Chapter Text
To say that Valère was agitated by everything that happened in the Catacombs was most certainly an understatement. The Frenchman, upon seeing the three of them entering the Hunt department of the ICW HQ, immediately began speaking in rapid-fire French only Newt seemed able to follow.
“We’re all alive,” Newt said, clearly trying to sound reassuring but the Frenchman was absolutely not reassured as he switched to English.
“Non! Non! You, you—” Valère pointed at Newt, glaring at the magizoologist as he did, “—do not get to say ‘we are all alive’ when I know what I heard you absolute–”
“Apologies monsieur but I need to assess monsieur Scamander,” the healer who had accompanied them from the Catacombs cut in. “You may resume your berating of monsieur Scamander once I am assured of his health.”
“Hah!” Valère scoffed, crossing his arms as he glared at Newt. “As if he will hear any of my words, you foolish man,” Valère said, pointing at Newt as he shook his head. “You are beyond lucky Scamander.”
Newt nodded. “I know,” he said, voice low. “Believe me Valère, I know.”
Valère stared at Newt, glare fading to a heavy neutrality as the Frenchman seemed to realise how much Newt understood how ‘lucky’ he had been in the Catacombs.
“Good,” Valère said before focusing his attention on Thee and Percy. “You both need to take a shock potion before I will allow either of you to begin your reports.”
The healer who had come with them from the Catacombs reached out to touch Newt on the arm, likely only to guide him away to a private room to be assessed, but Newt sensed the movement with his magic and saw it from the corner of his eye and reacted on instinct. His magic flared sharply enough that it was only due to Newt’s own self-control that he didn’t harm the healer’s hand. He flinched at the near contact, twitching away from the healer sharply enough that Thee, Percy, and Valère all focused their attention on him.
The flare of Newt’s magic was all-but a physical presence, easily felt by the three aurors, especially with how his magic had changed—again—because of what happened in the Catacombs. Newt’s magic recognised Thee, Percy, and Valère as people he could trust but the healer, as someone Newt hadn’t met before the Catacombs and, unfortunately, who had tried to touch him without warning him first after a very traumatic experience—because Newt couldn’t pretend that dying wasn’t traumatic—was an unknown, a threat and Newt’s magic reacted accordingly.
Even with the fact that Newt was able to react quick enough to prevent his magic lashing out at the healer, the intensity of the reaction was so great that the healer still was affected by his magic. Instead of being the magical equivalent of being punched through the wall, the healer instead experienced the equivalent of what it felt like when someone stopped their hit a hair’s breadth from impact but all that force displaced the air and space enough to still make the person almost hit flinch away.
They weren’t injured in any way but they were still rattled by the fact that they were almost injured.
Newt immediately apologised to the healer. “I’m so sorry,” he exclaimed. “I- I didn’t see you and I’m sorry- I- I—”
“Are you mad?” Valère exclaimed ignoring Newt to focus on the healer. “Did you take leave of your common sense as well as your training?” Valère’s expression, to Newt, looked as fierce as Al-Shalad’s whenever someone did something truly foolish in his presence.
The fool, of course, wasn’t the healer, but Newt and his over-reactive magic.
“No, really, it’s my fault,” Newt began, trying to calm Valère. “That- my magic- it’s my fault, really—”
“No. It’s not your fault, Newt,” Thee cut-in over Newt’s attempts to apologise. Newt glanced at his brother and twitched sharply at the way Thee was focused on him.
Thee watched Newt for a long moment, likely cataloguing things about Newt in the moment that Newt would much prefer his brother didn’t but Thee was as well-versed in the responses a person could have to trauma, both during and after the fact, that Newt had little chance of his brother missing the fact that Newt was definitely operating on trauma-induced reactivity to everything.
Thee blinked and turned his attention to the healer who, Newt realised was shaking just enough for it to be visible. Either Newt had given the healer a real scare — something Newt loathed himself for doing — or the healer was experiencing the adrenaline crash that Newt always hated experiencing himself.
