Aftermath
When death comes, it’s said that a person’s life flashed before their eyes. Perhaps that’s what happened for others, but for Newt... for Newt he saw no flashes of his life, no snapshots of memories he held closely or mortifying events he preferred to forget. In his death, what Newt saw was not a flash of light nor his life played as a tale to look upon one last time.
No.
For Newton Artemis Fido Scamander he saw no light, no memories... instead he heard voices, distant and faint like echoes in a long corridor.
“Your chosen path is why you are one of the few”
“I do not believe I have ever met a mortal quite like you”
“All the evil in existence will wilt in the face of your fierce desire to protect others; human and not”
“One day–”
“One day, Newton Scamander–”
“One day, Newton Scamander, I gave you blessing and boon–”
One voice repeated itself, over and over, drawing the last moments of Newt’s being, the faintest of essence in the absence, to it.
“One day, Newton Scamander, I gave you blessing and boon that you will recall when you need it most”
Death drew closer, existence fading, sentience dissipating, but still that voice drew notice, drew focus.
“I will do all I am able for you in the moment. Remember when you need to most–”
“Remember when you need to most–”
“Remember when you–”
“Remember when–”
R E M E M B E R
“I think, Newton Scamander, you will be the one mortal I shall love most no matter how I may change with time”
Another voice, familiar but heavy with meaning echoed in the silence that fell after the other voice spoke those last words with softness and affection audible in its voice.
“You are honoured by fate and cursed by it in one”
“You are the only mortal to ever refuse me”
A C C E P T M E
A C C E P T US
R E M E M B E R
With a gasp, Newt shot upright, chest heaving as he drew in breaths, he knew he shouldn’t be drawing anymore. It took him longer than usual to calm himself enough to really register his surroundings, the dampness on his trousers and the back of his shirt and waistcoat the first things he noticed. The ground on which he lay was dark, coated in a layer of water that was blacker than oil and reflected nothing, not even his reflection. Some light source existed in the area but as he looked around, Newt could see nothing that actually seemed to exude light. There was... only blackness.
Nothing beyond the dark water and Newt, sitting in it with wet clothes and a heartbeat his last moment of consciousness told him he shouldn’t have.
The voices...
Newt looked around, head whipping sharply enough to make him dizzy for a moment, as he sought out the source of those voices, he knew he recognised, but he seemed to be truly alone.
“Hello?”
His voice echoed in the darkness, suggesting a large, enclosed space of some kind, yet even as Newt cautiously shifted to clamber to his feet, he could see nothing beyond the dark water on the ground that seemed to absorb light instead of reflecting it. He turned around slowly, feeling in his sleeve for his wand, tensing when he realised it wasn’t there.
Wherever he was, he had only his wandless magic at his disposal. Gritting his teeth, Newt reached for his magic, hissing sharply at the way his magic burned as he manipulated it to do what he wanted. It took longer than it ever had before for Newt to conjure a ball of flames and he stared down at it in surprise at the way it seemed incapable of remaining one single colour.
Instead, the ball of flames shifted from red to orange to yellow to green to blue to purple to pink to red again, over and over. It bled into each other, flames jumping and flaring somewhat erratically from colour to colour. Newt tried to force it to remain a simple blue but the ball of flames continued changing colour, seemingly incapable of obeying Newt’s intention.
‘I don’t understand,’ Newt thought, frowning at the flames. ‘I haven’t had an issue conjuring flames in one colour since I was a child.’
Newt shook his head and refocused on his surroundings, lifting his hand with the ball of flames floating above his palm, and directing it to flare brightly for a moment to illuminate the darkness around him.
“What on earth,” Newt murmured, eyebrows raised in surprise for a moment before dropping as he frowned. “I’m not surrounded by Lethifolds am I?”
The bright flare of light from the flames had no effect on the space around Newt that he could see already illuminated by some unknown light source, instead it seemed like the additional illumination was... consumed? was that the right word for it? It seemed like the extra light from the rainbow-coloured ball of flame did nothing to push the darkness back and illuminate more of the space around Newt.
“This makes no sense,” he said, looking down at the water-covered ground below him. “I... this place feels familiar somehow but... I’ve never been here... have I?”
“You have.”
Newt spun sharply on his heel, wand-hand coming up automatically and even though he didn’t have his wand it didn’t slow him down for a second. A flare of his magic, directed by his hand and his intent, aimed at the source of the voice that had come from behind him.
The magic of his attack, powerful and defensive – though it could certainly do a lot of harm if Newt didn’t sufficiently control his strength – crossed the space between Newt and the source of that voice, crackling with his intent, only to...
“What?” Newt stared, hand still outstretched, other hand elevated with the ball of flames floating above the palm, as his magical attack didn’t so much as strike a magical barrier and dissipate so much as... be drawn down into the dark water of the ground.
“Your reaction time is impressive, Newton Scamander” the source of that voice said and to Newt’s ears it sounded amused somehow. “We meet again, Newton Scamander.”
“Do– do I know you?” Newt asked, frowning slightly as he lowered his wand-hand to his side. The source of that voice – humanoid but clearly not human with the intensity and power echoing in every word it spoke – seemed to not want to hurt him, or at least it didn’t want to harm him yet. With what that dark water had done to his magical attack, Newt doubted he’d even be able to defend himself if the source of that voice wished to harm him, anyway. “I– I feel like I do.”
“You do,” the being confirmed. “It has been several of your mortal years since we spoke, Newton Scamander, yet you are one mortal I have been unable to let my attention fall from.”
‘They called me ‘mortal’ and keep using my full name,’ Newt thought, staring at the being before him. He couldn’t make out any defining features as it seemed like the darkness surrounding them was obscuring the being enough to make it impossible for him to notice anything that could lend itself to an identification. ‘I remember Ra calling me ‘mortal’ but this isn’t the same voice. At least... I don’t think Ra would use a different voice to speak to me with.’
“I am not the only one who remembers you, Newton Scamander,” the being said.
