Percival stood up slowly, his hands braced against the mahogany desk as if he was in need of the support it provided. There was now a guarded, unreadable look on his face – Newt had clearly hurt his feelings.

"I'm sorry," Newt said, rubbing his neck - he regretted snapping at Percival already, the man had clearly taken it hard. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"No," came the sharp reply. "I'm the one who should apologize. It's not my place to-"

Cutting himself off, Percival offered Newt an uncharacteristically shaky smile. His eyes remained unreadable.

"That is to say, I was merely… surprised." The hand he ran through his hair was trembling. " I hadn't expected- Although, I do understand, of course. It's… understandable. It should have been expected."

Newt had only ever snapped at Percival a few times since the beginning of their friendship, so it was no wonder it had now taken Percival aback, it was no wonder it had upset him.

"I'm nevertheless sorry that I upset you," Newt wished for him to know.

His apologies were waved off.

Percival frowned down at his desk and began to pile up his files. His movements were a little clumsy and it almost looked like he was picking up case files to pile in random – to give his hands something to do rather than to actually organize anything.

"I only want you to be happy, Newt, truly. I wish you-"

He cleared his throat

"I wish you a nice evening. With Ipston."

It was unlikely going to be a "nice evening" and Newt opened his mouth to say as much, but just then there was a knocking sound and Miss Pines pulled the door open, interrupting whatever it might have been Newt would have ended up saying.

Miss Pines didn't step in. Instead she craned her neck as if to see the office better without having to enter. Her eyes, framed by round glasses, instantly shoot up to the ceiling and her grip on the door handle remained tight like she was being cautious just in case the ceiling had turned into a void that would try to suck her in.

In her defense, that had happened just before lunch when Newt had been in his suitcase, unaware of it, but the danger had since passed. Percival – along with Rodilus and Bariton – had already managed to lift the curse and the witch responsible – having stood in the lobby, screaming and insisting that Percival was "Morgana herself reincarnated" – had been arrested. There were no longer voids in the office, the ceiling was once more its regular self.

"Miss Pines," Percival acknowledge her just as Newt offered her a reassuring smile. "It is safe to come in – the void is gone, and I did promise you that I would try warn you beforehand if something similar was to occur again."

"Yes, sir," she said, finally letting go off the handle and lowering her gaze from the ceiling down to her employer. "In a state of emergency, however, you might not be able to warn me and therefore I'm being cautious as to not put myself in the harm's way again. As your secretary, it is my responsibility to aid you – I take great pride in that and I do my best to prevent any hindrances that you might face when doing your job: I find missing paperwork, I schedule your meetings, I will try to not get sucked in voids so you won't need to again divide your attention between my safety and lifting a curse put on the ceiling of your office."

"Your work ethic is admirable," said Percival, inclining his head, and Miss Pines blushed, visibly pleased. "Although the appearance of the void was rather unexpected and I can hardly blame you for almost getting sucked in it – could have happened to anyone. I'm glad we managed to get you out in time."

"Thank you, sir."

She adjusted her glasses and gave Newt a glance before focusing her brown eyes back on Percival.

"Senior Auror Elisa Ipston is here to see Mr. Scamander, sir. Should I show her in?"

Elisa Ipston was there.

She was there!

The discussion Newt had been having with Percival had momentarily distracted him from her impending arrival, but now she was there right outside of the office, based on Miss Pines' words, and suddenly Newt was a bundle of nerves again.

Newt was going to be sick, that's how nervous he was.

He sprung up to his feet and snatched his jacket from the armrest of the sofa. Fumbling with it quite a bit, he managed to sneak his arms into the sleeves. He was supposed to be a dependable companion to Miss Ipston for the evening – a presence to chase away all unwanted suitors, a force between her and unwanted attention – and as such, the least he could do was to wear his jacket and to look presentable, as Queenie had put it.

Percival's stare was heavy on his neck.

"Yes," was the answer Miss Pines was given. "Do show Ipston in. She's here to see Newt. It's not my place to prevent her from doing so."

"Very well, sir," came Miss Pines' reply.

It didn't sound like she approved. In fact, it sounded like she didn't much like Miss Ipston at that moment – even though Queenie had mentioned that the three of them – Queenie, Miss Pines and Miss Ipston – did gymnastics together on Tuesdays and were friends due to that.

Miss Pines pulled the door more widely open and Miss Ipston's high heels click-clacked as she walked in, the fringes of her white flapper dress giving each of her steps quite a lot of movement.

With a frown sent in Newt's way, Miss Pines left and closed the door quietly behind her.

Miss Ipston took in the office before her blue eyes landed on Newt. Her cheeks dimpled when she smiled.

