To ensure that he really can account for everything in his case, they replace the damage to the department attic and he sets down his case right between a stack of decorations and a collection of pans.
Queenie reaches out to pull him back and lets Tina and Jacob go down ahead of them. "I think you and them kids need a talk, Newt."
"What makes you say that?"
In the short time he's known her, Newt has never seen Queenie spend more than a moment not smiling or giggling or content, so to see a slight frown maring her pleasant features is strange; while she doesn't appear angry, Newt has the suspicion that he's disappointed her.
"It's not hard to hear it," she says. "Once they figured it out, that's all they've been thinking about. Looks like your tea didn't work as well as you thought it might."
In that moment, he knows what she's referring to and his stomach does a small churn at the realization that he's been caught. A subconscious prick in the back of his neck has him turning and spotting their little group of delinquents blatantly staring at them a few ways away, purposely waiting until the conversation has reached its end. He gets the feeling that he's the one who's in for a heavy chastising, only a word away from being given detention.
"I haven't told Teen," Queenie reassures him, her voice low and kind, "but I know she ain't gonna like it either. That's why I'm giving ya a chance to fix it yourself."
"And if I don't think I've done anything wrong?"
Now Newt's sure her expression is one of disappointment. "Sweetie, I think we both know how you feel about it and you know how they feel about it too." She gives him a meaningful look and with that tidbit of truth and steps down the ladder to disappear in his case.
Often in situations not boding well for him, or when he's botched up something obvious, Newt's learned the best course of action is to practice patience. Similarly with his beasts. He wrings his hands together and waits for the first move to be made.
Like always, Mildred is the leader of their little pack. "You lied."
Newt's lied about many things to a great number of people, a natural habit that has kept him out of hot water with the law. This isn't the first time he's under scrutiny because of a lie, nor will it be the last. He was never obligated to tell them what he carried, nor is he now (though it is a bit too late for that), but he gets the feeling something's different about this time. "Yes."
"And the graphorn coming out of your suitcase…did that really happen?"
Newt manages a small smile when Robert's expression becomes exaggerated in surprise, but smothers it quickly enough. He needed to be serious. "Yes."
Mildred massages the sides of her head. "You obliviated us."
"Not quite." Newt clears his throat. Now's not the time to go into detail about the concentration of Swooping Evil venom and its effects on the brain. "Still perfectly safe."
They don't look reassure. "You didn't need no forgetful potion for us to keep our traps shut," Eugene says. "You didn't want us to know about your beasts? You thought we'd spill to Peregrine?"
The number of people Newt trusts could be counted on one hand—his parents, Dumbledore, Theseus—only now Jacob's joined the list, as have Tina and Queenie. These Americans have him second-guessing who he allows into his own little circle, even the children showing more of a connection than anyone in England. They're still here, standing with him despite the lies and the mess he and his creatures have made.
"MACUSA wouldn't take my trafficking too well. I have many more creatures—more than you can count, really." Newt decides to take a chance. He takes the first few steps down into his case. "Would you like to see?"
He doesn't wait for an answer, knows that it's best that he doesn't else he botch it up somehow. He remembers the joy he felt at discovering that someone was interested in his research, in his creatures, that he could speak on and on about them and know that someone was listening, was interested. He can remedy this situation, but only if he could show them. Maybe, there's a chance to remedy this if he can only show them.
Stepping into his case is like stepping back home. His shed's a bit too cluttered for company, his maps and notes littering about, while feed and half-finished drawings lay unorganized on his desk, but that's how it's always been and it seems pointless to clean it up. A few doxies zip here and there, flying a little too close to the array of plants on the walls, and Newt waves them off.
He sheds his coat, then his surcoat, while he waits for the children to climb down. They eye all his instruments, many of them far from traditional and taken from all over the world, and he mumbles something about keeping their hands to themselves, cleaning up his maps and drawings and stashing them where they won't be touched. The calls of his creatures just outside are a constant presence; there's a solid thud from the ceiling that has his hanging nets shaking, then the scratch scratch of a beast's claws.
"Newt," Tina calls.
