It was difficult to clamber down the ladder when your limbs were still stiff as boards, but your excitement made your mild pain that much easier to forget.
Newt’s hand was still tight and steady in yours, and he stood beneath you at the bottom of the ladder, carefully helping you down the rungs so that you would not fall. As soon as your feet were on the ground, he released your hand with one last brief smile and quickly turned away, to a table where he began to busy himself with various odds and ends, not even bothering to explain to you what in the world was going on.
But there was enough to stare at to keep you busy, and you did so, utterly in awe at the strange little room. Above the table were shelves, and both the table and shelves were overflowing with various odds and ends: plants, jars of herbs or strange, glowing liquids, or buckets with strange substances and smells.
You watched eagerly as he pulled various leaves from some of the plants and began throwing them into a drinking glass, crushing them up and then pouring different liquids inside.
His lips were pursed and his brow furrowed in slight concentration; his hair hung over his eyes as he bent his head over his work.
You peeked around the rest of the room, not wanting to disturb him. The other walls were also full of shelves and foreign objects, plants hanging from the walls and ceiling; there were handwritten notes scattered about, and…
You leaned forward to look closer at the paper on a table. It was a drawing of a dragon, labeled with untidy scribbling and what seemed to be medical instructions and random information that you did not understand. This in itself was so astounding that you stared, jaw wide open. Did this mean that dragons were also a real, magical creature? Had he met one, studied one, perhaps?
“No way,” you whispered hoarsely.
Yet another thing that you had thought only existed in the stories.
Who was this impossible man?
“That paper is an old draft,” said Newt’s voice, now directly behind you, and you spun around in surprise. He was smiling, gazing at the paper in your hand, but his eyes were mournful; bitter, even. “Meant to help me take notes on their diet and the various breeds, that sort of thing. The drawing is based on one of my favorites. She was a sweet one, as far as dragons go.”
You gaped at him, for he spoke about it so matter-of-factually, as if everything that came out of his mouth was so blatantly normal; and then you registered what he had said. “Was?” you questioned.
“Yes,” he said quietly, tearing his gaze away from the drawing and looking up at you. He smiled a little, but pain was clear on his face. “Was. Here, princess.”
He did not seem interested in pursuing the subject further, though you had a million questions. He was now holding out the glass he had been mixing on the table toward you. It looked almost like water, though there was a vibrant blue about it that told you it most certainly was something else.
Cautiously, you took it. “What is it?”
“For your pain.”
You blinked. “How did you - ”
“It wasn’t difficult to see. You wince every time you move your legs or arms. The ladder was especially painful, wasn’t it?”
He was looking at you knowingly, and you had no idea what to say. “I…” You trailed off, peering at the glass. It was common sense that royalty should never take a drink offered by a stranger, or one they hadn’t seen prepared. You supposed you had seen him prepare it - your eyes flicked over to the table - not that it meant anything. You understood nothing about this room, and he could have put whatever he liked in the drink and you wouldn’t know the difference.
You hesitated.
You had known him less than a day. Was it safe? Your father had a good amount of enemies, and as kind as Newt Scamander may seem…
Gently, he took the glass from you and took a long sip. “It doesn’t taste particularly good, unfortunately,” he said lightly, handing you the glass back and deliberately looking you in the eyes for a moment before giving you a quick, easy smile - as if to silently say: I understand your concern, but look, it’s fine, I drank it…. “But I promise it will make you feel better.”
“Thank you,” you said, grateful; but he had already turned away, toward one of his shelves, where he began pulling different slabs of what looked to be raw meat off and throwing them on the table.
Shrugging, you downed the drink in one go.
He hadn’t been wrong; it tasted terrible. But almost instantaneously, you felt your limbs getting lighter, and your body returned to a sense of normalcy. Newt was busily chopping the meat with a large knife, but he turned to you as if he had felt your eyes fall on the back of his head. “Better?”
“Yes,” you said, incredulous. “It was…incredibly fast.”
He nodded. “Most pain potions don’t work quite so quickly, but I tweaked the recipe a bit. I’m glad it helped.” He turned back, but he still spoke to you over his shoulder. “If I may, princess - ”
“Y/N,” you corrected him.
