A/N: Hello people! I'm back with five chapters today! I've officially finished writing this story, which was started back when the first Fantastic Beasts movie was out, if you can believe it. ;) You should be able to feast your eyes on the rest soon enough, I promise. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Rose Granger-Weasley, Newt Scamander or any other character created by J.K. Rowling. My aim is merely to entertain and play around with them a little.
Chapter twenty-five: In which Newt is offered a questionable job
Grindelwald's escape put the wizarding world back on full alert. Only a day after the announcement, Theseus sent word to Newt that he was commissioned with finding Grindelwald and gathering intel about his possible followers.
In early July, Leta spent the night at Newt's, in Rose's room. She'd never been to the house before, but Newt hadn't thought for long before letting her in after witnessing her obvious distress. Theseus had been sent to Wexford, Ireland, where Grindelwald was allegedly hosting a rally, to stop him. She was petrified by fear of losing him, and Rose held her through the night.
All around London, one could find the symbol that they usually thought was the Dark Wizard's emblem, but that Rose knew to be the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. It would be drawn on walls at crossroads, or painted in dark alleys. Sometimes, the words 'For the Greater Good' accompanied it.
She loathed having to be there during Grindelwald's rise for power. She remembered from her History of Magic class that he'd gathered quite the number of followers throughout the 1930s, and that those followers had killed Muggles at will, trying to make them bow to fear and to magic on the longer term.
She didn't know anything about his earlier days, though. Didn't know where he was supposed to be, who'd be with him, or how he'd get to the point where Albus Dumbledore would defeat him in a duel in 1945. Almost twenty years in the future.
Newt had carried on with his life as if nothing had changed, but Rose knew that he was worried as well. He'd sent several forms to the Ministry of Magic to get his passport back, as if he was expecting to travel abroad soon. He taught Bunty more and more things every day, too, as if he was expecting to leave for a long time. Rose tried, but failed to get him to tell her what he was preparing for.
She had stopped studying plants and remedies soon after Grindelwald's escape. Writing a book with Newt suddenly didn't seem like the right thing to do on the brink of another wizarding war – one she was unsure started in 1927, but one she had to be ready for anyway – and she had chosen instead to gather as many Healing supplies as she could. She'd charmed a handbag in a similar fashion as her mother used to do, so that she could carried them all with her if they ever were needed.
Newt had bought her her own cauldron, and she was often seen at night brewing one thing or other, muttering to herself.
The Scamanders were ready for war. While the rest of the world seemed oblivious, or worse, was rallying the ranks of the enemy. An insidious enemy, with a silver-tongue that Minister Fawley could never hope to counter.
And one morning, they found themselves facing an old and dark staircase that, once upon a time, might have led to an underground station. In 1927, however, it served as the Ministry of Magic's public entrance. Rose missed the bright red phone booth that was infinitely more welcoming than a dark flight of stairs at the bottom of which was a wall you had to pass through. Even that wasn't very nice, the sensation immensely more disagreeable than the barrier on Platform 9 ¾.
Newt had dutifully grabbed her hand as soon as they'd passed the wall and into the Ministry's huge atrium. Rose was grateful for the focus he provided her with, because she was assaulted with memories so varied and numerous that she could have been struck dead and wouldn't have noticed.
Instead of paper planes, owls were flying about; leaving quite a mess on the ground or on the many windows of the offices that gave onto the atrium. House Elves and wizards alike were running from corner to corner to clean up the mess, but she noticed that many a Ministry employee had conjured a shield above their heads to protect their hats or hair.
Newt pulled her towards the lift, and the same disincarnate voice than a century later announced, in a horribly dead tone, 'Level Two, Department of Magical Law and Enforcement', letting them exit onto lush carpets in a vast corridor.
Rose could close her eyes and yet find the Minister for Magic's office without needing direction. She'd been at that same level so many times since she'd been a little girl, she felt like home, almost. She could picture her mum, holding her hand and showing her to Uncle Harry's office when she was five; could see the exact position of the compass on her mother's desk when she'd first visited the new Minister Granger; could almost smell the parchment and quills used by Madeline, her mother's personal assistant.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and Newt turned to her. "Rose? Is it too much?"
