Crimson Petals

This story is fully written and beta'd and will be updated every Tuesday and Friday until the movie release in November. The biggest thank you goes to njckle and Katie Havok for their fantastic alpha and beta reading and all the encouragement, support and patience.


CHAPTER TWO

A low rumble reverberates through the halls, announcing its arrival as the walls begin to rock and the floor quivers below their feet. Small pieces of plaster and stone rain from the ceiling when a second thunderous groan takes the building. Queenie stops in her tracks as one of her female colleagues screams in terror and rises to her feet along with the other three employees still seated around their desks. Their floor is almost deserted, with most of MACUSA is upstairs watching the President's address, but Queenie had chosen to remain.

Be prepared at any moment, was all he'd told her. Is this it? Is this the sign?

They jump into action simultaneously, hurrying towards the lifts to make their way up to the surface. Queenie hesitates only a moment, knowing they will overlook her in their haste and slips around the corner towards the familiar staircase, pulling off her heels to silently descend to the basement instead.

The air is rife with the pungent smell of smoke and heavy with dust when Tina wakes. She blinks as her vision slips in and out of focus until she's vaguely able to make out the shapes of people moving, climbing over chunks of crumbled ceiling and bent metal as chips of plaster and ash fall like silent snow. An eerie ringing noise fills her ears, muffling every sound as she lifts her hand to her forehead in confusion, fingering the sticky warm substance at her hairline, and her fingers come away with blood.

Tina springs upright in a sudden rush of adrenaline, oblivious to her own injuries as she scans the room, driven by an incomprehensible sense of urgency. There's someone she needs to find, but she doesn't know who. She grabs onto the wall for support as the world spins around her and she stands on wobbly legs, willing her feet to move. The fog in her mind slowly begins to clear while the dust around her starts to settle.

The extent of the damage unfolds in front of her eyes as it does, and her hand clamps over her mouth to muffle the cry of terror clawing at her throat as she her gaze sweeps across the bodies half-buried beneath the rubble and dust, some moving and some unnaturally still, limbs bent all wrong, and her mind struggles to keep up with her eyes.

Natural light floods the hall through an opening where there wasn't one before. She doesn't know how long she's been unconscious and her head begins to swim anew as she struggles to remember, struggles to comprehend what happened. Weren't they at a press conference mere moments ago?

A face appears in front of her eyes, familiar features she's unable to place immediately, and a gentle hand steadies her by the arm to help her sit on a piece of fallen stone. "Goldstein, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"

"Ruby," she murmurs after a time and receives a tight smile in return.

"That's right. Do you know where we are?" Ruby asks, trying and failing to mask her own trembling hands with another encouraging smile.

"The atrium, I think," Tina says, licking her lips and tasting dust before suddenly shooting out a hand to wrap around the woman's arm. "What's happened? Where's Queenie, where's my sister?"

"I don't know, honey. I haven't seen her — " she starts, but Tina cuts her off, trying to pull herself upright on unsteady feet.

"I've got to find her!" she exclaims, brushing off Ruby's well-meaning hands as the urge to find her sister becomes overwhelming.

Tina stumbles on through the chaos, trying not to think of what she's stepping over as she blindly searches for a glimpse of her sister's golden head. Deep down Tina knows Queenie is alright, must be, convinced she would have felt it if something had happened to her little sister. Tears sting her eyes along with the dust still clinging to her skin and clothes, and she reaches up press a hand to her aching head. "Queenie, where in the name of Deliverance Dane are you?"

Queenie runs along the corridor on silent feet, pressing herself flush against the wall as she reaches her destination. There's light in the room around the corner, where she can barely make out the twin shadows of the two guards moving about, nervously whispering among themselves.

"It's an explosion, I'm telling you!" one man says, his voice trembling with barely suppressed fear and agitation.

The second man scoffs in clear defiance."That's impossible. There's more aurors than people up there."

Queenie recognises one of the men by the familiar colour of his thoughts and her face falls. There's no helping it. Frankie, she thinks at him, I'm so sorry. Forgive me.