“Y/N,” he repeated, now throwing slabs of meat into a bucket at his feet with a large chunk. You watched, half disgusted and half fascinated. “Would you mind telling me how long you have been having problems with the transformation? Your lady in waiting mentioned it wasn’t always this way, and I think that may be a key to your recovery.”
You thought about it for a long moment, following his movements with your eyes as you did so. “I’m not sure,” you said, slowly. “When I was a child, I remember no pain. I believe it’s gradually gotten worse as I’ve aged, but…” You frowned.
“But?” he prompted, still hard at work but pausing long enough to glance quickly over his shoulder at you.
“It’s gotten significantly worse since…well, since my mother’s death.”
He threw the final slab of meat into the bucket with a thud and turned to face you fully, a searching look on his face. “Really? When did this happen?”
You bowed your head. “Just a fortnight ago.”
There was a long silence, and his voice was very heavy when he finally spoke. “I didn’t know. I’m truly sorry for your loss, princess.”
It would not do to cry now. You steadied yourself emotionally before looking back up at him. You were glad you had, for his eyes were so soft that they nearly made you start crying right then and there, and there was real, genuine concern in them. “Thank you, Newt,” you finally managed. “You’re very kind.”
“I want to show you something.” He again held out his hand, giving you that small, crooked smile of his; your heart skipped a beat.
You put your hand in his, and he led you carefully through the myriad maze of objects scattered about the room and to a door on the far side. His other arm was balancing no less than three buckets of the newly sliced meat.
“Is this your home?” you asked him as he led you through the door. “Are you a traveler?”
“It is not my home,” he said, “Though it functions as such when I do travel, yes. Which I do quite a bit.”
“You must tell me more about your travels some day,” you begged. “All I have are the books in the libraries, but it sounds…wonderful.” You sighed, and your voice took on a wistful tone. “I am not technically allowed to leave the Court, you see.”
He looked at you again as you walked. You noted that you were passing what seemed to be large, billowing curtains that were sectioning off different habitats, and you saw what looked to be plains, and mountains, even a gigantic sea…
Were you dreaming? How could all of this be inside of that tiny suitcase?
“Never?” he asked, frowning.
“No. But my mother and I…sometimes we left in secret, especially when I was younger and my father was off during the war. It was only to the woods nearby to go picking berries, but they were still some of the happiest days of my life. It was quite thrilling to sneak about, if I’m being honest.” You smiled, remembering how your ladies in waiting would scold and lecture you, asking how in the world a princess had managed to become so filthy.
You passed another “room” that was snowing softly, blindingly white, and another that was an old-growth forest. You could smell the trees and the moss and some of the wildflowers all the way from here. A giant beetle passed you, rolling what seemed to be a giant rock from one place to another; a large, fly-like creature zoomed above your head, buzzing loudly, and Pickett’s head was again poking out of Newt’s jacket pocket.
“What is all this?” you asked finally, dazed. “I am not quite convinced I am not dreaming.”
He chuckled, a warm sound that tugged at your heartstrings. “You’re awake, princess.” You had half a mind to correct him again, but you didn’t. Hearing your name on his lips was strangely appealing, but so was the mild tone in which he said princess. “This suitcase has an Extendable Charm on it, you see,” he continued, and his eyes were continuously darting around, taking stock of what was happening. You tightened your grip on his hand when you heard a particularly loud roar from some creature elsewhere, but you had no idea from where the sound had come from. “It had to be quite a powerful one,” he explained. “This is the sanctuary I’ve made for the creatures I’ve rescued.”
Though you had no idea what an Extendable Charm was, you could obviously guess from context. The idea was positively breathtaking.
“So you…you travel about, rescuing animals?” you asked, fascinated, and, after hearing another loud roar, slightly afraid. “Magical creatures? Are they, erm…quite large?” you asked timidly, feeling your heart beat with exhilaration. “Are there dragons?”
“No dragons here,” he told you. And then, to your surprise, he squeezed your hand ever so slightly and said, “And there are plenty of large creatures, but that doesn’t make them dangerous, princess. Just misunderstood. There are a few which only I should handle, but no harm shall come to you.”
And you found that you believed him. You trusted him.