“He shouldn’t touch you without warning you first and definitely not without your consent.” Thee looked directly at the healer. “Have you not been trained on how to handle victims of traumatic incidents or did you just ignore your training because of assumptions?”
“Thee,” Newt said, voice soft. Thee looked at him. “I don’t think it was on purpose,” Newt said, because, really, the healer hadn’t acted on purpose, and especially not with any malicious intent. It was, at worst, a bit thoughtless.
Valère shook his head. “That does not matter, Newton,” Valère gently rebuked the Magizoologist. “Any healer who is called to a scene should know how to respond correctly and to follow their training.” Valère looked back at the healer. “Were such behaviour to occur with another who lacked your level of magical control, Newton, the results could have been fatal. Something I believe you have just realised for yourself, monsieur, non?”
The healer nodded, still shaking. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t realise…” the healer said. “I… I have no excuse for my lapse in judgement, monsieur Scamander.”
Newt shifted awkwardly as the healer apologised to him. He could sense that the healer meant what he said as well as the fact that he hadn’t intended any harm to Newt, but it, unfortunately, didn’t change the outcome of the healer’s actions. Valère was also correct, if the healer had done that with, Percy for example, then the outcome really could have been fatal.
Trauma, after all, was rarely rational and seldom open to logic in the moment.
Valère drew his wand from his sleeve and flicked it sharply. A thin silver ribbon flitted out of it, sparkling for a moment before it faded away. Newt recognised the spell as a simple communication spell, one that sent a simple message over a short distance.
Newt also had a good idea of who that message had been sent to and what it likely said.
“You three go and sit in Percival’s office. Matron Genet will come see you herself,” Valère told Newt, Thee, and Percy, his tone brooking no argument from them, before he refocused his attention on the healer. “You, monsieur, will return to the healer ward and inform your direct superior of your lapse in judgement yourself. If I must do it, you will be lucky if you are permitted to do more than inventory for the next decade.”
“Our, Auror Brisbois,” the healer said, nodding, before offering Newt an apologetic incline of their head. “Again, monsieur Scamander, I apologise.”
Newt nodded at the healer. “Uh- it- well, no harm done, right…” Newt said, fingers twitching as he fiddled with the edge of his sleeve. “I uh- maybe you should go have a- a cup of tea? I did- it was a shock to both of us, I think.”
The healer smiled slightly, a hint of reluctant amusement in the way they did so. “Oui, monsieur Scamander,” they agreed. “I forgot myself and can only apologise for my actions. I do agree with your recommendation of a cup of tea, though, monsieur.” The healer’s smile turned a little sharper, a hint of humour slipping into it. “I believe tea is quite the uh- panacée for Englishmen, is it not?”
Newt couldn’t help the little smile in response to the healer’s words as he nodded. “Uh- yes, quite.”
The healer inclined their head again, humour fading back behind professionalism. “Monsieur’s.”
Newt gave the healer a little nod of his head in return, though Thee and Percy did not — nor did Valère, although the Frenchman had calmed whilst Newt and the healer spoke at least — and the three of them watched the healer leave the department before, with a raised eyebrow from Valère and a pointed gesture of his arm, they trooped into Percy’s office. Percy leading, Newt in the middle, with Thee following behind and closing the door once they were inside.
Although the interaction had given Newt the chance to calm himself, to settle his racing heart and the panic that flooded him at the healer’s thoughtlessness, his magic still remained… unsettled. Newt himself fell into silence, both in body and mind, but his magic felt more akin to a child howling in discontent.
What had been partially under his control after interacting with the Tarasque now flared and twisted in sharp twists that tested the limits of Newt’s magical control. Although the healer truly hadn’t meant any harm to him, the fact that they had tried to touch him unannounced and without informing Newt beforehand had triggered trauma responses that were influenced by his magic and influenced his magic in turn.
