Note: So as it turns out, I've fallen resolutely down the Fantastic Beasts hole and I am very much unwilling to get out.

So here I am throwing this character study in your faces because I really like Tina and I don't get why y'all are sleeping on her. Some OC madness down there as well. And a Graves/Tina friendship that I had way too much fun writing.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except maybe Barney. But then again.

Reviews are the no. 1 renewable resource!

Would you love me if I didn't smoke?
Choking isn't pretty when it isn't on my words

The party was a bit distasteful, and if Tina were to speak her mind she would be shamelessly honest in admitting so. However, it was a MACUSA function, with several very, very important people, and Tina knew her place enough to dare step out of line.

The jazz band was good, albeit not good enough to distract her from how lewd some of her male co-workers were being. Tina wrinkled her nose at them, watching one particularly appalling exchange between a young man from the Obliviating team (Tina believed his name to be something along the lines of Hubert or Harry) and a woman whom she was vaguely familiar with, having seen her around during that abysmal time in the Wand Permit Office. He seemed to be trying to persuade her to dance with him, although Tina thought rather wryly that he was going about it the wrong way; running your hands suggestively up and down a woman's legs without her consent was a move that, that poor kid will find, won't exactly charm and entice but rather offend and insult.

"Kids these days," an irritated mutter griped at her side, causing Tina to nearly jump out of her skin. Percival Graves (the real one) had slid next to her, clutching a glass of what Tina assumed to be scotch, and a cane. (She made no comment of this. Graves had been rather short with anyone who dared to.) His glare was also trained on the young couple.

She said instead: "You're a sight for sore eyes, sir."

Graves grimaced, taking a long sip from his drink before resurfacing with a smack of his lips. "Couldn't get out of that damn hospital fast enough." he said darkly, eyes surveying the room with abject care. "The Madame President seems to think that I can't get outta my bed without the help of a nurse, much less go to a party."

Tina pursed her lips, unsure of how she should approach the situation. "The Madame President is only loo—"

"Looking out for me, I know, I know." Graves shook his head. "I know, kid."

For a moment or two, the Aurors stayed silent, the whitewash of light and loud music filling in any space that conversation might have occupied. Tina swirled her champagne, took a small sip. Her sister was, of course, dancing, and for once too preoccupied to listen to her moan about how she loathed being here and wished to be somewhere, anywhere else, and Tina let her be. It was rare when she had her head to herself, and as much as she loved Queenie, the near-constant weight of awareness could be quite draining.

"Shouldn't you be doing what your sister is doing, Goldstein?"

It was Tina's turn to grimace. "I'm not one for dancing, sir."

"Enough with the sir's kid, I think we've been through enough for you to call me by name."

"All right… Graves."

Her boss gave the tiniest hint at a smile. Barely even a quirk.

"So why don't you then?"

"Huh?"

"Go off and find someone to dance with?"

It was a question most often directed at her, and Tina knew how to deflect it very well. She did it now, springing up excuses with an ease that suggested at long and painful events at which her ability to be opaque was tested. The real answer, however, was a bit harder to understand while simple enough to realize; she, quite simply, was not Queenie.

Or, to be exact, no one looked at her if they knew Queenie was available.

It wasn't a surprising thing; drab, prickly, pragmatic Porpentina didn't shine and bounce and flutter the way Queenie did. Men didn't go up to her and ask for dances because it was assumed she didn't want them. She wasn't open like that.

Tina Goldstein was simply boring. And she was, for the most part, fine with it.

"Are you sure, Teen?" her sister asked as they negotiated breakfast.

"Stay outta my head, Queen." she grumbled. "Just this once,"

At Ilvermorny, the situation wasn't too far off from what they would eventually face as adults; Queenie would get litanies of invitations to school dances and Tina would get dressed in boy's attire and attend anyway because her sister needed chaperoning, never mind that she hadn't been asked. Queenie would be fawned over by the Quidditch boys and they would sometimes approach Tina in the hallways, asking for advice and permission. She always said give her roses for the former and no, never for the latter.

Tina was never angry at her sister, however. She was never jealous either. Jealousy was foolish when they only had each other. No point in getting petty emotions in the way. She accepted their differences, accepted the moniker of Boring Porpentina, and took it in her stride.

There was no room for self-doubt when you had people to take care of and mountains to climb.

So she graduated, with top honors and a long list of potential career prospects, got into her first option, and bought a (slightly) bigger apartment with her sister. Tina, in the most coveted corners of her heart, liked to think that all her achievements were the silent retribution to those who rebuked her.

