"Credence!"

Credence gasped as a hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him into an alleyway between two tottering tenements on Pike Street. It wouldn't have been the first time a group of boys from the area, even those younger than he, had yanked him into an alleyway, thrown him up against the wall, and held him down for a beating. Except those boys always smelled of sweat and boiled cabbage, never expensive floral perfume.

And he didn't recall any of them having hair that was quite so blonde, either.

It took a long moment where Credence couldn't seem to process what he was seeing, because he wasn't being restrained… he was being hugged. By Iliana.

She released him, pulling back and looking up at him with wide, worried blue eyes. "I was so scared… When I saw in the paper about that black thing that attacked not far from where we were in the park that night, I was so worried you'd been hurt or…" She swallowed thickly.

There was a warmth settling deep in his bones as things that should have been instantly obvious slowly sunk through his befuddled brain. Iliana was here. She hugged him. Because she was… worried about him. For him. On his behalf. Because she… cared?

"I couldn't find another Second Salem rally so I couldn't come and see how you looked, and we never ran into each other around town. I couldn't think of anything better to do than to come down here and try to find you myself."

Come… down… here…

Panic seized Credence, obliterating the pleasant warmth that had been building in his chest, because Iliana was here, she was on Pike Street, where Ma held sway and where most people were perfectly content to allow the woman to do what she liked so long as she kept feeding their kids once a day. If Ma got her hands on Iliana, no one here would stop here from doing whatever she liked, up to an including burning her for witchcraft.

"You can't be here," Credence moaned, raising his hands to cover his eyes because he knew if he looked at her concerned face, lips parted and eyes looking up at him like he mattered he'd break and let her do whatever she liked. She didn't understand what was at risk, not just for him but for her. If he was caught it would be bad for him, but if they were caught together they'd both suffer Ma's wrath.

"What?" The offense in her voice made him lower his hands. Iliana had narrowed her eyes. She was upset, hands planted on her hips as she stared him down. "I have been out of my mind worrying about you, and you tell me… what? Go away?"

"No…" Credence tried to explain. "But if you're here… Ma's here, Chastity's here… It's too dangerous…"

"Dangerous," Iliana said slowly, and Credence watched in fascination as a plan came together behind her eyes.

Iliana knew it was foolish and foolhardy. She'd healed his back better than any doctor would have been able to had Credence gone to a hospital, she'd told him stories about exactly what kind of creature she half-was, but this was very different, somehow. This was a whole new level of trust.

Iliana's hand slipped into her purse and she pulled out her wand. It was not made by any of the wandmakers in the country, not Shikoba Wolfe or Violetta Beauvais. To purchase a wand one had to present their letter of acceptance to Ilvermorny, which Iliana had never received. Her parentage had been enough for the school to turn her away. The only reason Iliana had a wand now was her father. He'd labored for weeks to pull the thin willow switch into something workable, a single hair from Iliana's mother at the core of it all.

Now Iliana drew out her wand, Credence's eyes locking on it in a mixture of horror and fascination as she raised it and flicked sharply, whispering an incantation for a simple Notice-Me-Not charm. Now anyone looking down the alley or glancing out their window would find their eyes sliding over the space where they stood.

"No one will be able to see us," Iliana explained to him as she stowed her hand back in her purse. She found herself biting her lip as she looked up at him nervously. "Do you… feel better now?"

Credence didn't know what he felt. Part of him – the part he knew came from Ma and he couldn't decide whether he hated or appreciated – was screaming for him to grab the broken bit of brick by his feet and bring it down over her head, to remove the stain of evil from the world. But a far louder part of him was in awe of her, of what she could do. He'd long felt invisible, but she'd made it actually so and who knew what else she could do.

The only reason Credence didn't fully embrace that part of him was that it also included the swirling darkness inside of his stomach, the thing that growled and paced and begged to be released to let out it's anger…

Credence groaned and slid down the brick to sit on the ground, his knees forced tight to his chest by how close Iliana had been standing. He reached up, pulling off his hat so that he could bury his fingers in his hair.

"Credence?"