She shook her head, reining the tears back in. "I'm sorry. It's just. My mum works here." His eyes widened, but he didn't ask her to elaborate, which she was again grateful for.
Instead, he led her to a bench that opened onto the Atrium below. "Here. Sit down. I'll stay until you feel better." She immediately felt a surge of affection for the quiet wizard, who hadn't questioned her frequent panic attacks or shown any kind of impatience, and had always shown he wanted to help. "Leta can wait for a few minutes," he added in a whisper.
Rose had only come with him because Leta had asked her to come and see her new place of work. A week prior, she'd announced in a letter that Theseus had convinced her to join the Ministry, where she'd be safe, and she had been appointed Assistant to Mr Travers, the Head Auror that they had seen at the Ministry party.
She nodded, and closed her eyes. "Thank you. And sorry again."
"Don't be." He squeezed her hand once more and waited for her breathing to settle. He was to meet with aforementioned Mr Travers to see if he could travel abroad again. It was his fifth attempt. Rose would have wanted to be in the room with him to plead his case, but she couldn't, and anyway, it wouldn't have done him any good if he showed he couldn't put an argument down for himself.
Time ticked by, and Rose's heart calmed down a notch as she kept her eyes closed and focused on Newt's own breathing. When she realised they'd been sitting there for the good part of ten minutes, however, she gasped and sprung to her feet. "Newt! You'll be late! You can't be late!"
He stared at her, half-amused half-worried. A small smile settled on his lips. "It's alright. I'd rather stay here."
"You're adorable, really," she said, freeing his hand from hers, "but I don't want you to be late to your appointment. It's too important." She shoved him forward, and his brow furrowed.
"Won't you walk with me?"
She gritted her teeth. The Minister's office was further down that hall. She wasn't sure she could walk even a single step forward, knowing what was there. "I'd rather stay here. I don't want to panic again. If you see Leta, can you tell her I'm here?"
He nodded sheepishly, and grabbed her hand to squeeze it for another second.
Before he disappeared down the corridor, she called "Good luck!" and he turned around, patting his breast-pocket.
"Don't worry; I've got Picket with me."
As if the tiny Bowtruckle was a lucky charm…
Minutes ticked by again. Rose tried to focus on the owls flying about, but every time her eyes followed one, her gaze fell onto something too familiar and painful.
The huge Fountain in the middle of the Atrium caught her eye at one point, and she stared at it, overcome with pain and memories. Her Dad had had to grab Hugo by his trousers once, as the small red-haired boy had wanted to dive into the water to gather the coins at the bottom. James had once tried to draw a moustache onto the Goblin's likeness, and had been thoroughly reprimanded by one of the guards who then explained that the Fountain could not be degraded anymore.
Voldemort and his followers had done enough damage to it, once upon a time…
The panic attack that took her was steady, rose in her veins quietly, so quietly there was nothing she could have done to stop it. Her heart pace quickened dangerously, and her breathing became shallow. Rose clutched at her chest, trying to find something to anchor herself to, especially now that Newt wasn't there to hold her hand. It was difficult to fathom how much she depended on him now.
Stumbling to her feet, she clawed her way to the lifts, and pushed on the button that would take her back down to the Atrium. She must have missed, for when the doors opened, she was instead in the Department of Mysteries. She didn't notice the black polished walls and eerie silence until she was halfway through the main corridor, facing the entrance to the famed Department.
When she realised where she'd landed, Rose fell to her knees, black spots shadowing her sight. She clutched at her neck this time, remembering the weight of the Time-Turner that had sent her here and that had been invented within these very walls. She screamed, then. Loud and clear, before the sobs overtook her.
She couldn't see, couldn't hear above the sound of her heartbeats, could only despair and see her family's faces as they told her she'd abandoned them.
Rose became slowly aware of hands upon her. Hands that were not hers. She panicked again, slapping those hands away, dazed and blinded by her own ragged breathing.
