For the first time in his life, Credence was in control.
Since he first felt the sting of a belt on his palm he had craved this. A chance to hit back. To sting everyone who hurt him. To say 'Stop!' and make people listen.
He was too scared before. Mother seemed so terrible, crushing him with her disappointment and loathing until he wanted his magic to bleed into the floor, that one day he must have decided it hurt less to cower. He remembered hovering on the fringe of her anger, hoping that he did good enough, that she would be satisfied, that he would be lashed again.
Bitter fury was difficult to swallow. He managed for years, telling himself that it was easier this way; that Modesty did as she was told so he should be deferential too; that he didn't really want to hurt anybody; and that witchery was bad and he must be a horrendous creature if there was magic inside of him.
He believed himself.
Until Mother started handing out posters in force. All of a sudden the normal folk who patted him on the head and thought he was a poor, neglected creature began to mimic her jeers.
Freak. Mindless. Lunatic. Pathetic.
Credence thought that would all end the day Graves offered him kindness. The wizard held him close like the father Credence imagined. Graves claimed he was special.
If special meant that no one cared and people still laughed behind your back, then Credence was done. He was sick of hope.
The "normal world" was beyond his reach, and he wouldn't be controlled any longer.
Not even by himself.
After killing Mother, destruction became so easy. Modesty was safe. Only the façade of caring people barred his way.
And how extraordinary it was to see them scurry and hide.
Credence was in control, and those cruel mockers who slapped him and spit at him every day – they were the ones who were afraid.
It was a glorious feeling.
He wanted more.
He could have killed them all.
One man made him stop.
The soft-spoken, twiggy man wasn't like the rest. He didn't pressure Credence with comforting lies, like Graves in the night. He didn't threaten. He put down his wand and asked to come closer.
He put down his wand.
No one ever came near Credence without a weapon. A belt, a rock, a cuffing fist –
The wizard put down the only thing that could save his life.
Credence was almost ready to speak, to chance that maybe … maybe there was kindness.
"Can I come over there?"
Words Credence had never heard. A request – to be near the freak. For a moment fear lanced through him. If this was hope… if it betrayed him again….
He dared a peek. Compared to Graves' intimidating stature ("I thought you were my friend!") this wizard was mousey. Modesty was small, but she was more resilient than the cast iron pan Mother threw into the fire on claims of "bewitchery". This man looked more like a kitten that had been sopped in a puddle, kicked across the road, and then deposited in an ash heap when it failed to die.
Mother had drowned an entire litter of newborns. Their black fur testified evil. Like the darkness in Credence; a black tide that murdered.
But he still remembered one kitten that had survived. Mewling pitifully, crawling to safety.
Mother had crushed it.
Credence thought of Graves and his hypnotic lies, and he knew that this wizard would be quashed. He was small and dangerous. No one would let him survive.
But Mother was dead now. Credence could make a choice.
And for that, he thought he might risk it. One more chance. He would believe in hope.
Then blue light slammed into the quiet man's chest and Graves tore away providence.
Credence didn't think after that. He did what he trained his body to do. Shut down. Hide away. Don't give them reason to hurt you further. Be pathetic.
Unseen magic plucked him from the tracks and flung him aside. He didn't cry out. Couldn't. It'll be over soon. Just give in. He'll stop.
A swath of blue redirected the next cruel spell. Bewilderment jolted Credence out of his daze and he regained his feet, staring at the mousey little man who ricocheted Graves' spells with uncoordinated, reckless desperation.
You can't fight him. The words couldn't form, though Credence concentrated with all his dwindling might. Can't you see? He's bigger than you. Stronger. You'll run. You'll realize you're bested and you'll move aside because you're not his real target.
He knew it would happen. Only Modesty had ever tried to save him from a beating.
Modesty and one other… and Credence had never seen her again.
You'll move. You'll let me die. Anguish twisted inside and Credence couldn't breathe. Couldn't cry. Couldn't draw enough rage to lash against Graves. His thoughts were a slurred puddle in a rain barrel, drowning him in despair.
