On New Year's Eve, the winds turned adverse. A Seer was sent a premonition.
Stepping inside Nurmengard's topmost cell, Albus froze in his tracks. The German wizard lay unconscious in the middle of a drawn, candle-lit pentagon, his features as pale as ashes. A trail of blood had trickled from his nostril and dried on his cheek. His lips were parched, as if all the water had been drained from his body.
His basket forgotten, Albus rushed forward, the abrupt motion nearly extinguishing the candle flames. He saw at once Gellert was breathing: his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm that indicated the crisis was over. The aftermath, however, was only beginning.
With shaking hands, the Englishman Summoned a water bottle he had brought with him and soaked his handkerchief, which he gently pressed to the other man's forehead. He also applied the cool fabric to the pasty cheeks and chin, cleaning the dried blood as thoroughly as he could.
Several years had passed since he had last found his lover in this state. Sybill Trelawney's prophecies manifested as verbal warnings, of which she had neither knowledge nor recollection. Gellert's premonitions came in the form of visions. He would witness brief, disconnected flashes of future events and become overwhelmed with a paralysing headache. The visions were usually tragic, and he remembered all of them. If only Albus had possessed the power of releasing wizards from this curse, he would not have wavered, for there was no gift more poisonous than Sight.
"Rennervate."
The sapphire eyes fluttered open and blinked, pained, disoriented. Even lifting his eyelids cost the wizard great effort.
"Gellert." Albus leaned in, lightly caressing the moist cheeks. "Gellert, mein Schatz. How are you feeling?"
He tilted the bottle so that a few drops of water would fall onto the cracked lips. This trance, whatever it had revealed, had been particularly devastating. And yet, in spite of his agony, a part of Gellert sensed Albus's presence and understood what had transpired.
"C-candles…"
Candles. Without delay, the headmaster blew them out and concealed them in the pockets of his robes. He scrubbed the ground clean of lines and symbols and pocketed the sponge, as well as the matches and the sachet of gravel Gellert kept hidden under a loose stone. His blood ran cold at the idea of the guards entering the cell when the prisoner was poised for astral projection: that it had not happened was pure good fortune.
While he cleaned, the other wizard lost consciousness again; he would be suffering for hours unless a pain-relieving potion was administered. Albus lost no time, except to double- and triple-check that all the evidence of magic had vanished. He opened the door and hurried downstairs, where the two guards were discussing their gastronomic preferences.
"Excuse me," he called in German. "Gellert is feeling very unwell; he needs a potion to relieve headache."
The ex-Aurors marched into the cell, their masks in place. It was all he could do to stop himself from hyperventilating as he watched them squat and examine the wizard's still form. They said nothing, yet he could divine the direction in which their thoughts were travelling. They could see this was no ordinary headache: the signs of magical exhaustion were too striking to ignore. They were wondering whether Gellert had attempted to cast a spell. Perhaps they even suspected him of having tried to escape. After all, his Sight was a secret: the skill was much too rare and unpredictable to be made public. It was now too late to bring it to the authorities' attention and expect them to believe it.
As if he had spoken aloud, the guards raised their gazes at him. He forced his limbs to remain relaxed, devoid of tension. They had already searched him once at the entry. If he gave them the slightest excuse for searching him again, they would find the candles. And without his wand, he had no hope of overpowering them: they were younger and more athletic than him, and the Dark spells inside the prison walls rendered wandless magic difficult to achieve. Besides, any fight with the Austrian security would result in his own arrest. He was no good to anyone in prison.
Whether it was due to his unstrained body language or his genuine expression of concern, they did not approach him. Instead, the nearest guard adopted a firm, courteous tone.
"We need to search this cell. I will ask you to leave now."
Torn between fear for his beloved and relief at having had the foresight to collect all the items from their secret stash, Albus swallowed.
"Will you give him the potion? He is in pain."
"We have to investigate first. Please leave."
There was no doubt the man's civil tone would change at lightning speed if he was not obeyed. With one last, alarmed glance at Gellert's wan features, the Englishman moved towards the door. His basket lay where he had dropped it, full to the brim of food and drink.
"May I leave his meal here for later?"
The dinner had been searched too, and the guards were fully aware no magic had been used on the roast duck, the baked potatoes, or the salad, let alone the wine. But the Austrian shook his head.
"Everything from outside needs to go. Kindly take it with you."