She could faintly hear several voices around her, one closer than the others. She tried to focus onto it, because it was vaguely familiar.
"Rose, Rose, listen to me. Listen to me. Breathe, please. Breathe."
A name formed in her mind, and she grasped it tightly, focusing on it and on the person who was named thus. Theseus.
"Rose, I'm going to take your hand now." A pressure on her hand, pulling it away from her throat. "Let's get you up. You all, move away, please, my sister isn't feeling well." The last sentence had been said in a hiss, with a heavy dose of irritation, in contrast with the gentle way he spoke to her.
Rose had no idea how long she'd been on the floor of the Ministry, sobbing and trying to tear her own heart out of her chest. But it had apparently been long enough for a little crowd to gather around her, and for her 'brother' to be called for help.
When she was standing again, Rose's vision cleared a notch. Theseus was standing in front of her, very close, and she understood he was hiding their surroundings from her. She was immensely grateful, though part of her didn't get how he knew exactly what to do.
"Come on," he whispered, "I'll take you home. Close your eyes, and focus on my voice." He took a pace backwards, pulling her forwards, and slowly, gently, he led her back to the lift. When they were back in the Atrium and the buzzing of employees and visitors, Rose whimpered, and Theseus held her closer. "You are in a field, in spring. The wind in howling in your ears, making you trip and fall. You roll around in the grass, and settle, facing the sky, where a dragon is lazily flying around in circles. The sound of its wings flapping lulls you to sleep, and the wind calms down, making you aware of the buzz of bees and the trickling of water nearby…"
Rose listened to his tale. Focused on the words and the imagery it conjured. It calmed her down so quickly that, when she opened her eyes next, she was surprised to find they were outside, on top of the stairs hiding the entrance to the Ministry.
"Theseus?" she croaked. "I'm so sorry for what happened. So sorry."
The taller wizard turned to face her, never once letting go of her arm and hand. "Don't ever apologize for something you cannot control." He sighed. "Are you capable of Apparating on your own?"
She hissed in a breath. "I don't think so. I think I'll Splinch myself."
He nodded gravely. "Close your eyes." Once again, she did as he asked, and he pulled her into a Side-Along.
The familiar smell of baby Niffler invaded her nostrils as soon as they'd landed. She recognized the scent of her own room, since said baby Nifflers thought it a good place to hide on most days, and she found them buried in her covers almost daily.
She fell back onto the bed blindly, releasing Theseus' hands as she did. Tears sprang free from her eyes again, and she felt more than she heard him kneeling on the ground in front of her.
"Rose," he said steadily. It made her open her eyes, even if his face was blurry through her tears. "How long have you had panic attacks?"
She sobbed through a "Ever since I've been back to England. Familiar settings trigger them."
"Have you had one at Hogwarts, then?" he asked, worry laced through his words.
She nodded. "And the Leaky Cauldron. And Hogsmeade."
He nodded back, sighed, and took her hand once more, tracing circles on her palm to calm her down. It worked a treat, since Rose's body almost immediately focused on the feeling, and on the very handsome man helping her through a horrid day. "I've had them too, when I came back from the War." It was almost too quiet for her to hear. "I still have some, sometimes. Picturing a peaceful setting always helps me."
Rose stared at him, heart swelling in pain in her chest at the idea that he'd had to suffer PTSD after the trenches. "Newt is usually there to hold my hand. It helps, most of the time."
"Well, Newt can't always be there," Theseus said, staring at her to emphasize the present. "Try and get some rest. He's left the Ministry a bit before I found you, he shouldn't be long. I'll tell him what happened."
Suddenly, Rose felt exhausted beyond belief. Outside her window, London was swallowed by a wave of mist that hadn't been talked about in the weather forecast. She lied back onto the covers, and watched Theseus turn to exit the room.
"Theseus?" she stopped him. She waited until he'd turned his grey-green eyes back to her to carry on. "Thank you for today."
"Anytime," he said, and as he closed the door to let her rest, she blushed.