She clutches her throat as a wave of all-consuming guilt threatens to bury her, and it's Jacob's smiling face she thinks of as reaches out with her mind, gently breaching his and planting the thought neatly between his own. The effect is immediate, and she forces herself to turn away when ice blue fear overtakes his senses.

"We gotta go, John. My wife's up there!" Frankie cries and Queenie cringes, feeling no pride in her success.

"But, we can't. The prisoner — " John interjects.

"What's he going to do? He just sits there all day drooling and staring at the wall. He's perfectly harmless. Let's go, they won't know a thing!" Frankie says and Queenie quickly presses herself into a dark corner, barely daring to breathe as they run past.

She wastes a moment on consoling herself that his wife is nowhere near the Woolworth Building before she rushes forward and into the light. Grindelwald is already waiting for her, looking up expectantly as she slides her open powder box through the iron bars of his cell. "Get in," she breathes and his face pulls into a grin.

The powder box hits her thigh with every step she takes, burning a hole into her pocket as she rushes upstairs, knowing she only has moments before someone is bound to notice his absence. The scene that greets her nearly pulls the floor from under her feet. She reaches for the wall to steady herself, one hand clamping over her mouth to stifle a shocked outcry as her eyes survey the chaos and devastation. The hollow feeling inside expands until she feels like an empty shell, with no strength to give, no strength to fight.

Morgana, I didn't want for any of this. What have I done?

Shock gives way to naked fear when her head catches up with her eyes, and she reaches out with her mind, near frantic as she searches for the familiar mental presence of her sister.

"Queenie!" Tina's voice slashes through the clamour and chaos like the clean cut of a razor blade, and Queenie turns towards the sound like a flower straining towards the sun. They collide amidst the crumbling ruins of MACUSA, clutching each other tight, their own, individual demons temporarily forgotten. Tina reaches to cradle her sister's skull as Queenie sobs in the crook of her neck, soaking through her shirt.

"It'll be alright," Tina murmurs into her hair as she feels the fine tremors shaking her sister's frame. "You're alright." Queenie wants to tell her that nothing will be alright, that it's all her doing, but she can't bring herself to utter a word aloud, throat clogged with tears and emotions. She looks into her sister's honest eyes, tasting her relief, and suppresses the urge to howl.

Tina. Brave, loving Tina, who's done nothing but help and support Queenie in any way she possibly could. Tina, who loves so unconditionally, who won't think twice about throwing herself into harm's way if it's to protect another. Tina, who doesn't know how her world is about to be turned on its head at the hands of her own sister. They stand before the ruin of their life as they've known it, the explosion like the starting sound of a gun in a war that's sure to come.

This is just the beginning, Queenie's sure of it.

She pushes away to brush a hand over her eyes once she's in full control of her limbs, banishing the bitter tears of guilt coating her cheeks. Her eyes roam her sister's face, lingering on the nasty cut along her brow. I put that there, she thinks, and suppresses a fresh wave of tears. "It's not me I'm worried about. Look at your head!"

Tina smiles, a smile that's gentle and bright, and speaks of relief as she reaches up to gingerly brush her fingers along the wound. "I've had worse. You know I have."

Of course, Queenie knows, no longer keeping track of the cuts and bruises she's had to mend and heal since her sister joined the force. This one is different, and she swallows at the black ball of dread that forms in the pit of her stomach. The scar is but a small reminder of the shift about to come, of the lives irrevocably altered, and the paths forever changed.

Her hand moves automatically to cover the pocket holding the powder box. It's heavy, heavier than usual with the knowledge of her actions, the knowledge that she's helped bring about this hurt and suffering, and she closes her eyes against the sting as fresh tears slip down her face.

Tina makes a soothing sound and gentle fingers rise to stroke Queenie's cheek. There's a small commotion behind them and Queenie recognises one of the guards from Grindelwald's cell. His eyes are frantic as his face contorted in fear and she knows what's about to happen. And so it begins, she thinks.

"He's gone!" his panicked voice triumphs above the pandemonium of sounds and everyone stops in their tracks as silence descends. "Grindelwald is gone!"

