Silhouettes

The first time he saw blood, was when the school bully had pushed him so hard, he scrapped his knee on the dirt ground below.

It was the last day of school before the summer holiday and Theseus had returned from his second year at Hogwarts. He remembered being so excited, that he was uncharacteristically chatty and for whatever reason, that irritated the school bully whose name had escaped him. That resulted in a confrontation on the playground and Theseus chasing the bullies off with some unsavory words he dared not repeat.

Theseus had been…less than pleased, but that was expected. Newt had told him about the bullies and Theseus must have had enough since he chased them for quite a while. He stormed back to where Newt was lying on the ground, grumbling as he drew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the spot on his knee where the blood was beginning to clot.

“Honestly,” he muttered, but softened his voice at Newt’s sniffles. He tapped him on the nose with his forefinger, storm cloud eyes less angry than they were before. “Don't go looking for trouble if I’m not there to protect you, little lizard.”

Then Theseus pulled him onto his back, hooking his arms underneath his knees and carried him home, telling him about his year at Hogwarts and the shenanigans he and his fellow Hufflepuffs got in.

Of course, that had been a long time ago, and he was a grown man now who had seen more atrocities towards his fellow man and even worse, the creatures who had suffered from man’s negligence and cruelty.

This, however, he had not been prepared for.

He had survived the war, seen countless of men and dragons killed or injured. He had rescued and nurtured creatures who had been on the brink of death before he had found them. Some had died regardless of his efforts and others had recovered to the point one would have never guessed they had been in such a horrible position.

On the outside of the house, it appeared completely normal. A modest, yet well kept small front yard that belonged to a no-mag family, or so he assumed. As Percival, Tina and the other two aurors had a stunned look on their faces, he could tell that they were just as confused as he was. Why had Ashwood come here? If Patel was correct, and only no-mag’s lived here, then why…

His eyes met Percival’s briefly, a similar thought running through both their minds. Tina’s face had paled considerably and even O’Malley, talkative as he was, had gone unnervingly quiet. Patel muttered under her breath, and a flash of betrayal glossed over her dark eyes.

Percival wasted no time, his face impassive as a stone as he ventured inside the darkened house. The sickly-sweet smell of blood was everywhere, giving him the overwhelming impression that something very, very bad had happened and they had been perhaps a few minutes late from stopping whatever it was.

As he stood there in the corridor, he noticed along with the saccharine stench wafting about, there was another fragrance. One that didn’t fit in with the horrid smell, contrasting so much that his nose wrinkled in disgust. Fish, he recognized, and not only that, but other foods as well. Kimchi, and a heavy presence of soy sauce. Despite the heavy odor of blood, he knew these smells by heart. He’d had these foods before, about six years ago when he traveled to Korea and found Dougal nearly snatched away by poachers.

He had only been there for two months, before Theseus sent him a very loud and obnoxious howler demanding that he return home at once before he arrived in Busan himself to take him back to London. Needless to say, he did return, but with a lifelong friend safely tucked away in his case and a resolve to further understand the nature of demiguises.

Of course, that time seemed far away now and he had been much, much younger then. The smell of food brought him back from a seemingly distant past and to the present situation at hand. The minute he stepped foot into the parlor, he noticed the body.

The parlor was beautiful, yet modest in its appearance. With its light green wallpaper and well-kept furniture, it appeared to be rather cozy. Yet, the warmth that had once filled this room was gone as he rushed over to the woman lying on the floor in front of the fire place.

She was young, though not far from his age by the looks of her. Despite her modest clothing, she was far from what many people, he supposed, would call ugly. He knew what Muggles thought about people with different ethnicities, especially in America. This woman, with her Korean heritage, had probably never been considered beautiful by American standards. Her eyes, though clouded in death, were a very dark brown that most would ignorantly call black. He brought a hand up, gently closing her unseeing eyes just as Percival walked in.

The auror didn’t even have to ask the question, merely nodding. “How long?” Percival asked instead, eying the deceased woman with a soft look of what he dared called sympathy.

“Not long,” he responded, laying the woman’s hands down on her chest gently. “I’d say ten, perhaps fifteen minutes at best.”

He looked down to her once more and his heart jumped straight up into his throat. Her body, though slightly on the thinner side, had a definite roundness in her stomach. A momentary flash of anger coursed through his body, sadness following not far behind. He tore his eyes away, biting his lip fiercely. “She was pregnant,” he said softly, but still loud enough for Percival to hear. The man stiffened, and though it disappeared as soon as it arrived, he had seen rage in those piercing dark eyes. Newt looked back towards the dead woman. “What about Ashwood?”

Percival’s lips tightened into a thin line. “He’s dead too. Found him upstairs. They used the killing curse on him.”

Percival leaned down, taking one of the woman’s hands into his own. He closed his eyes, searching for something before opening them once more. “She was tortured before they finally killed her. Look at the markings on her arms; it’s the Cruciatus curse.”

He instinctively felt his whole body tighten, the reminder of the immeasurable pain only a faint memory before now vivid. He hadn’t screamed, but it wasn’t called an unforgivable curse for no reason. Those who survived were scarred, both physically and mentally. Some, worse than others, to the point they were never sane again.

“Who would do this?” he found himself asking out loud, looking back to Percival. “She was a Muggle; no ties to magic whatsoever.”

Percival just looked grim. “She was his wife,” he pointed to a photo on the mantle piece. It showed Ashwood and the woman in a courtroom, the woman dressed in a simple white dress and Ashwood in Muggle clothing. “Looks like they had been married for a while; few years at best. Picquery is not going to like the fact one of her aurors broke our law.”