With this, he was escorted downstairs and handed his wand. His question as to when he could come again was met with a noncommittal answer at best.
"We don't have that kind of information at our disposal. Our report goes straight to the Minister for Magic—I expect he'll be in touch with you once the investigation is complete."
The later hours of that evening found Albus sitting in the staffroom, which had been converted into a modest party room. A number of teachers including Pomona, Filius, Charity, and Septima had gone to their families to celebrate; as for Madame Maxime, she had chosen to stay with her students. For once, no one had thought it wise to invite Karkaroff. Small though it was, the celebration was cordial, and Albus would have taken pleasure in attending it, had his mind been carefree. In his hand, he was clutching Alvo's gift. The book had become more to him than a source of information on his ancestors: he perceived it as a talisman of sorts. Tonight, when anxiety and shock and anger raged in his chest, he more than ever needed reassurance. Had the guards let Gellert partake of the potion? Had they even meant to do so? Why was it necessary that he obtain yet another formal permission for visiting his lover? Why was it so easy for the authorities to ruin any small joys simple people worked hard to secure?
It was said Seers were wizards whose souls had been cursed before their birth. Everything Albus had seen in life suggested this was accurate. If Sybill Trelawney had been born without the gift and the family legacy on which she founded her entire self-worth, she could have lived a fuller, happier life, no longer chained to her job but free to roam the world and appreciate herself such as she was. She would not have been a loner in the group, condemned to spend every holiday at Hogwarts—of this, he was certain. And Gellert… what an exorbitant price he was paying for those meagre, distressing glimpses of the future. Each vision left him drained and in pain, uncertain and utterly helpless. As a child, he had been plagued by the visions of his mother's untimely demise. He had Seen Ariana drop dead from the Killing Curse, and try as he may to avert the catastrophe, he could not. Had the newest trance brought him fresh tidings of death? Albus knew he ought to stop speculating and wait until he and Gellert could speak freely again. He should do his utmost to suppress his nagging suspicion that the vision had something to do with Harry.
Naturally, the Austrian Minister for Magic would be unreachable for the whole duration of the holidays; not that one could reproach him for spending time with his family. All the headmaster could do was dispatch an urgent owl to the official's secretary and ask to be assigned the earliest meeting date available. The guards, of course, did not care for how long their prisoner was forbidden from receiving company: their precious protocol and, by extension, their jobs were all they cared about. It felt as if he had been sent back to the mid-forties and instructed to go through the harrowing process of begging for the politicians' favour all over again.
"Albus, what's the matter?"
Minerva's solicitous fingers landed on his shoulder. Only now did it occur to him his aura had to be churning with restless emotion. Not without an effort, he conjured a smile.
"Forgive me, dear; I was lost in thought. I was ruminating on bureaucracy… My frustration must have shown."
Behind her, he saw Rolanda and Alastor observing him with sympathetic frowns. The fact that they were holding hands would have cheered him up, had this been any other moment.
"Bureaucracy?" The witch scowled. "What has the Ministry done this time? Is it about the second task?"
He could not tell her the truth, nor did he wish to lie. His private life was, after all, a public secret; Minerva would also scoff at any news involving divination.
"It's an international issue, but it will get solved as soon as everyone resumes work; I just need to be patient. For the second task, the preparations will begin towards mid-January." He grasped her hand to pull her onto the seat next to him. "Don't worry about me, dear. How have you been?"
They chattered for a while, lifting each other's spirits. Once the witch stood up to help herself to refreshments, he was approached by another colleague, Aurora. Her smile could have brightened midnight.
"I have cheerful news to share with you, headmaster. Mambo Lucille has written back to tell me she will be happy to meet you."
Albus gasped, delighted, and reached to gently press her hands in his.
"You are an angel, Aurora. Thank you very much. When will the best time for this visit be, in your opinion?"
"You could go tomorrow if you wish," she assured him. "If you set out at six o'clock in the evening, it will be afternoon in Haiti. The journey itself usually took me several hours, and I would rest a little at every Apparition point."
This was all he needed to know. Thanking the young witch profusely, he pulled himself together. What had transpired in Austria was both frightening and upsetting, yet luck had not deserted them: in less than twenty-four hours, he would go to Haiti and seek a way to end Gellert's predicament. In the meantime, the latter would be safe from investigations, for all the incriminating items had been smuggled out of the cell. As far as the vision went, they would analyse it together at the first opportunity—there was nothing they could not overcome together. And as long as Harry stayed in the castle, no ill would befall him. Fawkes would keep a close eye on him as an additional precaution to the Tracking Charm.