"Mercy Lewis," Tina breaths and her hand closes around her sister's arm, squeezing painfully as their gazes meet. Queenie isn't prepared for this, neither of them is, but they spring into action simultaneously as MACUSA dissolves into chaos for the second time that day.

The same day, Hertfordshire, England

Newt rushes along the gravel-covered drive, conscious of the high-pitched shrieking from his waistcoat pocket where he'd stashed his watch. He doesn't need to consult it to know what the clock face says — You're late! You're later than late! It reads in angry, red letters.

Indeed, he does find himself running behind schedule on an obligatory family dinner yet again, as is his fashion of late. If one is caring for a suitcase full of magical creatures, time becomes a rather nebulous concept of little to no importance. Sometimes he manages to weasel his way out of these dinners, yet his mother insisted on his company on this occasion, sending two owls, three department missives and his own brother to wrangle him in. His mother has always been a force to be reckoned with and she knows she usually gets her way.

She is standing in the doorway when he arrives, kind blue eyes focused on her youngest son as he hurries towards the house. Her beautiful, long auburn hair has long since turned silver, now artfully draped around her head, accenting her joy as she beams up at Newt. His mother reaches for him to pull him down to her level, pressing a warm kiss to his forehead in welcome.

"My Newt," she breathes as she holds his face between both hands. "It's been too long."

"It's been two weeks. But it's good to see you, too, mother," he says, lips pulling into a fond half smile as she pats his cheek before releasing him.

"Good lad. Now come inside, let me get some food into you. Merlin knows you need it. Look at you — you're just skin and bones! Theseus, too," she huffs and reaches for his coat as soon as he's crossed the threshold.

"Yes, mother," Newt murmurs, grinning to himself as he obediently sheds his outer layers, knowing better than to argue as he hands her his coat.

His mother heaves a weighty sigh of disapproval, and he steels himself for the inevitable lecture. "Newt, this just won't do. You're a published author now, and you're going to have to start looking the part!" He smiles sheepishly as she holds up his battered blue coat accusingly. "This thing has more holes and tears than you have freckles, darling. Did something chew on this?"

He sighs and refrains from telling her that's precisely what happened, slipping on his protective coat of nonchalance instead. "Oh, you know how I don't bother much with appearances. The creatures certainly don't mind," he says and smiles toothily, leaning down to deposit a kiss on her weather-roughened cheek.

"I'm sure, Newton, but you're no longer crawling through the underbrush of the South American rainforest. I agree, humans can be foolish, simple-minded creatures and should be treated thus. But they won't be impressed if this brilliant new author they've come to see looks positively feral," she continues, picking a piece of straw off the jacket sleeve and pinning him with a pointed stare.

Newt gulps, throat bobbing, as he catalogues the characteristic twinkle in her eye and the firm set of her jaw, eyebrows raised in challenge as if daring him to disagree. He knows that look, has known it ever since he was a small boy; it's pointless to try and argue with her. His mother had always got her way and that isn't going to change anytime soon, whether he is five years old or nearing thirty.

"I'm going to write to Delphine immediately. She'll have to come and take your measurements. We'll get you some proper new clothes and one of these beautiful new overcoats," she rattles on as they continue down the hall. "Something a little more neutral, perhaps? You'd look dashing in grey, dear."

(If he is being honest with himself, there's someone he would like to impress, but surely she wouldn't be bothered about the colour of his coat or the length of his slacks.)

"As you wish, mother," he says to appease her, stifling another grin as they reach the family dining room at the end of the corridor. It's a generous and impressive affair with high floor-to-ceiling windows and heavy satin drapery, and a fireplace large enough for Newt to walk into without bending his head.

There's a figure standing in front of the windows in the corner, dark hair piled high, exposing the elegant curve of her neck as she looks out over the gardens. Newt swallows heavily, barely noticing his mother's presence as he drinks in her figure. He'd forgotten how short she is, and how lovely. A memory flashes across his inner eye, there and gone again, transporting him back into the past, a happier, carefree time before everything changed. His mother touches his arm and excuses herself to the kitchen, but he hardly hears her.