Iliana moved, side stepped and sitting down next to him. Credence thought to say something about her muddying her dress, but then he remembered how she'd laughed and waved him off at the fountain. She really could do magic, and that probably meant that little things like a spot on her clothes weren't a problem for her. She could wave that stick of hers – a wand, a real magic wand – and it would be clean and pressed.

"Credence, are you alright?" Iliana asked softly, and her hand came to lay on his bicep. Credence accepted the touch, welcomed it, in fact.

For so long he had been living a life that was hellish but at least he knew how to deal with it. Ma's rules formed strict guidelines and as long as he followed them he would remain reasonably okay. It wasn't a perfect life but it was one he was used to and, in a way, was comfortable with. It was familiar, and with familiarity came safety.

And then Iliana and turned all of that on its head. When he looked at her he saw the breaking of every single one of Ma's rules, saw the punishments she would rain down on the pair of them if she knew everything, and he knew he should shrink back but he didn't want to. Iliana offered the one thing she couldn't know that he craved more than anything else – her care.

She treated him like a real person. She talked to him, shared things about her life with him. Credence trusted her – with the knowledge of where he came from, with his little sister Modesty, with everything. She had seen his scars and instead of walking past him down the stairs as Chastity had she'd healed him, made him feel whole in a way he hadn't in… maybe ever.

"Credence…" Her hand was pulling back. She'd taken his silence for rejection and Credence was quick to move, to place his hand over hers to keep it in place. He didn't want to lose that small point of contact even as he boggled at his own audacity for daring to reach for her in such a familiar manner. But when he chanced a glance up at her face, unable to put aside the slight fear that he'd see disgust and rejection at his touch, she was smiling gently.

Iliana nodded encouragingly, pleased with him taking charge, in making it clear what he wanted. He hadn't wanted her to move her hand, and she was perfectly content to leave it where it was if that's what he wanted.

"Credence, you need to understand something," Iliana murmured, mind going back to the night by the fountain, specifically the end of it. She'd been launched through the air by a rush of power and she certainly hadn't attacked herself. As far as she knew, she was the only magical person in that park that night.

As far as she knew.

Iliana was fully aware that she had to take this carefully, that she had to be wary of pushing him too hard. That could cause a backslide and that was the last thing she wanted.

"If Mary Lou Barebone ever got her hands on a witch or a wizard, a real one," Iliana stressed, "she wouldn't be able to hurt them. We are too powerful for that. A few spells, a quick incantation… They wouldn't even need that. We can to a thing called Disapparation – we vanish one place and appear somewhere else. At the first sign of trouble, they would be able to escape her. You never need to worry about Mary Lou being able to hurt me."

"But that day," Credence insisted, trying to put aside the idea that Iliana could do such a thing for a moment or they'd never get past it. "She grabbed you and dragged you over the banister."

Iliana sighed. "We're not supposed to do magic in front of non-magical people. It's not legal. I couldn't do anything in the middle of Central Park without causing a scene and getting in quite a bit of trouble. But if it was really a life-and-death situation, that would be different. We're allowed to act in our own defense."

Credence nodded slowly, because that made sense. Witches weren't real, that's why everyone looked down their noses at his Ma when she gave her speeches. And yet he was sitting next to one, so they were obviously underground, and they couldn't do that if someone was... was turning people into frogs or cursing their enemies left and right. But… well, even regular folks were allowed to do things they weren't normally supposed to do if they were being attacked. So it made sense that magical folks would have the same allowances.

"What about... about kids?" Credence asked, because that was important. Iliana was an adult, she knew things, she was smart. But a little magical kid - he imagined this kid having blonde braids and blue eyes like Modesty - they might not be able to do that Disapparation thing that Iliana talked about. They were just kids, after all, they couldn't be expected to take care of themselves. That was why kids had parents - why most kids had parents.

But Iliana smiled, and Creedence twitched as her thumb began to move under his palm, stroking soothing sweeps along his jacket. He wished he wasn't wearing the thick fabric so he could feel it better, but his hand still rested on top of her glove and even this was heaven.