The New Year rolled in at last, and the teachers hugged each other, exchanging toasts and wishes of good fortune. After a merry hour of mingling and singing with the others, the headmaster excused himself to retire to his room. He was sorely tempted to drink a dose of the Dreamless Sleep Potion, lest he spend the night awake, his heart consumed with worry; only, he had not counted on his familiar's affection. He drifted off caressing the phoenix's silky wings.
Around eleven in the morning, he left the snow-covered grounds of Hogwarts behind. A plan had formed in his head: if he was to pay his respects to mambo Lucille, he could not fail to present her with a significant gift. The topic had been positively dissected in the d'Angellis' home on Boxing Day, but it was Alvo who had proposed the soundest suggestion: nothing could be more valuable to a school for young wizards than a beautiful magical beast. As such, it was essential to call on a former student of his.
The Scamanders lived in a charming house: a construction of stone with many a sharp angle, large windows, and a monumental chimney protruding from a sloped roof. Their garden was green and fragrant during the warm months, which rendered it ideal for their pet Kneazles to hunt and play in. This first of January, however, had dawned windy with only Christmas lights to dispel the day's gloom. At least a year and a half had elapsed since Albus had come to Dorset—he had relied on correspondence for too long.
He considered the two symmetrical potted trees placed on either side of the entrance door, as well as the eagle-shaped knocker. Seconds after his tap, a tall witch stood before him. She had liquid brown eyes and shoulder-length hair; despite the passing years, her cheeks had never lost their roundness.
"Good morning, Tina." Albus smiled. "Happy New Year."
"Albus Dumbledore." She did not smile back; if anything, her lovely voice was laced with suspicion. "This is the first time you've come to see us on a festive day. Are you looking for Newt? He wants to talk to you about the Chinese Fireball, so it's just as well. Come in."
This was as warm a welcome as he could have expected. He followed Tina into the entrance hall and then a spacious sitting room painted yellow and forest green. A fluffy Kneazle was asleep on the window sill; another one jumped onto an armchair and stretched, indifferent to the commotion. Without a word, the witch knocked on the far-right door before sliding it open. It revealed a wood-panelled study.
Apart from the heavy bookcase, the walls were busy with sketches and moving pictures; the remaining space had been dedicated to plants and potion jars stacked on shelves. In the centre of this gentleman's retreat reigned a large desk, and Newt sat behind it, an open notebook before him. Age and hard work had lined his features and turned his hair grey. Yet Albus, who had always struggled to dissociate the youthful memories of his students from their grown-up selves, still saw the young man in him. It could be partly due to Newt's shy smile of a greeting or the earnest curiosity in his hazel eyes.
As if to oppose this effect, the study itself was reminiscent of the start of the century. Old England was indeed a notion that seemed to apply perfectly to Mr Scamander, who embodied its retenue, its love of pleasant intellectual debates, and its lack of curiosity for other wizards' affairs. Its unpredictability as well, for no one could tell what manner of thoughts lurked behind an Englishman's smile.
They shook hands, and Albus gave the couple a box of French eclairs and madeleines baked by the house-elves. Tina took it, far from mollified.
"I'll fetch you some tea. And Newt, the usual for you?"
At his nod, she walked away, her trousers swishing round her ankles. The guest was the first to break silence after being wordlessly invited to sit down.
"Happy New Year, Newt. I hope you'll forgive this unannounced intrusion. How are you doing?"
"I'm all right, thank you, Dumbledore. I hope so are you?"
Certain things never changed. To this day, the younger wizard avoided direct eye contact, stealing only occasional glances at his companion's face. There was more to it than timidity: numerous magical beasts tended to perceive eye contact as a threat. What had not changed either were his transitions from quiet reverie to blunt honesty.
"I recently returned from Romania," he went on. "They asked me for help in handling the Chinese Fireball: she wouldn't eat and refused to go near her eggs. Mr Krum's Conjunctivitis Curse has harmed her in many ways."
Albus sighed, saddened by the news. "How is she now?"
"She has started eating again, but we had to give her eggs to another nesting mother. She needs more time. We hope to gradually restore her sight; it's just, after such an attack, she won't find it easy to trust humans again." Newt straightened up. "I wouldn't have expected something like this to happen at Hogwarts. Not with you in charge."
