A/N Hey everyone! Hope you like!

Chapter Eight: Stolen Time

Newt's journal

16th Jan. 1949

Observations on the habits of Maglor the Elda, day two:

M didn't sleep last night- showed him to the bedroom but he refused. Stated that "Eldar not much sleep" when questioned. Not sure if I believe him. Fits with general resilience of species but M often negligent of own needs.

Peeked out and checked on him at 2am. He was out in the field, cross-legged, gazing at the stars. Appeared content, like when with Katarina (thestral)- stars seem to bring him comfort. Symbolic in Eldar culture perhaps? Heard me coming, of course, and stared right through me. Sensation difficult to describe but it was profound. Felt his age and otherness very deeply, like he was somewhere far removed in his mind. He turned back to the stars after that, without commenting. Didn't stay. Felt intrusive.

Linguistic capacity continues to amaze. Hasn't forgotten one single word. Already forming sentences and grasping basic grammar. Fascinated by the written word, looks almost nostalgically at my notes. I taught him the alphabet today- took him a while to produce 'j' but otherwise picked it up with usual flair. Reading basic phrases by the end of the session. Engaged and invested in what we were doing, a little less haunted, just for a time. Heartening to observe.

Very strange response to Helga. Difficult to parse. All typical initially, until I illustrated Niffler penchant for stealing gold and silver. Thought it might amuse him; was the opposite. He paled, looked on the point of retching, facial expression absolutely repulsed. He knelt, picked up Helga as I'd taught him and lectured passionately in his language. Tried to quiz him on it once H had scarpered back to her nest but M just shook his head and didn't explain. Maybe his people live communally and despise greed? Or perhaps the curse that destroyed his people was carried by a shiny object? Confusing encounter for all concerned. H not overly affected. Still an incorrigible little thief.

No progress on hands, either in permission to examine or research on what I've already seen. Never seen curse damage with that profile before and nothing in my reference collection refers to it. Ask Thees maybe? Somehow without suggesting that I'm illegally harbouring an undocumented magical humanoid in my case? Get thinking on cover story. Burns clearly cause M a lot of pain- can only guess that some sort of spellwork keeps the upper tissues alive though ordinarily they'd have died. M avoids contact with palms when making instinctive movement but seems to seek it out when acting deliberately. Confirms suspicion that perhaps he welcomes the pain- survivor's guilt? Unsure how to address that, near impossible until we learn to communicate better. Very out of my depth.

Magical scans indicate that broken arm is almost healed. Have changed splint to lighter brace to allow for increased shoulder movement before it comes off tomorrow. Thought he looked tense when I took off splint and almost relieved when I replaced it, like he was worried he'd have to leave. Might be nothing. My wishful thinking, probably.

Haven't heard him sing again yet- shame. Want to let him know that he can, but will probably have to demonstrate in order to teach him the word. Don't want to scare him off with my tone-deaf caterwauling. Alright, maybe I'm just embarrassed. Planning to attempt it tonight anyway, so I'll just have to do my best.

Continued on a page torn out of the journal

Known him three days and already desperate for M to stay here. Not just because he's an enigma and I want to discover everything about him and his vanished people-even if that's part of it. Mainly because of the moments when Dougal sits on his shoulder, or he has one of his odd staring matches with Katarina, or obsessively repeats a word with infinite tiny variations until he's saying it as though he was born in Kent. Those are the flashes, when it feels like he's coming alive, and suddenly this burdened soul doesn't seem so alone. Not like I could ever understand what he went through, but I think I see my younger self in him- lost in a confusing world and unsure where he fits. I found a home and a family in this case and I'm positive that so can he. He's holding back, though. Want to know why.

I won't be a jailer, though. Am concerned about him running into more unscrupulous types who might try to exploit him but I can't force him to accept my protection if he doesn't want it. He's not an injured nundu, no matter how much I want to shield him from the world. Will do my best to convince him to stay but if I have to, I'll let him go. Already know that I'll miss him terribly if I do.

