Newt brought Credence a hearty platter of food to quell his stomach’s rumblings. It would be a soothing cup of chamomile tea, an eclectic assortment of finger sandwiches, and a delicate orange with its rind carved out into that of a blooming flower. “I do hope there’s something here that suits your fancy. If not, I can try a few different recipes to find you a suitable delight, Credence.”
France. He’d stayed in France hunting for a lead on his family, the people who gave him away, nearly three months before completely abandoning his self-appointed mission altogether. The one person he’d befriended in the circus he’d joined, a woman similarly trapped in what she was, had been surprised that he’d given up his blind ambition overnight. But he’d offered her no explanation beyond a vague statement that he’d been hurtling toward the wrong destination, after which they’d escaped the circus together and parted ways.
To say that Credence had been lost after setting aside his desire to know who he was and where he came from would be an understatement. But he’d had good reason to, and so he left France in search of one of two faces in his memory he could recall showing him genuine kindness. He hunted Newt down because something lodged somewhere under his rib cage told him that was where he needed to be, where he’d learn and move forward instead of back. He couldn’t wander the world asking questions he may never find answers to; at least, not true answers. Not answers that would fill the void as he’d hoped.
Credence found him in Wales, the sky above obscured by a massive green beast taking flight with a thunderous roar. Overhead passed a dragon, something he’d not thought could be real despite all of the other fantastical things he’d seen since entering a world of magic he’d been so utterly convinced he could never join. Standing at the base of a hill looking up at Newt Scamander’s smiling face cast in the creature’s shadow, Credence couldn’t help but think that some things in the world were good, and he’d chosen the right person to hunt down so he could learn about the world he’d become part of. He didn’t, after all, want to go back to New York - not ever again.
He’d been instantly welcomed into the magizoologist’s world without a second thought. Dizzying kindness.
The next weeks were a whirlwind of learning about incredible creatures and quiet escapes to a place with no babbling to choke down a lingering soul-deep pain alone. Newt had provided him with a tent inside his case that was spacious, but barren all but for a couple shelves with unknown odds and ends on them, and a hay-stuffed mattress in the far corner. Seated there, he ruminated - he recalled faces, idle phrases laced with resentment for him, and a time when he’d been smaller and happier if only briefly.
Stuffed into the corner of the tent and planted firmly on the bed with a smooth stone flipping up and falling back into his palm with a soft ‘plap’ to the rhythm of his thoughts, Credence jolted slightly when the flaps of the tent rustled and in came Newt. His hair had something bright green in it, a smudge of dirt smeared along one side of his face, and he as always had a bewildering look of kindness spread across his face. In his hands, he carried a tray and everything laid out on it made Cedence’s dark brows jump into his hairline briefly before they settled back down to pinch together.
It all looked delicious. It did. But what had he done to deserve this random act of kindness? Mr. Scamander must want something from him. Pursing his lips, Credence sighed and sat up a little straighter than he had been. “Why?” He questioned simply, thumb smoothing over the stone in his palm in an attempt to ground himself before some form of panic had any chance to settle into his bones. “It looks good. But you didn’t have to do this.”