One last look at the children and he steps out to the warm glow beyond the door. The artificial sunlight is a wonderful change from the freezing northern wind, it's effects like taking a sip of firewater. The earthy smell he's come to know calms him and he feels himself shed his worry and anxiety. There's soft sighs and gasps at his back and Newt allows himself a small smile.
Jacob's already returning Dougal to his nest while Queenie watches. Despite the short time he's known him, Newt knows that no harm will come to his creatures when it concerns Jacob and, so, he allows him the freedom to roam his case as he pleases.
Tina waits for him just outside his shack, holding the teapot with uncertainty, and Newt relieves it from her. Following his instructions they encourage the occamy to slither out the spout and into her awaiting hands. It looks happy and healthy despite its earlier scare, and, for that, he's relieved.
Tina handles the occamy like it's the teapot—delicate and fragile, and one wrong move will have it shattered on the ground. With slow steps and a hesitant smile she brings it to its nest with the rest of its sisters. They chirp sweetly, Tina's expression softening at their calls, and Newt shares a smile with her.
The moment's gone when a movement catches at the corner of his eye, a familiar paw reaching into the nest.
He chases off the niffler. "You have your hoard! Shoo!"
"Oh! So that's a niffler!" Queenie says, coming closer.
"Very common in England," Newt tells her, only slightly troubled that neither she nor her sister had recognized the creature for what it was. It really is common. "They're hoarders—mainly for gold, but this little bugger has got greedy. Wants everything it can get its paws on."
Queenie laughs when the niffler comes scuttling back, keeping to the outskirts of the occamy nest in case Newt chases it away again. "Oh, we both know you love it!"
Newt doesn't give her the decency of an answer, but they both know she's right. His soft spot for the little critter has only grown since he's had it, letting it off with only a warning for deeds he should mark as unacceptable—like robbing a Muggle bank, for instance.
It whines. Pitty doesn't become it, an ulterior motive somewhere underneath all the innocence and puppy eyes, and Newt sighs. His niffler perks up immediately. Abandoning its little act, it scuttles to him and climbs up his pant leg to unabashedly peer into his pocket. At this, Newt chuckles, gathering it up in his arms before offering it the teapot, unbroken porcelain shining daintily. The little critter eyes it for a moment before snatching it from his hands. "I indulge you too much, you spoiled thing."
He drops in a few sickles too because, really, he does spoil it.
Stepping past his beetles, taking care of the clutch of diricawls popping in and out of existence, he brings the Niffler back home. Gold and silver shine bright in its cave, mounds of treasure piled so specifically that it's clear it's all taken care of.
He's careful not to disrupt a thing. "In you hop."
Soon enough the little teapot has its own place, the niffler shifting it slightly for the perfect shine. It offers Newt a knut for his kindness (not an exact exchange, but it's the thought that counts).
"Thank you," he tells it, pocketing the coin, stepping aside to let Robert get a proper look at the hoarder.
"This has been in your suitcase this whole time?" he says, eyeing the treasure long enough for the niffler to chitter in displeasure. They're sent off with a warning.
Eugene crouches down beside one of the many holes peppering the ground, jerking back when an Euroa pops out with an indignant shriek. The rest of them come up to the surface at the commotion, baring their bucked teeth at the intruders. "We figured it was filled with cages."
Newt is somewhat offended. "Cages! This isn't some Muggle zoo!" He ushers him away and tosses the burrowing creatures a few chicken legs as a distraction.
"We know that now," Mildred says, making a break for the aquarium, the boys following.
"No running off!" Tina plants herself at the base of the steps that separate the floating habitats. The students are turned away back to the shack, grumbling, and Newt's relieved. The grindylows would no doubt start an uprising at the sight of intruders.
"I've been expanding throughout my year in the field. Many of them would've been killed if I hadn't taken them in," he says. Moke are harmless and so Newt leads the children to those clinging to the trunk of the Doxy tree. "I am relocating some of them to better habitats."
Mildred reaches out for a touch, only for half the lizards to shrink. "How did you get it past customs?"
Newt stalls at that. He's more than positive that he shouldn't continue or else add to his growing list of citations. Going through the Ministry and then MACUSA would have been a nightmare, so he'd forgone it, but he doesn't want to say that aloud. Tina wouldn't be pleased.