"It's called accidental magic," Iliana explained. "Children who aren't trained can still pull of amazing feats of magic, particularly is they're angry or scared. When I was little, I used to make fireballs over my crib and watch the lights. It terrified my sister the first time she saw it." Iliana chuckled, remembering how put-out Elvira had seemed when she'd told that particular story. Especially when she'd reacted instinctively and tried to douse the whole crib, only for the fireballs to burn all the brighter and flash colors when baby Iliana had wailed in protest at being soaked.

"Even babies can do it sometimes," Iliana continued to assure him. "It's not uncommon for magical children summoning toys or food to be one of the first signs of magic."

"First signs..." Credence said slowly. "So you don't... don't know if kids are magical? There's not some... some spell?"

Talking like this, thinking like this... it spun Credence's head. He was using words Ma would have washed his mouth out with soap for using in front of her and he was treating them like they were just words. He wasn't even sure he'd really believed in magic, not the way that Iliana talked about it - so matter-of-factly, like it was normal. Nothing about it was normal, not to him, not to Ma, certainly not to the general public. Magic was the territory of men in top hats with silk-lined capes, not angelic lounge singers.

Credence's mind flashed back to the stuffed toy in the window, the one Ma had burned and beaten him for stealing. That had just appeared in his arms, just like Iliana had said was common in kids. If that was one of the first signs of magic... That sort of thing had happened to him, and not just with the toy. Ma had beaten it out of him long ago and he'd thought he'd lost whatever it was that made him like that. He'd been delighted, because Ma had told him over and over until it had to be true that doing those things was evil and he was evil and he was going to hell. Doing them had caused him pain at Ma's hands - he'd been glad when they stopped, because it meant punishments for those strange things stopped.

"It's predictable in some ways," Iliana hedged. "There are... People born to a long line of magical parents are called purebloods. A person born to a magical and non-magical parent is called a halfblood. But there are situations where a magical child is born to No-Maj parents. They're called No-Maj-born. In this country, at least. And there are very rare cases when magical parents have a non-magical child. They're called Squibs. It's almost certain a magical parents will have a magical child. It's just a question of when that power will manifest. Some take earlier or powerful signs as an indicator that their child will be exceptionally powerful - things like levitating, like transfiguring things or making them appear - but that's all old wives' tales and nonsense."

He remained silent and Iliana leaned in.

"Have things like that ever happened to you, Credence?" she asked softly, and Credence twitched again.

"Can you read my mind?" he asked faintly, because it was apparently a perfectly reasonable assumption to make in her world. His world... Their world?

Iliana chuckled and shifted. She moved to sit on the side of her hip, her knees stacked and folded under Credence's bent legs. She pressed closer. She'd noticed long ago that he seemed to draw comfort from touch as much as he seemed to fear it. Sometimes he'd tried to avoid it for fear of setting him off, but now she suspected he was going to need all of the comfort he could get when it came to the next part of their conversation.

"No, I'm not a Legilimens," Iliana replied, and continued on, drawn by a random trail of thought, "although studies have shown that veela show a great proficiency for the mind arts and it's something I've considered experimenting with but never got around... to..." Iliana trailed off, because that wasn't what she was here to talk about and Credence had tensed up again and was looking at her fearfully and she needed to get back on topic. "Even if I could, you'd know if I was doing it," she assured him. "It's not a subtle thing. But have things like that ever happened to you Credence?"

Credence licked his lips. He'd never told anyone these things. Not Chastity. Not Modesty. He certainly never brought them up to Ma, and he's never had anyone but his family to talk to about anything. It seemed strange now, to speak about the things that had made him feel such shame and brought him such pain, but Iliana had asked and so he would answer.

"I wanted a stuffed animal I saw in the window of a toy store once," Credence whispered. "I was very young - maybe five? - and then it was in my arms. Once I... I got a set of crayons. And I loved them, I'd never been able to have anything like that before. And I was so scared I'd use them up but... they never got smaller. I gave them to Modesty, when she came along. She still uses them." Credence smiled faintly, remembering how on Modesty's sixth birthday - or the anniversary of the day she arrived home with Ma, rather - he'd slid her the box secretly. She'd absolutely glowed and Credence had felt so proud that he'd been able to make her happy.

