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"Every powerful dark wizard needs an obscurial at his side," Credence argues as they walk down the stairs. "It makes sense."
"You're not coming. We'll have enough trouble getting them to believe Newt is actually a dark wizard and not someone just playing pretend. Go home," Graves tells Credence, in a tone of voice that makes it clear to Tina, who arrived seconds ago, that this argument has been ongoing for a while.
"What's happening?" she asks as she falls into step with Graves, leaving Credence sulking on the stairs.
"The group of judgmental, but not yet violent purebloods in Arizona, the ones I've been infiltrating for weeks, as you well know, are beginning to get restless. They want to meet the dark wizard I've been speaking so highly of. They think he'll be perfect as their new leader."
"And?"
"And I barley got out of there. I promised I would bring the dark wizard back with me and I've been stalling. If I want to keep my place as a respected member of the 'Wizards Society for Pure Purebloods,' I need to get back there, with my dark lord, in an hour. So I panicked and asked Newt."
"Wow. And this argument with Credence?"
"Newt said he could come along. I said he can't."
*
Amandla Purridge, a longstanding member of Wizards Society for Pure Purebloods along with her husband Thomas, hadn't really known what to think when their newest member, Percival Gravethorne, the arrogant bastard, had boasted about serving a new and upcoming dark wizard, one that Amandla had never even heard of. According to the man, this dark wizard made Gellert Grindelwald look like a toddler.
As it turns out, he was apparently speaking the truth, because once the rest of the members decided to test him, he delivered within a day.
Gravethorne's master is a young man with red hair and freckles. From the sound of it, he's British. Aside from Gravethorne, who has described himself as just a lowly servant and certainly acts like it, the dark lord is accompanied by his right hand woman, her ditzy sister and a young man who spends most of his time hovering close to the master. A few steps behind at all times, but still close enough to touch the red-haired man.
Amandla watches from a couple of tables over as space is made for Scamander, as he introduces himself, and his entourage to sit down at what can only be called the table of honors. Gravethorne makes himself useful by getting drinks for the party, the sisters sit down on either side of Scamander and the man with the long black hair sits next to the ditzy sister, keeping his head down.
Amandla waits an appropriate amount of time before strolling up to the table. She's one of the highest members, and richest too, of this group. She can't let Scamander store her away in his mind as one of the lowlifes. The reason she joined this society isn't because she thought a dark lord would come along and help her cause, or make her life easier, like half the group here tonight. They're all talk and no actual action.
No, Amandla joined this group of people, this society, because she really, truly, believes what it stands for, believes in its beliefs. She knows in the bottom of her heart that they are right.
Halfbloods and no-maj borns aren't worth anything at all. It's just common sense.
"Amandla Purridge, my lord," she says as she sidles up in front of Scamander and his followers. "Such an honor." She doesn't fall on her knees before him, like some of the others, her husband included, have done, because her self respect is still intact.
Scamander nods, acknowledging her. "This is Porpentina," he says, introducing his right hand woman. "And this is her sister, Queenie."
Queenie is very pretty, Amandla thinks. Queenie laughs and Scamander quirks an eyebrow.
"A word of caution," he says, inviting Amandla to sit across him at the table. "Queenie is a legilimensis. Very useful, that." A look, somewhere between a grin and a scowl moves across his face for a second, before it returns to its former expression - casually uninterested.
"So, Mrs Purridge," he continues after a beat of silence, during which he regards her. "Grave...Gravethorne has told me a lot about this little society. He's been very enthusiastic. I'd like you to tell me in your own words why you think I should waste my time on this little...club, of yours."
Amandla tries not to feel offended by the fact that he referred to the society, that is as dear to her as if it was her own child, as a mere club. Like it's some sort of childrens play.
Gravethorne arrives back at the table, silently setting down tall goblets in front of Scamander and the sisters. None for the young man, though, Amandla notes.
Porpentina makes a noise Amandla thinks might be meant to signify impatience, as Queenie giggles again. Scamander makes a sharp, low sound from between his teeth and the giggle quickly ceases. Porpentina, Gravethorne and the young man bow their heads further down towards the table, suitably chastised for something Amandla has no idea what it even was.