Queenie laughs. "You're a real criminal, Newt."
"Occasionally, yes." Flushed, Newt tries to move the topic along. "I need to take ahead count. Excuse me." Who knows what was done when the aurors were checking the contents of his case.
He goes through each space, checking and counting each of his creatures, big and small. His nundu lays just outside its enclosure crushing doxy nests, the unicorns having somehow switched places with the bunyip, while he sees half of the mooncalves freezing in the arctic snow. Newt thinks he spots the red scales of the young runespoor closer to the graphorn habitat than he'd like. Surprisingly enough, the erumpent is where she should be, except her enclosure is a bit worse for wear.
Time to get to work.
He rolls up his sleeves. With their previous interaction, Jacob and the Mooncalves got off rather well so that's one problem that can be easily taken care of. Unicorns were more open toward women, so he doesn't think the sisters will have a problem coercing the steeds from the foreign habitat. "Jacob, gather the mooncalves—"
"Unicorns!" Queenie squeals, practically flying to where Newt last saw the creatures. "Come on, Teenie! Get the carrots! They're by the stairs!"
Tina throws a girlish smile his way, like she did before his niffler got loose in the bank, and he feels relieved for some reason. Jacob pats him on the shoulder, shaking his head in a way that has Newt thinking he's part of some joke, before heading to the arctic habitat.
That leaves him to deal with the giant nundu in the room.
"Come on—up you go." He pats its snout. "I changed your sand earlier. It's still nice and hot. Perfect for a nap."
It huffs, wilting the grass by its mouth, and rolls over. More of the doxy nests are flattened, tree branches crackling and snapping under its shoulder. Sharp quills spear through the rest and, despite the destruction, Newt's thankful, preferring ruined nests than eaten inhabitants.
Undeterred, he skitters around to its other side, crouching by its face. An eye bigger than his head opens and the nundu stretches a paw beside him, claws longer than his forearms, but Newt's not afraid. How could he be when it acts like his mother's lazy kneazle sunning itself on the windowsill.
If only he could get his oversized cat up and into its home without fuss. With disease in it's very breath he can't risk having it loose, especially with so many visitors around. The answer comes to him when he spots a battered ball discarded by the side of his shed.
"Toss me that quaffle."
He'd left the children to gawk at the steps of his shed, away from the more dangerous creatures. They ignore him in favor of the nundu.
"It's…" Thomas starts.
"...huge," his brother finishes.
"The quaffle, please." At his insistence, Mildred finally tosses it to him before quickly backing away, and Newt holds it in front of the nundu's flaring nostrils. Now he has its attention.
"There we are—up you go!" Letting out a low rumble, the nundu gets to its feet and shakes its neck quills, towering over Newt. The nests rain down from its side in shatters as it prowls forward, two hundred tons of pure muscle. "Back away, all of you—he might accidentally step on you."
With the quaffle in hand, Newt bounds into the enclosure, the thundering steps of the nundu right behind him. He dodges to the right, spinning on his heel and ducking into a crouch, grinning at the nundu as it rattles with excitement. Bigger than any non-magical land animal and it still thought it was a playful kitten, tiptoeing from one foot to the other.
It roars and Newt responds in kind, leaving his throat a bit sore. They circle each other, falling into the usual play of their game that involves him weaving between its legs and in its blind spots. Only when it crouches does he throw the quaffle with all his might, watching it fly over the top of the enclosure.
"Engorgio."
The nundu leaps straight up just as the ball swells to a size more acceptable for a goliath.
Newt grips a low tree branch and, when it lands, shaking the ground beneath his feet and churning the watering in the small lake, keeps to his feet. The enclosure rattles and the tarps billow erratically, a few cries coming from the other creatures, but everything, even the aquarium, remains intact.
The nundu continues to wrestle with the quaffle, rolling deeper into its jungle. A few trees crackle and topple over and Newt makes a mental note to plant more. He repairs the doxy nests, and the erumpent's habitat while he's at it, as it plays. A quick check-up shows the children are alright from their little pile of limbs and Newt helps Mildred to her feet, ushering them to follow him deeper in his case.
