comfort zone

“Credence,” He said gently. At any moment Credence could run out and he would never see him again. It would be like calming one of the wild creatures he often came upon. Except, in his experience,  people didn’t like being treated like wild creatures.

He’d still have to approach slowly once he got out of the case. Any quick movements could startle the boy causing his Obcrusle to take over. Any intense emotion could cause his Obcrusle to take over just as well.

The boy was crying.

Why was Credence crying?

All he had said was his name. Was it the way he said it? Had he sounded angry?

His body shook boardline violently as he worked to conceal his sobs, however small, heart wrenching sounds escaped. The slouch in his back became more prominent as he folded into himself.

“Credence,” Newt whispered as he carefully and slowly climbed out of the case in an effort to catch the boy’s attention. He ignored him, however. Or maybe he just didn’t hear.

“Credence,” He repeated. His tone was soft but he spoke louder. Not loud enough to startle the boy--hopefully--but loud enough to get his attention. 

He snapped to attention so quickly it was almost frightening. His posture was rigid and his hands were clenched by his side. He stared straightforward, his eyes not focused on any particular ting. Tears still ran down his face silently.

Perhaps this wasn’t the best approach.

Newt glanced down at the sheets of paper Credence clutched on to. He tried to make out the writing on the paper, but from this distance it wasn’t easy.

His transcript. This he could talk about.

“So, um, what do you think?” Newt tried sneaking a glance at Credence’s face to what his expression. His shoulders relaxed slightly.

“It’s good.” His reply was short and dry. Newt would have to carry this conversation. Conversation was never his strong suit. This would be difficult to say the least.

Newt attempted to lighten the mood by laughing. To say that it sounded like a pained wheeze would’ve been generous.

“What do you honestly think of it?”

“It’s good.” Despite his best attempt, Newt only seemed to make the conversation even more strained and uncomfortable.

He sighed. He needed something. Something that would make this easier. Anything. Anything at all.

“So, uh, which one’s your, um, favorite?” Credence didn’t respond.

“Of the creatures I wrote about,” No response.

“Assuming you read it,” He was talking to himself at this point.

“Can you read?” Newt regretted those words the moment he said them. He hadn’t completely thought through the question before it left his mouth. It sounded insulting, Newt had to assume. If Credence wasn’t talking to him before, he certainly wasn’t now.

“Not, not to be, uh, forward? That sounded… wrong. I didn’t mean that as an insult, it’s just-- I didn’t think it through, that’s all. Not to say you, you can’t read, but also as to not--not embrasess you if you can’t, which would be perfectly fine.” Before he knew it, Newt was rambling. He was stumbling over his words more than usual, the English language failing him yet again.

“Yes,” One word. It took one whispered word to silence Newt and his ramblings. “I mean, I can read.”

Credence’s voice was steady when he answered, but his eyes darted between Newt’s case and the door as though he was ready to run away at any moment.

“How?” Newt repeated the same mistake he made just a moment ago. However, before it had a chance to make more of a fool of himself than he already had by trying to take his words back, Credence answered.

“Back at the orphanage, they taught us how to read the bible,”

“Surely that wasn’t all you read,”

“Yes. We were only taught to read so we could understand the bible.” Credence answered every question almost robotically. Almost like he from a script that had been ingrained in the back of his brain.

“Im sorry, I think you misunderstood. Surely that wasn't all you read,”

Credence remained silent. Maybe that wasn't the right thing to say.

Preparing to do what he had been doing a lot of as of recent, Newt opened his mouth to retract his previous statement.

“You're right.” Newt waited for Credence to elaborate. He didn’t.

"Well, that’s okay,” Newt slowly sat down in the chair at the end of the bed as to not startle Credence. Credence tensed up but he didn’t leave.

They sat in silence while Newt thought of what to say.

“I didn’t learn to read until I was 10.” Newt admitted. That rather embarrassing admission hug in the air.

“How?”

Newt snorted at the question. “To be fair, I only started schooling once I was 11.”

“I never attended public schooling.” His tone was boastful rather it was regretful.

“How’d you learn to read?”

“Mama taught us how to read and interpret the bible.”

“There’s certain things the bible doesn’t cover. Did you teach yourself?” This question seemed to upset Credence.

“The bible is the only truth in a world stricken with lies. The only saving grace amongst sinners. It’s page contain the Holy words, He is the only path to our eternal happiness.” Newt wasn’t completely sure how to respond. Religion wasn’t something wildly spread around the Wizarding Community or something that he had even a basic knowledge of.

Newt didn’t reply, in fear of saying something ignorant or insulting. He didn’t see a chance of redemption for this conversation. Perhaps he should just spare them the embarrassment and end the conversation there. 

“The bowtruckles.” Credence said. “They sound nice.”

Newt glanced up. Bowtruckles. He could work with this. This is what he knew. This was his comfort zone.

“Bowtruckles?” Credence nodded stiffly. “I like those too. They’re quite particular because they only inhabit trees that are used in making wands.”

“Wands?” Credence looked up slightly. Newt was about to pull his out to show Credence when he realized how frightening that might be. Especially for someone who’s been taught to conceal and hide their magic.

“Yea-yeah, um, they’re like sticks except they have magical cores. Like phoenix feathers and unicorn hair and so on. You- you can do magic with-without a wand, but it's easier to learn with a wand first.” Newt struggled to fully explain what a wand was. He never actually took the time to explore what a wand was; it was just something he had always accepted as there. If it was always there, then there was no reason to explore it any further.

“Magic isn’t real." 

Newt didn’t want to argue with him over this, especially given the fact that he knew he was correct. However, he couldn’t exactly show the boy. Any strong emotion he exhibited could cause another--he didn’t want to call it an attack, but he couldn’t find any other word that would help explain the magnitude of their current situation--attack.

Newt dropped the topic.

“So, bowtruckles, huh?” This conversation wouldn’t be as light and effortless as he might’ve hoped.