“You’re not Ra.” Newt sounded confident and sure but he still wondered whether this being might be Ra. Only... something about them didn’t fit for the sun-god. There was... they felt... heavier. Like their presence carried something older than creation that Ra, when Newt had been in their presence, possessed a far lighter version of. “I don’t– I think I– Wait.”
Newt stared at the being obscured by the darkness whilst illuminated by that unknown light source at the same time, giving them just the faintest of silhouettes for Newt to see them.
“Do you remember who I am, Newton Scamander?”
Newt swallowed. His wand-hand twitched uselessly by his side. His clothing was damp, back wet, his attention focused on the being before him but his mind taking in all the information it could, sensory input and magical sensitivity flooding his mind as he continued to stare.
“Wepwawet.”
The darkness surrounding the being uncurled its embrace and the features Newt couldn’t see before were illuminated by the pseudo-light in this empty space.
“Yes,” Wepwawet nodded, their wolf-like ears flicking as they nodded at Newt. They were still as imposing as Newt remembered, his mind drawing forth the memories of their walk, their conversation, Wepwawet’s home, the implicit threat and the offer Newt refused. Wepwawet’s eyes glowed with the same colour and shade as whatever it was that illuminated the space around them.
‘Is the light coming from them?’ Newt wondered, mind running off on tangents even as he processed his situation; the implications of Wepwawet’s presence, of what it meant that Newt had definitely died in the Catacombs, body burning with the magic Gellert had drawn from somewhere, and the words Ra had spoken in the train compartment after the Ghūl was caged. ‘Not important right now!’
“Where am I?” Newt asked. He could avoid the question entirely, could drag this encounter out in a bid to try and find some escape route, but Newt had dealt with gods before. He’d dealt with Wepwawet before. He wasn’t going to anywhere until Wepwawet — or Ra, perhaps, if the sun-god could act or knew Newt was, well, here, wherever ‘here’ was — was done with him. “I died, didn’t I?”
Wepwawet hummed, the echoes of their power dancing across Newt’s body like spits of rain that happened to burn like the hottest fire and coldest water in alternative beats.
“You took in a great amount of power, Newton Scamander, in the depths of Ossuaire municipal de Paris,” Wepwawet said and Newt nodded because, well, he had. “Any other mortal would have perished long before they could even make the same attempt.”
Newt nodded again. “I know,” he said, voice soft and quiet. He looked down, took a breath and held it for a moment before letting it go. Then he looked back at Wepwawet. “I made the only choice I could.”
Wepwawet nodded. “You did.”
Newt stared directly at the god, shoulders back, chin raised. “I don’t regret it,” he told the god, voice firm and steady. “I regret the grief Thee and– and Percy will feel, my parents and creatures also, but I don’t regret taking on those flames. They’d have caused so much destruction if I hadn’t.”
“I am not judging you, Newton Scamander,” Wepwawet said, shaking their head. “I am not the one who passes judgement on mortals. I am the one who guards the dead.”
Newt swallowed, his throat tight. “So I am dead then.”
Wepwawet tilted their head slightly, one of their ears flicking in a manner that reminded Newt of how some of his creatures would flick their ears to attempt to emulate Newt raising an eyebrow at them when he was unimpressed with their behaviour. It was disorienting to see Wepwawet do the same thing as the god stared at him.
“Did I say you were dead, Newton Scamander?” the god asked.
“But I couldn’t survive that much magic,” Newt argued, frowning at the god before looking down and away, gaze fixing on the dark water lapping at his ankles. His socks were wet. “Not after expending so much trying to control the flames. And then, absorbing them... I– I felt them burning me from the inside.” Newt placed his wand-hand on his chest, pressing the flat of his palm to his sternum. “I know I’m... unusual, especially with how my magic seems to work but... I don’t think that’s enough to prevent those flames from turning me to a pile of ash as they destroy themselves inside my body.”
Newt looked up at Wepwawet. “Is it?”
“Perhaps once,” Wepwawet answered before falling silent.
“What– what do you mean?” Newt took a tentative step toward the god, dark water sloshing as he moved.
“Do you truly not know, Newton Scamander?” Wepwawet asked. Newt couldn’t tell if the god was curious or amused at Newt’s lack of knowledge. “Think of when you travelled the Duat last. Of whom you met and whom you earned the favour of.” Wepwawet paused. “Beside myself.”
Newt looked up at Wepwawet, confused because the only other being Newt had met in the Duat had been Ra. Ra who had called Newt a wonder. Ra who had seemed fascinated with Newt. Ra who had wanted to name him his priest but didn’t want to trap Newt in Egypt. Ra who-
I think, Newton Scamander, you will be the one mortal I shall love most no matter how I may change with time.
Newt stared at Wepwawet. “Ra,” he breathed, surprised by his own surprise because of course!
The only other being in the Duat, Newt had interacted with who had seemed interested in him had been Ra. The sun-god who had known Newt could never summon him as the Bennu Bird but had given him the chance to do so because Newt had wanted to so much. Ra who had helped Newt trap the Ghūl and then given Newt something he hadn’t even remembered until he was faced with Wepwawet prompting him to.
“One day, Newton Scamander,” Newt recalled Ra saying as his awareness of the train compartment faded as he left the Duat after he’d succeeded in his mission to cage the Ghūl. “I gave you blessing and boon that you will recall when you need it most. I will do all I am able for you in the moment. Remember when you need to most.”
“Am I not dead because of something Ra did?” Newt asked, heart beating hard in his chest, fingers of his wand-hand fidgeting with the hem of his waistcoat. Newt stared at Wepwawet. “What did Ra do?”
“I gave you a choice.”
Newt’s head snapped to the right, following the new voice, the familiar voice, and his breath caught in his chest at the sight of the sun-god who Newt thought he’d never see ever again.
Ra.
“A choice?” Newt repeated, watching Ra as the sun-god approached him, golden light illuminating the god as they moved, seeming to glow in the air but the darkness around them had no effect on Ra’s brightness. “What choice?”