"Give us a warning next time," Thomas grumbles, shoving his brother off him and into a bag of feed.
"Sorry," Newt says.
"Could I have a go with the quaffle?"
"Absolutely not."
From there, Newt gathers the runespoor before it can slither into the cool sands of the graphorns' home. The head furthest to the right hisses up a storm, still irritated at the cone around its neck, but Newt shushes it. "Don't take that tone with me—you know exactly why you're wearing it—you stop biting the others and it'll come off."
The Calderon brothers yell when one of the heads snaps at them. Newt lugs it higher on his shoulder, drawing its attention back. "No need to worry—it ate last week."
He makes his way to the caves, relieved when he spots no apparent damage to any of it. He vanishes the massive pieces of shed skin littered on the cave floor before offering the runespoor to a stalactite. Then it's off to the next of his creatures.
Katharine gives him a silent cheep when he passes by. "This way." The werewolf might watch them from afar, but would keep its distance, as would most of the other creatures. He only worries the acromantula will forget itself and attempt to eat them. "No time for dilly dallying."
They finally arrive at the right enclosure, a dense forest greeting them, the moon by the mooncalves' hill coloring it in a cool light that reminds him of the Forbidden Forest. Newt searches the area before letting out a call.
He doesn't have to wait long, a rust-colored shape emerging from the dewy undergrowth to eye him from the shadows. More prodding has the creature slinking out into the open, hissing like a crocodile in the Nile, but it isn't a threat call.
With the children a good distance back, he strides forward and runs a physical examination of the bunyip. It's skin is still partly damp, as is the webbing between its toes, but still too dry for his comfort. He summons water from the aquarium, gently prodding the creature, and it dives into the suspended pool. "Off you go—and don't eat anyone on the way, please." It cuts through the other enclosures to the far end of the suitcase with minimal lighting while the Goldstein sisters come forth, leading the small herd of unicorns.
Even covered in muck, they're a sight. Not many wizards lay eyes on a unicorn, much less a small herd of them. Newt meets them halfway, offering his hand to the leading mare. It's only from months of incorporating himself into the herd that it comes to him willingly. "Did they give you any trouble?" he asks, wiping some mud off the snout shoved in his face.
Queenie sighs, adoration in her eyes as she pets the nearest animal. "They were angels."
Tina is practically glowing, her smile brighter than he's ever seen it. With her and her sister's help, they cast a water spell large enough to leave the unicorns flanks clean and white, practically sparkling under the cool lighting.
"They're actually—" Jacob starts. He drops the bucket of mooncalf feed, seemingly rooted to the spot, offhandedly pointing at the biggest of the bunch. "Unicorns."
"Yes." Newt finds that he enjoys watching his friend sputter over the creatures, his reactions priceless. He pulls out some lavender and feeds the golden foal before it gets too rowdy. "I intended to send them to Hogwarts when I get the chance—no one will hunt for them in the forest there."
Mildred inches forward to peer around him and at the foal. "Can I…?"
"Yes, but be very gentle. They're very shy—particularly toward males," he says. "They enjoy a song or two."
He leaves them just as Mildred begins to hum the Ilvermorny anthem to check on Frank, but the thunderbird must still be flying around because his enclosure is without a hint of cloud or rain. Pickett chooses then to start a fuss and it's a blessing that no one is paying much attention to see him thoroughly chastised by a twig.
"Hey, Newt, who's she?"
Queenie isn't with the rest, lingering at the steps of his shack. Leta's smiling face gazes at Newt just behind her, an echo of simple days.
"Ah—no one," he lies, busying himself with a bowl of seeds.
"Leta Lestrange? Isn't that family, kind of… you know."
He pauses, unsure whether he wants to glare at her—he might just give it all away if he does—or keep to himself. "Sorry—could you not read my mind?"
There's more to say, boundaries to lay down, but the more he speaks, the more that could go wrong. He'd rather not share out his pains. Instead, he turns his attention on the group blissfully serenading the unicorns. Tina's voice rises above the children's momentarily and he focuses on that in an effort to keep his thoughts his.
