It was the same in so many remote places: the locals respected the creatures, gave them space and distance. The visitors didn't. The "officials" arrived, had their own ideas of how to deal with the beasts: ideas that meant extreme, often vicious control of the creatures, and the supposable safety of the wizards.
It was sadly simple, sadly usual. And this was why Newt felt so inclined to do something, yet so afraid of what he would find when he did. He heard stories of Erumpents in Africa, and that was that.
He performed a few more Extension Charms on his suitcase, having the hunch they might be needed. Not that he intended to smuggle an Erumpent into Europe.
Not at first.
Newt arrived in Africa, not quite sure how to ask someone to please show him the creatures.
He got by, mostly on his own.
.
For all the rumors, it was a week and a half before Newt saw his first Erumpent. Two of them, actually.
They were terrifying and beautiful and breathtaking all at once.
And they were caged.
The people, the "officials", told him the two huge males had been fighting. That the resulting explosions were too close to the village, that they were dangerous.
Newt didn't see the danger in them. He stared for a minute, his eyes traveling up from the thick legs, the thick skin, a reddish-purple-grey color… Newt didn't linger too long on the beasts' black eyes, though they captivated him. He wasn't positive whether or not the Erumpents would take the feeling of being watched as a challenge, nervous as they seemed.
And the horns… Newt had to resist an intake of breath, as people were watching. But, oh… It was always the powerful creatures Newt loved, the fierce ones, the ones others feared or hated. And the Erumpents were no different. There was a glow to the horns, from the bulging base above the eyes to the blunted yellow point. There was an inner shine living in their entire bodies that told Newt these were beasts worth saving.
To his surprise, he found himself speaking. "Why were they fighting?"
The others seemed confused by Newt's wondering. "There was a female they both seemed to want," one said, flexing his wand arm as he spoke. "It ran when we came, clumsier than they are usually, but still too fast, and we already had the males to deal with."
Newt's mind whirled. Clumsier than usual… had she been hurt? Perhaps something was wrong? This whole business was wrong, but Newt wasn't yet brave enough to stand against the authorities, however misguided they were. But maybe, maybe there was something he could do for this female Erumpent?
Nobody else need know, after all.
.
She was easy to find for one who cared to go looking and knew enough of creatures' habits. Newt came upon her alone at a draining waterhole. She was no less majestic than the males who had fought for her and both lost.
She flicked her ears, swishing her tail against the few scattering flies. She didn't look hurt, but clearly something wasn't quite well with her. After studying her from afar, then closer, then… closer…
Newt caught his breath as he reached the sudden, unmistakable conclusion. Of course; she was going to have a calf. Very soon, by the look of things. He wondered which, if any, of the two males he'd seen was the father. Newt had never seen even a picture of an Erumpent calf before, and curiosity and a familiar thrill went through him.
He felt sure it would only be a few days longer, a week at most. He could afford to lose the time.
Newt's heart pounded suddenly as the Erumpent turned her head. Wild stories flitted briefly one after another through his mind; he dismissed them, hardly daring to breathe. She wouldn't. Newt believed, wanted to believe with all his heart that she would not attack for no reason.
She didn't charge. Her horn did not lower. She blinked at Newt. He dared a step nearer, and her hide twitched, but no further sign of anxiety was shown on her part.
Newt breathed easier. If not overly friendly, she was comfortable with him, and that was all he was asking for at the moment.
.
She was by no means tame, but she was allowing Newt nearer by the day. She stayed near the now almost dry waterhole, always only twenty yards or so away when Newt climbed out of his suitcase each morning.
Newt had been adding a new section, a new room, to his already spacious case. This one was a miniature Africa, alive and growing. He told himself it was only a precaution; if something went wrong, he'd have a place for her. Or her baby. Or even both.
If necessary. Only if necessary.
.
The day arrived sooner than expected. Newt didn't remember details, he hardly ever did in events such as this; everything was blurred in his memory. It was over too quickly.
She let him near. Most creatures at this sort of time didn't, but the Erumpent's agitation eased when Newt came to her, when he touched her. He avoided the horn- its light was pulsing brighter- but stayed by her side, speaking, his wand raised and case ready if there was anything he could do.
It took hours.
The baby was born dead.
At first, the Erumpent hadn't noticed, her sides heaving with pain and exhaustion. Newt bit his lip, and tears grew in his eyes at the sight of the dead calf. Its skin was a lighter shade of burgundy-grey, its eyes closed tightly forever, its tiny horn little more than a dull bump on its head.
She wanted her baby. A low moan reached Newt's ears, and he let out his breath, feeling every heartbeat in his ears. He gathered the heavy newborn calf in his arms, trying hard not to remember his thoughts in the previous days of leading a live and breathing baby to its mother.
He couldn't stand to watch her loving her baby, realizing… but he couldn't tear his eyes away, and he couldn't lift his hand off her tough, wrinkly skin, because she needed comfort for a long while.
.
Newt coaxed the Erumpent into the suitcase; amazingly, she fit. He'd never kept such a large animal before, but it seemed there would be little trouble.
The excuse he told himself was that she wasn't eating properly. She needed looking after. She needed love and care.
In reality, Newt just wasn't able to leave her behind.