Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J.K. Rowling. This fiction is purely for my own enjoyment and yours. No money is being made by me or anyone else from this fiction.
Authors Notes: Originally edited by Nyxie. Any mistakes now present would be thanks to any dicking about I did in this chapter... oops! Thank you to everyone leaving reviews! I do read them all even if I don't always reply :) It's nice to see all you new readers out there as well! I hope I can create a story you all enjoy! So i've written out chapter 10 now. Well the first draft at least so that's going well I think. Meaning all of the readers who have waited for me will have some new content pretty soon! Hopefully it doesn't dissapoint!
P.S. Still in need of a Beta if that interests anyone.
Hermione's silence was beginning to unnerve Newt.
It had been over an hour since they witnessed the prophecy and left the hall. Honestly, Newt didn't know how long they spent sequestered away in the chamber, but it seemed as though it had taken at least that long. Leaving the Hall of Prophecies, upon entering the Department of Mysteries central atrium, they were accosted by a group of Aurors, with Hector Fawley himself, leading them as the bumbling moustached man looked on with a gleeful expression.
The Head of the Department of Mysteries looked away, guilty, but his eyes stabbed piercing glares into the Minister and the Undersecretary. His opinion clear, sending an apologetic look to the returning group.
Noticeably, it seemed that Head Auror Shafiq, himself, was physically restrained by his subordinates, the very Aurors under his command with a pair of shackles, binding his hands in front of his body, an Auror hanging on either arm. His lip bloody and torn, as though their alteration had become quite physical.
Hermione stayed silent as the Aurors cautiously advanced. All of them giving their full attention to the bushy haired woman, vigilantly aware of her magical capabilities and duelling prowess. Newt was tempted to scoff, utter fools they were for ignoring the others in their group. Though, it would seem Hermione was their main target.
Keeper Williams and Ms. Jones were questioned by one of the Ministers underlings to the side. Their conversation becoming a stern reproach, which didn't appear to register much with either of the two, before shooing them away.
To the other side, Theseus was restrained and bound before having his wand confiscated, all the while looking to the Head Auror in question. He stopped resisting, accepting his fate with stoic grace after receiving a sharp look and the slightest shake of his head from Shafiq.
Newt couldn't help his rising worry and shock as they quietly and quickly restrained Hermione and him. She was strangely compliant during the arrest; an Auror seized their wands before leading them away into the busy halls of the Ministry. Newt's worry for the woman eating away at his senses.
Smartly dressed witches and wizards swiftly made way for the group. Stares, suspicion and whispers of gossip following their every step, and yet still Hermione said and did nothing, allowing herself to be pulled along by the arm, that dazed expression never once leaving her normally brilliant brown eyes.
The press would have a field day. Two high-ranking Aurors and the latest heroes of the Wizarding World, bound and shackled, paraded through the halls like bottom-barrel criminals.
Clearly, the Ministry was unaware of the definition of discretion. The Minister led the way, smiling to all those they passed, offering small waves as he put on his most charming front, completely ignoring the possible consequences of their actions if the press caught wind of their current predicament.
After months of comfortable peace, Hermione and Newt were thrust into the limelight once more. The Heroes of the Wizarding World Unmasked.
Those comforting, quiet days had met a rather tragic end.
It wasn't their day.
It just isn't my day. Tina Goldstein stares steadfastly ahead, refusing to meet Grindelwald's unsettling gaze.
She holds back a sigh as silence reigns in the room. The Aurors stationed beside her shift uncomfortably on their feet. Tina purses her lips, irritation painting her features as her eyes settle on Madam Picquery's back, who sits directly across the cold slab table from Grindelwald.
"Is there anything else you have to say for yourself, Mr. Grindelwald?" Madam Picquery asks, her weariness and exhaustion evident in her tone and body language.
The man in question only smirks in reply.
We've been at this all night. Tina thinks, a scowl curling her lips, her exhaustion catching up with her.
"In that case, I believe we've gleaned all we can from the prisoner." Madam President relents, with the smallest of sighs. She looks back to the gathered Aurors, nodding her head ever so slightly.
With that signal, Tina turns, tapping two sharp knocks on the reinforced, cool metal door.
The door swings open, and two women in white coats enter. A shard of fear shoots through Tina at the sight of them, clenching her fists and forcing herself to calm as they step past her into the room, attempting to remain stoic.
It doesn't work.
Grindelwald notes her discomfort, mouth pulling into a wide, toothy grin that stretches across his pale face.
