Gray
Day 2: Gray
Mr. Scamander had told him that an Obscurus looks like black swirling mist; a moving black cloud stretching and pulling in all directions. He had even showed him the Obscurial inside his suitcase; the little Sudanese girl who had died when Mr. Scamander had tried to help her, and he'd been perfectly right.
But all Credence could see right now was gray. It was as if all colour had been whipped from his world, even black and white.
He had never found the right words to describe to Mr Scamander what it was like to be an Obscurial. He was nowhere and everywhere all at once, could see every speck of dust in every corner and yet focus on nothing at all.
But one thing he was sure about: he knew exactly what he was doing. Back in New York he had been aware, yes; it would be a lie to say that he didn't notice the destruction he had wrought, but everything had been a haze; his mind only processing what was done when it was already too late.
But here, right now? The man's scared faces shone brightly in his scattered minds eye, and he knew exactly where they were, where they went in their desperate attempt at escape. He didn't need colour for that.
He knew exactly what he was doing when he smashed against the ceiling in front of the only door and let the brick and stones rumble down, barricading the only exit.
He was perfectly aware of Mr. Scamanders unconscious form tied to a chair with heavy ropes, blood running down his temple. He was aware of the slight twitches running through him; aftermath of the spells these man had put him under.
And the day had started out so nicely, too. Mr. Scamander had brought them directly to the ocean where the smugglers would most likely be hiding with easy access to the Lubalugs.
He had promised Credence a tour of Amsterdam, Netherlands capital city, because he had thought that Credence would enjoy it. He had called it "the city above water" with a wink and a chuckle and Credence had been intrigued.
But even the coast had been stunningly beautiful; water that never seemed to end, sand as far as he could look, shells beneath his shoes and the sound of waves in his ears. Credence had never been to a beach before and it was so much more beautiful than anything he had dreamed about.
When the Lubalugs are safe, he had thought, I will ask Mr. Scamander to stay here for a day.
But, of course, things hadn't been quite as easy and instead of a little group of money-hungry witches and wizards selling Lubalug poison on the black market they had been meet with a dozen of wizards, wands ready and nasty smiles on their face.
Mr. Scamander had tried to fight back of course; had grasped Credence and tried to protect him with his own body. But they had been unprepared and outnumbered. Two red lights and everything went black.
Waking up had been unpleasant; his body tied to a hard chair, his neck at an unnatural angle. The rope had cut into the skin of his wrists and brought back unpleasant memories and the one around his chest nearly made him stop breathing.
Back in the church he often had to pretend to be asleep so that Mary-Lou would not notice that he had been out of bed to comfort Modesty after a nightmare. As such it was nearly easy for him to keep his breath steady and look at his surroundings from beneath his eyelashes.
Mr. Scamander was in a chair similar to his on the other side of the room. From where he was sitting he could see four people in black robes, wands in their hands. They all looked exited, shifting on their feet in expectation, waiting. One of them pointed their wand at Mr. Scamander.
A bright light hit Mr. Scamander square in the chest; his eyes opened unseeing and his body arched of the chair as far as it could go. Credence didn't even think that Mr. Scamander was fully conscious, but he screamed nonetheless. It sounded hoarse.
The ropes couldn't hold an Obscurus. The black mist wriggled out of the ropes with ease and Credence saw gray.
They were pleading with him, cursing him, screaming at him. Credence wanted them all dead for daring to hurt Mr. Scamander; the kindest man there was, the man who took him in when he had been all alone and who had given him a purpose, friends, a home.
Credence screamed and the Obscurus got bigger, lashing out at them, wanting to kill -
Credence looked at Newt.
He held back.
--
When he woke up next it was because someone shook his shoulder hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
He had a moment of panic; of oh god, i overslept, the leaflets — ma is going to kill me -
“Credence!”
Mr. Scamanders voice made him gasp for air. His eyes opened to find Mr. Scamanders face inches away from his, eyes worried and hands on his shoulders.
He sat back, hands leaving Credence´ shoulders when Credence blinked up at him.
“I'm sorry”, Mr. Scamander said, sounding flustered and waving his hands through the air, “for the rough waking. But I fear we don't have much time.”
Credence sat up slowly, his head still fuzzy and looked around. He was still in the same room, but it had changed drastically from when he had first woken up.
Half the ceiling near the front door had collapsed, scattering dust and rubble all over the room. One wall had a huge hole. The wizards lay all over the floor; none of them moved.
Credence hardly noticed Mr. Scamanders hand on his arm, holding him upright. “Are they dead?”, he asked.
“No”, Mr. Scamander answered, voice soft. “Merely unconscious."
Credence nodded. “I wanted them to die. But I thought you might not agree with that”, he said than and didn't know where this honesty was coming from.
Mr. Scamander looked at him, emotions passing too fast over his face for Credence to read.
“They hurt you”, he added.
Mr. Scamanders face settled on something soft, and he nodded. “They did.” Credence thought he might cry, and he wasn't even exactly sure why.
Mr. Scamander took a deep breath and his hold on Credence arm grew tighter. “We need to leave”, he said and nodded toward the unconscious people on the floor, “These are Grindelwalds people.”
A few pieces fell into place. “Oh”, Credence said, weakly and was thankful for Mr. Scamanders support. His legs felt rather wobbly.
“There must have been a leak in the ministry”, Mr. Scamander babbled as he always did when nervous, "As there always is. That we traveled together was supposed to say a secret for a reason -”
He turned to look at Credence. “Never mind that now. I'm going to apparate us back to the beach, alright? I hope they left my suitcase there.”
Credence nodded, feeling slightly numb. They had targeted Mr. Scamander because of him; hurt him because of Credence; because he was giving Credence a home and because Grindelwald wanted Credence and his Obscurus for himself.
And they wouldn't stop.