"Darling!" she called out and it took Newt a moment to realize that it was he whom she was referring to. By the time he realized this, she was already holding him by the arms and standing up on the tips of her toes kissing his cheek in greeting.

Newt was supposed to be her dependable companion for the evening, but he almost pushed her off him, so startled he was by her unexpected closeness, by the liberty she took in kissing his cheek, in calling him "darling" , but at the last moment he remembered his manners. Some people kissed cheeks by way of greeting, and even if he didn't like it, it was better to just endure and to move on. Newt certainly shouldn't use force like he had done with Leta – that never ended well for anyone.

She smelt like roses, and her blonde curls and the white feather on her pearly headband tickled his nose. The feather reminded him of some of his feathered creatures and he had a sudden urge to take it into his suitcase. In all actuality, he wanted to take himself in the suitcase, to hide there among his creatures, but since that would have been rude and since he was doing Queenie a favor – and since he didn't want to disappoint Miss Ipston or to make her feel bad – Newt stayed rooted to the spot instead of running to his suitcase like he so very much wanted to do.

"So wonderful of you to accompany me to the AFDC, Newt. I'm looking forward to this evening."

She pulled back and gave him a wink. Her lips were painted red, and Niffler – had Newt not locked it in the suitcase – would have certainly tried to get its paws on the pearls hanging low around her neck.

"Uh, g-good evening, s-sir," she hastily added as if as an afterthought, and suddenly a black handkerchief came to Newt's line of sight. He had just enough time to see the golden "P.G." embroidered on it before it was brought up to his cheek.

Percival stepped in front of him and Miss Ipston was forced to move aside – with Percival between them, Newt felt instantly a bit better, nervous though he still was, as well as startled for having been kissed on the cheek without any kind of a fore warning whatsoever.

Percival didn't meet his eyes, even as he wiped Newt's cheek gently with the handkerchief.

"You've got lipstick on your face." His voice was low, it had an edge to it. "Can't have you running around like that, can we."

He was always so careful when it came to looks.

Soon, far too soon, his comforting presence withdrew and he stepped back, putting the handkerchief back in his pocket.

"You're going to the Annual February Dueling Competition?" The words were addressed to Miss Ipston, who hurried to nod like he had just demanded her a status report on some urgent case.

"Yes, sir, we are!"

Percival didn't say anything more to that. He regarded her quietly, only his profile visible to Newt.

The long-case clock began to chime.

"Perhaps-" she swallowed audibly when they had stood there in silence for long enough for the clock to have struck six times. "P-Perhaps we should get going, Newt? Wouldn't want to get poor seats, would we."

She let out a shaky chuckle. While she had been confident upon entering, she now looked nervous. Newt could sympathize – now that they would be going to the AFDC, she must have been worried about all the male attention she would get, Queenie had explained this to Newt beforehand.

Somehow her nervousness made him calmer, it eased the tightness of his throat and he even managed to find his voice again.

"Yes," he said, good-mannered enough to offer her his arm. "Shall we?"

She took his arm – just as his other arm was seized as well. Surprised, he looked at Percival – who, upon meeting his eyes, instantly let go, looking a little taken aback like he hadn't expected to find himself grapping Newt's arm.

Frowning at the floor, Percival cleared his throat and shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets.

"Have a lovely evening."

"Yes, sir!" came Miss Ipston's half-shout of an answer like she had taken the good evening wish as a direct order. "Thank you, sir!"

"Thank you, Percival." Newt's answer was softer. "You, too."


The Annual February Dueling Competition was held in the dueling hall in the second floor of the department building. Usually the hall was reserved for Auror training, but this evening it was full of wizards and witches, only some of whom were Aurors, judging from the lack of uniforms. Everyone was nevertheless, as Queenie had told Newt, dressed in fine clothes, and there were a lot of feathers and fringes and top hats. Silver and diamonds and pearls glimmered in the light of the chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling.

It was a large hall. The area in the middle of it all, reserved for dueling, was empty, but around it there were round tables and cheerful people sitting at those tables. The balconies above were full of people as well, and among the crowd there were goblins going around, calling out for anyone who wanted to place bets on the outcome of the duels, and waiters and waitresses went from table to table, taking orders for food and wine later to be served at each table.

The hall was as full of noise as it was people. On a podium in the back of the hall, there was a group of wizards playing speedy jazz with double bass and trumpets and all, but it was meant as background noise and no-one was specifically listening to it. Instead, people were chatting with their companions and even the occasionally bursts of laughter were drowned in the general noise.