Tina's heart quickens as Madam Picquery begins to list off his crimes, the words barely registering in her overworked and exhausted mind as memories threaten to consume her.
"I, hereby, sentence you to death." Madam Picquery's ends, not even a slither of feeling can be heard in her tone as her command echoes throughout the silence.
The executioners step forward, their shoes squeaking against the floor. The Aurors, bar Tina, standing by their sides. Together, the group raises their wands, every single one trained on Grindelwald as one of the executioners reaches for his arm.
Tina's breath catches, senses going haywire as she readies herself for a duel.
The shackles on his hands and feet creak and jingle as he stands, dragging across the floor in an eerie way. Grindelwald doesn't struggle as he's pulled from the room, looking back to Tina and Madam Picquery with an amused smirk, one final time before the door closes.
The door shuts behind them, a stillness falls over the room. Madam Picquery lowers her head into her hands, a small sigh escaping her lips. Tina attempts to relax.
Try as she might to soothe her frayed nerves, she can't do a thing. Dread and apprehension fill her to the brim.
That was too easy. She thinks, looking at the door, biting hard on her lips, brows furrowing in thought.
The assembled Department Heads and other high-ranking officials settle to the sides of the conference room, whispering quietly amongst themselves, curious gazes darting between the bound and shackled group of witches and wizards displayed like prized ponies in the centre of the floor.
The Minister and his Undersecretary sit alone against one of the walls, their triumphant expressions taunt their prisoners as they converse quietly, allowing the assembled group to gossip and speak as they wish, hoping to throw those bound and displayed off with their apparent disinterest.
I never did care much for this pomp and pageantry the Ministry favoured. Newt thinks with a soft sigh.
Newt and Hermione stand front and centre, side by side, shoulders touching. Newt purses his lips, irritation growing by the minute as the assembled crowd continues to gossip and point, some of the more prominent, pure-blooded members openly sneering in their direction.
He looks at Hermione from the corner of his eye, taking note of her still dazed expression.
She's not even here. He thinks, a deep frown settling across his handsome features before turning slightly to look to their companions.
What was the Ministry thinking? He questions, baffled by the current turn of events. A few feet away, Head Auror Shafiq and Theseus stand bound, fenced in by a handful of Aurors who look to be as uncomfortable with the current situation as they themselves do.
Wizards. Newt's lips, curve slightly at the thought, the small irate voice in his mind sounding frighteningly similar to Hermione's own.
Auror Holt, a young dark haired, American Auror can't help but think how lucky he is as he creeps along the perimeter of the run down little shack. Wand at the ready, he signals to his partner, and they make their approach.
The assignments received last night were divided into two task. Group one was assigned to guard duty at the MACUSA while the other, Holt's group was sent on a search and rescue mission, their target: Percival Graves.
Though Madame President and her trusted advisers were reluctant to divide their resources, considering the dangerous criminal they currently had imprisoned in the deepest depths of the MACUSA, they had little choice. From the very beginning, learning the fate of the real Percival Graves was of the utmost importance, second only to the interrogation, imprisonment, and eventual execution of the international criminal Gellert Grindelwald.
So here they were, over half of the Auror Corps remained at the MACUSA, a handful guarding Madame President and the prisoner while the rest were stationed throughout every inch of the Ministry, watching out for any acts of terror, public unrest and keeping an eye on all possible escapes.
There was little doubt in Auror Holt's mind and many others that today would, in fact, be the day that Gellert Grindelwald would finally meet his end. The weeks leading up to this point were incredibly tense, the lack of news regarding Grindelwald's fate beginning to cause anxiety, the public growing more and more uneasy and agitated with each passing day.
For as long as Grindelwald lived, the threat would be real, unlike much of the world, the MACUSA remained on high alert. The Americans refusing to believe that the extremely, dangerous wizard, held within the depths of the Ministry didn't have a backup plan, nor that his followers, terrorizing small parts of the world still, wouldn't try anything.
The longer he lived, the more dangerous it became. However, the protocol must be followed, and mysteries needed solving. Madame President refused to pass verdict until every drop of information could be wrung from Grindelwald's mind. Veritaserum hadn't worked, his mind seemingly protected, with that in mind they were forced to interrogate the man the old-fashioned way. The issue with this being the validity of his words. Nothing could be taken as straight fact. Every statement and word scrutinized to the extreme, and so days stretched into weeks and further into months. His interrogation continued.
