When Grindelwald is taken into custody, there's a sort of hesitation in everyone that remains. The aurors linger about, waiting for orders that aren't coming, and the professors that joined are gathered around Hector who's unsteadily being helped to his feet. Even Headmistress Peregrine has lost her righteous fury, left tired. "The wizarding community has been exposed. Ilvermorny has been compromised."
The words are steadily said, but the feeling behind them make the air thin, tremble in the possible future they admit to. American history was filled with witch hunts and constant fear, and would do no better now than it did then. Wizards, beasts, children, everyone and everything, are in danger.
Newt feels the beginning a familiar ache in his bones, suddenly having trouble keeping his eyes open and his head up. He's escaped flooding tunnels and murderous kelpies, ran alongside wampus cats in search for his creatures, chased a raging Obscurus all over the mountain, survived the attacks of an infamous dark wizard, and it's starting to show. It's only been one night, but it feels like days have passed with how tired he is.
The morning sun is just rising above the tops of the trees, painting the ravaged forests in a fiery color. Soon the firewater will wear off completely and he'll be out of commission for who knows how long—but he'll power through on will alone, if only to clean the mess he created.
That's why he steps forward and says, "I think I have a solution."
He sets his suitcase in the middle of the main courtyard, open wide and in the view of the entire school.
There are gasps when Frank makes his entrance, surging out of his ratty, old suitcase in a brilliance of golden feathers and a magical cry. Light breaks through the clouds and caresses every inch of the creature, shimmering and dazzling. It's truly a fantastic sight.
He reaches out and Frank meets him halfway, pressing his beak to his palm. "I'd hoped to release you in Arizona, but here will have to do."
Frank lets out a low whistle and Newt can't help but run his hand along his neck, marveling at the smooth feel of his feathers. It will be the last time he will be able to do this. His friend must sense the goodbye because he pushes forward, running the point of his beak carefully through Newt's hair, brushing soft plumage against his skin in the process.
He steps back, the vile of Swooping Evil venom cool in his hand.
Frank rears his head, his attention solely on Newt. Whatever wizards say about his creatures, he knows they are more than violent beasts, more than inconvenient risks to wizard security. They can love, hate, and live just as any human could. He knows this because he's seen it, this beautiful range of emotion, in the eyes of the beasts he's encountered. They see, they know, they understand.
He sees it now, looking up at the regal creature before him. The same creature he'd found hurt and damaged, covered in scars and dirt, but still fierce and powerful and kind.
Newt grips the vile tighter. "You know what you need to do."
He throws the venom and Frank snatches it at the top of its arc, jumping to the sky with a loud thunderclap.
A thunderbird taking off is one of the most magnificent things to see. Frank, a gold beacon in a muted background, screeches, all six of his wings creating a wind strong enough to billow the trees of the clearing. Two flaps and a storm rages above.
Shades of grey mix in the sky, coloring the rolling clouds like those from the ceiling paintings in Ilvermorny's halls. The wind picks up and, despite the season, it's warm. Strips of lightning snap and crackle, lighting up Frank's silhouette as he dives straight in the storm.
And then it begins to rain.
Newt steps back under the cover just as the first droplets start to fall.
"Wonderful creatures, thunderbirds," he murmurs to Tina, keeping his eyes to the sky. "They're smart and brave and kind—one of the purest creatures I've ever encountered. One look into your eyes and they've seen all they need to and—if you're deserving, they'll give you what you need—help you in what way they can." He gives her a glance, but she's watching the heavens sing. "Absolutely extraordinary."
MACUSA agents disperse, out to fix the damage done onto the school and town, but they're paid no heed. Everyone, students and adults, even the pukwudgies, focus on the sky and the golden bird slowly growing smaller and smaller.
Saying goodbye to Jacob is much harder than Newt realizes.
He's never had anyone that could be called a friend. Leta had been once, but that was different—Jacob is different. Even though they've only known each other for a day, Newt can see Jacob is everything he is not: sociable, likable, a simple man with a heart of gold. (Newt hopes he's a good man, but Jacob is something else.) Like Queenie says under the awning of a shop front, you're one of a kind.