Then he feels it. There's no blaring horn that tells him he's being searched, but something's definitely amiss. He does glare this time. "I told you not to."
Queenie appears apologetic, sad even. "Sorry. I can't help it. People are easy to read when they're hurting."
"I'm not—I'm fine." Hurting isn't the word to use, not even anger, or any other similar emotions. Bitterness, now maybe that's what he has in his mouth, a tangy aftertaste that makes him want to grimace more than gnash his teeth.
Queenie continues, saying things she shouldn't know. "You two were really close. A friendship like that—"
"Queenie—" He doesn't want to dive into his past and the people who dwell in it, especially—
He cracks another seed.
Queenie looks to his students. "They ain't gonna hear. I'm trying to keep it private."
He wants to laugh. A legilimens offering him privacy. There's a joke in there somewhere. Still in his mind, Queenie follows his thought and gives him a small smile.
Then she sobers up quickly, staring at him so intently he feels like one of the poor creatures displayed in a zoo. "She was a taker—you need a giver."
"What are you two talking about?"
Tina walks to where they are, leaving the children to bid the unicorns to their habitat. Queenie doesn't miss a beat. "School."
Newt nods. "Yes—school."
Tina isn't fooled, but doesn't press for answers. Queenie meets his eye and it's the same strange feeling Newt gets with her sister, the sense of camaraderie, born in an instant. He may not approve of her delving into things that don't concern her, but he can appreciate her loyalty. Whatever she's learned, it'll stay between them for now.
Jacob, bless him, unknowingly comes to the rescue. "Is Ilvermorny the only school for wizards? Are there others?"
That gets everyone's attention and soon enough they're all crowding the base of Frank's enclosure. Queenie laughs like she and Newt never spoke, sweet and easy. "Oh, there's a bunch of them! There's Hogwarts in Scotland, Durmstrang in Russia, and Beauxbatons in France—"
Eugene plops himself on the step by Newt and Mildred sits next to him. "But Ilvermorny is the best!"
Newt scoffs. "I believe that title goes to Hogwarts."
Queenie lifts her chin. "Hogwash," sage says and the gall of it is enough to have Newt smiling despite himself.
A thunderclap stops his reply, a fine mist preceding the screech Frank lets out, startling everyone. He slips from the gathering storm clouds to give warning, muted gold with heavy shadows of rustic brown and grey, the dark shades making his eyes wilder and his talons glint.
"Danger—he senses danger."
Tina steps onto the ledge alongside Newt, her face pale in the moonlight, tense in every sense of the word, and Newt's glad they forced the children to remain behind in his shed. Standing on the department store's rooftop, the disaster befallen on the town of Adams can be seen in its entirety.
Automobiles are tossed on their sides, pieces of metal scattered along the streets, while the lampposts are twisted like gnarled tree roots. The buildings aren't better off, with smashed windows, splintered wood barely holding up the remaining foundation, and large chunks of cement and brick littering the street.
It's a sight that will no doubt see itself on the front of every Muggle newspaper by the morning. News travels fast and this level of destruction won't be ignored.
Blinding lights of spells pop in the dark backdrop of the night. If Newt squints he can see the small figures standing on rooftops, shooting at the obscurus as it races by. None of it does much damage, only angering it even more.
Tina's beside him. "MACUSA must have gotten word about the Obscurus. There are more aurors than those stationed at Ilvermorny."
A child was underneath all that decay and desolation, howling at the world for all the pain it gave. A child who was hurt and scared, with no one to go to, no one to be loved by.
The decision is easy to make.
He hands Tina his journal. Then he shoves his case into her hands, unable to look her in the eye. He fears if he does, then he might stall. "If something happens to me, look after my creatures."
"What are you doing?"
He looks back at the Obscurus, then at Tina. "They're not killing him."
Their eyes meet. A moment passes, filled with an entire conversation that won't be said. Newt feels pulled in two directions and is almost disappointed for forgoing selfish wishes and doing what he knows is right.
"Newt—" Tina starts.
He jumps.
All New has to do is follow the unearthly wails and destruction, coming to the main square of the Muggle town to find what he's looking for. There, amongst the broken streets and cracked buildings, Mr. Graves is shouting up at the Obscurus to be heard above the noise.