“Here we are,” he said, letting go of your hand and gesturing you forward. You were standing in front of yet another loosely sectioned off habitat – really, how many were there? you wondered, feeling dizzy again – and it seemed to be dark inside, as though it were night. And indeed, when you glanced up, you saw stars and a moon in an artificial sky. Not that you would know it was artificial by looking at it: it was positively gorgeous. You only knew it wasn’t real because you remembered walking into a magical suitcase.
You let out a slightly hysterical laugh. Whatever Newt said, you still felt as if you were in a dream and you weren’t sure that feeling would fade.
“I…” You weren’t sure you wanted to walk in first, without him.
He pointed at a bucket beside the opening in the curtain. “Take that with you,” he instructed kindly. “The Mooncalves are hungry. You can handle that while I feed the more volatile creatures.”
“The…Mooncalves?” All you could do was blankly repeat things and utter half sentences. He probably thought you were a complete imbecile.
He just smiled enigmatically. “Yes. Go on,” he urged, nudging you toward the bucket. “They’re gentle things. I think you’ll be very fond of them.” He crossed his arms, grinning as he raised his eyebrows at you, waiting for you to enter.
“I…” You hesitated, and then blurted out, “You’re certain I’m not dreaming?”
He laughed, long and loud, and you found yourself smiling sheepishly too. “Very certain,” he told you. “I have to run, the others need feeding. I’ll meet you back here in half an hour, princess.”
With that, he took his buckets and hurried off purposefully.
You stared after him, rather shocked he had just walked off on you.
Well, it could not be said that he hovered or coddled you because you were a princess or a woman.
And you had to admit it was a welcome change, despite being surprising. Walking into this strange, foreign environment alone was more than enough to set your nerves on edge and your heart beating wildly; but this was an adventure.
It was all you had ever wanted.
And so, steeling yourself, you picked up the bucket and walked forward, chin held high.
There was no creature or movement that you saw immediately upon walking into the enclosure - if it could be called that, and indeed, you had to remind yourself over and over that the brilliant night sky wasn’t real, that it was just a copy. You carefully made your way up the side of a steep hilltop and toward a cliff, trekking over the grass and maneuvering carefully over the rocks, where there seemed to be a path cutting through meadow-like environment.
Your eyes and ears were peeled for any movement, watching carefully for any sign of the animals. Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire. There was still a bit of fear, certainly, but most of all you felt...
Alive.
And then, finally, you saw them.
They were like nothing you had ever seen before, of course.
The Mooncalves were stout little things, shining pale gray from the reflection of the moon and stars in the sky above you. They had luminous, bulbous eyes and reminded you of rabbits, at least in a way, for when they saw you they began to hop excitedly toward you. But their necks were long like horses and their ears much shorter, and they had four legs rather than two. Their approach brought you no fear; the looks on their faces and the excited little squeaks they were making were so very clearly friendly.
“Unbelievable,” you whispered to yourself hoarsely, unable to stop grinning.
They crowded around you, bouncing eagerly, knowing that you had brought food.
Reaching into the bucket, you clumsily plucked out a few of the pebble-like objects inside. They were far lighter than you expected, and when you threw them out toward the creatures they hovered in the air, floating magically. And then they would drift downward, slowly, so that the Mooncalves could bound up and gleefully catch them in their mouths, all the while making sounds of pure joy and looking at you with large, trusting eyes. It was impossible to be unhappy feeding them, you thought, still smiling wildly. The grief and sadness from the previous conversation was all but forgotten, and it occurred to you that that had probably been Newt’s plan.
And so you stood there, feeding these adorable little creatures and laughing softly in awe, in wondrous disbelief. Time must have flown by without you noticing, because it felt like only seconds later that you heard footsteps trudging up the cliff side behind you.
Turning, you saw Newt approaching, watching your interactions with the Mooncalves with a smile.
“I see you’ve become well acquainted,” he said, and at the sound of his voice the Mooncalves began bouncing about wildly, chirping with excitement and surrounding him eagerly.
He chuckled softly. “I’ve got no more food for you,” he told them, affection plain in his voice as he held up his hands to prove he was empty-handed.