Maglor was used to the days passing him by unmarked and unmourned, winking in and out of existence inconsequentially like fireflies vanishing into the dark. Longing for one day never to end, for time to slow down just for once, was a new experience. He wasn't sure he liked it.

Leaving was going to be hard. There was a whole new language to learn, a whole new writing system, and that fascinated him- he'd always secretly believed that tengwar was the greatest of his father's inventions, even when thoughts of the Silmarils were consuming everything. He was barely getting started, and for once he bitterly resented accelerated elven healing. To his shame, he had almost panicked when Newt made the splint disappear with a flick of his wand. If he was healed then he'd have to leave, there was no reason for him to stay. But the appearance of a more flexible style of brace reassured him that just for one more day, he could carry on pretending that he wasn't an outcast who'd earned his fate but simply a wanderer being welcomed into shelter. He could keep living in this strange bubble of stolen time just a little longer.

The only unpleasant thing that had happened was when his metaphor-sensitive brain transformed an innocent rodent with a duck-like bill and a few coins into a grotesque version of his life in the First Age. 'Helga' the 'Niffler' was just following her instincts, of course, but it was disconcerting how she'd ignore everything else if there was a shiny at stake, pulling so hard on the end of a necklace caught behind a jar that she propelled herself backwards across the room and landed on her rump when it came free. Newt looked fondly amused at her antics. But all Maglor could think was: was this what we were reduced to? Following the brightest trinket, blindly propelled by something beyond our control, heedless of whatever peril we were walking into because all we could see were those gems? The repulsion he felt was not directed at Helga, but at himself. Impulsively, he picked up the squirming little creature and told her firmly in Quenya:

"Do you spend your entire life running around trying to collect those trinkets? What's the point? You won't hold them all, in the end. They'll bring you nothing but ruin. These coins are harmless, yes, but where will you stop? When will you decide it's not worth the risk? What if you pursue something so blindly that you run from your keeper and you don't see the danger before it's too late? Fight the urge to chase the things that shine, little one. Learn from someone who's been burned."

The Niffler, predictably, didn't answer.

Maglor sighed and let her free. Newt made anxious enquiries, trying to work out what all that had been about, but Maglor was both too embarrassed and linguistically constrained to explain that he'd just unloaded his regrets about losing everything for the sake of some gems onto a rodent who couldn't understand him. He simply shook his head until Newt got the message to leave the subject well alone.

Despite Maglor's fervent wishes, time did not slow down and the enchanted sky of Newt's trunk shifted into a star-studded night. Newt did not attempt to convince him to sleep this time, but instead led him to an enclosure he was curious about, not having seen the creatures who lived there. When he'd pointed to it with a quizzical expression, Newt had explained that they were 'mooncalves', and they sleep in the day. Perhaps he was about to be introduced. They seated themselves on a mossy boulder and Newt cleared his throat a couple of times. He put a hand to his mouth and extended it outwards, then introduced a new word: "sing". Blushing slightly, he started singing. It really wasn't bad, as human voices go, though the melody was very different to the elven music Maglor was used to; he'd heard a lot worse in Men's army camps. He nodded to show he'd understood, and Newt cut off, looking gratefully relieved.

"You can sing, if you want," he said slowly, giving an awkward little shrug to convey that it was Maglor's choice. Newt used the word 'want' a lot. Maglor had grown so used to denying himself that he found it vaguely unsettling.

It was true that he hadn't sung for a few days. His singing was an integral part of his penance, and he had dealt with this strange oasis of care in the desert of his isolation by putting his familiar routines temporarily to one side. But perhaps if Newt wanted to hear him sing, it would be a small way of repaying him for his kindness. The only question was what song. The liveliness and warmth that reigned in Newt's case seemed unsuited to the sombre laments that made up most of his repertoire now. He looked up at the gleaming stars and one of the first songs he'd learned on arriving in Middle-Earth came to him. He wasn't sure if it made him a hypocrite to sing it now, he didn't know if he really believed the words, or even if he had the right to perform it after everything. Despite all that, somehow it felt right, so he gazed up at the sparkling sky and let the uplifting melody of the Hymn to Elbereth spring forth from his lips for the first time since the War of Wrath.

