Iliana wasn't at all delighted by what she was doing, but she was also fairly certain that she didn't have another option. Or at least, that she didn't have a better one. Elvira was fairly well-versed in magical law after flouting it successfully for most of her life, but there was a difference between criminal laws and civil ones. Iliana knew that, which was why, at approximately ten o'clock in the morning on a crisp fall Tuesday, she was standing out in front of the Woolworth Building.

She took a deep breath, drew the fur-lined collar of her coat tighter around her jaw, and darted across the street, dodging cars skillfully. Her heels clicked on the steps as she strode up, not to the main doors, but off to the side, where a bored-looking guard in a red uniform was waiting next to a door topped with an owl. Iliana approached, nodded to him, and he merely flicked his wand subtly at the owl as she stepped into the fast-spinning revolving door.

It took her a moment to gather herself, as her eyes told her she should be stepping right into path of a man carrying an expensive-looking leather briefcase in the lobby. Instead, she stood easily in a room with a ceiling that was nearly 700 feet high. Iliana bit her lips, staring at the monument to the Salem Witch Trials. She felt deeply uncomfortable, like she didn't belong here. All the other witches and wizards moving about were just that, witches and wizards, with nothing extra thrown in. Everywhere she looked, she could see magical creatures with being status - much like vela - being used as servants. The house elves manning the wand-polishing and shoe-shining benches, the goblins working as bellboys on the elevators. None of them were doing anything above menial, mind-numbing labor and Iliana felt a surge of sympathy for them - also a frission of fear, because that was what she had very nearly been consigned to after being denied entry to Ilvermorny on the basis that it was unfair to the other students to expect them to attend lessons with a half-human.

Iliana hustled across the large, arched bridge across the gap in the center of the room towards the bank of elevators, drawing her coat tighter around her throat once more, although this time it wasn't against the cold. She stepped into the elevator where a goblin with a long stick to press the higher buttons looked up at her, a dark look on his brow.

"Wand Registry, please," Iliana said softly, and the goblin pressed the button with a huff. The doors closed and Iliana let out a breath, feeling oddly safer in the small, enclosed space.

She didn't get along well with any of the Aurors, but the one she got along with best was probably Tine Goldstein. The woman had always seemed just a little less judgmental towards Iliana compared to some of the others. She was a safe choice too, given that she was technically no longer an Auror and had apparently been flung from the department in disgrace - that was the only way anyone ended up in Wand Registry. Goldstein was Iliana's best option for getting the answers she needed.

It was easy to see why Wand Registry was considered a punishment as she stepped off of the elevator and looked in the direction of the arrow on the sign on the wall in front of her. It pointed to a low-ceilinged section of the building with lines and lines of desks that seemed to all be spilling paper onto the floor from overflowing trash cans and filing cabinets. It was poorly-lit and oddly cold, and Iliana shuddered at the idea of ending up in a place like this, especially coming from an exciting department like the Aurors.

Tina Goldstein wasn't hard to find - Iliana recognized her easily, her desk towards the back of the Wand Registry department and looking the relatively neatest of any of them. Several others looked up at her with glazed eyes as she passed before turning back to their work like they hadn't even registered consciously that she was there. Iliana wondered if half the department was under the Imperius - she'd never seen so many slack faces.

Her clicking heels announced her and by the time she reached Tina's desk, the ex-Auror was already staring at her incredulously, recognizing her white-blonde hair and luxurious clothes easily.

"Velikova?" Tina demanded incredulously, keeping her voice low. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see you," Iliana explained, perching on the edge of the desk and looking around nervously for prying eyes. Not a single person moved for anything other that to shuffle papers or scrawl something on a form. "I have a legal question."

Tina narrowed her eyes. "It's a little suspicious to hear that, coming from someone who's half-Blödgarmr."

Iliana's hands clenched, the leather of her gloves squeaking slightly as her eyes narrowed. It wasn't often she felt the need to get nasty with someone, but the Aurors did tend to bring it out in both her and her sister. Besides, she wasn't here about herself. She was here about someone important to her, and she wanted to get in and get out fast, without trading barbs with a smart-mouthed ex-Auror, no matter whether or not said ex-Auror was almost tolerable most of the time.