“They’re wonderful,” you breathed happily. “Where do you find such creatures?”
“The Mooncalves can survive anywhere, essentially,” he told you as he took the now empty bucket from your hands. “They’re shy things. They live in burrows, emerging only at the full Moon.” He gestured upward, at the full moon in the sky.
“But how do you know so much?”
“Observation, mostly. I study them, you see. Document their behavior.”
Too many questions for him peppered your lips. What to ask first?
“You have such an expertise with creatures,” you said tentatively. “This must be why my father sought you out, is that it?”
“Yes. I must admit, the way it was described to me, I thought…” He stopped, looking suddenly very uncertain, his eyes looking up to scan your face.
“What?” For some reason, the expression on his face alarmed you.
“Well…when your transformations were described to me, my first thought was that you were perhaps a Maledictus…”
“What’s that?”
“A person cursed to eventually turn permanently into an animal,” he answered, and at your look of sudden panic he hastened to say, “But they have full control over their transformations until the very end, princess, unlike you. It is not your curse – I knew that the moment I saw you change.”
Relief flooded you. “Do you have any idea what it is, then?”
“No,” he admitted. “I’ve never seen something like this before.”
“Oh.” You cast your eyes downward. That did not sound like good news.
“We’ll figure it out,” he promised, and he suddenly sounded so earnest that you looked up again to meet his eyes. They were burning with determination. “Give me some time to study you. I will help you.” He blinked suddenly, and then extended his arm politely. “But I just remembered that we must go back…I was commanded to speak with the King today, and I fear that if I disappear too long with the princess, that it might cause some panic.”
“Yes…yes, of course.” But you glanced wistfully over his shoulder toward the rest of the habitats, not wanting to leave at all.
“I’ll show you all my creatures here,” he said gently, accurately guessing where your mind was at. “We have plenty of time, princess.” He bowed slightly, extending his arm further. He didn’t seem ready to drop the full respectful signals usually bestowed upon royalty, nor too often use your given name.
You took his hand, feeling almost giddy.
Plenty of time with all of this magic - and with him - sounded perfect to you.
A/N: I don’t know if it’s Tumblr’s tagging or if no one read Part 2, but the drop off from Part 1 was huge. Regardless, I hope those that are reading enjoyed this installment. It was still an intro (I really meant it when I said slow burn...) but things will start to pick up more after this.
Kenneth Branagh as professor Gilderoy Lockhart in a never-before-seen before photoshoot from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets - Entertainment Weekly.
bullet points: the only thing you write is bullet point fic. or short fic. it’s good writing, it’s just never as long as you want it to be. you envy those who can write 50k epics at the drop of a hat. and they, in turn, envy you.
WIP Central: you last completed a fic in 2009. your folders are full of nameless fics crying out for attention. you cannot open them without a surge of guilt. in spite of this, you open another document, and begin another fic.
word counter broke: this one, you tell yourself, will be a measly 2k. it is not. you watch in creeping horror as the counter climbs first to 5k, then to 11k. you still have six major plot points left to go. the fic is expected to clock at 23k but knowing you, will reach 50k. you have a sequel planned. there is no end in sight.
error 404: I’m writing, you tell people, and you are. you post snippets on your blog. yet your ao3 fic counter is a firm zero. you never post anything. you crave validation. your finger hovers over the new work button. you close the tab.
A/N: Friendly reminder that this will not move super fast! Romance is a slow burn and full plot will reveal over time. Hope you all still enjoy :)
Read Part 1 if you haven’t already. Index is HERE.
The midday light dawned, weaker than usual in the beginnings of spring.
The rays of sunshine fell onto your bed and woke you slowly. It would have been peaceful but for the ache in your bones, but you were used to it.
It was a daily occurrence now, this sort of pain, and it usually wasn’t until late in the afternoon that your body felt fully recovered from your transformations the night before; only to do it all over again in the evening. Shae was beside you as she always was, dabbing your forehead gently with a washcloth. The silk covers felt cool against your naked skin, and your clothes for the day were draped and ready on an armchair beside the bed, as always.
“Shae,” you whispered, rather weakly. Yesterday’s transformations seemed to have taken more out of you than usual. You suspected it was happening as you aged, even though you were still young yet. You didn’t remember them being this painful or draining when you had been a young child. Today, your bones felt as if they had been pulverized into dust.