Newt wanted to cover his ears with his hands, but Miss Ipston seemed to enjoy the lively atmosphere. She had been quiet and serious when they had left Percival's office, but a bright grin had formed on her face the moment they had been seated at a table right next to the dueling area – and it hadn't left her lips since.

Their table had room for seven people, but the five other chairs remained empty, despite of the considerable crowd around them. In the middle of their round table, there stood a fairy (Ruppler, her name was, Newt found after introductions – "And I'm working so leave me be!"), armed with a tiny bow and arrows the size of matches. Every time someone tried to join them at the table, Ruppler would shoot them with an arrow and the table would say, "Pardon us, sir or madam, but this table is RESERVED FOR SENIOR AURORS AND THEIR GUESTS."

"We reserve a table every year," Miss Ipston explained. "We, as in Senior Aurors. This year it was Bartolomeus' responsibility and it sure looks like he did a fine job at it. Too bad everyone else was put on duty for this evening, but it's like that every year – we reserve a table for us all just in case, but usually only a few of us can actually make it. Last year it was just Kilonski and his wife. This year only me, it seems. And you, of course."

"This is one of the best tables," she added. "We'll have a great view on the dueling – if we're not careful, some of the curses might even hit us!"

The prospect seemed to excite her.

Newt tried to find something to say to that, but couldn't.

He fidgeted on his chair, eyed the empty dueling area right next to them and trailed a finger along the flower embroideries on the white tablecloth.

"What are your thoughts on werewolf rights?" he finally managed to start a conversation, relieved that he had had the sense to think of discussion topics beforehand – he would have been such bad company otherwise.

Miss Ipston, having been looking at the people at other tables, turned to blink at him.

"Excuse me?"

"W-What are your thoughts on werewolf rights?"

She stared at him – and then burst out laughing like she thought he had just said something particularly humorous.

"Oh, Newt," she chuckled even as she turned her gaze to the surrounding tables again. "For a moment there, I almost thought you were asking in all seriousness like some kind of a beast sympathizer. 'What are your thoughts on werewolf rights?' Rights, indeed! Like those filthy monsters deserved any other 'right' than a silver bullet in the head."

Newt could no longer look at her. He had a bitter taste in his mouth.

All alone in a noisy crowd forced to spend time with someone ignorant, getting laughed at. It was almost like being back at Hogwarts again, except no-one had yet taken any points from him.

He missed Percival.

In all honesty, Newt had half a mind to leave, but he had promised to Queenie that he would company her friend and a promise was a promise – he couldn't leave, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Werewolves are regular human beings for most of the time," he said which drew Miss Ipston's attention back to him. "The wolf takes over for one night a month, but for the rest of the month, werewolves are just regular witches and wizards, like you and I. They, too, have dreams and fears."

Miss Ipston wrinkled up her nose.

"I once arrested one of those monsters for biting a toddler," she said, leaning back in her chair, playing with the pearls around her neck. "I took the girl to The Sleeping Alicorn and I was the one who had to explain to her distraught parents what had happened. Did the monster who bit that three-year-old have dreams when he wasn't in his wolf form? Hmm, probably. Fears? Yes, entirely possible. Do I care? Fuck no!"

"But what of the child?" pressed Newt. "What of the little girl? What of her dreams and fears?"

Miss Ipston frowned.

"What do you mean? What of them?"

"If she s-survived, she would have turned into a werewolf, too," Newt reminded her gently. "One night each month she would have spent as a wolf, but the rest of the month she would have been a little girl. Do you not think that she should have had rights? That she should have been treated in a humane manner?"

She didn't answer, just kept on looking at him blankly.

"If," Newt licked his lips nervously, but dared on, "if werewolves would be allowed to attend school, to get educated. If employers could grant werewolves the time of the full moon off – at least the night of the full moon itself, possibly a few days after that to recover – most of werewolves would be able to work just like all the other wizards and witches. Working would improve their financial situation, it would give their life more meaning and purpose – and do wonders for their self-esteem – and not nearly so many of them would be forced to turn to a life of crime."

She looked away.

"Let us not ruin the evening," was all she had to say. "Do change the topic, if you please."

Although he was used to such reactions, Newt sighed.

She probably wouldn't want to talk about house elves' rights either.

Suddenly the smell of alcohol hit Newt, pungent and piercing, and in the next instant a shadow fell over them.

"Aren't you a lovely one?"

It was said in a slurred voice. When Newt looked up, he saw a giant of a man looming over them leaning on the back rest of Miss Ipston's chair for support. He was tall, taller even than Newt, and his muscles bulged through his tight brown suit. He had a leer on his bearded face and his vest hung undone, red tie untied.