Nothing could have prepared her for the social aspect of her job, however.

MACUSA, for all of its ponce and seriousness and no-nonsense approach to most things in life, apparently had a (rather large) soft spot for the night life, which Tina could pass off as the No-Maj jazz fad bleeding into the wizard culture, but it was still quite the surprise when, less than a month into her job, she received an enveloped invitation to a soiree of some sort to celebrate a Junior Delegate's birthday. Tina tried to pass, but with Queenie as a sister, you would find that simply declining an evening out was as difficult as pulling a wisdom tooth out with a spoon.

"I don't see how it's necessary, Queen." Tina groaned, burying her head further in her arms as Queenie fluttered about, wand aloft, magicking Tina's supposed party dress dry with a simple flick of the wrist. With a few more flicks, her shoes were shined, the dress given an added touch of shimmer, and her hair curled.

"You need a break, Teen. You ever heard 'a that word? Break? It's wonderful." Queenie said, affectionate if a bit exasperated.

So Tina went. She danced for ten minutes, alone, had a few drinks, and was having a decent enough time when another Auror slid into the bar stool next to hers and gave her a thin smile. Tina smiled back, if a bit unsure, swirled her Gigglewater.

"The name's Delphi," the man suddenly said. Tina looked at him again in surprise. "Barnabas Delphi, 'though you can call me Barney. Most folks do." He held out his hand, a thick, stocky thing it was, and Tina shook it briefly before breaking away.

"Tina Goldstein,"

"I know," Barney grinned, and like most handsome men, his grin was crooked. He wasn't classically handsome, but some would argue that Tina wasn't classically beautiful so she let it slide.

The flirtation was surprisingly easy. Tina had never known it to be this easy. (But then again, Tina had never known, period.) But Barney was genial, smiled a lot, generally easy to get along with.

"How come I've never seen you 'round the office before?" Barney asked, his large large hand going to her knee and squeezing, and had Tina been less bold she would have cowered away from it, but tonight she felt a bit fierce, so she only smiled.

"I thought you already knew me?" Tina said, teasingly. Barney flushed, his cheeks going pink under the dim light. Tina laughed.

"I'm new," she said. "Just graduated two years ago, so I'm not surprised you haven't seen me."

His eyebrows raise, bottom lip jutting out slightly, impressed. "A career girl," he boomed humorously, and for once Tina didn't feel slighted or offended. She felt proud. Praised.

She grinned in what she hoped was a coy manner and said, "I guess so."

They danced afterwards, and Tina could feel the crush of eyes following them, some of them snide but most of them curious because what was Porpentina Goldstein doing with a man? Without being aware of it, she had spent most of the evening with him, and then he was walking her back home like some English romantic.

"I had fun tonight," she said as they passed a streetlamp. The yellow glow made his blonde hair look flaxen, his teeth whiter as he smiled.

"I did too,"

And then suddenly he was kissing her.

And Mercy Lewis, it felt incredible. She felt light as air. Indestructible.

She pushed back, her hands going to his perfect perfect hair and his arms snapped around her waist, pulling her up to make it easier for him. (Barney is one of the few men Tina had met that were taller than her by quite a significant amount.)

When they separated, Tina was burning.

"I can't let you inside," she whispered against his stubbly chin. The apartment was a measly two blocks away.

"That's okay,"

He walked her to the front porch steps, hand-in-hand, and Tina loathed to let go because he held onto her so tight it was painful in a good way. But they said their goodbyes, and Tina pecked his cheek, and she slipped upstairs. She didn't need (or want) to hide anything. Queenie saw almost immediately and screamed so loud that Mrs. Esposito came climbing up to check if something happened.

The next day, when they saw each other at work, Tina smiled at him. Barney walked past her with a brief squeeze of her hand. Her coworkers also noticed her sudden shift in mood. Tina Goldstein, who seemed always so content to frown, was glowing.

Embarrassingly enough, Graves was the first one who told her that she seemed so happy.

"Huh?" she said dumbly, when Graves pulled her aside.

"Just," Graves sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just don't compromise your position, Goldstein. You know the rules." Tina nodded. "And I talked with Delphi as well, so don't get any ideas." He then walked away with a huff. He seemed to be as disgruntled by the conversation as Tina was.

Naturally, Tina grew a bit bored. Barney was wonderful and all, and she counted herself lucky to have him, but it was getting dull. Queenie, who could read her like a book whether she liked it or not, told her to let him go while he wasn't too attached, it'd be better for the both of them.