Before… before the Catacombs, Newt’s magic had always been somewhat prone to functioning instinctively when he was in the midst of danger — or his mind thought him to be — but time and a great degree of effort had enabled him to largely curtail the more… destructive reactions of his magic. After what happened in the warehouse with the Hieracosphinx Newt had resigned himself to re-learning how to control his magic. It had been… not an impossible task, but certainly not easy. His magic was stronger, more intuitive, and acted at times like the magic of some of the beasts Newt had cared for over the years. It was still his own, still within his control. It hadn’t differed significantly from the regular magic-user but there was a difference.
After the Catacombs, the control Newt had painstakingly regained felt less like a wall of certainty and more like a thread-bare curtain running dangerously close to tearing in half.
It would take time, again, for Newt to rebuild his control to the level he preferred it to be. The level that, with the dramatic changes in his magic would be needed if he were to be of any help in hunting Grindelwald as well as working in his chosen profession as a Magizoologist.
Newt could not hope to help magical beasts if he could not even hope to control himself, after all.
“Got anything stashed away in here, Percy because I think we could really use a drink right now?” Thee asked as he dropped into the nearest chair to the door.
Newt blinked, focusing on the present, and chose the chair near the fireplace, where he could see the entire room with no blind-spots. He watched Percy move two heavy books along the shelf they were on, revealing a single decanter of amber liquid with a set of glasses.
“Is that Firewhiskey?” Thee looked at the decanter as Percy placed it in the centre of his desk, adding three glasses from the set before the American Auror sat down in his chair behind the desk.
Newt bit his lip as he realised that Percy hadn’t spoken a single word since the trio had returned to the ICW headquarters. He hadn’t spoken much before then and, Newt realised, barely at all to Newt.
‘I think Thee and Valère have been worrying about the wrong person,’ Newt thought. ‘I’m not the only one with trauma.’
“Percy?” Newt asked, voice low and soft. He didn’t move closer to the American Auror and ignored the way he saw Thee out of the corner of his eye as his brother paused in the midst of reaching for one of the glasses on the desk to focus on the situation.
‘What was the last thing Percy said to me? When did he last speak to me at all?’ Newt thought, casting his mind back to recall even as he focused on Percy. He could feel the American Auror’s magic, the way it seemed to be almost silent, buried deep beneath the surface of the waves that made up the washed-out emotions Newt could feel from Percy.
Newt hadn’t been looking before, he hadn’t noticed the way Percy had clearly withdrawn in the Catacombs. How had he missed this happening? This was Percy, for Merlin’s sake! Newt should have noticed!
“You were injured… I- I saw them. Your injuries.”
“Graves, you okay?” Thee asked, tilting his head in an effort to try and make eye contact with Percy.
“Percy, can you- can you look at me?” Newt asked, taking a small step closer to the American Auror who had, Newt realised, taken up position in the furthest corner of his own office that gave him an unrestricted view of the entire room.
‘No one can catch him unawares that way,’ Newt noted. He did much the same without others realising whenever he could get away with it. ‘I really hope Matron Genet arrives soon. I’m calmer than Percy right now but I’m… well, I’m not stable either.’
Newt glanced at his brother, casting a thought towards him as carefully as he possibly could with his magic so unsteady. ‘Thee, stay by the door. I think Percy is disassociating,’ he thought at Thee.
Thee twitched sharply enough that Newt winced automatically. Clearly even being as careful as he could be, Newt’s magic was still a shock to the system for others. Thee rallied quickly however, looking at Newt. ‘Be careful,’ Thee sent back even as he carefully moved closer to the door to the office on soundless feet.
Newt acknowledged his brother’s concerns with a nod before focusing his gaze back on Percy.
“Percy… Percival, can you hear me?” Newt tried, keeping his voice soft and as calm as though he were speaking to a scared beast. In a way, Percy was a scared beast. He was likely operating on instinct and habit so Newt had to try and coax him out of that state.
He would rather do it with words and calmness than via another situation that snapped Percy back to the present. Trauma should not be compounded with further trauma.
Unfortunately, however, Newt’s magic, without his conscious intent and reacting to his concern and feelings for Percy, reached out towards the American Auror. Although his magic was softer than he’d felt it be since the warehouse, tender and gentle like the first touch on a newborn needed to be, the result was explosive.