Miss Ipston was regarding the man over her shoulder coolly with narrowed eyes.

"I suggest you move along," she said.

Newt was there to defend Miss Ipston from any unwanted advances, and so he now stood up to face the man, the wand in his pocket a solid, reassuring pressure against his thigh. He hoped he wouldn't need to use it.

"Please, sir," he addressed the leering man, "the lady isn't interested. Kindly leave her be."

The leer got an outright dirty edge to it. The man stepped closer, close enough for Newt to smell his foul breath, the alcohol on him, the faint smell of urine.

"Don't mind if I do." He licked his lips slowly. "Seeing as I wasn't talking to the lady in the first place. You, on the other hand, I would like to get better acquainted with. Ever been fucked from behind by a real big dick?"

The man was talking to him?

It took Newt completely off guard. The way the man stared at his body – pupils dark with lust, gaze roaming everywhere – had him wanting to shield himself from the hungry eyes. His voice got stuck in his throat, he stood frozen in place, unable to think of anything to say.

"Fuck off," Miss Ipston spoke on his behalf.

She, too, had risen to her feet, and she now pushed Newt back to come standing between him and the man. While she was petite enough for the top of her head to barely come up to Newt's shoulder, she had the stance of someone used to fighting. She suddenly looked like the Senior Auror she was, even the feather on her headband was shivering like it was trying to be intimidating.

"I'll count to three," she said calmly, a dark undertone in her voice, "and if you've not disappeared by then, there'll be consequences."

"You can't arrest me," the man sniffed, looking at her down his nose. "It's not illegal to make a bit of a suggestion to a fuckable budgie."

Fuckable budgie. That was something Newt had never been called before. He didn't like it.

"Who said anything about arresting?" Miss Ipston demanded. "Not me, that's for sure. My point was – and remains to be – that I'd be delighted to take you to Director Graves, if you don't leave my friend be. I'm sure Director Graves would be equally delighted to have a chat with you, seeing as the 'fuckable budgie' in question is really quite special to him."

As usual, just the mention of Percival's name was enough to get a reaction. The man's leer disappeared like it had never been there and he took a hasty step backwards, looking from Miss Ipston to Newt with visible alarm. He raised his hands in front of him as if to protect himself.

"I didn't know that was Graves' bird!"

Newt almost preferred to be called "that" to "a fuckable budgie".

"Shouldn't matter," Miss Ipston stated. "Crude suggestions like that do not belong in the AFDC. I'm going to memorize your face for future references. Now, do get lost."

The man hastened to do just that.

When they sat down, it occurred to Newt that she hadn't seemed all that burdened with dealing with the man. The next time he saw Queenie, he would tell her that Miss Ipston was more than capable of taking care of herself – she wouldn't need Newt or any other man to accompany her anywhere again, that was for sure.

"Much good I am," he said to her, ashamed, "freezing up like that. I'm here to defend you – and you end up being the one to defend me."

She patted his hand, smiling once more.

"When it comes to crude sexual advances like the one that gentleman just made," she said, "it takes you off guard, no matter who you are. You don't expect it, and even if you do, your reaction can still be unpredictable. Many freeze up, nothing to be ashamed of – it's a natural reaction for something as unpleasant as that. Besides, it's my job to defend others. I wouldn't be much of an Auror, if I hadn't done something - and Graves would have had my head on a block, that's for sure."

"Um," she hastened to add, sheepish, "perhaps not mention that last part to him, okay?"

That was the moment Rodilus dropped down onto the chair on Newt's other side. He touched his fedora by way of greeting Newt before giving Miss Ipston the finger by way of greeting her.

"Bastard number one made it here after all, it seems," Miss Ipston sounded delighted. "Don't you look dapper tonight, Hamsipood."

He did. Black suit, blue tie, the fashionable fedora – Rodilus did look dapper.

"If I didn't know better, I might take you for a gentleman."

"If I didn't know better, I might take you for a lady," Rodilus shot right back with a smirk. "Seriously, Ipston. You clean up nicely."

"I sure do," she agreed, giving her curls a bit of a touch. "It took thirty-three charms to complete the look, but it should do it – I should look nice enough to have done my part for Plan G, don't you think."

"Sure."

Rodilus wrapped his arm around Newt's shoulders and gave him a wink.

"You know, freckles, if I didn't know better, I might take you and Ipston for a pretty sweet couple. You look good together."

Newt sputtered, both Rodilus and Miss Ipston laughed.

"Let me buy you both a drink," said Rodilus, and like always when it came to Rodilus, Newt just couldn't find his voice, to refuse or otherwise.