It was a more stinging reproach by far than the Ministry's accusations, but the headmaster did not look away. He accepted the responsibility for the dragon's plight.
"I'm very sorry, Newt. I should have prevented it—I ought to have ensured that the rules forbade the champions from harming any of the creatures. If you spoke to Barty Crouch while in Romania, you already know he would like me to oversee the animals' safety from this point forward, and I will do so."
The promise was met with a puzzled frown.
"I haven't spoken to Barty Crouch."
"Have you not met him? According to his assistant, he had to travel to Romania in order to apologise to the Chinese delegation."
"As far as I know, there wasn't anyone present from our Ministry." The hazel eyes took to studying the jars scattered over the shelves. "The Chinese delegation waited for a day—we briefly discussed the dragon's treatment—and then departed. It would appear the Fireball had never been approved for participating in the tournament in the first place; someone from the sanctuary had made a logistical mistake."
"I see."
The implications were ominous, so much so that Albus felt gooseflesh erupt on his skin. This could not have been Percy Weasley's oversight, nor was it a coincidence. He would have to pay Barty Crouch a visit. If this meant forcing his way into the official's house, so be it.
"Be that as it may, I am deeply sorry about the attack on the Fireball. I can promise you one thing: it will never happen again. I will use my influence to protect any creatures in the care of Hogwarts."
After a brief deliberation, Newt nodded, his sheepish smile back on his face. The sincere apology had appeased him.
"All right. You must have come to see me for a reason. What is it I can do for you?"
The door flew open, and Tina strode in with a tray; she had brought them ice tea. Once she set the glasses down, she lingered, inquisitive, loath to allow them more privacy. This complicated the matters. The headmaster wished he could speak plainly in front of her, yet he knew his request would be denied immediately if she were to be consulted. She had never been on his side, and she never would be. Only one option was left to him; but first, a distraction.
"I'm sure Rolf has told you of the blast-ended skrewts," he started cautiously. "They are currently on the curriculum. I might as well confess it straight away: this is also my fault. When I first saw the eggs, I knew they represented a breach of the Ban on Experimental Breeding; still, I couldn't bear to ask Hagrid to dispose of them. The consequences of my decision… let us state that neither students nor the beasts have been very happy at the arrangement. The skrewts aren't what we could call a peaceful species."
He could have sworn Newt's lips had twitched in amusement.
"Rolf has told us. I've met Hagrid, and I know he means well, even if his methods…" The younger wizard's gaze darted towards his wife. "I've been thinking… it might be prudent to grant him a formal permission for breeding them, only this once. What he has done is wrong, but I don't want him to get in trouble so soon after… There are Ministry officials on the school premises after all."
Although he refrained from glancing up, Albus knew the witch was scowling in disapproval. Once instilled, an Auror's instincts could not be dislodged—he knew this much from Alastor—and Tina's job had been to maintain the law. Newt's gesture was in equal measure compassionate and rebellious.
"I cannot express how much this will mean to him," he admitted gravely. "You know Hagrid would gladly lay down his life for any of his creatures. But he would rather die than return to Azkaban. I'll do my utmost to prevail on him to abstain from such experiments in the future."
A soft meow joined in their conversation: one of the Kneazles had entered the study and was brushing against Tina's feet. It diverted her attention for long enough to give Albus a chance to focus on a wandless, non-verbal spell. A few seconds later, the two pots holding the decorative trees at the entrance door shattered with a mighty crash. She nearly jumped in alarm.
"What—wait, let me check."
Left on his own, the Kneazle picked a comfortable spot by the heating stove. Newt had not moved; he was not deceived.
"What is the real reason you are here?" he asked quietly.
Time was scarce, and Albus discarded all pretence.
"Tonight, I will be visiting a wizarding school in Haiti." There was urgency to his tone that he found impossible to contain. "It's to learn a protective spell of the greatest importance. Much will depend on this mission's success, and I will strive to earn the friendship of the school's headmistress. To show my respect and goodwill, I must present her with a valuable gift."
"You are asking for one of my creatures." For the first time, Newt appeared less than benevolent; a sharp intake of breath testified to his displeasure. Even his aura became agitated. Nevertheless, he clarified, "You are going all the way to Haiti to learn a protective spell. It's not for defending Hogwarts, is it?"
They stared at each other. Albus shook his head in confirmation. "No."