“The one you will make now,” Ra answered as they came to a stop before Newt. The sun-god reached out with a hand, fingers brushing over Newt’s cheek after a moment where the sun-god seemed to offer Newt the chance to draw back. Newt remained where he stood and those sun-kissed, sun-warm fingers were joined by the warmth of Ra’s palm pressing against Newt’s cheek, cradling and comforting. “You took something upon you that is not to be taken by mortals. All others have perished in such an attempt,” Ra explained, staring directly into Newt’s eyes, the sun-god’s very presence burning with their intention. Their affection. “My blessing to you is this choice for you to make.”
“What– what are my options?” Newt bit his lip as his cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and awkward delight at the way Ra hadn’t hesitated to approach him, at how it seemed Ra’s affection for Newt was unchanged.
“The options are simple,” Ra answered before breaking eye contact to look at Wepwawet.
Newt looked over at the other god.
“Change or death.”
Newt blinked. “Right.” He nodded. “I’m guessing the ‘change’ option is more complicated than it initially appears,” he said, tone dry.
This entire situation was absurd, beyond belief. Newt’s mind and body settled in the space of a heartbeat, finally caught-up with this... this impossibility.
Ra’s lips quirked. “Indeed.”
Newt nodded. Ra dropped their hand on Newt’s cheek. “What does this ‘change’ involve?”
“You have taken a great amount of power within yourself, Newton Scamander,” Wepwawet said. “It is power that will kill you or, with the blessing of Ra, change you. You cannot reject the power you have taken within yourself. You will be forever changed by it.”
“You keep saying ‘change’ but what does that mean exactly?” Newt asked, looking from Wepwawet to Ra and back. “My magic became stronger and a lot more sensitive after the Ghūl and again after– after the warehouse. Will what I did in the Catacombs make me, I don’t know, more sensitive? If that’s even possible, actually.”
“The sun-god has challenged the natural order to give you their blessing, Newton Scamander. It is not something that has been done before, nor shall be ever again.” Wepwawet turned their head to stare at Ra. The sun-god stared back for a moment before nodding at Wepwawet. “The change you shall experience is not one either of us can predict for you, Newton Scamander. We can only know this for certain: you will no longer be mortal. What that will make you, even I cannot say.”
“Is this part of my fate?” Newt looked from Ra to Wepwawet. “You told me that my fate was a blessing and a curse. Did you– was this part of that fate?”
“We do not know, Newton Scamander,” Ra answered, drawing Newt’s gaze back to the sun-god. “Truly. What we know of mortal fates varies. We know your fate is a great one. We know there are challenges and trials in it. We know you will affect the fates of millions. But the how of your fate? We are not the ones who know such things.”
“You say you’re not the ones who know such things, that implies that someone does know them,” Newt said, brows furrowed. Ra nodded. “I’m guessing I can’t speak to them?”
Wepwawet shook their head. “It would be unwise,” they agreed. “The choice is yours Newton Scamander and your time to make it is dwindling.”
“What do you mean?”
“This place is an empty place,” Ra explained, waving a hand to gesture at the darkness around them. “It is... here you can make your choice, but the longer you remain here, the harder it is to return should you wish to remain on the mortal plane and not become one of those that roam the Duat.”
Newt nodded but didn’t say anything. Ra and Wepwawet seemed to understand that he needed a moment to himself as they both remained silent. The darkness and the dark water that lapped around Newt’s feet like waves on a shore seemed more... ominous after Ra’s words. The knowledge that Newt was on a time-limit, that this place was ‘empty’, lent a sense of urgency to the choice Ra had given Newt.
A choice he had to make.
‘I accepted my death in the Catacombs,’ Newt thought, staring down at the dark water, gaze distant. The ball of flames floating above his palm seemed to shift chaotically between colours as Newt focused on the choice he had, given to him by a god and — it seemed — facilitated by another god. ‘I’m not sorry for what I did. I wouldn’t undo it either. Thee and Percy would have died. Those flames were too powerful, too uncontrolled. If they’d managed to escape the Catacombs... the devastation they’d have caused... no. I would rather die than let that happen!’
Newt blinked several times, his eyes dry from him staring, unblinkingly apparently, at the ground while he was lost in thought. “What I did in the Catacombs,” he began, somewhat hesitant. Ra and Wepwawet looked at him. “That wouldn’t be undone if I chose to change, would it?”
Wepwawet shook their head. “Time cannot be undone, nor the actions that led you here,” the god said and Newt let out a little breath of relief. “Without those actions, you would not be here and facing the choice you have been blessed with.”
“Okay, okay,” Newt said, nodding more to himself than to Wepwawet. “I’d rather not leave my loved ones behind to grieve for me,” he said, quietly. “Or my creatures. I know Thee and mother would care for them but– well, I’d rather not leave them.” Newt ducked his head. “It’s somewhat selfish of me, really.”
A sun-warm hand touched Newt’s face, cupping his chin and making him raise his head enough for him to look at Ra. The sun-god was stood close to Newt, golden eyes staring at him. “There is not a selfish bone in your body, Newton Scamander,” Ra said with all the certainty of a being that burned with the strength of the sun. “You would choose to change yourself to spare others pain. That is not selfish. That is a noble sacrifice for love. I am selfish for I gave you this as my blessing even though I knew not what it would mean for your future. You may know great suffering now, because of my blessing, and I would still wish it because you are a wonder, Newton Scamander.”
“I– I...” Newt shook his head a little, Ra’s hand on his chin limiting the motion, as he tried to understand what the sun-god was telling him, confessing to him. It– it couldn’t– “You’re a god,” Newt exclaimed, “how could I– I’m not worth that kind of devotion!”
“Is it devotion or favour?” Wepwawet asked, distracting Newt from staring at Ra and hyperventilating.
“What?”
“Is it devotion or is it favour that the sun-god gave you?” Wepwawet asked again.
“Does it make a difference?”