He was so fixated on the stars that he didn't notice them at first. But a flash of movement caught his eye, and he realised that a herd of lamb-sized fluffy creatures with long necks and enormous eyes were emerging from the cave on the hillside. He almost paused, but Newt motioned him to continue, so he sang on and watched in wonder as the mooncalves arranged themselves into concentric circles around the boulder and began to dance. For such cute, quirky little creatures, they seemed strangely elegant when they danced, tracing complicated patterns with their four hooves and swapping between the circles guided by some unvoiced instinct. Ancient music resonating through the air, there was some magic in that moment on the hillside that Maglor could not name. It was neither the directed power of Newt's sorcery, nor the complicated enchantments of the Maiar that he had once known, but rather their melding together into something new and all its own. So Maglor sang out his ode to the goddess he'd forsaken, as mooncalves danced in perfect time to the long-unsung melody underneath a canopy of illusory stars. And astounded at his own hubris for even entertaining the thought, Maglor couldn't help but fancy that perhaps Lady Elbereth looked down and smiled.

"All better! You heal fast!" Newt pronounced with a grin after they had removed the splint and he had taken Maglor through some arm movements to check the healing.

It felt better than it had before the break, actually, but still Maglor's face fell. It was the afternoon of the third day, his arm was healed, and his respite had ended. He had allowed himself to relax far too much and it was going to make returning to his solitary life all the harder. Seeing his expression, Newt jumped at the chance to drive home the point he'd been hinting at all day.

"You can stay. Please stay," he said earnestly, clasping his hands in the begging pose he'd been using to illustrate 'please.'

"No. You are not safe. Mag- I cannot stay."

"Are you in danger?" Newt asked. Maglor hadn't heard that word before so he cocked his head inquisitively and Newt ummmed and ahhed before miming a fight, with one person throwing punches and another cowering.

"Danger. Bad. Not safe."

Maglor nodded, fitting the new word into what he already knew. It might be his last chance, after all. Newt reiterated his former question.

"You. Alone. Are you not safe? In danger? Bad things hurt you? Bad people?"

That clarified it. Newt was wondering if perhaps he was hunted, if he had enemies and he was worried about endangering Newt by bringing them upon him. Maglor tried to address this concern.

"No. Safe alone. I am bad thing. I am danger."

Newt's face creased into a concerned frown. He was probably going to be angry at Maglor for not communicating that beforehand. But Newt, as usual, subverted Maglor's expectations.

"You are a good thing, Maglor, a very good thing." He sighed and pushed a frustrated hand back through his messy hair when Maglor shook his head in denial.

"Why are you bad?" he asked.

Well, there was a list as long as his arm and probably longer to answer that one. But to communicate it in this situation was a little complicated.

"I…hurt Eldar. I maype hurt you."

Newt nodded slowly. "Do you want to hurt me?"

Maglor refuted that violently. "No! I go. I not hurt you!"

Newt answered him with a sincere tone and vulnerable expression, but in his desire to make his point he went a little too fast and Maglor had trouble distinguishing the words. Seeing this, Newt simplified it.

"You do not want to hurt me. You will not hurt me. You can stay. I want you to stay."

And oh how tempting it was just to acquiesce and give in to that imploring expression. But though he couldn't make Newt understand the real reasons behind his need for solitude, he could rely on him to keep his word.

"I want go," he announced with as much as conviction as he could muster.

"I want to go," Newt corrected gently with a sad little smile. "Really? You mean that?"

Maglor nodded, and Newt held up his hands in concession.

"Alright. It's your choice. I'll be back for you when we're there."

He gave Maglor a pat on the shoulder and headed out of the ladder and out into the world. As soon as he disappeared from view, Dougal appeared and chittered madly. He was evidently unimpressed by the interaction that had just taken place.

"Don't take that tone with me," Maglor sniped. "I know he doesn't like it but it's for his own good."

This did not appease the demiguise in the slightest. Dougal wrapped himself around Maglor's legs and vanished, leaving the Elda with a very odd sensation of invisible weight pressing on his legs.

