Chapter Text
Newt roots around the grass, humming quietly to himself. Around him – or rather, behind him – Muggles pass him by, giving him strange looks before carefully routing around him, shaking their heads and muttering, "must've lost something there."
Newt doesn't even notice.
He'd been looking for better part of a hour now, but he isn't about to give up now. He turns pebbles and little rocks, pokes at a small pile of trash – old newspapers, paper wrappings of some questionable food, leaflets – and then moves onto to shifting through the tuffs of grass.
His fingers tingle – one of them stings a little, he might've cut it on a piece of glass couple streets back, but that's fine. It's here. He can feel it, can taste it in the slightest ting it copper in the air. It's here.
"Come now," he murmurs. "I know you there, there's no need to be frightened – I'm here to help. I only want to help, come now…"
It shifts, tingle fading, and Newt watches it go. There, into the alley, into the shadows – quick, he follows. He's crouched down and almost on all fours, dragging his suitcase as he goes and it must look thoroughly ludicrous, but he doesn't care because – there, behind a bin.
A tiny shred of darkness.
It curls there, in the shadow, almost invisible – like a snake, it coils into itself, making itself as small a target as possible, trying to hide. If a bit of darkness can shake, this one is definitely shaking.
"There you are – shh, shh, it's okay, it's okay, I'm not here to hurt you," Newt says, slowly inching his way closer. It's not trying to escape now, but it's coiling up tighter, barely a handful of shadow now. Terrified, the poor dear.
"It's okay, shh, it's okay… My name is Newt Scamader and I'm a wizard," he murmurs and scoots closer on all fours, inch by inch. "I was born in United Kingdom, and I went to a magic school there – Hogwarts. There's a school in United States too, Ilvermorny, but I really couldn't tell you much about it. I reckon they teach much the same things there. Charms, Transfiguration, Potions and History of Magic, astronomy too though I never was good at it myself. Herbology was one of my favourite subjects, study of magical plants and fungi…"
As he speaks he painstakingly gets closer, bit by bit. The shred of darkness quivers in the shadows, a terrified little speck of potential, but it's listening – it's not fleeing.
"My absolute favourite was Care of Magical Creatures," Newt continues and very, very carefully reaches out a hand. The bit of darkness recoils but stays, and very, very gently Newt cups his hand under it. It curls there indecisively. "To this day I have not stopped studying it. I'm a Magizoologist by trade now. I study and care for magical creatures. That's what I do…"
The shadow whips and curls little smoky tendrils this way and that, like unsure whether or not it should escape, and gently Newt cups his hands under it, sheltering it. It trembles in the embrace of his hands and then it's still, a ball of darkness resting in his hands. It feels like holding a dust storm and bit of lightning – it's cold and hot all at once. Magic, in a very raw, violent form.
Newt smiles. "Hello Credence," he murmurs. "Would you like to see my suitcase? I have about two hundred magical creatures in there – it's enlargened, much bigger than it looks. I would very much like to introduce them all to you."
The little shadow turns, agitated, but eventually stills, resting in his palms, a weightless pressure of a incorporeal entity. Newt smiles wider.
"Okay," he whispers. "Good."