“Your Highness,” she said softly. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”
“Quite miserable, if truth be told.” You still sat up, however, desperate to get out of bed and stretch your legs. Just like every morning, you strained to remember the night before. And just like every morning, there was nothing. The last thing you remembered were the faces of your father, Newton Scamander, Shae, and the golden light.
Summary: When Newt Scamander is summoned to help cure the curse of a princess at the command of her powerful father, they both get swept into events and a world that they never expected.
One: The First Transformation
Two: The Morning After
Three: The Traveler (Fri, Feb. 8th)
Four: The Memories
Five: The Row
Six: The Golden Light
Seven:
Eight:
…TBC
hufflepuff house.
why can’t we be friends, when we are lovers? ‘cause it always ends with us hating each other, instead of calling me out, you should be pulling me in
Let it be known that Narcissa Black begins her life as a soft, gentle creature. This is a reminder that ice takes time to form. That children are born neither good nor bad, but something in between that teeters on the edge of being both.
A/N: Friendly reminder that this will not move super fast! Romance is a slow burn and full plot will reveal over time. Hope you all still enjoy :)
Read Part 1 if you haven’t already. Index is HERE.
The midday light dawned, weaker than usual in the beginnings of spring.
The rays of sunshine fell onto your bed and woke you slowly. It would have been peaceful but for the ache in your bones, but you were used to it.
It was a daily occurrence now, this sort of pain, and it usually wasn’t until late in the afternoon that your body felt fully recovered from your transformations the night before; only to do it all over again in the evening. Shae was beside you as she always was, dabbing your forehead gently with a washcloth. The silk covers felt cool against your naked skin, and your clothes for the day were draped and ready on an armchair beside the bed, as always.
“Shae,” you whispered, rather weakly. Yesterday’s transformations seemed to have taken more out of you than usual. You suspected it was happening as you aged, even though you were still young yet. You didn’t remember them being this painful or draining when you had been a young child. Today, your bones felt as if they had been pulverized into dust.
“Your Highness,” she said softly. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”
“Quite miserable, if truth be told.” You still sat up, however, desperate to get out of bed and stretch your legs. Just like every morning, you strained to remember the night before. And just like every morning, there was nothing. The last thing you remembered were the faces of your father, Newton Scamander, Shae, and the golden light.
“Shall I call for breakfast, my lady? So you may regain your energy?”
“Soon,” you answered, sliding your legs over the edge of the bed and cringing as you did so. Automatically, Shae moved forward to help dress you for the day with quick, nimble fingers. “Please tell me about the night,” you commanded. “Tell me everything you can remember.”
That too, was a request you gave nearly every morning.
Today, however, there was surely much more to report, considering the new guest in your room, and you were dreadfully curious.
“Your father - begging your pardons, my lady, I meant to say His Majesty the King, of course - ”
“I am not my father, Shae,” you reminded her. “You know you do not have to beg pardon around me, nor honor titles. You are my trusted friend and advisor.”
“You flatter me, my lady, but not honoring your title feels far too rude.”
You smiled weakly. “Very well. Tell me of my father. What happened?”
“Well, he explained a bit more about your condition to the Lord Scamander. He said that it happens nightly, and that you have no recollection or memory. The curse is such that you forget entirely, and he also mentioned that it has happened since you were a child.”
“And then?”
“Lord Scamander asked some questions, my lady.” She had pulled on your dress and now you sat in the armchair beside the bed so she could brush out the tangles from your hair. “He seemed very focused on the fact that the transformations caused you pain, and he asked the King whether it had always been so. His Majesty answered yes.”
“My father knows nothing,” you said irritably.
Shae laughed, a little nervously. “Begging your pardons, your Highness - ”
“Shae. No begging, and no pardons. That is an order.”
Though you couldn’t see her, you knew she was giving you a shy smile from where she stood behind you, still brushing. “As you command, my lady. I wanted to say that your father did not stay long. He left only minutes after the transformation, after answering Lord Scamander’s questions and ordering him to report to him with news.” She hesitated, clearly uncertain whether she should say whatever it was that she had been planning to.