"You can't keep me here, you know," he cautioned. "Newt respects my choices so you'll have to let me go."

The demiguise flashed visible for just a second, long enough for Maglor to read the expression on his furry face:

Make me.

Sighing, Maglor resigned himself to having a demiguise attached to him until Newt came back and cajoled him off. A short while later, he saw the bubble containing the lobalugs gently levitate its way from the aquatic area up into a small square opening that had appeared in the sky. They floated up and away and into freedom.

He would be following them soon. He tried to feel pleased about that.

Newt had to bite his lip as he watched Maglor emerge from the case, though whether to swallow back tears or laughter he wasn't sure. He'd activated the ramp down into the case which he usually used for larger animals, to spare Maglor's hands, and as the Elda fought his way up it he had to contend with a screeching demiguise plastered to his left leg. He didn't see why Maglor was worried about hurting anyone: though he was noticeably annoyed, he was being very careful with Dougal, attempting to gently pry him off and not even shaking his leg, though he must have been tempted. Maybe his worry was about the curse damage, perhaps he thought it was contagious. That was theoretically possible but highly unlikely- even if it was the case, Newt was sure there was a cure to be found. For all the Dark magic in the world, there was Light magic working to fight it. After everything they'd witnessed in the fight against Grindelwald, he had to believe that.

Eventually Newt took mercy on Maglor.

"Dougal, come on, let him go."

The demiguise turned a wounded and betrayed expression on Newt.

"I know, I want him to stay too, but we can't make him if he doesn't want to, come here, there's a good lad."

Dougal was finally coaxed off Maglor's leg and into Newt's arms, Maglor escaped up to the beach and Newt set down a whining Dougal before grabbing a cloth-wrapped parcel, darting out of the case himself and slamming it shut. Newt and Maglor found themselves facing each other in front of the rocky overhang where Maglor had first taken Newt four days and forever ago.

"For you," Newt said, offering his package to Maglor, who opened it to find food, the new tunics and leggings Newt had transfigured for him, some clean bandages and a comb. Newt's heart clenched at the sheer surprise on Maglor's face, and he wondered absently how long it had been since Maglor had last received a gift. Predictably, he tried to offer it back but Newt stood firm. If he was letting Maglor go, it would be with as much help as he could possibly provide.

"No," he said assertively, pushing the parcel back into the crook of Maglor's arm. "Take it. It's yours."

The tone did its job and Maglor evidently accepted that he wasn't going to take no for an answer, so he held onto it, eyes shining with undisguised gratitude.

"I will protect you," Newt continued, then walked around Maglor's base in a wide arc casting every protective enchantment he knew.

"You are safe here for ten days," he informed him.

There was an awkward silence filled with everything Newt wanted to say: please reconsider, there's so much more we could do together, I could help you, I like having you in the case, I think you want to stay but there's something stopping you, something that's broken your trust in yourself and I wish I could show you how wrong you are.

But he was a man of his word. He'd said that Maglor could choose after three days, this was Maglor's decision and he had to honour that. He had done all he could, everything that Maglor had allowed him to do, and now he was simply respecting his friend's right to self-determination.

So why did it feel like he was making a huge mistake?

There was quiet, just the seagulls' shrieking shattering the calm air of the otherwise deserted beach. It occurred to Newt that neither of them knew the right word for this situation in the other's language.

"Goodbye," he said with a wave and a very forced smile, telling himself that he'd cry in a mooncalf cuddle pile later but for now he had to keep it together.

"Goodapie," Maglor echoed and Newt's lip quirked. 'B' often sounded as 'p' the first time Maglor encountered a new word, and Newt ached at the realisation that he was hearing that little detail for the last time. He offered the correction in response to Maglor's concentrated frown.

"Bye. Goodbye."

Maglor nodded, his lips moving soundlessly as he practised. "Goodbye," he said finally, "thank you."

He nodded solemnly, turned around and walked away.

*hides under a rock* I'M SORRY! I promise to make this better...