Newt wholly agrees.
When Queenie offers the chance to run away, Newt swallows down his own agreement. Hiding creatures is sort of his specialty and he could take Jacob anywhere, steal him away for Queenie—just to selfishly keep his very own Muggle friend in his life. He'd never been a rule-follower, so one more mark against his record wouldn't mean much in the face of this unfairness.
"I was never even part of the group. Everybody knows Newt only kept me around because—hey, Newt, why did you keep me around?"
Words have never been his specialty, always mixing them up somehow and ruining things, but now, Newt can only speak the truth. "Because I like you—because you're my friend and I couldn't have done this without you."
And when Jacob says, "Oh," in a choked voice, Newt smiles, sad.
Jacob steps back into the pouring rain and Newt lets him. He grips the handle of his suitcase tighter, but doesn't look away as the first friend he's had in years slowly forgets him.
It's only when Queenie leaves the awning, stepping toward Jacob with her wand up to cover them from the rain, that he turns away. He gives them space, not wanting to disturb a moment he's not privy to. Tina meets his eye for the first time since releasing Frank. She looks in dire need of sleep, a haunted look that shows in the red rim around her eyes, and he's probably no better. Whatever passes between them is something he's come to expect, yet not fully understand.
Something warm grazes the back of his hand, then disappears.
Queenie leaves Jacob, coming back to them in tears. Tina's at her side immediately, hugging her close. Again, he catches her eye, but the moment's too quick for him to consider what she's trying to tell him, and then she's leading her sister down the street. He watches them disappear.
Hand tingling, chest tight, he follows after them without looking back at the man left standing in the rain. It's for the best, he thinks.
And yet…
Newt wakes in an unfamiliar bed.
Consciousness comes gradually, as do most of his senses, a soft awareness that paints the world around him before he fully knows where he is. He blinks at the streaks of sunlight that break through the windows above, goldening the brass that holds up the curtains, and stares at the arches that sweep and cross one another above him. He smells herbs and another scent that's solely medicinal.
He doesn't remember falling asleep, or getting to a bed for that matter. After Jacob, they'd returned to the school. Newt has the faintest memory of speaking to the Headmistress, remembers arguing on his students' behalf, as well as Tina's, not wanting his mistakes to cost them, but after that… nothing.
He carefully turns his head to see what he assumes is the infirmity, if the other beds lined on the other side of the room are anything to go by. Strangely enough, there's an eagle perched on the rails of one of the beds. It lets out a high-pitched piping note at Newt before turning it's focus on the only other occupant. Hector is mumbling softly, but otherwise asleep.
There's a soft creak and it's then Newt realizes that he's not alone.
"You're awake," Queenie says happily, beaming at him from her seat near the foot of his bed. She sets her needles and burgundy scrap aside.
Newt blinks at the witch as the haze of sleep fades, and he pushes himself into a sitting position. There's no hint of pain. Mrs. Panacea must have healed him while he slept. If he was sent here, then Tina...
"Teenie woke up earlier. She's chatting with Headmistress Peregrine now—giving her statement and all."
He nods, trying not to be too annoyed at being read. Despite the fact that he's been spending time with a feline legilimens, having his thoughts intruded on, being answered before he can even speak, still irks him. He wonders if Tina ever felt this way.
"All the time." At his glare, Queenie has the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry. People are easier to read once you've gotten to know them. Friends and family especially."
Her words catch Newt off guard, surprised that he's so easily read when they've only known each other for little more than a week. He hadn't been particularly inviting when she'd constantly sought him out, but friends?
"Of course we are, sweetie!" Queenie says. "You should give yourself more credit. You're not as beastly as you think. I mean, look at how much your students love you!"
That brings back more memories, and even some worry. "Are they—?"
"They're fine." She nods to the the small bedside table to his right and he looks to find an array of sweets piled there. He laughs at the Cockroach Clusters hidden within the mess. "Mrs. Panacea told them to scat when they got too loud, but they were planning on sneaking back in an hour."