There was no need for spelling out the circumstances: his former student was—had always been—uncommonly bright. It would take him but an instant to piece the facts together. Not that he wished to do so.
As if despite himself, the younger wizard spoke again.
"Is she a famous witch? The headmistress you are supposed to meet."
"Indeed she is. Her name is mambo Lucille Le Fleur. Have you heard of her?"
"You know I have; you sent Tina away on purpose." Newt's anger had dissipated, though; his calm voice now betrayed nothing besides bewilderment. "She is rumoured to be a dangerous Dark witch, one who has repeatedly evaded capture and keeps spreading dissent in her country."
"True, entire campaigns have been conducted against her at MACUSA's incentive. Propaganda doesn't have to be based on solid facts if its web of symbols and insinuations is efficient."
Albus sat back, his brows furrowed in reflection.
"Have I ever told you of my very first evening at Hogwarts? When I came to school as a first year, the Sorting Hat was set on sending me to Hufflepuff. It claimed my loyalties lay with my loved ones. As you know, this is the core difference between Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors—the latter are devoted to moral principles and higher ideals whilst the former will do anything for those they have given their loyalty to… even bend their principles. I spent a good five minutes arguing with the Hat—I was desperate to please my father, a true Gryffindor, who had been sent to prison mere weeks before my Sorting. This isn't to suggest the Hat was mistaken. The truth is, I understand loyalty better than I understand anything else. I know why Tina is faithful to MACUSA and to her first patron, Seraphina Picquery, who made her an Auror. It means she is an honourable witch, and I respect her for it, even if this renders our convictions incompatible."
The last half of their century had seen the political situation in wizarding Europe radicalise, settle down, and radicalise again. The United States were not much different in that regard. And Madam Picquery, who remained a fervent champion of the Statute of Secrecy, had a particularly competent public relations team at her disposal. For decades, those wizards had maintained her image as one of the most skilled politicians of all times while working to weaken her opponents' reputation. This had included both Gellert and mambo Lucille. Tina was but one of the thousands of wizards who believed every word of those campaigns.
The headmaster bit his lip. "I'm doing you no favours, I know. I wouldn't have come to you if I could turn to anyone else for help."
His host had listened without interruption. His eyes were averted, his expression blank.
"There are shops on Diagon Alley where creatures can be purchased," he replied at last. "I believe you, Dumbledore, but… I can't hurt Tina. And I won't lie to her."
They had reached an impasse, Albus could sense it, and no amount of arguments would alter it. Not even the fact that every single shop in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley was closed on the first of January. He nodded.
"I understand. Permit me only to ask your advice. What creature would you recommend? I seek one who will enjoy the heat of Haiti and the presence of children."
Newt took a sip of his ice tea.
"A Jarvey would be a sound choice. They are playful and sociable and easy to feed. If you apply a simple Cooling Charm to their fur, they won't mind hot weather. The last I heard, Magical Menagerie had one."
A faint blush rose to his cheeks. In his fifth year, he had smuggled a fully-grown Jarvey to Hogwarts. The ferret-like animal had escaped from its makeshift lair, bitten a first year, stolen food from the nightstand of an indisposed student at the Hospital Wing, and infiltrated the male staff bathroom, where it had released a stream of profanities, startling the youngest teacher to the point of panic.
"There are also Fire Salamanders," he carried on quickly. "They are born from magical flames, so young wizards can be taught to raise them and care for them. They are very impressive to look upon, but the fire has to be tended to at all times, or they will die within hours. For a simpler gift, you may want to consider a Streeler. Those will feel at home in a tropical climate and are not only colourful but helpful as well: their venom is effective against most pests. Every time I enter Magical Menagerie, I see a few beautiful specimens on display."
All of the animals he had mentioned would make exquisite pets; only, this happened to be a day when Magical Menagerie could not be accessed. The sole option was to cast the flames that would give birth to Fire Salamanders.
"Thank you, Newt." Albus shifted in his chair. "Before I go, may I say hello to your charges? It has been so long, and there is no telling when I might see them again."
If the request had surprised the other wizard, no word or gesture showed it. The hazel eyes narrowed a fraction, or it may have been a trick of the light.
"All right."
He stood up and walked towards a closed door with no handle, passing his fingers over its surface. The wood glowed blue and then gave way.