“Speak, Shae. Do not fear.”
“I…well, I contradicted his Majesty,” she whispered, her voice a quiet, terrified squeak. “After the King left I told Lord Scamander the truth of it; I said that you had told me that when you were a child, you did not feel such pain when you transform. The pain is much more recent.”
“Thank you,” you said, gratefully. “If Lord Scamander is to cure me, he must know the true facts. You did well to speak up. What happened then?”
“Well, Lord Scamander got very quiet and focused, studying you there in the cage. He was so intent and he did it for so long that I rather felt he had forgotten I was there. But then he turned to me, abrupt-like, and announced he was going to let you out.”
You blinked, surprised. “And did he?”
“I protested at first, of course,” said Shae quickly. “I told him of the times when you had gotten free, when you jumped off of that balcony and became injured, remember? Or when you darted out of the room and into the corridor when I called for water.” She shuddered; you felt the vibration of it on your head where she was holding the hairbrush too it, and you knew full well why she was reacting like this. The King would have taken her head on those occasions for letting you escape, had you and your mother not been able to talk him out of it. Still, Shae had been beaten mercilessly on both occasions as punishment. She continued after a moment, “But Lord Scamander assured me he could handle it. He said he would accept responsibility, and that no harm would come to you. He was very sincere, your Highness.”
“And then?”
She walked around and stood in front of you. A strange light had entered her eyes, and you recognized it as excitement.
“He pulled out a magic stick, my lady,” she breathed. “Like the ones they tell of in the stories! And he said to me, a bit roughly I might add, ‘No creature belongs in a cage.’ And then he waved it, and the lock just...clicked open.”
“He performed magic?” Your eyes widened, stunned. You had assumed he had a way with herbs, plants, animals, and various mixtures, and that he could perhaps read the stars and tell the future like some of the strange folk in the city; the magi, they were called, the ones that often served as healers and fortune tellers. Never had you imagined he could perform true spells, or had the rare magic spoken about in books in your library.
But...did your father know about this?
He had a hard enough time tolerating magical healing and the magi as it was, but this sort of power…he must not be aware.
You shuddered.
“Did he do anything else?” you asked finally.
“Not much, my lady. He seemed to be trying to get you to come to him, to trust him. And I must say, you were more docile than usual. You did not go to him, but you also didn’t run away to hide as you might have. Eventually you curled up to sleep, and Lord Scamander seemed a bit pleased with that, even though nothing much had happened. When the time came for your transformation, he was rather intent on seeing it, but I-I also refused him.” She bit her lip. “I told him when you came back that you would be indecent, and it wasn’t proper for him to look upon your Highness in your natural beauty. I thought he might argue, but then he nodded - resigned, I’d say - and he took his case, bid me good night, and made me promise I’d come to him if there were any problems with your transformation back. Was…was that proper, my lady?”
“Yes,” you told her. “As always, you never fail to impress me.”
She looked radiant at your compliment. Your mind was on the mysterious Newton Scamander.
“Shall I bring your food now, your Highness?”
“Yes,” you said, standing to move to the table that was in your room. It was difficult. You flinched when you stood, and you could feel the way that your legs were shaking from the mere effort of taking the steps. “And if you would be so kind, please see if Lord Scamander is awake and available to dine with me. I’d very much like to speak with him.”
“As you wish, your Highness.” She curtsied briefly, giving you another kind smile before exiting the room. You sat heavily in a chair the your small dining table in your quarters, wincing a little at the aches and pains that you seemed to feel as deep as your very bones; and you waited.
You did not have to wait long. In less than ten minutes, Shae had returned with Lord Scamander and platters in tow. Scamander walked over and knelt down on one knee before you once more, bowing his head in humble respect. You noted that he again had his suitcase in his hand, which he had hastened to set down a few feet away before coming forward and taking the knee, which you found quite strange - why not leave it in his designated quarters?
“I shall be outside, my lady,” said Shae, inclining her head respectfully before taking her leave and closing the door behind her with a gentle snap.
“I thank you for the invitation, your Highness,” Newton Scamander said politely, speaking to the ground in a low mumble after she was gone.
