CHAPTER 4
In which Tina realizes it's hard to be mad at a cinnamon roll and Newt meets some of Dumbledore's weird friends.
A few minutes later, Newt and Tina were sitting at a table inside the Dragon's Den. It was a very shady place, much like the Blind Pig in New York.
Newt was sure that if he understood French, he would be very worried about the dealings of the goblins, vampires, giants, and hags that sat at the surrounding tables.
"Nice place," said Newt, trying to use sarcasm.
"I didn't want to risk the chance that anyone would recognize you," replied Tina. "Or, if they do recognize you, they wouldn't dare turn you in because they're outlaws, too."
"An outlaw?" said Newt. "Me, an outlaw?"
Tina nodded. "You're wanted by the French Ministry of Magic for going after that creature from the circus. What was it, anyway?"
"The Chinese call them Zouwus. Sorry—my Mandarin is quite bad. We Westerners tend to call them Crumple-horned Snorkacks, but I think that sounds mildly absurd, so I use their Chinese name regardless of my terrible accent."
In spite of the situation, Tina found herself laughing. For a minute, she forgot her anger at Newt. She quickly stopped laughing when she remembered.
"You shouldn't've gone after it," she said solemnly. "Now you're a criminal again, and the French Aurors are not going to be as nice to you as I was in New York."
Newt nodded determinedly, his jaw set. "I may have just saved the Zouwus from extinction," said Newt. "I couldn't live with myself knowing that I could've saved it."
Tina nodded sadly. Newt's devotion to magical beasts was a factor that Newt would not be himself without. Though it had got him in a lot of trouble over the years, it was what made Newt, well, Newt.
"In your last letter I heard that you were still looking for Credence. I'm very sorry he slipped away again."
"It's OK," said Tina, who couldn't believe she was already forgiving Newt. "And you—have you managed to round up the other beasts from the circus?"
"Yes, they're all doing fine."
Pickett peeked his head out of Newt's coat pocket and chirped when he saw Tina.
"Hello, Pickett," said Tina, her brown eyes twinkling as she smiled. "He still has attachment issues?"
Newt smiled. "He's come to think of me as his tree. It's no use trying to get him to join the other Bowtruckles."
"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to look for Credence," said Tina, standing up. "I assume you'll be tracking Grindelwald?"
Newt nodded, rising as well.
There was a strained silence as both of them thought about how frequently their farewells seemed to come. Newt extended his hand. Tina shook it tentatively.
Using their arms as a bridge, Pickett climbed over to Tina's shoulder. He squeaked in triumph at his feat of acrobatics.
"Looks like Pickett wants to go with you," said Newt with a weak smile. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Of course not," said Tina, looking warmly at her new companion and then glancing momentarially at Newt.
And without another word, she swept out of the door of the Dragon's Den and into the alley outside.
Early the next morning, a Patronus message woke Newt from his slumber. He had to rub his eyes several times to realize what it was.
The silvery-white phoenix said, in Dumbledore's voice, "Newt, I have three contacts in Paris that I'd like for you to take refuge with. If you Apparate to these coordinates (48.833817° North, 2.332491° East), you will end up in his house. Thank you."
Newt heeded the Patronus message's advice and Apparated to the coordinates. In mid-Apparation, he noticed that he still hadn't changed his coat back to the customary grey.
He rematerialized in a bright apartment with lopsided window panes and tables covered in all sorts of unnameable shiny objects. Some were spinning idly, others standing stationary, and Newt could not come up with uses for any of them.
"Oh, hello," said a frail voice ahead of Newt. A short man who looked as if he had been immersed in white paint bustled towards him, wearing a pale dressing gown that only served to accentuate his paleness. "You must be Mr. Scamander. Albus told me you would be stopping by today."
He held out a bone-white hand and Newt shook it. A loud, unpleasant-sounding crack came from the old man's knuckles. "Oh, so sorry, I didn't—"
"Oh, it's fine, my boy," said the short man, though his screwed-up face told Newt otherwise. "My name is Nicholas Flamel, by the way."
"Newt Scamander," said Newt hurriedly. "Nice to make your acquaintance."
"Perenelle, Mr. Ollivander, Mr. Scamander is here," said Flamel, calling through the house. "Our dear friend, Mr. Ollivander, is staying here for the week," added Flamel, noting the confused look on Newt's face.
A tall woman with the same whitish complexion as Nicholas Flamel came into the room next.
"Allow me to introduce my wife, Perenelle," said Flamel.
Newt shook her hand politely, making sure to do so very lightly as to avoid cracking her knuckles as he had done to her husband.
Next came Garrick Ollivander, whose glowing, bulbous eyes would not have looked out of place on a goldfish.
"Newton Scamander," he said distantly. "Ah, I remember your wand. Ash, with a handle of mother-of-pearl, I believe?"
"Yes," said Newt, slightly creeped out by the wandmaker's eerie expression.
"You've had an owl, Mr. Scamander," said Perenelle. "I think it's from Dumbledore."
Newt walked over to the window, where an owl perched on the sill. Newt removed the letter from the owl's leg and unwrapped it.
Newt,
My people have located Grindelwald's hideout. It's Unplottable, so there's no way of me giving you coordinates. His base is in the catacombs under the city, probably about five blocks west of your current position. I believe you can access it through the door to an uninhabited apartment.
