks. He follows the line of the pen in the officer’s hand down to his suitcase.

“Oh. No,” he says, realizing he's been asked if there is anything edible in his suitcase.

Pickett stirs in his pocket, perhaps indignant over the idea of being edible- Newt’s still not sure how much exactly he understands. Newt puts a hand over the pocket soothingly and has to turn it into an awkward rearranging of his pocket square when the officer looks at him again. He bites down on the inside of his cheek and tells himself to pay attention and stop looking for signs of his fiancé.

Just because Newt has been worrying over this for a year, doesn’t mean he’s going to be whisked off as soon as he gets through customs. Even if Percival had had informants looking for him, he can't have been warned of Newt’s arrival here today. Theseus will have stopped regular correspondence with Percival the second he sensed wrongness. And anyway, Newt still has a letter of reply to his brother in the inside pocket of his coat. Theseus can’t be sure Newt is even in New York yet.

“Livestock?” asks the agent.

His suitcase latch pops again and Newt winces. The agent zeroes in on the latch immediately.

“Must get that fixed,” Newt murmurs, closing the latch quickly, trying to smile and hoping the agent will think it’s just the malfunctions of an old piece of equipment. “Ah, no, no.”

“Let me take a look.”

Not a request. The customs agent looks fairly suspicious now.

Newt forces his hands to be steady as he puts the case on the table and flicks the Muggle-worthy switch. With any luck, his creatures will behave themselves long enough to get out of this. He opens the suitcase and turns it to face the agent. There's a long silence while the meager contents- his clothing, his house scarf, a series of maps, his notebooks- are poked through with the tip of the agent’s pen.

The agent nods his satisfaction at last and stamps the passport with more force than Newt thinks is strictly necessary. “Welcome to New York.”

“Thank you,” Newt sighs out. He takes back his passport and hears the agent shouting for the next person in line.

One obstacle down, just the whole of New York until Pennsylvania Station to go. He could look for public transportation, perhaps, magical or Muggle. But he’s been on a boat for so long, and he’s never been to New York. If he has his way he’ll never come back. He should see at least a little of the city.

But first, the letter to Theseus, if only because his brother should at least have some idea that Newt has taken his warnings seriously.

Somewhat oddly for a community so small, there are establishments catering to the magical community everywhere- you just have to know where to look (Newt has gotten very good at looking in order to avoid them over the last year). Travel over oceans is as difficult for magical folk He finds a messenger service specializing in international seagull messengers fairly quickly.

“British, huh?” asks the wizard.

Newt looks at him blankly. Is everybody going to ask that?

It takes him a moment to find the right amount of wizarding money- there aren’t nearly so many variations in wizard currency as there are in Muggle currencies, but they do exist. When he and the shopkeeper figure it out, he pays to have his letter sent to Theseus at the Ministry. (The clerk doesn’t seem unduly interested in the recipient, which is a relief.)

Once he’s seen the seagull off at the pier, Newt steps into the streets of downtown Manhattan. Tentatively, he lets himself hope that maybe this will all work out after all.

Re: FILL [14/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

(Anonymous) - 2018-02-10 07:10 (UTC) - Expand

Hi all: this is me de-anon-ing (sorta, kinda?) to say that for the remainder of the story, I'll be uploading new chapters at A03.

The first chapter starts here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9554999/chapters/21604451

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Graves/Newt, Newt/Others, Theseus- Learning to Trust, angst, h/c, past abuse, arranged marriage

Re: Graves/Newt, Newt/Others, Theseus- Learning to Trust, angst, h/c, past abuse, arranged marriage

Re: Graves/Newt, Newt/Others, Theseus- Learning to Trust, angst, h/c, past abuse, arranged marriage

FILL [1/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

Re: FILL [1/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

Re: FILL [1/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

FILL [2/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

Re: FILL [2/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

Re: FILL [2/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

FILL [3/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trust

Re: FILL [3/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trus

FILL [4/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trust

Re: Graves/Newt, Newt/Others, Theseus- Learning to Trust, angst, h/c, past abuse, arranged marriage

FILL [5/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trust

FILL [6/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trust

FILL [6.5/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trust

FILL [7/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trust

FILL [8/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trust

FILL [9/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trust

FILL [10/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trust

FILL [11/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, past abuse, h/c, learning to trust

FILL [12/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

FILL [13/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

FILL [14/?]: Newt/other, eventual Gramander; arranged marriage, abuse, h/c, learning to trust

Fill will continue at A03