“You are my trusted healer,” you told him kindly. “Please rise – I do not require you to kneel before me. And I’d like you to call me by my name...Newt.” He looked up, surprised at the informality and use of his first name, but then he gave you a small, quick smile. It was a genuine one, however, and you found it was far too endearing for a woman already betrothed.
“Please, sit,” you said quickly, gesturing to the chair across from you at your small dining table.
“And what is your name then, princess?” he asked, settling in to the chair beside you.
“Y/N,” you answered, and examined him for a moment. The light from the windows made the freckles on his face seemingly glitter on his skin, and you noted that his eyes darted around the room frequently, never settling on you. He seemed distinctly uncomfortable. When he did look your direction, his eyes were trained slightly over your shoulder rather than on your face.
What an odd, fascinating man, you thought.
“Shae has told me some of the main points from yesterday night,” you told him, as you began to butter a biscuit. You gestured to the food. “I hope you know to help yourself, Newt.”
“Thank you, princess,” he murmured, and began to pour himself some steaming hot tea. “And yes. Your lady in waiting is incredibly helpful.”
“Yes, she is. May I ask you a few questions as well?”
“Of course.” He was not still not really looking at you; he was now busily putting jam on a biscuit.
“You let me out of the cage. Why?”
“It was quite obvious you felt trapped, and that’s the last thing you need to feel if the transformations are already problematic.” He stirred a pinch of sugar into his tea, frowning. “It’s also quite cruel to put any being in a cage.”
“I am grateful that I was able to be out and about. But please, you must know – if I escape, you and Shae would both be punished mercilessly. I wouldn’t want this.” It was still humiliating to talk to him about this; for him to know your greatest weakness. You were an animal by night, and while things could be worse - you had heard stories of princesses that turned into ogres and other monsters - it still shamed you, and you felt the warmth creep up in your cheeks regardless of your nonchalant attitude.
He did not answer, but his eyes flicked to you very suddenly, examining your face carefully before zooming away again, back to his plate. “You’ll be safe,” he promised finally. “I won’t let you escape.”
You nodded, satisfied enough with his answer. You had warned him, and that was about all you could do at this point. “What of your magic?” you asked, trying not to sound as eager as you truly were, because this was what you had really been wanting to talk about. “I assumed you were a mere magi, but it sounds to me that you are a true wizard...like the ones from tales of old.”
He looked up again. “I am no magi,” was all he said, quietly.
“I thought your kind had gone extinct,” you pressed, confused and yet so incredibly fascinated. You stared at him as if you had never quite seen him before; he seemed uncomfortable with the scrutiny, fidgeting with his hands on the table rather than eating his food.
The stories had always said that the witches and wizards of old had died out. Was it really, truly possible that one was sitting here across from you? He looked just like any other man; did that mean that anyone could be magic around you, and that you would have no idea? Were there more - a whole world that you had thought merely fantasy?The thought made you giddy with excitement and you yearned to know more.
“Stories are not always accurate, princess,” he said, not unkindly, and as if he had known your very thoughts. He met your eyes directly again, only for a few seconds, but he gave you another small smile.
“Does my father know this?” you asked, feeling suddenly uneasy.
He hesitated, looking incredibly wary.
“I wouldn’t tell him,” you assured him gently. “You have my word. He is no fan of magi, to put it mildly. I cannot imagine how he would react to true and powerful magic.” You tried not to imagine his fury should he find out, but you couldn’t help it. You shuddered for the second time that morning, and then you looked back up. “Nor do I really want to.”
His eyes had been studying you very carefully as you spoke. There was still a hint of wariness to them, but now there was a spark of what you thought might be relief and gratefulness as he gazed at you across the table. Finally, he answered. “Not exactly,” he admitted. “He believes me to be a magi, which I was told he would overlook this one time if I were to cure his daughter.” He paused. “Though I don’t think he will be so lenient if I cannot help you.”
You suddenly realized he wasn’t here by choice.
He had been coerced and blackmailed, and it put a sour taste in your mouth. You were quite afraid to ask how your father had even found him for the task; and thankful that Newt Scamander did not seem to hold a grudge against you for his uncomfortable position.