Newt can't make out the words, only a name. Credence, the Salemer boy. Whatever is said, it proves futile because the Obscurus shifts, it's scream layered with its echoes, and Mr. Graves is knocked to the ground from the resulting burst of dark energy. Newt dives behind the remains of a chimney and feels he brick tremble against his palms, close to collapsing.
"Newt," an all-too familiar voice says at his ear, a sudden presence beside him.
Newt jumps, whirling around. "I thought I—"
Tina's eyes are fierce and her mouth a thin line. She doesn't have his case on her and that's a relief, that it's somewhere far away from this mess. "Did you really think I'd let you do this alone?"
No, he didn't. He's come to know her as one of the most stubborn witches he's ever had the pleasure of meeting and that's one thing he's come to admire about her.
"It's the Salemer boy," he tells her instead. "He's the obscurus!"
"But he's not a child!"
"He must be more powerful than we imagined to survive this long."
They watch the Obscurus rage on, slamming into what was left of the neighborhood, grinding the brick and cement down to dust. When that's done and there's nothing left to destroy, it shoulders through the streets and toward the edge of town. It's as if there's a particular destination in mind…
Tina grips his sleeve. "He's heading straight for the school!"
She's right, the Obscurus's path heading away from Adams and toward Mt. Greylock. As a wizard himself, the Muggle repelling charms would be useless against Credence. How often did he look up in passing and saw the magical school hidden within the clouds, Newt wonders. Did he remember or is it a conscious thing, a fairytale-like treasure just out of it reach.
Tina grabs hold of Newt's arm to tag him along and they drop back into the slush of the wilderness just as the Obscurus rushes overhead (with how much they've chased and been chased up and down the mountainside, Newt's growing sick of it). Ilvermorny's bronze gate is within their sight, the very top of the school's Astronomy tower just barely visible.
A barrage of spells forces the Obscurus just outside Ilvermorny's borders. Newt and Tina duck back to avoid the rebounding curses that shower down. The Obscurus drops low to escape and Mr. Graves is there, directing his aurors this way and that, remaining behind as the rest enforce the borders to spring their trap. He doesn't notice Newt and Tina hiding, his focus on the dark storm ahead. Despite nearly being killed, he remains close to the Obscurus, giving it just a wide enough berth to remain a non-threat.
It doesn't take long for the aurors to act, the golden light of a protective shield rising from the distance, crossing over the expanse of forest like a rushed setting sun. Soon the barrier drops right outside the school's gates, leaving the Obscurus to slam uselessly into the protective wall. It shrieks like an animal ensnared, high-pitched like screeching chalk. Its prize is taken away and it throws a tantrum at the betrayal.
"They're trying to surround him!" Newt thinks it's impossible, but America has been filled with impossible things.
Tina seems to come to a decision. "Newt!" she says, demanding his gaze and holding it. "Save him!" Without waiting for a response, she dashes toward Mr. Graves.
The command is one he'll willingly follow. His own conscious won't let him stand by and let another child wither away, not again. Newt Disapperates and chases the Obscurus as it races around the limiting space within the barrier. Spells pop and explode in the sky, but the Obscurus fluidly veers from them. The aurors are closing in. Newt's nearly taken out as one crashes to the ground.
In a vigorous and desperate play, the Obscurus rises up to escape. It's a useless thing, the spells slamming into it, downing it to thrash on the ground. Newt doesn't hesitate to Apparate closer, even with every piece of self-preservation warning him to do anything but.
It calms slightly at the break in attacks, the deep breathing loud enough to cause the hairs at the back of Newt's neck to rise. It's a cornered creature and he must be incredibly careful.
Save him, Tina had said—commanded. That's what he hopes to do. Newt takes a deep breath. It doesn't help, his heart still hammering loudly in his chest.
Above, the golden shield blazes like the underwing of a phoenix, blanketing the skyline and effectively cutting the obscurus off from the rest of the world. Newt's not sure it will hold, but doesn't want to see his theory tested. He has little time until MACUSA finds them and takes matters into their own hands, so he best make use of it.