"Thank you for telling me that, Credence," Iliana said, and she knew that pushing it further today might be too much for him. He was shaking slightly under her hand. Already she'd given him a lot of information, a lot to think about, so for now she just shifted, laying her head on his shoulder, and sat with him. Her thumb never stopped stroking his arm.


It wasn't a blaring Klaxxon - Elvira couldn't handle that kind of noise since the war - but it had the same effect. A breach in the wards sent a bolt of electricity down her spine. Elvira grunted as it happened but moved quickly. From her pocket she drew a small switchblade and flicked it out. A slice along her thumb drew a red line in its wake and as the blood welled and dripped, Elvira turned and pressed her hand to the mirror behind her. It flashed red as the barriers keeping people out slammed down around the Cactus Cat and whatever group had just appeared outside was trapped there.

Alfred, who was, as ever, seated at the bar not far from Elvira, turned and raised his wand. It let out a series of bangs and flashes that drew all eyes to him. Iliana stopped her singing and swaying and raised an eyebrow in Elvira's direction, taking in the smear of blood on the mirror behind her and the glow of her finger as she traced it up the cut, healing it. She nodded in understanding.

"Everybody, seems MACUSA's decided they hadn't dropped by in a while," Elvira called to the room, drawing laughs from some of her clients. Many of the regulars had been there for more than a few of the Auror raids. The dirty dealings that went on there were an open secret and the Auror Department had been trying for years to bust the place, but Elvira had never allowed it. Usually, it ended up being an exercise in amusement for those who weren't wanted by the Aurors.

"If you've got cause to not want to see those fedora-wearing glory-hounds," she continued, grinning widely, "then I suggest you vacate the premises. Otherwise, everybody else gets the traditional apology for any inconvenience."

"I'll take mine in advance, Ellie!" called a wizard she knew to be a werewolf from the back. Elvira waved her hand, snapping the drying rag she'd held through the air sharply.

"You get on out of here Jefferson, before you get me in trouble!"

"Alright, alright," the man chuckled before joining the cue of people heading for either the Floo or the back room where there was a small rug. It looked completely innocent, but the space that rug occupied was the only place in the Cactus Cat where people could Apparate in or out, and only trusted clients knew that.

There were a few minutes of ruckus while people who needed to be gone headed out and Elvira waved her hands, summoning their drinks and vanishing them, pushing in their chairs, and wiping away any still-smoking cigarettes and cigars from the ashtrays. Within five minutes the occupancy of the bar had been slashed and all evidence that anyone else had been there vanished. Alfred helpfully flicked his wand, vanishing the blood from the mirror, and Elvira nodded to him thankfully. Iliana waved her wand and the magical instruments behind her began to play. She picked up in the middle of the song she'd been singing. Elvira raised her hand and snapped, a sound that echoed strangely through the bar.

Not a second later, the door slammed open and Aurors poured in, wands drawn and harried expressions on their faces. Elvira smirked, having no doubt that they'd spent their time locked out trying frantically to barrage their way through her wards only to come up empty.

"Ah, Carneirus!" Elvira greeted cheerfully as the captain strode in, all bristling moustache and flabby cheeks. She nodded to and greeted a few more of the Aurors by name. "What brings you all by? If it's for Sprink Drink night, that's not until next week."

"Cut the hogwash, Blodgarmr, you know why we're here," Carneirus said sharply, swaggering his way up to the bar and placing an elbow on it. He leaned in confidently. "We received word that a known werewolf was spotted coming in here earlier tonight. I don't suppose you've seen Jefferson Bardou this evening?"

"I don't know that I know a Jefferson Bardou," Elvira said with wide-eyed innocence that was undermined by her face-splitting grin. She peered around at all of the Aurors questioningly. "Maybe if you had a photograph...?"

"You know what Jefferson Bardou looks like," Carneirus huffed. "He's a known associate of yours!"

Elvira tilted her head and feigned confusion. "How's he a known associate of mine if I've never known him?"

There was a sharp ba dum tss from the drum set behind Iliana, who covered her mouth with a hand to hide her laughter and quickly waved her fingers at the instruments, killing the spell keeping them animated.