“I apologize for my father, and for any wrong that may have been done to you,” you said, your voice stiff with anger. “He has always been a harsh man, but it’s gotten even worse ever since my mother…” You stopped suddenly, surprised at how much it hurt to speak about her. You hadn’t really done so since her death, and your windpipe felt momentarily blocked. “Regardless,” you plunged on, trying to ignore the tears beginning to glisten in your eyes, “I try to keep him calm, but it gets more difficult by the day. You saw how he reacted when I spoke up for Shae last night.”
He was watching you very curiously now. “Forgive me for saying so, but you are nothing like I imagined, princess.”
You laughed. “If you only had my father to go by, I suppose that must be a relief for you.” You smiled at him, reassuringly, and he gave you a smile back; still awkward, but still endearing.
You considered asking him to perform a spell. You were desperate to see magic, not to mention sorely disappointed you had missed it the night before. However, before you could say or do anything else, you saw something green poking out of one of Newt Scamander’s front jacket pockets. It looked very much like a twig, except that it was moving and that it seemed to have eyes.
“What is that?” you gasped, eyes wide and pointing with a shaking finger.
Newt was already trying to push the green figure back inside his pocket desperately. “I told you, Pickett, if you’re going to stay in there while I’m here, you can’t just pop out whenever you feel like it...”
“Answer me,” you said, gazing on in shock as the creature made a squeak of disappointment at Newt but obediently ducked back inside the pocket.
Newt looked up. “It’s a Bowtruckle, princess,” he said. “It will not harm you.”
“But what…what is it?” you asked, awestruck.
How many impossible things would this strange man reveal to you before breakfast was over?
“A creature, though admittedly a different kind of creature than you are used to,” he answered kindly. “I work mostly with magical creatures, you see.”
A light had entered his eyes. You recognized it immediately as a light of passion, because it was the same sort of look you were sure that you got when it came to stories and novels. This, it seemed, was what he truly loved and cared about: creatures.
“Magical…” You began, but then stopped, felt dazed. “But I don’t understand.”
He looked at you for a long moment. “Perhaps it is better if I show you?”
You felt your heart speed up when your eyes met his again. They were warm and welcoming. “Now?” you breathed, uncertain.
“If you wish,” he said. He grinned, clearly amused.
“I do,” you said, nodding. Your heart was racing, but you wanted to appear cool and collected. A Queen would have to be ready to face all sorts of strange surprises, after all. “Please, show me what it is you speak of.”
He stood from the table without another word and strode over to his suitcase, which he had left only a few feet away, the one he seemingly had on him at all times. He bent over and busied himself with the lock; after the lid had clicked open, he took a step forward, and…
You gasped loudly.
He was inside.
Or at least, part of him was inside. He was stepping downward as if climbing a ladder, but he was moving inside the suitcase. But - but how could it be? You could see the bottom of the suitcase plain as day, there on the ground. And yet you could also clearly see that half of his body was inside.
He turned around to face you and seemed amused at the look on your face; your eyes were probably as wide as saucers. “It’s a smidge bigger on the inside, you see,” he explained, another small smile gracing his handsome face and a light dancing in his eyes. You realized it was a mischievous one, and that he was having quite a bit of fun with this.
You only gaped at him wordlessly, eyes still flicking from the suitcase to him and back again, trying over and over to force your brain to make sense of the impossibility you were seeing; and you only just realized that you were on your feet, having leaped up in surprise.
And then he carefully extended his hand outward, palm up. “No need to fear, princess,” he said, very softly. “I’ve got you.”
The creature in his pocket - the Bowtruckle, you remembered, feeling again strangely dizzy and overwhelmed and yet happy - popped out his little green head again and let out a soft squeak. It seemed to want you to follow Newt.
Throwing caution to the winds, you stepped forward and took his hand.
It was rough with callouses, but you found that you didn’t mind. In fact, you quite liked it. His grip was sure and steady in yours, and he helped to guide you toward the suitcase and onto the ladder, so as to descend into the strange, magical room below.
A/N: I’m so excited for this fic, y’all. As you can maybe tell, magic is slightly different in this AU. I want to thank everyone who commented, reblogged, or liked the first part. Your encouragement keeps me going :)
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