“Gods receive devotion, Newton Scamander, mortals receive favour, so it does indeed make a difference,” Wepwawet replied and Newt definitely could hear amusement in the gods voice. “So, is it devotion or favour?”
“It matters little,”Ra said. “You have made your choice? You choose to change than to die?”
Newt stared at Ra, the sun-god’s focus on him intense and overwhelming. He could reject it, Newt knew that Ra would not react poorly if Newt chose to continue on dying, but... Percy.
He’d be left behind. Alone.
Thee and mother and father. Albus. His creatures.
Ariana who deserved justice.
Ra’s blessing of giving Newt a choice was no choice at all in the end. He could never turn away from those who he cared for, from those who needed protection. Newt just wasn’t that sort of person.
“I have,” Newt said, steady and strong in thought and deed. He looked directly at Ra. “I choose to change.”
“Then let it begin.” Wepwawet raised a hand, claw-tipped fingers emanating the same kind of glow as the light in the darkness that the dark water didn’t reflect. “When you wake, Newton Scamander, remember to trust yourself, even at your weakest, trust in yourself.”
“Goodbye, Newton Scamander,” Ra said, leaning closer to Newt. “I do not regret my selfishness.”Lips made of sunlight pressed against Newt’s own for a brief moment, a chaste kiss that conveyed so much it made Newt’s eyes sting with tears. “Be happy.”
The darkness surged forward the moment Ra finished speaking, the gods disappearing from his sight and Newt let out a sharp cry of fear as the ball of flames he’d held this entire time went out and then there was nothing but
p a i n
“LET ME GO! LET ME GO!” Theseus screamed at Percy, his magic lashing out and hitting the American Auror hard enough to make him stagger. “NEWT! NEWT!”
Percy cast his gaze about, zeroing on Senior Auror Martínez. “Stun him,” he ordered.
Senior Auror Martínez nodded and wasted no time, aiming her wand at the still struggling, already hysterical Theseus Scamander. “Stupify.”
Percy let go of Theseus just before the stunner struck and grabbed hold of the British Auror again as Thee collapsed. Martínez apparently could throw a mean stupify if it was strong enough to knock out an Auror of Theseus’ calibre. He gently lowered Theseus to the ground before focusing his attention on the collapsed hole that New– Mister Scamander had collapsed after shoving Percy and Theseus through to safety.
A deep rumbling suddenly ran through the Catacombs, clearly magical in nature as Percy’s magic reacted and anchored him to the ground, preventing him from stumbling or falling like several of the Aurors present. As quickly as it occurred, the rumbling subsided, leaving behind an echoing stillness that bled into Percy’s bones like the cold on a winter night.
“Sir?” Martínez enquired, looking at him.
“Report of Grindelwald’s escape, get magical contractors down here to open this up immediately,” Percy ordered, not looking at her but he saw Martínez nod out the corner of his eye. “Call for– call for a coroner as well.”
“Yes sir,” Martínez said, voice low. “You! Wolfensohn! Find the nearest exit and get straight to Headquarters! You go with him and send out a call for magical contractors—”
BOOM
Percy aimed his wand at the collapsed hole, the other Aurors doing likewise. The noise from the other side of the hole was incredibly loud but it was the magical explosion that had Percy on edge.
A groan to his right had Percy glancing over and down at Theseus who, it seemed, could burn off the effects of a stunner quicker than most. The British Auror shoved himself into an upright position and raised a hand to his forehead. He blinked, obviously trying to remember what had happened, and Percy waited. Theseus’ hand on his forehead paused. His eyes widened.
He looked up at Percy. “Newt—”
BOOM
Percy reacted on instinct, protego cast, deflecting the rubble of the collapsed hole as it blasted out toward them. Theseus rolled to his feet in a single, smooth motion, wand in hand, vanishing rocks and stones as they continued to slam into Percy’s shield.
Within thirty seconds it was all over. The rubble that had slammed into Percy’s shield either vanished or shattered from impacting with his shield. The dust in the air was cloying and with a sharp slash of his wand, Percy forced it to settle, revealing the hole that New– Mister Scamander had collapsed completely clear and open to them.
Theseus didn’t waste a moment, throwing himself through the hole and Percy immediately followed after, throwing a look at Martínez as he did, who nodded at him. Martínez stayed by the hole, the other Aurors following her lead which Percy was thankful for.
The amphitheatre was a mess. Before, it had been beautiful, made of white marble with gold in the reliefs carved on the sides of the rows and steps. Those blue flames had been so hot, it seemed, that they’d melted parts of the steps and rows, the white marble twisted and charred in places. The gold that had been in the reliefs had become golden puddles or streams down the sides of the reliefs from the extreme heat.
‘Morgana please,’ Percy thought, swallowing around a dry throat. He followed after Theseus, each of them picking their way through the melted mess and rubble that must have been caused by those explosions.
The centre of the amphitheatre seemed to be obscured by some sort of wall of marble and rubble, preventing Percy from seeing if– from—
He picked up his pace, risking crossing rows that seemed more rubble-strewn and unstable than was advised to cross. He had to get to the centre. Theseus’ panting breaths and the way he scrambled over the rubble the same way Percy did spoke to the British Auror’s equal desperation to see if-
Theseus reached the wall first and wasted no time in literally scrambling over it. He disappeared from Percy’s sight just as he reached the wall himself. He reached up to pull himself over when Theseus let out a sound that froze Percy.
“N-n-newt-t,” Theseus panted, sounding like he was crying.
Percy unceremoniously dragged himself up and over the wall, dropping down on the other side and collapsing to his knees immediately after. Theseus was sat with his back against the wall, tear-tracks down his face, clutching a blue-clad form that Percy was terrified to check for a pulse of.
“O-open your eyes, Newt-t,” Theseus begged, stroking his brother’s face so gently it made Percy ache. “P-pl-please Newt. You– you’ve got to– to open your eyes and l-look at me. Please!”
“Morgana please,” Percy breathed, reaching out a trembling hand. Theseus looked at him, broken beyond words, broken in spirit, as Percy let out a harsh breath and pressed his fingers against Ne– against Mister Scamander’s neck.