What had been tense quiet in the office shattered into a magical tsunami of power and lethality.
Newt’s own magic flared and met the crashing wave of powerful lethality, the impact making the room feel as though it were in the epicentre of an earthquake. The intensity of the magic in the room was such that a spark of light erupted in the air between Newt and Percy, even as Newt consciously directed his magic to redirect Percy’s own magic down into the stone floor of the office and through the flames in the fireplace; natural elements that could absorb, dissipate, and burn through energy without causing harm to anyone in the room.
Within the blink of an eye the flames flared as though someone had poured accelerant in the fireplace before dying back down to a banked flame. The stone of office floor heated enough to give off noticeable heat before dissipating just as quickly.
“Newt!” Thee half-cried, half-hissed from where he still stood by the door. His eyes were wide, face writ with fear.
“Stay there, Thee,” Newt said firmly.
“Newt—” Thee began but stopped when Newt looked at him. Thee swallowed and nodded.
Newt refocused his attention on Percy who, even as his magic had reacted, had withdrawn further into the corner of the office, back pressed against the walls, face almost blank and eyes wide.
Percy’s mind didn’t see the office. Percy’s eyes did not see Newt.
Newt took a careful step closer to where Percy was in the corner, magic held as tightly as he could with the threadbare curtain wrapped around the bubbling liquid that his magic felt like at the moment. Percy’s emotions, before washed-out and muted, were loud in the quiet of the office.
Fear. Anger. Pain. Grief. Confusion.
It all blended together in a confusing array of colours, almost visible in the air between Newt and Percy, but each feeling still remained distinctive enough to separate. If Newt could manage it, he might be able to calm Percy’s magic and draw him back from wherever his mind had gone… hopefully.
“I didn’t realise,” Thee said quietly, voice a near whisper. Newt didn’t look away from Percy but he cocked his head slightly, enough for his brother to register that Newt was listening to him. “That he was dissociating… He seemed fine.”
‘Survival instincts are powerful things,’ Newt thought at his brother, mental voice gentle. ‘You were already distracted, Thee. Don’t blame yourself.’
Thee snorted. ‘Pot meet kettle.’ Thee thought at Newt who couldn’t deny that. ‘Newt, how do we even… how can we tell what is happening to him? He’s not aware of us at all!’
‘No,’ Newt agreed. ‘He isn’t. I can feel what he’s feeling right now and- he’s stuck in a memory I think.’
‘What do you mean feel, Newt?’ Thee’s mental voice held a note of sharpness that freely bled Thee’s concern and confusion at Newt’s words. ‘Wait, memory? What do you mean?’
‘He’s reliving something, Thee.’ Newt explained. ‘Whatever he’s reliving, Percy is also feeling everything he felt at that time. It’s as real to him as now is to us.’ Newt paused. ‘My magic is… it’s different now. More different. I can feel what he’s feeling like an- an echo. I think I can push through the memory and get Percy to register the present.’
‘Newt,’ Thee warned, the concern he felt bleeding quicker across Newt’s awareness. ‘We should wait for Matron Genet.’
‘I don’t think we can afford to wait.’ Newt shifted just enough to be able to see Thee out of the corner of his eye. He glanced at his brother who stared hard at him. ‘His magic is extremely sensitive right now, Thee. I don’t think anyone will get through to him without stunning him first and- well, you know the risks with stunning someone with such reactive magic who is as experienced and powerful as Percy, Thee.'
Thee nodded, grimacing. ‘Fine, but please, please Newt. Don’t make me lose you both. I- I don’t think I could come back from losing you a second time, little brother.’
Newt gave Thee a sad smile. ‘I promise, Thee,’ he thought at his brother. ‘This will not kill me.’
Then, without any warning, Newt’s magic reached out towards Percy faster than Percy’s own magic could react. Like an arrow in flight, unstoppable in its journey, perfectly aimed at its target, Newt’s magic dove deep and true into the core of Percy.
Body, mind, magic, and soul.
Legilimency paled in comparison to what Newt intended. This wasn’t reading Percy’s mind, this was… this was like stepping into a pensieve that was alive.