"The convenient thing for me is that if you tell anyone, no one will care what a Wand Registry witch has to say," Iliana shot back bitterly. "I just need a question answered and I'll be out of your hair, Goldstein. I can assure you, I like being in MACUSA even less than you like having me here."

Tane sat back in her chair, twiddling a cheap pheasant feather quill between her fingers. she observed Iliana carefully for a moment before her features softened slightly. "Fine," she allowed. "What's your question?"

"I have a hypothetical situation," Iliana began, and Tina snorted.

"I'm sure it's entirely hypothetical."

Iliana narrowed her eyes, but continued. "What if a magical person had been raised by No-Majs for the majority of their life? Would there be any legal way to have them removed if the No-Maj household was abusive?"

Tina sat forward, observing Iliana carefully. "Who do you know that's magical who has been raised by No-Majs?"

"It's purely hypothetical," Iliana reminded her saccharinely, "if you'll recall."

Again Tina scoffed. "Well, something like that wouldn't happen."

"And why's that?"

"Ilvermorny has a record book that notes down the birth of every magical child in the country, even the No-Maj-borns. If there was such a child, there would be a record and they would have been taken to Ilvermorny, where the abuse would have been discovered and the child would have been removed and made a ward of the magical state," Tina recited, sounding like she'd swallowed a law book.

"But say it did happen," Iliana insisted, and Tina shook her head.

"It couldn't, that's what I'm telling you. Ilvermorny's book has been around since the school was founded. Isolde Sayre herself enchanted it. It doesn't make mistakes. Besides, MACUSA could only get involved up until the child was a legal adult at 18. How old is your hypothetical child?" Tina challenged.

Internally swearing, Iliana was forced to admit, "Older than that. But just say that..."

"It. Couldn't. Happen," Tina gently insisted. "The only possible way would be if a magical child immigrated to this country, in which case they would have had to go through the proper channels with MACUSA and we would have given the name to Ilvermorny and added it to our own records of magical citizens."

"And if someone snuck into the country with a child?" Iliana continued to challenge.

Tina huffed. "I suppose in the event that a staggering group of slip-ups and coincidences happened then yes, it's theoretically possible. But it's all moot anyway, because MACUSA rarely intervenes in domestic affairs, and even then, only when the child in question is still a child. You said your hypothetical friend is of age. That means there's really only one thing that can be done."

"Which is?" Iliana asked eagerly.

"He can leave," Tina said firmly. "If he's an adult, then he can leave the situation he is in and find a better place to live."

"With what money?" Iliana demanded angrily. "You're saying that he has to choose between living penniless on the street or being beaten to within an inch of his life every few days, and those are his options?"

Tina threw up her hands. "I didn't say there were good options, Velikova. At this point, your friend has aged out of any protection MACUSA could offer, so it's up to him to get into a better situation. Take up a collection, maybe, or help him find a job," Tina suggested.

Iliana eyed her coldly. "Yes, because it's so easy for those of us who never graduated from Ilvermorny to find work in the magical world."

She turned away from the desk, ignoring Tina's calls for her to come back, hands fisted at her side. So MACUSA's hands were tied, were they? Well, Iliana's weren't and it would hardly be the first time she did something legally ambiguous for the right reasons, and there had never been a better reason in her mind than to get Credence away from Mary Lou Barebone, away from the situation he was trapped in, just away from everything. He didn't deserve that, no one deserved that, and once he was out form under that wretched woman's thumb the pair of them would be free to...

Iliana froze. To what? What did she have planned after that? Because apparently while she had little to no details for this plan, she had already decided that his life in the future was going to involve her somehow if he would allow it. How could she not? He was one of the sweetest, gentlest souls she'd ever met, and it was a crime against nature that someone like him had to go through what he did. She wanted to protect him, wanted fiercely to be the one to guide him into the magical world properly - well, as properly as she was able - and show him the wonder it held. She wanted... to be next to him. For an as-yet undetermined but definitely lengthy amount of time.

Iliana paled. Oh my.

"Are you getting on are you just gonna stare at the wall like it killed your toad?" barked the goblin bellboy. Iliana hastened onto the elevator.

"Going up," she said weakly, although she felt very certain it was exactly the opposite.

Elvira,

It didn't work. I don't know what happened. I don't know what to write. I don't know anything.

I'm coming via Savannah, Georgia. Should arrive in approximately two weeks. Will come to the Cactus Cat to meet you, if you're still amenable.