He takes another breath. "Credence… it's Credence, isn't it? I'm here to help you, Credence. I'm not here to hurt you."
Silence.
"I met someone just like you, Credence. A girl—a young girl who'd been imprisoned, she had been locked away and punished for her magic." Newt peeks out. There's a dark shape, corporeal and human, heaving in ragged breaths that the Obscurus jumps to. If Newt squints hard enough he can see the makings of a face in the shadows.
"You're not alone," Newt says, and the black recedes a little more with every word until a scared boy is curled in the dirt. "Not everyone wants to hurt you. There are good people out there."
Help me, the dead girl begs, only it's Credence mouthing the words, over and over again. His eyes are wide, a flint of faint hope shining through the tears, like Newt's an angel come to bring him back to humanity.
Newt hopes that he can be.
He moves, stepping away from the stone and taking slow steps toward the boy, only to stop after a few feet. He crouches on the ground. "Credence… could—could I come over to you?"
In personal experience, not many people know to ask permission, closeness with one another taken for granted and expected. Newt knows how Credence has been treated (he is an Obscurus after all) and doesn't think anyone's ever asked him the most simplest of questions concerning bodily autonomy. This is a momentous occasion, the first most likely, and Credence truly is a kind boy because he nods trustingly.
Newt takes a step forward.
A spell hits him in the chest, throwing him backwards. He hits the ground with a groan at the flaring pain at his shoulder. Bugger it all, they've been found, and only just when he's gotten around to helping.
"Credence!" Mr. Graves calls out. When the boy runs, he turns his attention to Newt. His face is set in irritation.
Mr. Graves is relentless, casting spell after spell, and Newt wishes more than ever that he paid more attention to Theseus' advice on dueling, or at least was born with the inherit talent his brother had. The man is a thunderstorm, flinging spells faster and more powerful than Newt can even attempt, and has him curled in the mud and wet grass.
The Obscurus hisses and shrieks, Credence's lost within it, breaking through the assault by crashing back down. The ground breaks and explodes up, stripping the trees and covering everything in a coating of wet dirt.
Newt Apparates to escape the Obscurus's path, stumbling higher up the trail, falling again when it blasts toward him. Mr. Graves does the same and it's a deadly game as they narrowly slip by the Obscurus. It's a raging tornado, searching for anything to attack, and soon enough it shoots up only to dive back down where Newt and Mr. Graves are stranded with nowhere to escape to.
"Credence! No!"
Inches from Mr. Graves's face, the Obscurus freezes. Slowly it rises up and away, swirling gently, something that resembles a face returning.
Tina stands before the whirlwind of black without a hint of fear. Her face is highlighted in the bare beginnings of dawn, desperate and caring and sad all at once. "Credence…"
The mass slows, as fluid as water, and the trees stop their shaking. All is quiet, hiding and waiting with bated breaths, and even the creeping sun stops and peeks over the horizon to witness it. Newt carefully and silently backs away, unsure how long the peace will last.
Tina steps closer to what was once Credence and Newt to her. "Keep talking, Tina. Keep talking to him— he's listening to you," he whispers. "He's listening."
She does just that, staring into its strange eyes unflinchingly. "I know what that woman did to you…I know that you've suffered…" A human face can be seen inside the center of the Obscurus, then some of a body. Credence. "You need to stop this now …Newt and I will protect you …"
Tina points at Mr. Graves as the man gets to his feet. "This man—he's using you."
"Don't listen to her, Credence. I want you to be free. It's all right."
Slowly, the Obscurus begins to shrink. The twisted face becomes more human, and Credence is reaching out. His eyes are on Tina and Tina only.
"That's it…" Tina is tender and calming.
Sudden movement startles Newt to find dozens of aurors at their back, slipping out from the remains of the trees. Their wands are raised aggressively. "Tina," Newt says.
"Don't. You'll frighten him!" The Obscurus lets out a terrible moan, swelling again. Tina stands in front of it, Newt by her side, a two-person barrier.
Mr. Graves spins to face the aurors, wand at the ready. "Wands down! Anyone harms him —they'll answer to me!" His command is too late, the aurors pelting the Obscurus relentlessly and without mercy. The pressure builds until it becomes too much.