Percy’s head snapped around in the direction of the hole. “GET TRAUMA HEALERS HERE NOW!” he roared as he stripped his coat off and laid it over Ne– Mist– Newt’s unconscious form. Theseus let out a gasping wail and buried his face against his brother’s hair. “He’s got a pulse, Theseus,” Percy said, low and urgent. “But it’s not great. We can’t move him but we need to try and stablise him.”
Theseus raised his head to look at Percy. “Newt doesn’t respond well to healing spells not cast by a healer,” he said, voice cracking on his brother’s name.
“Then we won’t cast any spells,” Percy said, placing his hands on his knees even though he wanted to curl them around Newt and never let him go. “I can use wandless magic with emotional intent. It won’t be perfect, or as good as trained healers, but it might keep him alive for the healers to get here.”
Theseus nodded. “Do it,” he said, “I– please save him Percy. I can’t lose him.”
Percy nodded. “You’re not the only one who feels that way,” he said, before closing his eyes and focusing on his magic. From the way Newt had described to them before how he used his own magic, Percy had a fair idea that it worked on intent, like all magic really. The difficult part lay in the strength of the wizard and the control, as well as how much they wanted to do something.
Percy had strength. He had control. And he really wanted Newt to not die.
He reached out with his magic, it like a sheet floating in the wind, directing it toward Newt’s unconscious form, as gentle and soft as the softest cotton. He didn’t know how or if Newt’s magic might react to his own but Percy was willing to risk being injured if it meant Newt would survive.
He wasn’t willing to lose Newt and any pain was worth bearing if it ensured Newt’s survival.
A frisson of something shocked Percy before it seemed to let him continue and Percy realised that Newt’s magic recognised his, recognised him and seemed to trust him to help. He continued on, letting his magic spread like a bolt of cotton unspooling, gently layering itself over Newt until it was thick enough for the threads of Percy’s magic to weave their way around the injuries, the damage, the pain that seemed to be everywhere in Newt’s unconscious form.
It could have been a minute or an hour before someone touched Percy’s shoulder and drew him away from weaving his magic through Newt’s form and trying to repair what had been damaged. He blinked his eyes open and immediately listed to the side. A familiar hand gripped his shoulder and steadied him.
“Hey, careful,” Theseus said, letting Percy lean against him as he got his bearings.
“How is he?” Percy immediately asked. Theseus bit his lip. “Theseus.”
“They’re saying he’s stablised enough for transport but that it’s still not a guarantee,” he answered, quietly. “They can’t get a proper reading of his magic and it seems to be interfering with their attempts to heal him. They’re resorting to potions but for this sort of damage... they say spells would be more effective.”
Theseus helped Percy to stand and then, unexpectedly, dragged Percy into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” Theseus whispered, pressing his forehead against Percy’s shoulder. “You saved him and I can never thank you enough for that.”
“Don’t thank me,” Percy said, voice low, as he returned the embrace. “I didn’t do it for thanks.”
Theseus’ grip tightened. “I know,” he said. “Thank you anyway.”
Percy nodded. He looked around the ruined amphitheatre, brow furrowed as he did. Thee looked around also, eyes roaming the expanse before snapping to Percy as he tensed. “What is it?”
Percy stared at the entrance that Grindelwald had used to enter the amphitheatre. “I don’t know.”
Thee immediately raised his wand, Percy doing the same, as they stared at the entrance — somehow still mostly intact despite the widespread damage to, well, everything in the amphitheatre — and Percy cast out a floating Lumos to illuminate the dark corridor.
He rather wished he hadn’t when it lit up the narrow space and revealed something that Percy had no words to describe beyond horrifying.
“Retreat now!” Percy ordered the healers still around Newt, one of them looking up at him and Thee before following where they were looking and visibly blanching a far paler shade of white than was likely healthy. The healers didn’t argue, instead speeding up their already impressively quick work. One of them conjured a stretcher as another began preparing Newt for transport.
Thee and Percy didn’t look away from the nightmare in the narrow corridor Grindelwald had walked down not even an hour ago.
“What even is that thing?” Thee muttered and Percy glanced at him briefly, eyebrow raised.
“You’re asking me?” Percy scoffed. “I’m not the one from a family of creature lovers.”
“I’m telling you, Percy, I have never seen something like that before in my life,” Thee said. “It... you don’t think it’s that creature Valère mentioned, do you? That Tara– Tarasa—”
“Tarasque.”
Percy — in blatant breach of Auror protocol for handling a threat — almost turned completely away from the creature to stare in blatant disbelief at the somehow conscious Newt who, it seemed, was pushing the healers away from worrying over him as he sat upright and focused a terrifyingly alert gaze on Percy and Thee.
“Newt?” Thee frowned. “Newt!” Like Percy, Thee almost turned away from the creature to stare at his brother but managed to angle his head enough to look at his brother with an impressive side-eye that conveyed all the things Percy felt too. “How are you conscious? Wait– what are you doing?”
“Stay there,” Percy ordered at the same time as Thee exclaimed, but Newt ignored them both — of course he did — and flapped a hand at the healer trying to keep him seated. “You’re injured.”
Newt’s face went on a strange journey of expressions before settling on one of the most determined, stubborn expressions Percy had ever seen as the magizoologist pushed himself to his feet and drew his wand from his sleeve — how the thing wasn’t destroyed after the destruction in the amphitheatre, Percy had no idea but it seemed to be as resilient as its owner — and flicked it. The dust and dirt on Newt’s person dissipated in a strange shimmer of electric blue and faint gold sparks, leaving the magizoologist looking as though nothing had happened to him at all.
“I need to go to the Tarasque,” Newt said, ignoring Thee and Percy entirely even as they both reached out simultaneously to grab him and stop him from doing that. “Don’t.”