The woman turns as if on cue, hesitantly meeting his eyes from across the room as her lips pull into an uncharacteristic, hesitant smile. "Newt," she breathes and he wants to close his eyes against the sound of her voice, and the memories it provokes. It's been years, yet it might as well have been yesterday.

"Hello, Leta," he says to her shoulder, avoiding her eyes. Her large, beautiful dark eyes that captured his soul and followed him into his dreams. They still haunt him sometimes.

She sashays closer and he tries to focus on the soft swish of her fine silk gown, undoubtedly of her own creation, cursing his mother's ill timing as he clears his throat to stall for time. "Where's father and Theseus?"

"Having a drink in the library," she answers easily. "It's good to see you, truly. I didn't think you'd come."

"Yes, well. I'm not here on my own free will, if you're wondering. Theseus can be a real pest if he wants to be," he says, joking weekly, hands awkwardly dangling by his sides.

"That he is," she agrees easily, desperate to keep the conversation going and chancing a small smile in his direction. He inclines his head, refusing to meet her gaze, and imagines the silhouette of her hurt and guilt reflected in her eyes. It brings him no joy.

"Oh, stop whinging, Newton. Talking about me, I presume?" Theseus choses that moment to waltz into the room, and Newt's never been happier to see his brother as the atmosphere instantly warms by few degrees. He nearly chokes when Theseus wraps him in a bone-crushing hug, slapping his brother's back hard enough to force the air from his lungs. "Good to see you, old chap. I just heard. Congratulations!"

It's the first family meeting they're all able to attend, with Theseus off chasing Grindelwald's followers across the continent. The first family dinner since that fateful evening in early December. Newt cringes at the memory, the day when Theseus had come home with a broad grin on his face and Leta hanging off his arm. The evening they announced their engagement.

All his food had tasted like ashes afterwards.

He'd ended that night in a drunken stupor, excusing himself from the dinner table as soon as it was socially acceptable, returning to his own flat and the comforts of his favourite bottle of Scottish whisky. The decision to travel to New York had been born of that night's drunken haze, and of the sheer devastation and hollow longing in his chest. When he awoke the next day, entirely too sober, it hadn't ceased, so he'd purchased a ticket to travel within the week.

Newt and Theseus had addressed the issue precisely once, the night after Newt's return from America. Catching up over a pint down at the pub that turned into two, then three, then five until the alcohol had loosened their tongues and they conversed in easy camaraderie, just like they'd always done. They talked about Leta and New York, about Newt's newfound friends, and the set of expressive brown eyes he couldn't get off his mind.

Theseus seems to sense his brother's line of thought and clears his throat, gesturing towards the table as their parents enter the room.

The dinner is a happy affair, more joyous than any other family gathering in recent years, and Newt can't help feeling like their family is finally whole again. Leta had been such a constant presence in their lives ever since they were children, spending more time at the Scamander estate than at her own family home. She fits back into their space like it's the most natural thing in the world, taking her seat at the table as if she'd never left.

It all changed the day of the incident at school, that unfortunate fall from grace he'd agreed to take, and Leta's absence had left a gaping hole in all their lives. It had been nearly unbearable, trying to shoulder his father's anger and disappointment without her by his side. Now, she has simply slid back into place, like the missing piece of the puzzle you were waiting to complete, like she's never even been gone at all.

"Leta, dear, how's that dress for the duchess coming along?" their mother asks after the second course, gently touching Leta's forearm in a motherly gesture.

Leta swallows delicately before showing an earnest smile. "Swimmingly, actually," she says. "She's coming for the last fitting tomorrow —"

A sudden whooshing noise makes her pause, and they nearly jump out of their skin when a heron patronus takes shape in the middle of their dining room, hovering a few feet above the ground. "The Minister of Magic will arrive in twenty-one seconds," a woman's monotonous voice announces before it dissipates.

"Good heavens!" Mrs Scamander exclaims as the fireplace suddenly roars to life and large, emerald green flames erupt from its centre. There's the clutter of silverware against porcelain and the scraping of chair legs on timber as everyone stands abruptly.