Newt had failed to notice Percy dissociating in the Catacombs, he had failed to be there for the man he cared for, the man he loved.
Newt wouldn’t fail him a second time.
“All you must do is tell me the key, Percival, and the pain will stop,” that voice, that damned, horrid voice, whispered in his ear. Again and again, no matter how many times he refused, that voice would return and promise that it would stop if only he would cooperate.
As if cooperating ever made the pain stop.
As if he needed to cooperate in the first place.
It was all a game. A horrid, nightmarish game that he couldn’t refuse to play and was rigged against him from the start.
“Oh Percival, you know it will stop if you do what I ask you.”
Poison and honey. Salt and sugar. Promise and betrayal.
‘I don’t want to listen to this anymore,’ he thought and the voice, that fucking voice, laughed.
“Oh Percival, my dear poor Percival,” the voice said, low and dripping false sympathy. “I will go away all the sooner if you do as I ask. I do not enjoy your pain—” liar “—nor do I wish to prolong it so Percival, just give in.”
Percival screamed.
His body burned.
‘Please let me die!’
The voice laughed.
“Leave him alone.”
The rumble of thunder in the distance, heavy with threat, echoed around Percival and that voice, that damned voice, fell silent in the wake of the danger in this new voice Percival didn’t recognise.
“And what do we have here?”
Percival shuddered at the malevolence in that voice which had terrorised him for so long that he couldn’t remember a time before it.
“Leave him alone,” that new voice repeated and despite the thunder in the depths of that voice, the promise of violence it carried, Percival gravitated toward it, knowing instinctively the violence wasn’t aimed at him. “Now, Gellert.”
Gellert… Gellert… Percival knew that name. He knew he knew it. Where… who…
The flash of a smile. A wand. Mis-matched eyes.
Percival knew that name.
Gellert Grindelwald.
“But Percival has things to tell me, do you not Percival?” Gellert Grindelwald said and Percival could see him, could see the face behind the voice that tormented him.
“The only thing Percy has to tell you, Gellert, is to fuck off,” the other voice snarled. Percival looked to the new voice. He wanted to know who defended him against Grindelwald. “Before I make you.”
Percival looked at the person who defended him, a man with light skin, golden reddish hair, and eyes that glowed bright blue.
‘I know this man,’ Percival thought, staring. ‘I know him.’
“That is not how this goes,” Gellert Grindelwald responded to the man, darkness and danger in his tone that made Percival tremble. Gellert Grindelwald raised a wand at the man. “Percival cannot be saved from me.”
“I already saved him from you once, Gellert,” the man said, not raising his own wand despite the danger. Percival wanted to scream. “I will do so again.”
Then Percival did scream.
Gellert Grindelwald cast the Killing Curse, its poisonous green luminance sickening.
The man, the man who defended Percival, who made him feel safe was going to die. He was going to die and Percival was powerless to stop it!
Thunder snapped. The world shook. The poisonous green blinked out of existence.
The man still stood. Unharmed.
Alive.
“My turn,” the man said and raised a hand, flicked his fingers and the world changed.
Gellert Grindelwald cried out, his body crumbling like ash, blown away by the wind, and what had been dismal and dark around Percival lightened into warmth and comfort.
The man knelt down beside Percival.
“Percy?” The man asked, voice gentle as freshly laundered linen. “Are you okay?”
Percival stared at the man, drinking in his face, his voice, his eyes.
“I know you,” Percival said, voice cracking in the middle. The man nodded. “Newt.”
Newt smiled. “Do you want to leave this place, Percy?” he asked and held out his hand.
Percival nodded. “Yes.”
“Then take my hand.”
“It’s that easy?” Percival asked and Newt nodded.
“That easy,” Newt told him.
Percy took his hand.
The first thing Percy became aware of was his hand held by another. The second thing Percy became aware of was the face of the person who held his hand.
“Hello,” Newt said softly.
“Hello,” Percy replied. “Thank you.”
Newt shook his head but didn’t say anything.