He would be left alone again. Nobody cared.
Yet the blue wizard continued to stand between him and Graves.
Credence stumbled, gasping in short pants. Why are you still here? Why won't you run?
The wizard's parries were clumsier now. Frantic. He was being pressed back, too slow to retaliate against Graves' precise strokes.
Credence thought he could predict when the wizard would miss that one spell. Five strokes. Maybe six.
But once again Graves crippled his extrapolation.
Screeching, the subway tracks reared and snapped. Like a whip across a horse's nape they hurled the mouse to his back. A sharp cry. A jolt of electricity that must have stolen the wizard's breath. Instinct claimed precedence, and Credence scurried as Graves descended.
He huddled in the corner, blocking his ears against the crackling volts. Grunts of pain that would have been screams it not for constricted lungs. Thrashing that was constrained, pinned under spell after relentless spell. There was neither the voice of gloating, nor that of pain. It was horribly, surreally silent.
No, stop, please stop! Credence tried to form the words, and once again he failed. Babbled. Cried for the stupid, bumbling man who wouldn't move out of the way when he was so clearly outmatched.
The grunts became more constricted; fainter.
It's not right! It's not right! She always blamed me – it's always been me – don't touch him, it's not his fault!
Pain compounded into helplessness, honing the instinct to hide away. Soft whimpers of agony gouged Credence with an emotion he couldn't understand.
It wasn't control. He wasn't in control. This was something louder. Red and angry and disgusted at the same time, all compelled into three forceful words.
It's not right!
It's not right!
It's not right!
LET HIM GO!
Howling, Credence released himself into the thrall. Control burst inside of him and he roared in triumph. In exhilaration. Domination. Scarlet fire dissolved into black ash flickering with hate.
He soared on winds of power, looming above a snake of a man who had suddenly lost the courage to taunt.
Graves was a serpent toying with a mouse. It was the way life was meant to play out.
Like the sodden kitten crushed under his mother's boot.
Yet Credence's mind continued to force the word "No!"until the ceiling shook and the outcry crescendoed into a torrent of slaying ash.
He saw panic leap into Graves' eyes. For the first time, Credence was the one to laugh. He mocked and spat and forced every filthy word in his memory into one piercing shriek.
Then he descended.
Shock coagulated the serpent's gaze forever.
When Credence furled into himself, his was the only voice. Silt trickled from the ceiling. Iron rails creaked. Wooden supports groaned.
Soft, parched breaths trembled in the corrupted air.
Whimpering, Credence looked for the mouse. Smoke still lingered along the tracks, stenching the blue coat. Limp fingers were curled around a wand. Frizzled, damp hair hung over bloodshot eyes – eyes that, though murky, were inconceivably aware.
"Credence?" The rasp was pathetic. Just like the kitten's mewl as it tried to crawl out of the ash heap.
Credence had helped the poor creature then, and he learned that compassion for evil was unforgivable.
But Mother wasn't here now.
"Can I come over there?" Those words had condemned the mouse; thrust him into Graves' path. But this wizard had taken that chance; had approached Credence while he was still a beast. Now Credence took that courage for himself.
He shuffled forward and knelt beside the blue wizard.
Perhaps normal folk spoke kind words at a time like this. Maybe they touched. Graves offered empty promises, before Mother was killed and he struck Credence instead.
Credence didn't know which the right response was. So he did what he knew. He sat quietly and waited for someone else to speak.
A quivering, pained smile ghosted on the wizard's face. His fingers twitched as though to rise, and he gritted his teeth when that simple action defied him.
Credence understood the body's betrayal.
"Credence," the wizard stuttered, forcing the same anguished smile. "It's all…. It's all right. S'okay… D-don't be afrai….."
Green eyes crossed, rolled upright, and sank beneath crusted lashes. The body shuddered once and was still.
Heaving, Credence raised a hand to the wizard's face. "N-No," he gulped wetly. "No."
Don't die. You can't. It's not right. Wait!