That's a relief off his shoulders. Newt wouldn't forgive himself if he was the reason for anyone to be expelled, to go through what he did. He did the best he could in his situation, had his creatures to keep him sane, and he kept them safe—
"My suitcase," he says, frantic.
Queenie tilts her chin to his right and there safely tucked between the bedside table is his case. It rocks slightly, but otherwise doesn't burst open by the seems. "Don't worry, no one's tried to steal it."
"That's…good." He reaches out and brushes his fingers against the worked leather. His case and his creatures mean so much to him, his work and his life in more ways than one. To know they're safe and beside him again is a relief.
Queenie takes charge of the conversation before Newt can let it fade into awkwardness. "You're the talk of the town—well, you and Teen. Everyone's been wondering what happened, but no one has the whole story."
Newt's sure there's different versions roaming around the school, changed with the passing from mouth to mouth, some of them maybe close to what actually happened. Ilvermorny couldn't hold a secret in one of its halls without it spreading to the rest of the school whether it be students, Ephedra, or any of the strange artifacts and items scattered around that possesses more consciousness than expected. He glances back at Hector and waits for Queenie to fill in the blanks.
"He's fine. Only has a broken rib, but Mrs. Panacea said he should stay in bed until she's sure he won't puncture a lung." She lets out a little laugh. "He tried to escape yesterday."
"How far did he get?"
"To the outside corridor. Ephedra slipped him some sleeping draught before he could try again."
"How long have I—?"
"Only two days." Queenie clears her throat. "Sorry. I'll try not to interrupt."
She doesn't promise not to dwell in his head, only to let him finish saying it out loud, which isn't exactly what he'd like, but it's a small win. His thoughts aren't filled with entirely pleasant memories as he tries to piece together the events he's missed while unconscious; it takes time to fully realize what he'd unwittingly lived through.
Grindelwald. In America. Within Ilvermorny's supposedly secure walls. It's a nightmare come true, a precedent to darker times. To think that Newt faced off against the man without realizing it, and managed to survive where so many wizards did not.
"He's not here," Queenie says and her relief is just as clear as his. "They moved him to MACUSA headquarters to keep the students safe."
They're safe, all of them, and it's almost too good to be true that everything and everyone made it out alright. The only thing that could blacken the happy feelings and makes the occasion less than momentous is...Jacob. Newt glances up at Queenie in time to see her expression tighten.
It's not hard to guess what she sees, Newt not bothering to hide his thoughts. In fact, he lets them run wild, flitting from one memory to another. He thinks about the unfairness of the situation, how he couldn't let this be the end. He thinks about possibilities for a lonely Muggle, bank loans, silver eggshells, and images of a thriving bakery.
Queenie's bottom lip trembles slightly, but still, she smiles. Newt warily watches her rise from her seat to settle on the edge of the bed by his waist. Then she reaches out and hugs him. It catches him off guard and he struggles momentarily to return the embrace without coming off too awkward. He's more suited to bottle feed fwoopers and imitate a nursing graphorn than comfort anyone of his own species, but he tries his best.
He doesn't know what to do when Queenie starts shaking.
"Are you alright?" he asks carefully, quietly. All it took was a wrong breath and delicate creatures would scatter. Humans are some of the most delicate Newt's come to realize; easily hurt and difficult to heal. Beasts, big and small, are sturdier, surviving in a primal sense, but humanity comes with more vulnerabilities, emotional ones that can dig deeper than physical wounds.
"Yeah, I think I will be. You really are a strange man," she says, laughing, and Newt flushes at what she could've possibly seen in his head now. When she breaks away, there are tears building in the corner of her eyes, but she looks more like herself. "Thank you."
Dear Mr. Kowalski,
You're wasted in that canning factory. Please take these Occamy eggshells as collateral for your bakery.
A well-wisher.
P.S. I hear New York could use a man like you. Someone to make them happy.