Again, there was a hot flash of annoyance at the Americans’ view on no-mag-wizard relationships. “They must have really loved each other to defy the law like that,” he couldn’t help but admire and pity the two at the same time. He looked at the woman once more, noting the indentation on her head from most likely hitting the mantle piece on her way to the ground. Over where her right hand, a cutting knife lay discarded and he found a new sense of respect towards her. “She fought her attacker to save him.”

“I never said I agreed with the law,” Percival spoke suddenly, catching his attention. The soft manner in which he spoke sounded odd, but not entirely unpleasant. “But the law is the law and Ashwood knew this.”

At the moment Tina came into the room, wand clenched tightly in hand and eyeing the two of them warily. “O’Malley caught this man hiding in the attic. Apparently, Ashwood managed to injure him enough to prevent him from disapprating out of here.”

O’Malley staggered in, strong hand around the forearm of a bony man with a sharp face and stringy black hair. Patel had his other arm, wand pointed under his chin to dissuade him from an escape attempts. Percival stood up, the man in O’Malley and Patel’s grips shaking in fear the moment the auror’s eyes lay on him. Newt took notice of the stab wound in his arm, eying the abandoned knife near the woman’s body and quickly put the two together. “She stabbed you?” he asked before Percival could interrogate him.

The man’s look of fear momentarily faded. “The bitch was crazy,” he sneered. “Screaming at me in Chinese before stabbing me in the fucking arm.”

He uncharacteristically snapped at the man, glaring at him hotly. “She wasn’t Chinese, she was Korean. There may be a similarity in language, but there is a difference in certain aspects of their cultures.”

“Who the hell cares? They all look the same to me.”

For a moment, he thought Percival was going to punch the man. He saw his hand curl, muscles tightening, but only looked at the man in a stony manner. “Did you kill this woman and Auror upstairs?”

The man paled at Percival’s attention on him. “Why…why should I tell you?”

“You criminals all look the same to me,” Percival tapped the man on the chest with his wand lightly, a nonchalant look on his face. “Why should I have any qualms about killing you? An eye for an eye, no?”

If it were possible, the man paled even further. Percival sighed and lowered his wand. “What’s his name?” he asked Patel.

“Finnian Fischer, Director Graves.”

He nodded, returning those cold eyes to the man. “Mr. Fischer, you are under arrest by authority of MACUSA for double homicide of a no-mag and an Auror. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law…”

Newt wasn’t listening anymore, eyes slowly taking in the room and its furnishings. By the fire place, about ten feet away there was an altar. A Jesa, he recognized. Even though his time in Korea had been brief, he knew what a traditional Korean memorial ceremony looked like. The family who had been kind enough to let him stay in their home invited him to partake in the ceremony as an active participant. The man whom he had traveled with had been one of the few friends he had made during the war, so the family was very gracious towards him.

Since Ashwood was Caucasian, it only made sense these were the woman’s parents. He didn’t know very much Korean, but he knew the writing to be different from the Chinese script. He couldn’t read anything on the stone, but that didn’t stop him from admiring the beauty in the woman’s work at honoring her parents.

His gaze wandered towards the mantel piece, noting the photographs lined up in a neat row. Next to the wedding photo, there was one of the woman again. Recently taken, as the date on the bottom left hand corner stated it had been taken two months ago. On the woman’s lap, there was a girl of about three years of age, smiling toothily up at the photography. A very young girl with a strong resemblance to her mother.

“Where’s the girl?” he asked, interrupting Percival as he was magically cuffed the man’s hands. Tina’s eyes met his in confusion and the pit of dread that had been rising in his stomach only increased. “Did any of you see a little girl? She’d probably look to be about three to four years old?”

“I didn’t see her,” Tina frowned worriedly. “I only found Ashwood’s body upstairs in the study.”

O’Malley shook his head. “Patel and I heard movement in the attic and found this bastard trying to escape out the window. We didn’t see a girl.”

He watched as the pale look on the man’s turn an ugly shade of green once Percival rounded on him once more. “Was there a girl?” he inquired sharply, in a tone that suggested that the man answer honestly or there would be even harsher consequences. “Was there a girl?” he asked again, a bit more icily.

The man gulped. “N…no.”

O’Malley’s grip tightened ever so slightly. “You might be let off easier if you’re honest, buddy. Not that a piece of shit like you deserves it.”

“You think I care about that?” the oily haired man spat, glaring at Graves before a twisted smile graced his lips. “If I go to jail, fine. If I’m executed, that’s fine too. If I die, it is for the greater good. For the betterment and freedom of wizard kind.”

Percival flinched. All of them noticed, and Newt’s eyes darted towards the twitch in his wand hand. The memory of that day, where the man had a faraway look in his eyes, hands shaking as the coffee spilled onto the floor. Lost in a different world until he suddenly snapped back into reality and broke the mug.

He didn’t go back to that place this time, though. He simply jabbed his wand into the criminal’s chest. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll find her, through three drops of Veritaserum or through your own memories, you won’t win. Grindelwald won’t win and we will find the girl. Either way, you lose. So, you might as well tell us where you took her.”

The man’s smirk faded and a scowl replaced it. “If I tell you, will I be executed?” he asked cowardly. “I promise you I didn’t kill the no-mag or that Auror. Those were my boss and associates.”

“Where is the girl? Tell us where she is, and we’ll see.”

He couldn’t tell if Percival had meant it or not, but the man nodded. “Same warehouse on the lower side of Harlem. The boss might be there; he might not be. I don’t even know what he looks like, but your Auror sure did.”

Percival took the information in quietly, motioning for O’Malley and Patel. “Take him back to MACUSA. Tell Picquery that we have a new lead on the case. Goldstein, I’m calling all aurors on duty. Let’s get this trafficking ring shut down for good. Scamander and I will stay here and get the place closed off until the Mediwitches get here.”

They disappeared quickly out of the town house, and he closed his eyes, hoping it was not too late.