"Merlin's bloody beard, what could Fawley possibly want at this hour?" Mr Scamander muses aloud.

The flames part to emit a tall gentleman around their fathers age, his face is severe, all sharp angles and bones and there's a tired look around his eyes as he stands before them. He takes off his hat to incline his head in greeting.

"Good evening, Cepheus, Delia. I'm sorry to intrude on your family gathering," he addresses their parents, nodding at them in turn before smiling at Newt. "Congratulations on the book, Newton. Good on you, dear boy."

"Thank you, Minister," Newt murmurs and lowers his head in thanks.

"Good evening, Hector," Mr. Scamander says and gestures towards an empty chair. "Why don't you have a seat?"

"I thank you, but I don't mean to keep you long, Cepheus. I'm here on business, and I'll need to be quick about it." His eyes fall on Theseus and he heaves a great sigh, hands gripping the back of a chair until his knuckles turn white. "Though, I might as well tell you all since you'll be reading it in the papers tomorrow."

"Sir?" Theseus asks and a deep furrow appears between his eyebrows. Newt knows this expression, but he doesn't have to look at his brother to know this is serious. The Minister of Magic wouldn't be standing in their dining room if it weren't a matter of great importance.

"There's been an incident in New York this afternoon — an attack of sorts," he concedes and Mrs Scamander covers her mouth to suppress a gasp. Newt's heart drops to the pit of his stomach as an ice cold shiver runs the length of his spine.

Tina, he thinks in despair, and clutches his middle as his stomach gives a painful lurch like he is about to lose his dinner. It takes all his willpower not to jump up and Apparate to the Ministry himself, the urge to contact her almost unbearable, yet he knows it's no use. He'll have to look to his brother for news.

"Again? Do we know who's behind it? Is it linked to the incident in Amsterdam?" Mr Scamander interrupts, face as white as the linen covering the table.

Minister Fawley holds up his hand. "It appears to follow the same patterns, yes. We don't know much, but it comes at a rather devastating loss of human life," he says, face grim. "But there's more. It seems during the confusion…" Fawley heaves a great sigh and reaches for his handkerchief to wipe his forehead. "Grindelwald has managed to elude the Americans."

"Grindelwald has escaped MACUSA's custody? How's that even possible?" Theseus asks in disbelief as Newt's insides turn to ice.

Will we die, just a little?

"We don't know yet how, and MACUSA are being tight-lipped as ever. If they know anything, they're not telling us. I thought that perhaps your brother — since he's been just recently —" The minister starts, gesturing towards Newt, who snaps out of his thoughts to vehemently shake his head.

"I'm sorry, Minister, but you're mistaken in your assumptions. I wouldn't know," he says and shares a quick glance with his brother.

"Do we know anything yet?" Mrs Scamander interjects and presses a hand to her chest, her face the precise colour of ash as the candle light reflects off the diamond dangling from her ear.

"There's been an explosion during a public address, they were extraditing him to Switzerland to stand trial. MACUSA is citing internal investigations, so we know little." He wipes his forehead again and manages a thin, reassuring smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Of course, even if he manages to return there's no reason for him to come to Britain. We aren't in any danger, so these are simply precautionary measures."

"I will accompany you to the Ministry," Theseus says without preamble and the Minister nods in thanks before donning his hat.

"It was good to see you all. I wish it would have been under more joyous circumstances, but alas. Good evening." He bows his head before walking back to the fireplace.

"Thes!" Newt hisses under his breath, catching his brother's forearm to prevent him from turning away. "One of my friends — she's an auror at MACUSA." They share a meaningful look.

"Anything I find out, I'll let you know," Theseus whispers as he leans close and squeezes his shoulder before following the Minister into the flames. Newt sags into his chair and wipes a broad hand across his face as he fears for his friends.

"Well, what a pleasant end to the evening," his mother comments, voice dripping with sarcasm as she folds her serviette and places it next to her plate.

Newt thinks he couldn't agree more.