That strange shimmer of electric blue and faint gold sparks flared around Newt, stopping Percy and Thee from touching him. It acted like a barrier, but Percy hadn’t felt a frisson of magic that indicated a spell had been cast. If anything, the strange shimmering sparks felt more like instinctive, emotional magic... or the way thoughts felt when performing Legilimency. They had substance to them but it wasn’t directed by anything other than will, just there in the way a thought existed in the mind.
Newt’s magic had already been strange to Percy but this? This was something else entirely.
“Newt!” Thee exclaimed, pushing against that shimmering barrier to no avail. “You were in the middle of a magical explosion! You weren’t even responding to anything five minutes ago! I don’t know what’s happening right now but please—” Thee’s voice broke, causing Newt to look to his brother “—you need to let us handle this and go with the healers. Please, little brother.”
Percy saw the moment that Thee’s emotional plea failed to convince the magizoologist, the way Newt’s focused expression cracked enough to let a gentle, apologetic smile through before Newt shook his head.
“Sorry, Thee,” Newt said, and he did sound genuinely apologetic at least. “But I have to do this. I can’t explain why but if I don’t... I won’t last the night,” Newt finished.
Thee opened his mouth, clearly about to demand more than that but Percy cut him off, choosing to trust Newt. “Go then,” he said, drawing the brother’s attention. “Do what you have to do but don’t you dare get hurt again,” he added, voice dropping to the threatening tone he used on suspects.
Newt flashed him a smile that bled understanding. Percy pretended it didn’t make his eyes sting.
“Thank you,” Newt said before moving past them, heading to the narrow corridor with the Tarasque within. Percy’s Lumos still illuminated the creature which, it appeared, was watching the magizoologist’s approach with far more calmness than the tale Valère had told them would have suggested it possessed.
Thee gave him a look but Percy shook his head. ‘We have to trust him,’ Percy thought at Thee who grimaced, as displeased with the situation as Percy was. ‘Something is different about his magic, I don’t know what but... my instincts are saying this needs to happen, Theseus.’
Thee bit his lip. ‘I know,’ he thought back at Percy, eyes flicking between Percy and his brother as Newt approached the Tarasque. ‘I don’t like it but mother raised us to trust our intuition. Doesn’t mean I have to like it when I do.’
Percy nodded. He could understand that sentiment.
A soft trill had their wands twitching in aborted movements — Percy stalled his defensive cast before it even began; Thee clearly doing the same with whatever he’d been about to cast — as the Tarasque seemed to somehow shrink in size, reducing from the size of a horse to something closer to a large dog just as Newt entered the corridor and came within easy striking distance from it. They watched, tense and ready to act immediately, as Newt seemed to have some sort of conversation with the Tarasque before it moved closer to the magizoologist and nuzzled him?
“I have no idea what’s going on right now, so don’t even ask,” Thee said as Percy glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “I think this is just how a lot of Newt’s interactions with beasts tend to go.”
“I don’t understand how he is conscious right now,” the healer closest to Thee and Percy muttered and Percy looked at him. The crest on his robe denoted him as a senior healer, likely the one that had been in charge of moving Newt before the magizoologist had miraculously woken and managed to stand and move unaided. “Truly, Monsieur. Our diagnostic spells have been inconclusive but he was completely unresponsive before that– that creature appeared. I cannot even tell you if he has internal injuries or not! This makes no sense!”
“He didn’t look injured at all after he woke up,” Percy noted and the healer nodded. “But his magic seemed to be very low when we found him. I used my own magic to stablise him. Is it possible that had some effect?”
Even as he spoke to the healer, Percy’s gaze, magic, and attention was centred on Newt and the Tarasque that had begun purring as its exceptionally long tail coiled loosely on the ground around the magizoologist who, in turn, had begun petting the beast behind its furred ears. Percy was keenly aware of how close Newt’s arm was to the Tarasque’s sharp-toothed mouth but it seemed that his fear of the magizoologist having his arm bitten off was not one shared by Newt as he continued giving the Tarasque attention.
“Possibly,” the healer said, humming softly as he clearly thought about it. “It may have acted like a shock to his magic, kick-starting it into replenishing his magical core. Though,” the healer continued, frowning slightly, “magical cores don’t recover as rapidly as it appears Mister Scamander’s has. That is very unusual. If only our diagnostic spells could tell us anything!”
“Welcome to dealing with my brother, Master Healer,” Thee said, patting the healer on the shoulder even as he didn’t look away from his brother and the Tarasque.
The healer huffed. “He needs to be checked and admitted for monitoring, even if he is fully recovered from whatever happened here,” he said, waving a hand at the general space of the amphitheatre.
“Ah no! That’s not nice!” Newt exclaimed and Thee, Percy, and the healer all took an aborted step forward before halting when Newt began to laugh. “No! That’s not easily replaced, you can’t eat that! Here, have a beast treat instead. Those are much healthier than fabric, I assure you.”
Percy and Thee looked at each other and Thee clearly was as exasperated and exhausted as Percy himself was.
“Newt,” Thee called, drawing his brother’s attention and making Newt look at him. “Are you done?”
“Ah, yes, sorry,” Newt replied, scratching the dog-sized Tarasque on the top of its head, as he looked from Thee to Percy. “I’ll need my case so I can get Martha situated in a suitable habitat.”
Percy couldn’t help but raise a hand and pinch the bridge of his nose as he let out a sigh. Thee, it seemed, shared Percy’s lack of approval for his brother’s actions, and let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh.
“Newt, you need to go to the hospital and get checked, Martha is fine where she is,” Thee said and Percy dropped his hand to look at the British Auror in time to see the very impressive glare Thee aimed at his brother.
“Thee,” Newt said, the lightness in his voice gone as he stared at his brother with a seriousness that made it difficult to refuse whatever the magizoologist followed that expression with. “I can’t leave Martha here. It’s not safe.”
“For her or...” Percy trailed off.
“For everyone,” Newt answered without preamble. “Martha included, so please. My case.”
Thee sighed. He threw Percy a brief, questioning glance that Percy nodded to, before turning to the hole in the amphitheatre wall and shouting an order for someone to bring Newt’s case immediately. “It’ll be here in five minutes,” he said, looking at his brother. “In the meantime, can you please come over here and let the healers run a diagnostic on you?”