Newt

Elvira stared at the page in horror, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was hands down the shortest and least personal letter she'd ever received from him, and no wonder. For weeks now their letters had centered on their mutual goal of helping the poor Obscurial girl and saving her from the inevitable death that loomed over her. And yet for all their planning and scrambling for ingredients and conferred back and forth, the girl had died and if Elvira felt this wretched for having failed, she could only imagine how Newt was feeling.

He had hinted more than once that he wasn't a people person and that he was far more comfortable with his animals than he was with people. Already he'd gone out on a limb to try and help this girl and her family, spent weeks and weeks trying first to slow the degradation caused by the Obscurus, and then halt it entirely. Now he was faced with having to tell them that it had all been for nothing and that their daughter was gone despite all their efforts.

Elvira wished that she could be there for him and in that moment she absolutely hated MACUSA and their ban on travelling. Taking into consideration the time it would take to navigate the red tape, if she were a free witch she could have been in Sudan by tomorrow night and at Newt's side consoling him. She could have held his hand and rubbed his back as he cried - and she knew he could cry, he was a gentle soul like that - and she would offer up as many platitudes as they could both stomach. Perhaps she'd bring another bottle of Spike's reserve along with her and they'd get pissed drunk to drown their sorrows.

But she couldn't do any of that, because as much as she wanted to, she couldn't be with Newt right now. He was on his own in a foreign country to deal with this gut-wrenching loss. That poor family... Elvira wasn't sure who she felt more sorry for, though she knew who she most wanted to comfort. Being by someone's side in troubled times was never a fun experience, she knew that well, but it was a necessary thing and she wanted nothing more than to offer Newt a helping hand, a shoulder to cry on, whatever he needed.

But all she could offer, Elvira thought bitterly as she reached for a bit of parchment, were a few scrawled words. But then her eyes caught sight of something else among her stationary and she thought better.

Newt stared at the letter in his hand. It had arrived before he'd left the village... sort of. Someone had to run after him to catch him and hand it off, but he'd at least managed to get a hold of it. He'd felt a woosh of relief when he saw it was from Elvira - he needed her words right then - until his somewhat numbed brain finally registered exactly what he was holding. The blood-red envelope was familiar. She'd sent him one before, and Newt doubted that this one would be so friendly.

He'd hit it with a Stasis charm to keep it from exploding before he got around to it and shoved it into the pocket of his blue overcoat with a sick feeling of dread. Elvira had done everything she could, had worked on the problem from the other side of the world, had offered up very personal information about herself, and even sent along a very expensive bundle of potions ingredients to make it possible for him to help the Obscurial. But in the end he had stuffed it up despite her going far and away beyond what anyone could have asked of her, and a young girl had died. He'd put that weight on her conscience as well, and now she was writing to tell him to sod off - oh, and she'd do it in some charmingly colloquial way, too, he just knew it - and not bother coming anywhere near her bar when he finally hauled his sorry carcass to New York.

Newt knew he couldn't avoid the letter forever, but that didn't stop him from putting it off until he was alone in his cabin on the ship sailing to Savannah, muffling charms scattered everywhere to contain what would no doubt be a deafening tongue-lashing, and not even close to emotionally ready to hear what she had to say but with no better reason to put it off.

Newt sat on the edge of his bed, the Howler resting on the rocking floor of the ship in front of him. He took a deep breath and flicked his wand, lifting the Stasis charm. As he'd expected, the Howler rose up into the air, the letter itself shredding into teeth and that familiar red envelope wrinkling into a pair of full lips. Newt cringed and braced for impact as the mouth began to move.

"Hey, English."

Newt flinched badly, not even remotely prepare for not only a soft, sad tone, but what seemed to be a nickname was well. Jaw dropping open, Newt pressed his hands to his knees and leaned forwards, staring at the envelope in disbelief as Elvira's voice continued.

"Writing all this out... well, it didn't seem right. I'll have you know that if circumstances were different I'd have run right to the travel offices and hopped the first Portkey to Africa. I even considered making one myself, if my leaving the perimeter of the city wouldn't have set up alarm bells in Auror offices all over the country. You shouldn't have to deal with this all alone, but you do, which is absolute shit but that's why I thought a Howler might be a little more personal, a little better... of course, I didn't take into account my tendency to ramble, but here we are."