There's a blinding light and when Newt squeezes his eyes shut, he can still see it through his eyelids. A scream fills the air, a ravaged sound that seeps into his brain and stabs at his ears; it's human with an undertone of a beastly roar, like the wind has come alive and is howling in agony.
Then, just as quickly as it began, it stops.
Newt uncurls and peeks out.
Wisps of black float where Credence had once been are spread out, curling like dying smoke. Piece by piece, the mass decays and breaks right in front of Newt's very eyes, blown away by the wind, until there's nothing left. Tina sniffles behind him.
Mr. Grave gets to his feet, stepping forward and surveying the floating pieces of what had been the Obscurus with a mix between anger and irritation. He turns to the aurors coming out into the open. "You fools. What have you done?"
Headmistress Peregrine stands at the head, shouldered by a small mixture of aurors and faculty. Newt doesn't think he's ever seen her so angry, nothing in her face reminding him of the calm and witty woman he's gotten to know. With her hair down and a mess from the wind, she looks absolutely terrifying.
"Mr. Graves! What is this?" she yells, brandishing her wand at the man. "Your acts here have threatened my school and my students!"
Like the other times Newt has heard the man speak, he has an air about him that has everyone quieting the moment he opens his mouth, but it's different this time. He keeps silent, the nonchalance of his movements, how he takes his time surveying each and every one of them, making Newt want to be as far away as physically possible. "Forgive me, Madame, but this is beyond Ilvermorny. What transpired tonight was for the entire wizarding world."
Tina pulls Newt's coat, slowly helping him to his feet, and they both back away from the man. Each step is torture for Newt and he can't help but lean most of his weight on her; if he's hurting her, she accepts it without complaint. He spots Ephedra by the edge of the aurors and when she catches his eye, he shakes his head to stop her from coming closer. There's more to this, he's sure, the danger not yet passed.
"If that's so, then I would like to know what you mean by that." Madame Peregrine doesn't look fazed and facing off a man who holds the position of head auror must not frighten her. "What could've made you think that my students were worth the risk! Collateral to your plans!"
Mr. Graves idly kicks a stone. He moves along the faded path that brought Newt here, more threatening than casual. "What was done here was not right!"
"As much as I agree with you, he was responsible for the death of a No-Maj. He threatened Ilvermorny, broke the Statue of Secrecy–"
"A law that has us scuttling like rats in the gutter! A law that demands that we conceal our true nature! A law that directs those under its dominion to cower in fear lest we risk discovery! Who does that law protect? Us?" Mr. Graves gestures vaguely to the Muggle town. "Or them?"
"I won't bow down any longer." He begins and the words are a threat, barely hidden and yet disguised by righteousness.
"Aurors," Madame Peregrine says, "I insist you remove Mr. Graves from my school."
Mr. Graves seems to think for a moment, a sneer off decision and irritation crossing his face. He shockingly strides towards the aurors facing him, firing spells in quick succession.
The aurors go down one by one, Mr. Graves's spellwork more advanced than any of them. He parries all spells sent his way from all angles and Newt sees Hector get hit and fall. How one wizard can do so much, it's near impossible, but the proof is right before his very eyes.
In a split second, Newt brings out the Swooping Evil one last time and it doesn't fail him, deflecting enough spells for Newt to lash out with his wand, ensnaring Mr. Graves's hands behind his back. Pulling, he brings the man to his knees, ending the battle, and, beside him, Tina catches Grave's wand.
An incessant inkling that's been nagging him for the past few weeks, begging him to find out the cause of why he's been so paranoid. That's why he thinks it's perfectly reasonable to cast a revealing charm.
Mr. Graves bows, his body shivering like a mirage. As the seconds pass, his skin and hair pale, the structure of his face shifting to that a man Newt's never met, but has seen on newspapers. He steps back, startled, and feels Tina's hand find his; he'd had his suspicions, had followed his intuition, but a hunch is far different than seeing it bear physical evidence.
A tense wave passes through everyone present, the aurors around them surging forward as one, their wands drawn and ready to attack, but the man pays them no head. He keeps his eyes on Newt.
Gellert Grindelwald smiles at him.