The wizard was too loose-lipped; thus any of this words couldn't be simply taken at face value. It wasn't long before Grindelwald began talking and refused to stop, the final, seemingly relevant piece of information he supplied came five days before.
After researching, and going over a number of scenarios, a team of well-trained Aurors was dispatched. Auror Holt among them. Grindelwald's final words spurring them into action. Only days before, on a day like any other, the war criminal had finally given an answer to the question he had been asked time and time again since his capture.
Where in the world was the real Percival Graves?
Many believed the Head Auror to be dead, dead and hidden away in some far off, unmarked grave, though a few — the President — held out hope. It was discovered that Grindelwald was able to maintain Grave's appearance through the extremely skilled application of Human Transfiguration. However, many believed that there was no way he could have passed himself off as the man, taking into consideration personality and behavioural quirks if he hadn't first interrogated or held Graves prisoner all this time, carefully picking through his memories. It was noted that Gellert Grindelwald was, in fact, an extremely skilled Legilimens after an incident involving a rookie Auror stationed at his door.
Although chances were slim, a handful of officials agreed. The real Percival Graves could still be alive.
The second big assignment for the Corps was this; locating and the retrieval of Percival Graves, or whatever may remain of the once great man.
Holt was doubtful whether Graves could still be alive, but anything was better than spending another minute in the presence of that madman that the MACUSA had spent every day for months interrogating.
A good day indeed.
Hermione furrows her brows, still in a stunned stupor. The world around passing by in a blur that failed to register in her mind as her memories of days long gone past carried her back. The prophecy she heard replaying in her mind on a loop, in the background of her thoughts as it torments her.
'My dear, from the first moment you stepped foot in my class I sensed that you did not possess the mind for the noble art of Divination.' Professor Trelawney confesses, holding Hermione's limp hand within her own, turning it over again and again as if searching for something.
Divination. Hermione sneers, biting down hard on her lip, shaking her head ever so slightly in an attempt to clear her thoughts. She sighs as the memory continues, the never-ending loop of the prophecy playing once more.
'See? Right there. You may be young in years, but the heart that beats beneath your bosom is as shrivelled as an old maid's, your soul as dry as the pages of the books to which you so desperately cleave.' She holds Hermione's hand, palm up as she points to a single line in her hand.
Gods I hate Divination, prophecies, Dark Lords, the lot of them. Damn them all. Her mind whispers through the haze.
Hermione breathes deeply, eyes fluttering shut, furious. Someone tries to console her, but her rising bout of anger makes her hostile. With a sharp, irritated tug, Hermione pulls her hand away, rising to her feet. Hoisting her bag onto her shoulder, she storms away, not caring of the crystal ball she knocks to the ground during her hasty exit, vowing to never again put any stock in Divination, prophecies or the supposed mysteries hidden within the tea leaves.
Hermione Granger was never one to put much stock in divination, the fates or a higher being of any sort. Hermione Granger was a woman who liked facts, the true and tested, tangible results. She had little interest in Divination or prophecies. Her decision to take Divination in her third year still haunting her to this very day.
After all the bloodshed and war, after all, I and those I cared for had been through, was it truly too much to ask that these supposed Fate's give me a break? Hermione snarls, a shuddering breath falling from her lips as the fog of memories recede. The ominous prophetic hovers over her conscious, but she shoves it to the recesses of her mind, ignoring it for the time being. There are other matters at hand.
Bright brown eyes dart about the room, evaluating the situation. In Hermione's haze of shock and unadulterated unease, she was aware of the Minister's appearance before he paraded them through the halls, but just barely.
Over her shoulder, Hermione notes their companions bound and guarded behind them, Newt's warmth pressed into her side.
"A Muggleborn—" A not so quiet voice sneers from the gallery. Hermione's ear picks up on snippets of the conversations around them as the noise filters back in once more.
Her anger intensifies, irritation and growing rage with their current predicament finally making itself known. The day had just barely begun, and yet here she was, already nearing the ends of her wits.
Hermione's lips pull into a tight line as her gaze settles on the Minister, sat before her in an obnoxiously ornate chair, chest puffed out, amusement in his sneer, casually slouching as though he were some sort of beloved king. His bumbling Undersecretary sat by his side, a taunting sneer stretched across his plump little-moustached face.
What a joke.
"Hermione—" Newt warns, taking note of her now alert gaze, anticipating her next actions, unease beginning to build within him.