They were standing at the entrance to a sunlit, circular vault with a ceiling twice the height of the house. Arched windows towered around them, as tall as the vault itself, each of them attainable through a separate staircase. Albus counted no less than thirteen archways, which corresponded to different animal habitats. The vault served as both an intersection and a workshop: the desk in its middle was stacked with folders, documents, and annotated maps.
Newt's system of sanctuaries was in fact based on the five main climate zones and their subtypes. The archways which housed tropical creatures offered a glimpse of lush, dark green vegetation; the desert segment, on the other hand, exuded scorching heat. One of the views could have been snatched from a window at Hogwarts with it picturesque hills surrounding a lake. But what most drew the headmaster's attention was the habitat next to it. Tranquil night had descended on the arctic tundra, and so had aurora borealis.
He realised the younger wizard was watching him, pleased by his reaction. The proud, playful smile lent Newt's face a remarkably youthful aspect, as though he had never outgrown his teenage years and wished nothing more than to hear a teacher's praise for a task well performed.
"Shall we?"
Casting a Heating Charm on their clothes, they mounted the stairs that led to the polar archway.
It was a wondrous experience to walk through those nature reserves, which were the result of multiple enchantments—an illusion of sorts. Some of the spells, Newt had learned from Albus, and the knowledge could not fail to comfort the old teacher. At least something in his life, he had done right. It occurred to him that this modest magizoologist deserved more recognition for his selfless work than certain political figures did—Cornelius Fudge, to name but one.
His host turned around with a quizzical glance.
"Forgive me; I didn't mean to stare." Albus smiled; he had noticed the way in which Newt came to life around his beasts, even holding himself more confidently in the wild environment. "It's good to see you happy. You are happy, are you not?"
"I… suppose so." The other man waved his wand to dry his clothes: they had just left the rainforest archway behind. The question had caused him to revert to his shy self. "I found my calling early. Do you miss teaching at all?"
"I do. It is my calling. Yet I'm extremely fortunate to have my colleagues by my side. It's a joy to be working with them."
A continental sanctuary opened before them, prompting them to follow a path down a windswept plain.
"When you were named headmaster, Tina thought it was a matter of time before you became the Minister for Magic." The words came swiftly, as if Newt meant to withhold them yet proved to be too curious. "You were offered the position twice, isn't that right?"
"I wasn't."
Once upon a time, Tom Riddle had asked him the very same question, only to receive the opposite answer. Albus's intention back then had been to provoke the so-called Dark Lord. Judging by the latter's dismayed expression, it had worked.
"What happened is that shortly before her resignation, Eugenia Jenkins mentioned our collaboration to the Daily Prophet. That year, the press was following an anti-pure-blood trend and found it convenient to exaggerate her statement, making it sound as if I were her right-hand man and successor. The second time was a misunderstanding. The war was gaining momentum, and my friend Elphias Doge was asked to give an interview. He made a statement about my aversion towards Dark wizards and expressed the opinion that I would make a better Minister for Magic than Harold Minchum, whose policy involved stationing a Dementor at every door of every establishment. As for the third time… Millicent Bagnold was retiring, and Barty Crouch was one of the most successful candidates for her post. His methods had made him enemies among the Dark pure-blood families, and for once, they tried to use my name as a weapon and pit us against each other. So you see, it was only a rumour designed to stir the public mood. I am no politician: I lack the means, the support, the background, or the skill, and you need those to make your voice heard." He chuckled. "Mind you, one doesn't have to be an official to ruin everything in sight."
His speech was met with pensive silence. They trod on a grassy slope, and as the landscape became more varied, a Niffler scurried over to them. Deftly, it climbed onto its master and perched on his shoulder, the bead-like eyes fixed on the newcomer, the long snout sniffing the breeze. Having detected the rings on the old wizard's hand, it drew nearer.
"Do you like them?"
Albus started taking them off but was stopped.
"No, no, don't spoil her, Dumbledore." Newt pulled the furry animal off his arm to cradle it against his chest. "If you let her, she'll have you stripped bare before you know it. There, let me introduce you to the Nogtail."
He sped up, but the headmaster did not go after him. Two turquoise eyes peeking from a spring of water had distracted him. They belonged to a pearlescent head covered in lilac scales with round horns and a blue gem on its forehead. He was barely conscious of crouching down by the bank for a closer look. The eyes neither vanished nor blinked. It was impossible not to recall the tale of the Cheyenne girl who had cut her hair and undergone various trials; in the end, her courage and kindness had been rewarded with the protection of Horned Serpents.