"Spread out and interview everyone here!" Carneirus barked to the Aurors behind him. They snapped to, pulling out quills and notepads and approaching tables of patrons.

"If you're going to stay a while, have a round on me!" Elvira called, and waved her wand through the air in a series of sweeps. Bottles of elf-made wine lifted off the shelf behind her and poured glass after glass of the stuff. They settled onto trays that soared off through the Aurors. Carneirus gave her a filthy look and refused to take the glass that stopped near him, but the other Aurors were quite happy to take the offering, especially considering Elvira always gave them a glass of the good stuff when they stopped by the raid her bar. She was nothing if not a polite hostess.

"So, where's Goldstein?" Elvira asked curiously, noting the absence of one of the Aurors who usually came in with the raids and gave her wary or suspicious looks on a semi-regular basis.

Carneirus blinked, and for a moment the bluster faltered and they were talking like old friends as he shook his head sympathetically. "Wand Registry. Two months ago. Shame, but she never should have messed with that Barebone woman, no matter what she was doing to her children. That's No-Maj law, for No-Maj police."

At his side, Alfred winced in sympathy. He lifted his glass aloft and swirl the last half-centimeter of liquid in the bottom. "Tina Goldstein!" he said, and crossed himself before downing the last of it and slamming his glass down on the counter.

"Shame," Elvira murmured, and was surprised to find that she actually meant it. While she wasn't exactly fond of Tine Goldstein in the same way that she wasn't fond of any Aurors, it wouldn't be the same to have Carneirus storming in here every other month without her at his heels.


Elvira

You've posed quite a few difficult questions in your letter, though I don't think you realize it. I don't hold it against you, but please understand when I say that my departure from Hogwarts, while nontraditional, is nothing I am ashamed of. Like with you arrest, it's not something I would much like to talk about over owl post. Maybe when we're actually together we can talk about all the deeper things we've been skating around these past months, but not now.

Your comment about a potential Obscurial in New York is concerning. I read the press clipping you sent me and you're right, it lines up. The patterns of destruction, the giant black, smoky mass. It could be a duel gone wrong, and I think it's foolish to get too concerned before there's more information available. Perhaps it's just because of what we're involved in now - we're seeing Obscurials where there aren't any. If it turns out to be true, don't worry though! I shall hopefully soon be on my way to you in New York City, and with a successful version of the Ramirez ritual ready for use!

I too miss the days when it was all thunderbirds and teaching each other about our respective schools. They were lighter times. Hopefully soon we'll be back to that.

My friend in Istanbul has come through. I received my order of ingredients yesterday. I have to wait another two days to begin brewing to align the process with the phases of the moon, but thus far everything is progressing well. I hope the rest of the process goes this smoothly, though I confess there's a feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's hard to put a name to it, but if I were a dramatic sort of person, I'd say it was a feeling of doom, like this is fated to fail.

On yet another serious note, though I suppose in a different sort of way, thank you for your understanding about my idiosyncrasies. As I said in my last letter, I've never had the gift of making friends easily. That I've been able to become so close to you even though we've never met is a gift, especially now. I find myself hoping for a letter from you every day or wishing I had your response the moment I send off a new letter even though I know it's not practical. There have been times through all of this where I swear our correspondence has kept me sane.

Looking forward to success and a trip to the colonies.

Newt

Elvira sat back and stared at the letter, a blush on her cheeks. There was something in the tone of the last paragraph of Newt's letter that she liked very much, something that spoke to a closeness between them that she'd been afraid to presume for fear of overstepping and making things awkward between them. It would be too easy for Newt to simply stop responding to her letters if she put him off, and she was starting to feel a pit in her stomach at the very thought. Letters from Newt were a highlight these days, and losing them didn't bear thought.

"You're the color of a tomato."

Elvira looked up. She supposed it was on her, for choosing to read the letter the minute she got into the apartment, flopping down on the couch and holding it above her face. And Iliana wasn't wrong, that was for sure.

"Letter from Newt," Elvira admitted, rolling off the couch and straightening. She winced and nearly toppled, hastily grabbing her cane to keep herself upright.