"Hector Fawley, I presume?" Hermione begins, the conference room falling silent at her words. All eyes now focused on the wild-haired witch standing in the centre of the hall. "I must say your incompetence is alarming given the current climate of the Wizarding World. Have you no shame?" There's that Gryffindor recklessness again. Newt thinks as he lets a groan slip from his lips, closing his eyes as he tilts back his head, breathing deeply as the room fills with noise once more.
The level of noise, shouts, and screams of protest escalate. Newt opens his eyes just in time to see the Minister stand, Fawley's face flushes red, his Undersecretary begins to stutter and bumble once more.
Fantastic. Newt thinks, a long-suffering sigh falling from his slightly parted lips.
The Halls are empty. All Ministry personnel barred from their path as they make their way to the Execution Chamber, Aurors standing at attention, wands at the ready every few feet, their back pressed against the walls, expressions set.
Grindelwald walks slightly behind one of his Auror Escorts, an executioner on either arm, completely boxed in from all sides. The Aurors hold their formation with a number of wands pointed squarely at his head.
Despite his current situation, the wizard is completely serene, a calm and almost cocky aura exuding from his person, that consistent smirk stretched across his unsettling face.
With every passing second, they grow ever closer to the chamber, the hands of the clock ticks ever closer to his death. Yet, Gellert Grindelwald looks as though he's taking a leisurely stroll, as opposed to being lead to the Death Chamber, where he will soon meet his end.
Queenie Goldstein was rarely late, a fact she prided herself on, yet here she was striding through the bustling streets of New York City, the hem of her formal dress dancing behind her, heels clicking against the cobblestone road, late for work and in a hurry.
She weaves through the crowd, every step taking her closer to her destination. A mirthful expression on her beautiful face. A small giggle falling from her painted lips as she recalls last night's events and her much-awaited date with one Jacob Kowalski.
It was impossible to forget Jacob, try as she might, reminding herself of Tina's warnings and the laws regarding No-Maj and Wizard relations, but she just couldn't let him go.
She had waited until his bakery was up and running, walking by his shop off and on for weeks until she had finally worked up the nerve to enter. His reaction was adorable, his thoughts similar to those he had during their first true meeting, hand rubbing at his neck, a hint of remembrance dancing along the edges of his thoughts.
Queenie couldn't help it. Hermione's offer was running through her mind. She struck up a conversation. Law be damned. She openly flirted with the blushing man before inviting him on a date.
Queenie was positively giddy. Her happy mood was not to last, however, as suddenly her expression drops, a frown pulling at her lips as she looks around, perceptive grey-green eyes searching the crowd while she ascends the steps of the MACUSA, intent on entering through the Muggle entrance.
Finally, her eyes land on a casually dressed man standing a few feet away from the doors, she frowns as she picks up trails of his thoughts. A spark of fear travelling along her spine, quickening her pace as she approaches the man in the cloaked uniform standing guard at the door.
Queenie's mouth opens only to erupt into a scream that dies on her lips when the ground begins to shake. The glass doors of the MACUSA and the surrounding Muggle business attached shatters, glass spraying outwards as muggle and wizards alike are thrown to the ground.
An explosion which shakes the very foundation beneath their feet.
A glint of metal catches Tina's eyes, drawing her attention to the floor beside Grindelwald's empty seat. She steps forward, ignoring Madam Picquery's questioning gaze as she kneels by the edge of the table, shaking fingers finding purchase on the small silver pendant.
What in the world— She frowns, lips pulling into a tight line as she examines the piece.
It's perfectly polished, gleaming silver under the room's lighting. It's a medium-sized pendant, of a circle, bisected by a line which sits in the centre of a triangle, hanging from a thin silver chain.
Madam Picquery begins walking towards Tiina when she stumbles under the tremor. Both women's eyes shooting to the roof as a great quake rocks the foundation beneath their feet, a loud explosion detonates from somewhere above their heads.
The two women share an alarmed look, wands sliding into their hands. With a nod, Tina stands, pocketing the pendant before stepping protectively in front of the President, pulse hammering away in her throat, a cold sweat breaking out along her hairline.
Auror Holt watches, wand raised and ready, stance tense as the Lead Auror blasts the door of the rickety old shack wide open from its corroded hinges. The Aurors wait, holding their position and breaths as the dust settles.
Another Auror casts a few detection spells, checking the entrance before giving their leader a short nod. With that confirmation, they quietly enter the shack, wands raised and at the ready. Holt looks around eyes scanning the darkened shack.
"Sir!" He shouts, gaining his superior's attention.