"Hello, Mehne; I am honoured to meet you. I can see why they used to call you a water spirit. You are more magnificent than any description can convey."
As if the snake could hear and understand those spontaneous words, he raised his head above the surface, showing himself in his full glory. His shimmering body was strong; a dorsal fin ran along his back. The jewel on his head was the same shade as his eyes. Even the flicking tongue was pearlescent.
Something about this moment felt so sacred that Albus was convinced it was meant to be. A wave of gratitude he could not entirely explain, not even to himself, washed over him.
"Legends have been written about you," he continued, his voice gentle. "They claim you can turn invisible at will and that you sing at the sign of danger. You have inspired fear in mighty warriors." He paused, musing. "Your kind watched as history was made: you lived near my maternal ancestors long before the settlers came, and then everything changed. The books can't enlighten us on those events, and sadly, you can't either. But if you could, would you? Do you believe wizards should never find out certain truths?"
The fierce eyes held his gaze.
"Petal likes you."
Newt was standing beside him. He was alone: the Niffler seemed to have run off to her lair.
The headmaster inhaled. "Do they eat meat?"
There was a nod. Without another word, Albus Conjured a raw steak from the school kitchens and placed it on the edge of the water, careful not to spook the creature. As soon as his hand withdrew, the serpent gracefully seized the meat and swallowed it, sinking into the spring. Half a minute later, they saw him re-emerge and swim near the surface, his long body reflecting the light.
"I didn't know you had Native American heritage through your mother," the younger man admitted. "There are few Horned Serpents left in the wild: a few dozen in North America, about the same number in Asia, and none at all in Europe. It's the jewels on their foreheads, you see—they are magical and immensely valuable. Wizards will do anything to lay their hands on more wand cores. The cultures that practice wandless magic are… less destructive in that respect."
Albus contemplated the majestic creature. He had a feeling the snake would not be opposed to coming with him, even if it meant leaving this reserve and his protector.
"Help me, Newt," he pleaded. "I swear I will give Petal a loving home and that he will want for nothing. If you do me this favour, you will help restore more than one man's life."
When his former student did not reply, he went on.
"Would you like me to speak to Tina? I will explain to her how crucial this is."
"No, I ought to speak to her myself." Newt sighed; his profile appeared preoccupied against the cloudy sky. "You were on my side when I was facing expulsion, and you gave me a chance to take exams. I haven't forgotten, Dumbledore. I will help you. It's not easy for me, but I will do it, and I hope your endeavour will succeed. If it doesn't, though, I won't be able to help you again. Just promise me you will bring Petal back if they can't care for him as he deserves."
"I promise." Reaching out, Albus put a hand on Newt's shoulder. "Thank you. I will never forget this. And I will never stop being grateful."
The pledge was acknowledged with a nod. Then, as if to dispel the solemnity, the other wizard cleared his throat.
"There is one more point you should know about Horned Serpents."
"They are mortal enemies with Thunderbirds," the headmaster divined. "And phoenixes are related to Thunderbirds. I won't be introducing Petal to Fawkes."
Satisfied, Newt nodded again. A quarter of an hour later, Albus left the workshop with a tank of water floating by his side and detailed notes on maintaining river snakes in his pocket. In the sitting room, he came face to face with Tina. She gaped at the aquarium in outraged disbelief.
"It was good to see you, Tina," he said courteously. "Thank you for the tea. I hope we will be able to meet soon. Once again, happy New Year."
She did not respond. When the front door snapped shut behind him, he closed his eyes, ashamed. He had intruded on a couple's holiday, damaged their potted trees, pressured his former student into parting with one of his animals, and most likely caused a domestic dispute. Newt had every right to loathe him. All he could say in his defence was that none of it had been done for his own sake.
The day ticked along, split between work, correspondence, research, and care for both Fawkes and Petal. Once dinner was over and the staff members had received their final instructions, the wizard and the Horned Serpent were free to begin their journey.
Every Apparition point was located in a different time zone and had charming sights to offer. More than once, the local witches and wizards would do a double take at the strange old man and his water tank covered in fabric; he had done this to protect the creature from becoming disoriented.
The last stop before their destination was a village in the central mountainous region of Puerto Rico. The weather was humid and warm: a soft breath of spring. Albus pressed a hand against the snake's refuge.
"One more, and we will be in Haiti."
He grasped the glass and focused. The world dissolved in a vortex of magic.