Uneven breaths misted his searching fingertips, matching the ghosts of his spent tears. Snatching his hand back, Credence dragged his nails through his hair and pushed down, forcing back despair until it choked his lungs and burst from his mouth in dripping sobs.
C-Can't die. It's not right. It's not fair.
Nothing he rescued ever stayed safe. Mother had been right all along.
A soft scritching jolted his desolation. Raising his head, Credence made out a faint wriggle in the wizard's lapel. Apathetically he stared as a stub of torched green poked out from the blue fabric.
Singed leaves curled around a twiggy form. Tiny keens echoed loss as an insect unlike any praying mantis tugged its way free. It crouched by the wizard's pallid face, strangely expressive for a bug. Looking up at Credence, it tapped one smaller twig against the man's chin and chirped.
I can't. Credence shook his head. I can't do anything.
He would never be a wizard. He would never save creatures or protect Modesty or heal burns and electrified veins. He was only a freak, destined to carry the inner beast.
The twig whined again and then raised its pincers, waving them insistently. Hesitantly Credence lowered a finger. Tiny prongs not unlike fingers gripped the digit and the twig hoisted itself up, clinging with all four legs. Its cries were heartwrenching.
"I can't save him," Credence whispered. He'll die. He can't live.
Before Modesty was adopted, Credence had seen a man die of electrocution. A powerline had fallen across the man and he had twitched for several minutes, voiceless save for his eyes. Agony in blue-green still woke Credence on occasion. Mother had shooed the crowd away.
"You see?" she had shouted above the voltage. "This man was clearly a sorcerer, and now he has paid the price."
She made Credence watch until a blackened hub remained of the man. It took less than five minutes.
Wizards must be substantially hardier than "normal folk." Credence smelled the burning; saw the forming blisters on the man's swollen hands; but he was alive, and that should have been impossible.
The kitten was still trying to drag itself out of the ashes.
"Credence?"
He heard a woman's voice – searching, then falling in relief. "Credence, can you hear me?"
He didn't turn. Kept watching that uneven hitch for air. Holding the twig.
"Credence, are you – oh, no – no!"
He dropped his head against his knees as fluid burst from his eyes and nose. The twig chittered. Soft heels skidded past him, before fabric rustled and a terrible, familiar voice started pleading. Shivering, Credence raised his eyes.
It was her. The one who had stood brazenly long ago, forcing her way between the switch and his trembling hand. He shouldn't remember. Something told him he wasn't supposed to know.
Shaking his head wildly, Credence sobbed, "No – no!"
Choking a gasp, the woman ceased jostling the blue wizard.
Newt, she called him Newt, like the salamander Chastity squashed under a flower pot. It didn't seem right.
"Credence?" The woman's voice quavered as she looked at him with raw, tormented eyes.
His tongue flopped and he gagged on his own voice. Against his pathetic, mindless inhibition the syllables broke free. "Sorry – sorry – don't – don't die –"
In frighteningly scant moments slender arms were clutching him to a white blouse. Fingers threaded his hair and tender words throttled the beast as it tried to rise.
"No, no, don't blame yourself. Credence. Credence. Sh, it's all right. No one's going to hurt you. You're safe. Newt will be fine, you'll see."
She was sobbing. Breaking her own promise.
He clung to her all the same. He wanted to believe.
He would risk it all if she could save him.
"Hold me tightly," the woman whispered, carding his hair with her right hand while her left crept back to grab Newt's wrist. "Trust me, Credence."
He nodded, gulping tears, and the world vanished around him faster than he'd ever flown.
When MACUSA tramped into the subway minutes later, wands brandished to eliminate the threat, the only wizard to be found was the scar-veined, white-capped corpse of Gellert Grindelwald.
The darkest wizard in history had been destroyed.
The war with humanity was only beginning.
Quickie post before I leave on the plane. To be continued, unless flamers suggest I feed this excerpt to the Obscurus. (All sentence fragments are recognized and they are staying, so find something else to Slytherize about. Rest assured, your advice will be soundly considered.)
But please, someone suggest I feed an Obscurus. I've never had a good bonfire dance. ;D