Remaining in position, they approach the bound and bloodied form hidden away in a darkened corner. A soft curse falls from Holt's lips as his eyes fall on the bound form, recognition flashing in his eyes.
"Answer me!" Hector Fawley, Minister of Magic bellows, his face mere inches from Hermione's own, spittle flying from his mouth and landing on her face.
Hermione curls her lips in distaste, wishing her hands were free so she could wipe the spittle now coating her face. Beside her, Newt tenses, their bound companions and the assembled crowd silent as the Minister continues his tirade.
"Hermione who?" He sneers, his words another laughable attempt to push her over the edge.
"Hermione Jean Granger." She drawls in her best imitation of the Malfoy Heir in a typical pureblood manner, her patience with the man and this damned Ministry completely obliterated.
Newt winces, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as the Minister begins to sputter at her words, Newt can only imagine what his older brother thinks of the entire scene. Knowing Theseus, despite looking entirely neutral with a perfected professional mask firmly in place, standing straight and at attention, there was surely scathing remarks and laughter playing on a loop in his mind. The slightest sliver of amusement noticeable only in his eyes and to those who know what to look for.
Newt's, of course, correct. Theseus stands bound, besides Head Auror Shafiq. The other man well aware of his subordinate's thoughts. Both men were exuding a cool and professional front, though their amusement is apparent if one does, in fact, know where to look.
The Minister looks ready to hex the young time travelling woman, wand clutched tight in hand, as his Undersecretary stalks forward, his bushy moustache quivering, once more doing a spot on impression of a purple-faced goldfish.
"The Veritaserum, bring me the Veritaserum now!" The Minister spits, fingers tightening around the hilt of his wand as he turns away, running a frenzied hand through his greying hair.
One of his underlings rushes forward, a small vial in hand as another shoves a seat behind Hermione, knocking her on her arse.
Newt's eyes widen in fear as he looks to Hermione, dread filling him to the brim, but Hermione does nothing more than glare defiantly from her seated position, lips pressed in a firm line, an angry flush colouring her cheeks.
Anyone could tell that this wasn't going to go well.
Queenie groans, ears ringing. She lifts her head, fingers poking and prodding her hairline, groaning once more as she pulls her fingers away, looking at them with blurred sight, noticing the sticky, warm, blood now staining her fingers.
Chaos. Utter chaos all around as her eyes fight to come into focus. People lay groaning, and crying, covered in blood, glass, metal and stone lay about them. Some fled the scene, mouths opening and closing as though they're shouting or screaming, but Queenie can't hear a thing. The uniformed guard lays still before the now exposed entrance, a puddle of blood surrounding him.
The ringing in her ears slowly begins to fade, screams and cries beginning to filter through, she notes an alarm is going off in the distance.
Grindelwald. The single name filters through her mind, attempting to pull herself to her feet. A wave of nausea hits her, falling forward on her knees, emptying the contents of her stomach onto the pavement below.
Wands at the ready, Tina and Madam Picquery make their way through the now ruined halls of the Ministry.
Tina coughs, unable to muffle the sound as the dust and debris irritate her lungs. Squinting her eyes, she notices the group of bodies lying still on the ground a few feet ahead of them.
Cautiously they approach, fear blasting through her body when her brown eyes register the gruesome scene; blood pools beneath some of the bodies while others lie completely untouched, seemingly killed by a spell as opposed to the partial cave-in or explosion.
Her breath catches, noting their uniforms and faces. She waves her wand over them. A diagnostics spell.
All dead. She notes in a mechanic tone.
Tina looks about frantically, intelligent and alert brown eyes canvassing the hall.
"Grindelwald has escaped." Madame Picquery begins from behind her. Tina turns, a curious look on her face as she takes in the small blue cloudy form floating before the President. "Alert the away team. Call all uninjured and available personnel. He must be found. Inform the International Ministries and call a meeting. Quickly, we have no time to lose." With those final words the ball of blue light shoots off, they share another look.
The Undersecretary curses and groans as Hermione's foot connects with the clothed, tender flesh between his legs.
Should have bound her legs. Newt snickers, pride warming him through with the slightest of smiles curving his lips, despite his fear for the woman building.
They didn't even bother taking a vote, resorting to questioning Hermione in such a way. They would have answers. The way in which they were extracted them from the witch meant little to them, as did the apparent legality of their methods it would seem.
"Stun her you fool!" The Minister shouts at the groaning, purple-faced man.