I want you to perform reconnaissance on his base, but you'll need backup. As you currently are wanted by the French Ministry of Magic, I think it would be best if you would not contact them. I heavily recommend that you call upon your brother Theseus, Leta Lestrange, and Porpentina Goldstein for backup. I know you may not have the healthiest relationship with any of them right now, but you must do this for the sakes of wizards and Muggles everywhere.
A. P. W. B. Dumbledore
Newt couldn't believe his eyes. Dumbledore wanted him to go Grindelwald's base? If he was to go in, the chances would be high that he would be found out. How was he supposed to fight Grindelwald and all of his followers? The Dark wizard and his accomplices had proven time and again that they were notoriously good at defeating Aurors.
He did not want to reach out to Theseus and Leta, and he didn't want to bother Tina, as she was certainly off on Credence's trail.
"Expecto patronum!" yelled Newt.
The porcupine looked up at him kindly.
"I want you to send a message to Dumbledore. Ask him why he can't help, please. Only a powerful wizard like Dumbledore could stand a chance against Grindelwald. Sending me there would be suicide."
The porcupine nodded, then zoomed out the open window to the north.
"An interesting Patronus," said Ollivander, remarking on the porcupine. "Have you had it for a while?"
"No," said Newt, surprised at Ollivander's perceptiveness. "It's quite new."
"Ah," said Ollivander knowingly, his unblinking eyes staring right at Newt's.
Newt was thoroughly perturbed by the old man. He found eye contact uncomfortable, especially with Ollivander, so he was trying to look anywhere but the old wandmaker's face.
It was getting to be extremely uncomfortable. Newt remembered the phoenix feathers in his pocket and gave them to Ollivander, hoping that they would serve to distract the old wizard.
"These feathers are from the phoenix that they were keeping at the Circus Arcanus," said Newt. "I'm not going to have any use for them."
Ollivander held the two feathers in his hands, feeling their weight. "These came from a phoenix of immense power," he said gravelly. "The wands these feathers shall be cores of will certainly be wielded by the strongest wizards of the next age."
Newt shivered a little, perturbed by Ollivander's spooky expression. Nevertheless, Ollivander soon moved off to another room, presumably to make the feathers into wands, and Newt sighed in relief.
Dumbledore had just finished teaching a Transfiguration class when Newt's Patronus message zoomed into his classroom.
"Professor," said the porcupine, "with all due respect, sending me to Grindelwald's hideout would be asking me to commit suicide. I have followed your instructions until this point, but now I am reluctant to put myself into such danger. If it is your wish, then I will do as you have told and ask Theseus and Leta for help, and then I will go into the catacomb even if it mean losing my life.
"If you would be so kind as to give my case to my assistant, Bunty, I am sure she will make sure to keep the creatures looked after. But there is one thing I would like to know before I do this—why must it be me to confront Grindelwald? You are an obviously superior wizard, yet you have sent me to do this task."
Dumbledore sighed heavily. His mind swept away to memories of his childhood, of Hogwarts, of Grindelwald.
"I've sent an innocent man to his death," he said slowly, moving over to the large basin in the corner.
The pensieve slid into view, the silvery matter inside the basin swirling idly.
Dumbledore drew his thoughts out of his temple and dropped them into the pensieve. Then, he leant forward and felt the odd sensation of falling.
A younger Dumbledore and Grindelwald sat in the snow in the graveyard at Godric's Hollow, poring over papers and huddling around the blue fire Grindelwald had made in a jar. But they were not doing homework, as it would seem from a distance.
"Gellert, I agree with you that wizard dominance is better, but we cannot rule irresponsibly. Though we wizards are superior, the Muggles still pose a threat and we cannot afford to anger them."
"Whatever we do is for the Greater Good, Al, remember that," said Grindelwald, chewing on his quill before it darted back down to the parchment and scribbled out another line. "Whether or not the Muggles get in the way is their problem."
The younger Dumbledore pursed his lips as if he wanted to protest, but he seemed to decide otherwise.
The thoughts in the pensieve became murky, until another shape pulled itself from the fog. The Dumbledore in this memory was slightly older than the previous one had been. He had just finished writing a letter, and was reading it through. Present-Dumbledore moved closer to see what his younger counterpart had written.
Gellert—
Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES' OWN GOOD—this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis for all our counterarguments. We must seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that was necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)
Albus
Dumbledore had seen enough. He pulled himself out of the pensieve and went to sit in his study.
Though he looked calm from the outside, he was instead feeling quite the opposite. His visit in the pensieve had reawakened his memories of his rebellious teenage years. He had put a sort of mental block on his youth; the pain of losing Ariana, Kendra, and Gellert was too much to experience on a day-to-day basis. Seeing himself again as a young man again had reminded him of how devoted he had been to the cause of having wizardkind rise above Muggles. When he had fallen out with Grindelwald all those years ago after Ariana's death, he had disassociated himself with his and Grindelwald's plans.
Now that he looked back on the ideas he and Grindelwald had had, he couldn't believe that he had really advocated in that cause and planned to take over the world with Grindelwald at his side.
"It is our choices that show what we truly are," he told himself, looking out onto the quiet grounds. "I chose to revoke that path long ago. Gellert chose to continue with his dream, our dream, our terrible, diabolical dream. He made the wrong choice."
Dumbledore shifted in his chair, sadness veiling his normally cheerful eyes.
A/N: That letter is directly from Deathly Hallows, chapter 18, if you want to look it up. Once again, I don't own Harry Potter or Fantastic Beasts. Let me know what you think about this story in the reviews!