"Why should I waste my time on your little club? What benefits could I possibly gain from that?" Scamander asks again, and this time there's a hard edge to his voice that wasn't there before.
"I don't know," Amandla answers, hand twitching towards her wand at the look on the man's face at her words. "Why should you? I'll tell you. We believe, just like you, that purebloods are the only worthy breed of wizards and witches there are. Here, you find people who think the same way as you do. You, proving that you really are as powerful as Mr Gravethorne here makes you out to be, can become the leader of this society, and, once the wizarding world has understood our greatness, rule the world with us as your loyal servants. All around, you win."
"Do you doubt my power?" Scamander has turned cold, staring Amandla down from the other side of the table. He hasn't touched his goblet. Only Gravethorne has.
"Of course not, my lord." Amandla says, because she's not stupid. "You have to forgive me, news from Europe do not travel very fast. I was under the impression that Gellert Grindelwald was the most powerful wizard there was."
"Grindelwald..." Scamander mutters as Gravethorne turns pale and grips his goblet tighter. "You Americans really believe Gellert Grindelwald to be more powerful than I am, simply because that theatrical twat has made a public spectacle of himself?"
It's a controlled sort of outburst, quiet and menacing, but all the same it catches the attention of the people in the room.
"Grindelwald has a very theatrical way of working," Scamander continues, impatiently waving away the way Porpentina has reached out, as if to comfort him. "All the man really wants is attention. Me, on the other hand? I can take over the world like that, at this very minute. I don't need thousands of followers, not when I have my magic. And not when I have him," Scamander points towards the young man next to Queenie. The boy doesn't react, simply continues to stare into the empty air in front of him. He avoids looking at anyone, Amandla notices.
"What's so special about him?" Amandla asks, because she'll be damned if she shows this man he's actually scaring her, dark lord or not. She's old enough to be his mother, for god's sake.
Scamander laughs. It's an ugly, nasty sort of laugh, and out of the corner of her eye Amandla sees Gravethorne staring at his master as if he's never seen him before. It's quickly concealed into a gaze of worship though, before Scamander turns his attention to Gravethorne instead of Amandla.
"What's so special about him, you ask? I'll tell you. He is an obscurial. The most powerful obscurial known to wizardkind. I, and not Grindelwald, succeeded in getting him! Does that prove my power to you?"
Despite the heat that colors his words, Scamander hasn't lost his cool. He still looks casually disinterested, playing with his wand, almost like he's bored.
"How'd you get him? I thought he died?" Amandla can't keep her curiosity under wraps. This is the obscurial she read all about in the paper. This is the obscurial Grindelwald himself tried, and failed, to harness.
"I found him shortly after that whole mess at MACUSA. Grindelwald, of course, got himself imprisoned, because that's the kind of incompetent man he is," Scamander smiles a smile that is all teeth and anger. "Finding this one and earning his trust wasn't all that difficult after that. Grindelwald made it easy by being such a moron, really. That's what Grindelwald, and all of you, need to learn. You can't take over the world by putting the fear of God into everyone you meet. That's not real power. Real power is kindness. If you're kind, people respect you and trust you and you can make them do your dirty work for you without them even realizing."
Scamander doesn't look disinterested anymore. No, he's leaning forward on the table, stabbing the air with a finger to get his point across and his eyes seem to be burning.
"You are, of course, absolutely right," Amandla tells him, avoiding his gaze. Scamander laughs once again, that nasty, short laugh, and falls back into his chair with a gracefulness Amandla doesn't possess even on her best days.
"Of course I'm right," Scamander murmurs, reaching out a hand to touch the obscurial's back. The man flinches at first, before quickly keeping himself very still. "Here," Scamander says so quietly that Amandla has to strain to hear it, "have a reward. For your excellent behavior."
Scamander smiles as he pushes his own untouched goblet towards the young man, who takes it with shaking hands, whispering a "Thank you, master," before taking a sip. He clearly doesn't like whatever's in the goblet, but keeps drinking anyway.
Beside him, Gravethorne is downing his own drink as if he's trying to drown himself in it. Queenie and Porpentina are both watching their master as he signals for new drinks, utter devotion in their eyes. Scamander ignores them all, clearly bored once again.
What an absolute monster Gellert Grindelwald must be, Amandla thinks, if this man sees himself as kind in comparison.