Newt furrows his brows as he takes note of Hermione mumbling quietly under her breath. Narrowing his eyes as he focuses on her softly spoken words as the Undersecretary slowly pulls himself to his feet.
"Come on, Granger." She mumbles quietly; a small metallic click registering in Newt's hearing as her lips curve up. "That's it, if you can escape from Gringotts on the back of a blind, angry dragon, you're capable of getting out of anywhere."
Newt's brows vanish into his hairline, mouth falling open in shock as a number of things happen all at once.
Her bindings drop to the floor with a quiet clank as the Undersecretary stands, wand pointed directly at her face, the first syllable of a stunning spell just beginning to leave his lips.
Wasting no time, Hermione throws herself to the side, her body colliding with Newt's, knocking the breath right out of him, sending the pair tumbling to the floor. Their bodies pressed tight, breathing in synch, Hermione straddling his waist as the stunning spell is loosed from the Undersecretary's wand.
The blue light shoots from his wand, whipping through the space where Hermione was only moments ago. The Undersecretary's eyes widen as they fall on the young, frazzled woman just entering the hall from the back of the room.
"Minister, an urgent message has—" She begins before the stunner connects, sending her flying into a wall, knocking her unconscious.
"A dragon?" Newt asks, an excited and curious glint in his eyes as he looks into Hermione's brilliant brown eyes, a small smile playing along the edge of his lips.
A sharp laugh tears from her lips as a handful of Aurors rush to the unconscious newcomer. Sending a gentle smile to Newt, she makes quick work of his binds using muggle methods before helping him to his feet, standing protectively before him much to his irritation.
"—arrived." The young woman groans as the Aurors revive her. "Grindelwald, he's escaped."
And with those final words noise fills the hall once more as the room descends into chaos.
In a seedy, dimly lit bar in the depths of Knockturn Alley, a few patrons sit alone at the small tables, Albus Dumbledore is among them.
Albus can't help but examine the young man at the bar. The young wizard cuts an attractive figure in his long, dark overcoat.
The young man turns, unusually dark eyes darting about the room as though looking for something. Albus notes the silvery mass of scars stretching across the one side of his face. Clearly, the young wizard was not ashamed of his scars, collar folded down and midnight-black hair pulled back.
Finally, the barkeep moves to attend to the young man, nodding to him in greeting, a sceptical and suspicious glint in his eyes.
When the young man whispers, Albus strains to hear the discreetly spoken words, taking note of the wizards obviously American accent. From the corner of his intelligent blue eyes, he notices that he isn't the only patron listening in.
"I'm looking for Newt, Newt Scamander." The young man says, his stance taking on a slightly defensive edge when the barkeep replies with a loud and boisterous laugh.
The Barkeeps voice easily carries throughout the room, catching the attention of all the bars occupants.
"You and everyone else." The Barkeep laughs with a condescending smile on his face. "Next you'll say you're looking for that mysterious Ms. Granger all of the papers have been speculating about."
A few of the patrons laugh darkly. The boy looks about, his fathomless, black eyes meeting Albus's own.
The young boy mumbles something under his breath, dropping a few coins onto the bar top then turns to leave. Albus's eyes follow the young man's path as he makes a hasty exit, alert blue eyes focusing on the glint of a silver pendant as it falls from the collar of his shirt.
The Deathly Hallows. His eyes widen in recognition, tossing a few coins onto the table, nodding at the bartender before following the young man out.
He'd recognize that symbol anywhere, old memories of his relationship with Grindelwald fighting their way to the surface as he looks out into the quiet street, quickly spotting the young man as he turns a corner and disappears out of sight.
Dumbledore rushes along the streets stalking the young man, eager to learn of how the boy had come to be in possession of such a symbol.
An elderly man with greying hair strolls out from the MACUSA and onto the chaos filled, streets of New York City. Whistling a jaunty little tune as he passes, frighteningly out of place in the wake of the disaster that had occurred only moments before.
From her position on the ground, Queenie takes note of the man, their eyes meeting, a smile stretching along his lips as he nods in greeting before making his way to the casually dressed man who's surprisingly unharmed.
Queenie's eyes widen, a jolt of recognition filling her at the sight of the two men meeting. The casually-dressed man gripping the others arm before a crack of thunder fills the air along with the aftermath of the chaos, the pair swiftly Apparating away. No one else notices, far too occupied with the destruction at hand.
"Tina." Her sister's name is the quietest whisper, voice drowning in the noise surrounding her.