“You two back?” Thee asked, drawing Percy’s focus from Newt to where Thee was stood tensely by the door to Percy’s office. “Guess you are,” he continued when he and Percy made eye contact. “Matron Genet is outside, she didn’t want to interrupt what was happening. But, Newt, she is extremely unhappy right now, so brace yourself.”
Newt sighed, drawing Percy’s attention back to the Magizoologist who gave him a soft smile. “I’m going to be told off, so much,” he mock-whispered to Percy, amusement in his voice and eyes that sparked amusement in Percy. “Well worth it, however.”
“You should both sit down before you fall down,” Thee told them and Percy finally registered the fact that his body ached in the way it did when he’d held tension for too long and worn himself out in the process. His magic, also, felt tender and ached.
Percy remembered the Catacombs, what happened there, and he remembered how he’d reacted. He just didn’t recall how he’d ended up in his office. The last thing he could recall was the healer who had—
“I want that healer banned from the hunt,” Percy said, voice firm.
Thee snorted. “Priorities, I see,” he muttered, even as he opened the door to Percy’s office and allowed Matron Genet to enter.
“Gentlemen,” Matron Genet began, voice steady and calm but with an undercurrent of frustration. “Perhaps you should make the infirmary your first stop the next time you return after a skirmish, hmm?”
The question, polite as it sounded, was not a request.
“Yes, Matron Genet,” Percy agreed as though it were regardless.
“I do not know what you did, monsieur Scamander, but you are experiencing some minor exhaustion even if you no longer have any of the injuries initially documented by Auror Graves and Healer Masson,” Matrone Genet said, looking at Newt where he sat perched on the infirmary bed she had directed him to.
Percy was on the bed to his right and Thee the one to his left. All three of them had been checked over by Matrone Genet.
“Auror Graves, I am ordering you to take at least two days to recover, monsieur Scamander you are to take at least a week considering your magic is… sensitive, at the moment. Auror Scamander, I think you are well, though I recommend you stick to light duties for the next day. Allow Auror Brisbois to do the walking-work for now.”
“Leg-work, I’m sure he’ll love that,” Thee said, sarcasm more than obvious in his voice as he stood and stretched his arms above his head.
“I am sure Auror Brisbois will love knowing you will do as your healer tells you so he does not need to try and do the work of four men instead of one,” Matron Genet noted dryly before she gave each of them a sharp look that brooked no argument. “Now, all three of you, leave and rest. Auror Scamander, retire for the rest of the day and all three of you go home and rest.”
“We still have to give our statements, Matron Genet,” Thee reminded the healer who sighed in the way someone did when they really wanted to roll their eyes but couldn’t due to professionalism.
“Oui, after that then, gentlemen,” she reluctantly agreed. “Bonne soirée gentlemen.”
“I hope the rest of your evening is peaceful, Matron Genet,” Newt said to her as he slid off the bed and pulled his coat back on, reassured by the feeling of the magic woven into the fabric of his coat soothing his own magic. It had further settled since the Catacombs but Newt desperately wished to get away from Headquarters and the press of so many people with their own magic surrounding him.
Matron Genet gave Newt a polite nod acknowledging his words before she moved on to other patients.
Newt looked over at Thee, catching his brother’s eye for a moment before pointedly turning to look at Percy. The American Auror was no longer dissociating and, according to Matron Genet, wasn’t suffering from anything beyond the emotional and mental exhaustion that accompanied such experiences. Newt needed to get away from the intensity of magic in Headquarters but he didn’t need to be separated from Percy unless the American Auror wished to be alone.
‘Even if he wants to be alone, Thee will stay with him,’ Newt thought to himself as he moved to stand beside Percy, catching the American Auror’s dark gaze when Percy looked at him as he moved.
“Home?” Newt asked Percy. Part of him was hesitant to even suggest they leave Headquarters together, let alone suggest they go home — to Percy’s home, since Newt didn’t really have a home beyond his case and whatever room he had rented at any one time — but a larger part of Newt was simply tired and not in the mood to navigate the complexities of social interactions and nicety.