Newt gave a small, hiccupping laugh and felt something in his chest tighten. The mere idea that Elvira had been completely ready to hie off to another continent just to support him was absolutely mind boggling. He couldn't think of another time in his life someone had been willing to do such a thing, although he could think of a Slytherin he'd once been willing to do something like that for. He could only imagine what it would have been like to see Elvira striding into their little quarantined village-outside-the-village with no warning.

The tone of her voice was just as affecting - he could hear the weary sadness and the forced energy. Newt had spent more than a few hours pouring over some of her letters, wondering just quite what intent she'd put behind this or that sentence and if he was reading too far into it, or perhaps not enough. It was those times that had compelled him to apologize for his lack of people skills -s he had no doubt that his brother Thaddeus would have been able to interpret her words with ease while he sat and strained, thinking perhaps he was reading something wrong, fighting the ingrained instinct to believe there was something a bit more ridiculing hidden in her kind words, because many times in the past there had been.

"I'm not happy that girl died, of course not. I wish it had gone different but Newt, you've gotta know... it wasn't your fault. The ritual I gave you was untested - it wasn't even finished for Christ's sake! - and it was no guarantee. You tried your damnedest but sometimes, despite what parents tell their children, that's just not enough and that ain't your fault. You did far and away more than anyone else would have done. You saw it in your research and you heard it from me - most people would've come in there and started cursin', no questions asked, but you? Damn, Newt, you planted yourself right there and reached out to anybody and everybody you could think of to help you fix the problem and save that poor girl. Whether old lady Ramirez had it right or not, you're a hero in my book, Scamander."

Newt made a watery noise of surprise. Her pep talk was like nothing he'd ever heard, gruff and peppered with swearing, but it sounded just like her and he had to admit that she was right, it wouldn't have made nearly the same impression written out in ink as it did to listen to it and hear as her voice got thicker and thicker with her own feelings. Newt tried to imagine her, sitting on that couch in her living room and dictating to the Howler with her wand at her throat, face determinedly stony.

Of all he'd expected to hear, though, it wasn't that he was a hero. He hadn't done anything special. That girl needed help and he had the contacts and a little bit of know how and there was a chance he could help. What sort of person wouldn't have stopped to try and help? It was hardly the girl's fault that she was what she was. That was one of the very few things people knew for certain about Obscurials; they were products of their environment, not the result of anything that they themselves did. Who would bring something like that on themselves?

He gave another watery laugh as Elvira's voice gave a sniffle and muttered irritably under her breath, "Ah, shit." He could picture that too, a tear escaping and her immediately moving to destroy all the evidence it happened.

There was another sniffle, a clearing of her throat, and then she continued. "And as for me 'being amenable,'" she sounded almost annoyed now, "you best your best teacup I'm amenable. I know that maybe it isn't the best time, and of course I would have preferred if you turned up and told me how everything had gone perfectly, but I still expect you to turn up. If I find out you came to New York and didn't come to see me, I'll be pissed, English, and MACUSA or no MACUSA I will find a way to hunt you down and yell at you about it. We were writing back and forth before all this got started, and I like to think we'll keep writing even after you come see me."

She sounded oddly unsure at that last, and Newt felt a surge of empathy. He knew just how she felt, and he was actually shocked hat they felt the same. He knew all too well what it felt like to underwhelm someone. People heard that he was a skilled handler of magical beasts and expected some sort of grizzled behemoth, they were always let down to see a skinny ginger in a bowtie. He was used to letting people down at first and he had to remind himself that from what she'd said, she was used to a similar reception. She was just as hesitant about what would happen when they finally met face-to-face as he was. It didn't make sense, because in his mind she was a take-no-prisoners, roguish sort of woman who did what was right and damn the consequences - a Gryffindor if he'd ever met one. The image of her in his head wasn't scared of anything, and Newt had to admit that he'd perhaps built up some unfair expectations of her.

The Howler let out a quiet sigh. "I hope you know that it's the same for you and that girl as it was with me and the Crane boy. I don't love that she ended up dead, but I would never blame you for it. All I want right now is for you to come strolling into the Cactus Cat, rain or shine. I have to keep reminding myself you're still weeks out. I'm excited... and damned if I don't sound like some sort of giddy little schoolgirl."

She gave an annoyed grunt. "I'll see you soon, English. Signed, Elvira."