Percy watched as Newt looked down at the Tarasque — named Martha apparently, Morgana but really? — for a moment before nodding his acquiescence to his brother’s request.
“Narrate what you’re doing so Martha doesn’t think you’re attacking me, please,” Newt said to the healer who watched him and Martha approach with a wary expression on his face. “She’s– uh– I’m afraid she’s bonded to me and already quite protective.”
“Bonded?” Percy frowned. “Beasts don’t bond.”
“No, some do,” Thee said, shaking his head. “As... familiars... Newt.” Thee’s eyes widened and Newt ducked his head to hide his eyes from his brother. “Newt, have you formed a familiar bond with a fucking Tarasque?”
“That’s a Tarasque?” The healer exclaimed, looking at Martha, wary expression giving way to a curiousness that Percy loathed seeing in academics in the field. “I thought they were just Non-Magique inventions! I didn’t think they actually existed. Mon Dieu.”
“Any creature can be made to exist if there is enough belief in them and enough ambient magic in the location they are believed to exist,” Newt told the healer as he moved toward the three of them, Martha the Tarasque following closely behind him. Percy’s wand-hand itched to force it away from Newt but, if the magizoologist had formed a true familiar bond with it, doing so would be a criminal offence that Percy would have to arrest himself for.
MACUSA law held that anyone who knowingly attacked someone’s familiar was sentenced up to a year in prison and then up-to a sixteen-month ban on non-essential magic alongside a two-year trace on their every use of magic. International law was similar, though in Britain offenders received a minimum of six months in Azkaban instead. Were Percy to attack the Tarasque and it was truly Newt’s familiar, then he’d be subject to British law instead of MACUSA and Percy had no desire to experience a prolonged period of time surrounded by Dementors after his experiences with Grindelwald.
His wand-hand still itched, however.
“Newt, answer me!” Thee demanded, reaching out and grabbing his brother’s arm. He froze when Martha the Tarasque growled at him before settling after it sniffed the air around them. Newt patted it on the head. “Newt, seriously,” Thee continued, tone more measured as he glanced at the Tarasque. “How can you even bond with it? You said you wouldn’t have a familiar because you couldn’t pick just one creature to bond to. What’s changed now?”
Newt sighed. The magizoologist, for all that he seemed completely okay, gave off a sense of exhaustion that Percy’s magic picked up on and had him wanting to reach out and draw Newt to his chest and wrap him in an embrace he might never let the magizoologist out of. It wasn’t magical exhaustion so much as it seemed to be some kind of emotional exhaustion that had the magizoologist feeling like all he wanted was a hug and to be told things would work out. Were they anywhere else, or even were just Thee present, Percy would do just that. With the healer present, the other healers that had left the amphitheatre after a subtle gesture from the remaining healer, and the other Aurors on the other side of the hole, Percy couldn’t let himself cross the space and embrace his lo– embrace Newt the way he really wished to.
It was another piece of torture on top of the other bits of suffering and pain Percy had experienced in less than an hour and it made him want to scream in helpless frustration. Instead, he pushed it down and focused on the present.
“Newt,” Percy said, capturing Newt’s attention and he found himself suddenly lacking the ability to say anything as his dark eyes locked with Newt’s blue-green that– that were sparking with electric blue and flickers of gold sparks. “What happened?” He whispered, finding himself unable to stop himself from reaching out with his wand-free hand to touch Newt’s face, pads of his fingers grazing over warm, alive flesh. “Your eyes...”
Martha the Tarasque didn’t make a sound.
“I absorbed the flames after I collapsed the hole,” Newt told him, voice a near whisper that still carried in the ruined amphitheatre. “They were too strong and– uh– uncontrollable to be left unchecked and… it was the only thing I could do the prevent them escaping the amphitheatre and the Catacombs.”
“They wouldn’t—” Thee protested but Newt cut him off.
“They would.” Newt looked at his brother. “They’re– they were a type of divine flame,” he explained, looking from his brother to Percy before glancing down at the Tarasque. “Some creatures are... they don’t really come from mortal imagination, though it helps them exist. Gellert was... he managed to harness Martha’s flames for his own use. I don’t know how but when he escaped, he stopped controlling them and without someone controlling them, they can be so, so destructive. Worse than fiendfyre.”
Percy looked at the Tarasque, noticing how it seemed to be watching them all as Newt spoke, almost as if it understood what was being discussed.
‘If it really is a familiar, that’s not exactly surprising, is it, though?’ he thought. Familiars were known for being unusually intelligent compared to other members of whatever species they were. Kneazles were exceptionally smart and Kneazle familiars tended to be able to copy some rudimentary words or vocalisations of witches and wizards. ‘The way it’s watching us is disconcerting, however.’
“So you– you what? You said you absorbed the flames?” Thee shook his head. “Newt, how– that would have killed you!”
Percy’s heart froze in his chest when, instead of disagreeing with his brother, Newt instead nodded.
“It did.” Newt looked away, to the side, for a moment before looking back at Percy and Thee. “Well, it would have but I– uh... I may have received a favour from... someone that... well– it meant I had a chance to survive and I– I took it.” The magizoologist raised his arms, Thee’s hand falling from the arm it was on, as Newt gave them a weak smile. “Surprise?”
“You were injured.” Percy repeated, somewhat numbly. ‘Shock. I’m going into shock,’ he realised, staring at Newt. “I– I saw them. Your injuries.”
“The uh– the favour had a condition,” Newt said, dropping his arms. He reached out and placed a hand on the Tarasque’s head. “My magic is... well, it’s different now. More than– more than it was before.” He bit his lip. “Absorbing the flames sort of... forced my magic to... adapt I suppose. I promise that whatever injuries I had, I don’t anymore. I felt my magic healing them while I was... I don’t think I was unconscious so much as drifting, maybe? I don’t know how to explain it.”