Maybe if he hadn’t died and then been brought back by the efforts of literal gods Newt might have been willing to observe a few more social niceties but- well-
“Home.” Percy nodded. He held out his hand for Newt and that, more than anything else, told Newt that Percy had experienced too much in too short a time to care about discretion.
As much as Newt wanted to also stop caring about the perception of them by others, Newt understood that, once Percy was no longer experiencing the emotional and mental exhaustion from his dissociation, the American Auror would be exceptionally unsettled by the potential fallout from the lapse in propriety in public.
Although he wished to do the opposite, Newt didn’t take the American Auror’s hand. He nodded at Percy instead as he gave him a small smile. Newt visibly shifted his hands over the fabric of his coat pockets, fingertips rubbing the fabric, and caught the way Percy glanced down at Newt’s hands. He could almost see the American Auror’s thought process as Percy interpreted Newt not taking his hand as either rejection or an expression of some form of discomfort.
Newt, hoping to avoid Percy thinking Newt was refusing him, bit his lip and shifted on his feet so he was closer to Percy. “I’m uh- I’m not really- touch is—”
“A bad idea right now?” Thee guessed. Newt snapped his attention to his brother who, without Newt’s notice, had crossed the room to stand a few feet away from where Newt and Percy stood close to each other.
Newt nodded. “In here at least,” he said, continuing when Thee raised an eyebrow at him. “Headquarters I mean. There- there’s too many people. It’s- a lot for me right now.” Newt frowned slightly. “I hadn’t even realised,” he said, more to himself than to Thee or Percy.
“You’re welcome to stay in my home for the night,” Percy said after a moment, looking at Thee who nodded. “We’ll go by portkey not apparition. It will be less of a shock for all of us.”
“Do you think Valère will accept pensieve statements instead of needing us to sit down and write out our entire statements?” Thee wondered and Newt hummed.
“Our statements aren’t time-sensitive beyond providing some potential identifications which would need to be visual as is,” Percy answered, tilting his head. “I don’t think my memories will be suitable for identification purposes.”
Thee shook his head. “Mine aren’t much better, I think,” he admitted. He looked at Newt.
“I saw quite a few from where I was sat in the crowd,” Newt answered Thee’s unasked question. “I think I can provide a copy of my memory of the crowd for tonight at least. Anything more… I don’t think that’s possible for me right now.”
Thee shrugged. “Better than nothing, Valère won’t complain.” He paused. “Much.”
Newt huffed a slight laugh even as he drew his wand and tentatively rested the tip against his temple. Newt likely could draw out the memory, or a copy of it at least, without using his wand with some practice but after everything he’d been through so far, Newt didn’t want to risk his magic reacting again.
“A container, please?” Newt asked, looking at Thee as he drew out the copy of his memory of the crowd at Grindelwald’s rally. Thee conjured a flask with a simple quartz stopper and held it out for Newt to deposit the copied memory in. “Thank you.”
“I’ll take this to Valère before leaving,” Thee told Newt and Percy. “I’ll speak to you later, Newt. Percy. Please get some rest. I’ll visit tomorrow morning, if that’s okay with you?” Thee looked at Percy.
Percy nodded. “It is.”
“Great!” Thee flashed a light smile at Newt and Percy. “Ten o’clock tomorrow.”
Newt watched Thee leave, before focusing on Percy stood beside him. “Percy?”
Percy shook his head. “Not here,” he said.
“Okay.” Newt nodded. He followed Percy to the Portkey Site in the ICW Headquarters, close enough that Percy could sense his presence at his side the entire time but not physically touching.
Both of them were tired. Both of them had experienced trauma and both of them needed time to regain their equilibrium.
They also needed to sit down and have a serious conversation that Newt was certain he would not enjoy, nor would Percy, but as little as they’d enjoy it, Newt knew full-well that they needed to talk about- well- everything.
Newt had changed in ways that he couldn’t have ever anticipated and those changes didn’t just affect him in isolation. Thee, too, was owed an explanation. Several, in fact.
‘Percy first,’ Newt reminded himself. ‘Thee later.’