But Tina was a selfish person, and she liked the idea of having someone around, so she kept at it for a while longer until Barney pulled her aside and looked at her, blue eyes so sincere, and told her that it would be better if they stayed friends.

He must've read the shock on her face as despair for he added, quite hastily, "It's got nothing to do with you, Teen." He held her by the arms softly, and Tina's brain was still getting out of the muck it tripped into so she only gaped at him. "It's just… We don't really fit together, 'ya know?" Tina did know, but she didn't have the sense to tell him then. She didn't want him thinking that he had broken her heart or something ridiculous like that.

"And be honest," Barney said, and Tina heard some of his patience slip, "did you even like me these past few weeks?"

She had no answer, and seeing that, Barney sighed. "G'bye Tina. It was good while it lasted."

With a last peck on the cheek, he left, and Tina remained, slightly shaken from the aftershocks, and called out,

"Wait,"

But Barney had gone.

As relieved as she was, it was buried underneath a too-thick layer of hurt. It wasn't even that she wanted Barney back. It had just been embarrassing that she didn't break it off before he could. But Tina was anything but a survivor, so she plowed on with her work and was perfectly casual at meetings when Barney was in attendance. All was going smoothly.

And then, all of a sudden, the rug was pulled under her and Tina was left with a sore backside and a vague feeling of whiplash. The Second Salem Boy (as the MACUSA officers referred to him—in Tina's heart he was always Credence) and his cold-hearted and cold-blooded mother were released into the world with blurred memories, and she was left to mourn what she had lost and, to a greater degree, what Credence lost in their simultaneous fall from grace.

And of course there was Newt, and Tina was thrown in for one hell of a loop with him. In all of Tina's years she had never encountered someone so completely polarizing; he shrank and grew—grew in the face of conflict and in front of his beloved creatures, shrank in the face of his own species. And even more bewildering, sometimes he managed to do both at the same time.

So Tina did what Tina wonted to do; she grabbed him by his coat-scruff and dragged him off, which she regretted now, but she didn't know him at the time—didn't know how kind and warm and endlessly patient he was—and in the law's eyes, he was quite the hefty criminal.

But certain things can change your perception on people, and surviving the death potion and the destruction and near-exposure of the wizarding kind was one of those things.

She saw him off, hands deep in her pockets and for some reason wearing a skirt instead of her smart work pants. Newt was as bumbling and stunted as he always was, and Tina couldn't help herself.

"Does Leta Lestrange like to read?"

She'd never dealt well with jealously before, although the small little sting in her chest when Queenie told her about the picture frame with the beautiful woman could hardly qualify. And Tina perhaps had a crush, as insubstantial as it was—he might never come back, she kept reminding herself—but when Newt looked at her with those eyes and that look, she felt seen. She found that she liked feeling seen.

(It'd been years since she last felt seen.)

"I don't know what Leta likes these days," he said, and his eyes were skittish but sure, another one of his paradoxes. Tina thought she ought to start expecting them. "Because people change,"

"Yes," she said, far too immediate and far too foolish but she couldn't help herself.

"I've changed." Newt added, and his eyes were crushingly green. And Tina couldn't for the life of her look away. "I think. Maybe a little."

The ship's horn sounded then. Tina looked at it with the wariness of seeing an approaching teacher. Newt seemed to find his voice, saying,

"I'll send you a copy of my book, if I may."

And Tina smiled, water collecting at the edge of her lashes. This boy—this man, was simply too good to her.

"I'd like that."

He could send her a packet of gum and she would hold on to it.

Cautiously, hesitantly, oh-so-slowly, he reached out, and before Tina knew anything he was pushing her hair behind her ear. His eyes, sharp and soft and apprehensive and certain all at once, stared into hers, and Tina could burn. A brief moment of lingering and he was gone. Tina touched a hand faintly to her cheek, a faint flash of heat going to her eyes and she wondered whether or not she had enough in her to cry.

But then he was back.

"I'm so sorry," he flubbed, and Tina looked up, but he wasn't looking at her. Not yet. "H-How would feel if I, if I gave you your copy in person?" Their eyes met, and Tina grinned. A rush of tenderness flooded her. Too good, he was.

"I'd like that," She released a breathless sort of laugh. "Very much."

His smile was small, but it was there and resolutely Newt, so she smiled back and watched him go again.

For one heart-stopping moment he paused on the gangplank, and Tina felt a warm and slightly scalding kind of hope rise up in her throat, but he continued, without turning back.

She regained enough composure to not shed a tear, and after casting one last glance at the ship, she went out into the Manhattan afternoon, feeling a spark of giddiness fuel her enough to skip.