The healer, who had been silent, chose that moment to jump in. “Whether your magic has fully healed you or not Monsieur Scamander,” he said, voice firm. “I still insist you accompany me to be given a comprehensive medical examination.” He glanced at the Tarasque. “After the creature– uh, Martha is secured in your– case, did you say? In your case.”
A call from the hole had them all turning to it just as Martínez climbed through, case in-hand, and quickly made her way to them in the middle of the amphitheatre. “One creature case,” she said, a hint of dry amusement in her voice as she held it out to Newt before pausing and looking at the Tarasque. “What,” she began slowly, “is that?”
“Meet Martha,” Thee said, before Newt could speak. “My brother’s familiar, apparently.” The sarcasm in Thee’s voice was more than evident for Martínez who raised an eyebrow, looked at Newt and shook her head.
“Congratulations, Senor Scamander,” she said as Newt took his case. He gave her a small smile. “Headquarters have requested your presence, sirs,” she continued, looking at Thee and Percy as well as Newt.
“Send in the analysers after securing the scene,” Percy told Martínez who nodded. “We’ll return to Headquarters after Mister Scamander secures his familiar. Have a healer prepared to assess Mister Scamander when he arrives at Headquarters.”
“That’s not necessary,” Newt tried to protest but Percy ignored the magizoologist.
“Yes Senor.” Martínez turned away and waved a hand over at the hole in the wall where several Aurors had been waiting. They swarmed into the amphitheatre, picking their way through the debris, wands out and murmuring diagnostic spells within moments.
Percy turned his attention back to his lov– to the Scamander brothers, noting that Thee was holding the case open while Newt coaxed the Tarasque — Martha — into the magically expanded space within it. He watched in silence, dark eyes focused more on Newt than on the creature that was now the magizoologist’s familiar. He committed to memory the way the magizoologist’s hands moved, his long fingers, the pale skin with the slightest hint of freckles. He tried to use his eyes to photograph that soft smile, those gentle eyes, and that softer than it looked hair.
Percy watched and waited and bit back every single part of him that clawed and screamed and begged for him to grasp onto Newt and not let go because–
“—that would have killed you!”
“It did”
It did
It did
It did
It did
It did
It did
It did
It did
It did
It did
It did
“She shouldn’t be too disappointed with that enclosure for the moment but I do think I’ll need to put in a bit of effort to make it more suitable for her.”
Percy blinked. Thee and Newt stood on either side of Newt’s case, the clasps shut and the Tarasque nowhere to be seen.
‘Oh, I dissociated,’ Percy thought, blinking again. ‘I didn’t even realise.’
“Newt,” Thee said, drawing Newt’s attention and Percy’s also now he was aware of the world again. “Please don’t do something like that again. I really don’t want to lose you.”
‘Neither do I.’ Percy blinked again. His eyes stung like he’d had dirt thrown at them in a fight.
Newt smiled at his brother. It was a beautiful smile.
It made Percy’s heart crack.
“I’m not going to die any time soon, Thee,” Newt said. “I can promise you that.”
Thee nodded. “Good,” he said. “That’s good.” He cleared his throat and looked over at Percy, drawing Newt’s attention to the American Auror. “You hear that, Percy? Newt’s promised.” Thee smiled lopsidedly. “Can’t break his promise now, can he?”
“No,” Percy agreed, his voice surprisingly level and free of… whatever it was he felt. “No, he can’t.”
‘I don’t know why it hurts so much to see his smile right now,’ Percy thought, hands tingling like he had touched an exposed wire in some No-Maj’s home. ‘I don’t understand why I feel like this. How do I feel? I…’
“Sir, here’s the initial results from the scene analysers.” Martínez handed Percy a single sheet of paper as he walked beside Newt with Thee on the magizoologist’s other side. He nodded at her and continued walking, his feet taking him to the exit of these damned Catacombs.
The paper in his hand shook slightly. Percy gripped it tighter.
“Here,” he said, offering it to Thee who deftly snatched it out of Percy’s fingers before his brother could reach for it. “There’s no way to track any who apparated in or out. Grindelwald did something to the space to render any attempts to back-trace the apparition impossible.”
Thee cursed. “Damn.” He folded the paper and shoved it in the inner breast pocket of his jacket. “We’ll need to try and recall as many faces as possible for a magical sketch artist.”
“Wasted effort,” Percy replied, “it was too dark to really get a good look at any of them. Even mind magic won’t be much help there.”
“Still have to give it a try,” Thee countered and Percy made a vague sound of acknowledgement that the British Auror understood. “Newt, what about you? You saw a fair number of the people in the crowd, right?”
Percy glanced at the magizoologist, hands tingling with something. He looked away.
“Perhaps,” Newt said, sounding hesitant. “I might not be able to recall that much from uh– before the– the flames,” he added, voice fading away on the last word.
Percy blinked. He blinked again.
His eyes stung.
He blinked again.
A sharp sound, like the crack of a whip, drew all of their attention, all three raising their wands before the sound was followed by someone apologising in heavily accented French. Whoever it was, they weren’t a threat, especially considering the way one of the Junior Aurors interacted with them by the steps that had led them down into the Catacombs what felt like a lifetime ago.
Percy blinked.
They must have walked faster than he’d realised at the time. Or perhaps the Catacombs wanted them to leave as much as he wanted them to? It wouldn’t surprise him.
Percy followed Thee and Newt out of the Catacombs, his gaze trained on the magizoologist’s back as they ascended the stairs.
For every step they took up and out of the darkness, Percy felt like he fell further and further behind, distance between himself and Newt growing greater with every moment.
Percy thought he heard a clock ticking in the darkness.
There was no clock.
Was there?
Percy blinked. His palms itched.
‘I’m fine,’ he thought, turning on his heel the same moment that Thee and Newt did. ‘I’m fine.’
Percy disapparated with a snap and appeared in the apparition point of the ICW building a second later. He led the way to their office, steps smooth and expression like stone. He had a job to do.
Everything else could wait.
Right?