Iliana tilted her head, observing her with curiously knowledgeable eye. "You've got a thing for him."

"I've never met him," Elvira countered as she had the last time Iliana brought this up.

It was getting harder and harder to deny though, especially when he wrote her things like the paragraph that had set her blushing in the first place. That was part of it. Nothing this... well, romantic happened, not to her. She was barkeep, neighborhood watch, enforcer, not a lover or the apple of someone's eye. Being in charge, the one people came to when things went wrong, the one who set things straight again, that was what she was comfortable with.

"How would you know anyway?" Elvira grunted uncharitably. "It's not like you've ever had a beau." It was harsh and she regretted it the minute she said it, but that was instantly wasn't away by the fact that now Iliana was the one blushing. "Annie?" Elvira asked faintly.

Iliana huffed and stuck her nose in the air. "I'm off to bed, since you're in such a foul mood. Have a good night."


Newt

There was another raid on my place tonight. Maybe if we're lucky, there will be one while you're here so you can see what happens. I lower the wards and we all listen to the Aurors try - unsuccessfully - to break through them while everyone who isn't on entirely friendly terms with the law gets themselves out. Then I let the Aurors in, we bandy words for a while, they tell me whatever nonsense they've made up to justify the raid, and I serve the Aurors a glass of expensive elf-made wine while they interview my patrons. It's all great fun, if one ignores the fact that half the bastards who have to leave duck out on their bills and my books are off for days until they come back and settle up.

Then again, maybe it's better if you're not there, given how much you get up to, Mr. Scamander. I'd hate to see you get hauled off on my account. Then again, they'd probably haul me off too. Maybe we could share a cell? That'd be cozy, wouldn't it?

I wasn't certain what sort of ingredients you had access to over there, so I sent along what I could of what I had in stock. I'm a decent enough brewer, but it's never been my strong suit, so my stores are never what they should be when I actually sit down to make something. Thankfully a friend and patron of mine is one of the best illegal brewers in the city, so I was able to get most of what I sent you from him. Alfie is an absolute master with potions - literally. Well, sort of. He attained his Potions Mastery, but the rank was stripped from him after the first time he was busted selling Veritaserum on the black market. Still, the fact that he had mastery at all, however briefly, says a lot I believe.

I'm not good with potions, but my wards are something else, Newt, and yes, I know I'm bragging, but my wards are worth bragging about. I don't know how you feel about the subject - most people are touchy and consider it on the very edge of Dark magic - but I'm a dab hand at blood magic. It's really not as bad as people think - a drop of blood here and there, a quick healing spell, and everything right as rain and your magic is probably twice as strong as it was before.

I know you must be busy with the Ramirez ritual, so I'll keep this short and sweet, and don't feel like you have to write me back if you haven't got the time. You focus on your poor Obscurial, I can wait. Just promise you'll tell me how things go with her.

As always, good luck.

Elvira

Newt sat back, biting his lip. Blood magic was... grey. Most people considered it entirely dark and, frankly, the idea made Newt a bit uncomfortable as well. He wasn't squeamish by any means, but the idea of drawing power from pain and the sacrifice of life, albeit more metaphorical, didn't sit well with him. The idea of Elvira doing such a thing brought to mind a flash of an old anti-Dark magic poster he'd seen in History of Magic, Elvira took the place of the witch who was holding a dagger over and innocent and terrified-looking fluffy rabbit, a wicked grin on her face.

But Newt was also very certain that the woman who'd been helping him patch up thunderbirds and Obscurials wasn't the sort of woman to sacrifice rabbits to strengthen spells. He supposed, the more he thought about it, he could say that Potions was a Dark topic because it required animal parts, if one was going to use that logic. The idea of Elvira doing blood magic was one that would take some time to settle, but already he could feel a curiosity growing - he'd never met anyone who actually practiced blood magic, and he had questions. Several thousand, in fact, but they would have to wait...

Newt glanced at the bubbling cauldron, willing time to go faster. Three days and the potion would be ready and the moon would be in the right position for the ritual. Three days, and he'd have his answer on whether or not the ritual would work. Three days, and he'd find out whether he was going to be meeting Elvira in triumph or defeat.