Chapter Text
The day of the party arrived quickly. Credence had learned that the other two friends were named Walter and Irene. They were together, Tina explained, but kept it under wraps because Walter liked to dress up sometimes. That’s how she’d said it, anyway. Credence eventually realized that she meant that Walter would put on dresses and go to clubs. This really shocked him, to realize that other men liked to do that sort of thing too. The party didn't seem quite so scary all of the sudden. The fog of shame and secrecy that had always surrounded his desire to wear women's clothing started to clear a little bit. Newt had seen him, the Goldsteins knew about it, and now there was the mysterious Walter, who did it frequently and in public. It was frankly miraculous.
Newt was starting to think that he was more apprehensive about the party than Credence was. He’d grown up on a farm in Sussex, and while his mum and dad had never been particularly strict, there hadn’t exactly been room for… difference. At Hogwarts, he’d heard about one pair of boys who were together, in the Hufflepuff dorms. The others in the house left them alone, but he’d seen a group of older Gryffindors cornering one of them in the courtyard once and turned the other cheek. Rumors had flown about Professor Dumbledore for years, and none of them were nice. Newt thought he had found the answer to his lingering question in the immense gravity of Leta Lestrange, and left it at that. But now— he hadn’t felt the way the felt about Credence in a long time, maybe ever.
His watch knocked against his stomach on its chain. It must be time to clean up, then. He got up from the dirt by the Occamy nest and dusted off his pants.
He had an old set of dress robes in his closet, but they were old and musty and left over from his Hogwarts days, so he decided to just put on a clean pair of trousers. Now, where was his nice shirt—?
And there, sitting conspicuously on his workbench, was a pristine pile of clothing. There was an origami swan on top, which unfolded itself elegantly in his palm:
Here’s something nice to wear, for once. The fabric is supposed to be spill-resistant but I wouldn’t test it too much what with all the crazy junk you keep in that case of yours. Much love, Queenie
Newt found himself grinning. How incredibly sweet of her. He changed awkwardly into the getup, which proved to be an odd hybrid of purple velvet dress robes and a black Muggle suit. Being Queenie's work, of course, it fit him perfectly.
He emerged from the case to find Credence wearing his good coat, sitting on the bed and wringing his hands nervously. He looked up sharply when he heard Newt, and his hands dropped to his sides.
“Alright?” Newt asked gently. It hurt him to see Credence so anxious, but the more he heard about Walter and Irene and Bess, the more convinced he was that it would all be worth it.
Credence ducked his head. “I think so.”
“Here—“ Newt reached forward and fussed lightly Credence’s hair. After it had grown out, it had gotten rather messy, but Newt didn’t dare suggest they cut it. He tucked the strands into something resembling order with practiced fingers, trying not to notice the way Credence’s eyes fluttered shut at the touch. “There,” be finished quietly. “Shall we?”
Credence eyed the door with apprehension that quickly shifted to determination. He nodded.
They only waited in the parlor for a few moments before their guests arrived. The small space was immediately filled with friendly chatter. Bess was large, dark, and personable, wearing a perfectly ironed pair of trousers and sharp bowtie. She and Queenie immediately fit to each other’s sides, like they’d never been apart. Irene was smaller and unassuming by contrast, with a fashionably sleek bob. Walter was a slim man, with doe-like eyes. He was wearing a shimmering ruby dress, with shoes and lipstick to match. Newt could practically feel Credence’s shock, passing through him like seismic waves. The boy stayed quiet, though.
“Credence, is it?” Walter said efficaciously, sticking out his hand. “I’m Walter.”
This man both stunned and intrigued Credence. The most overwhelming impression he got was of beauty.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, shaking Walter’s hand politely.
“Gosh, you really do have the best cheekbones—“ Walter scrutinized Credence’s face, causing him to shrink back a tad. “Just a touch of lipstick and you'd be a hell of a fairy!”
“Walt, stop harassing the poor boy,” said Irene, appearing at his elbow.
“It’s alright,” Credence murmured, entranced, as Walter turned to Queenie and Bess and called “turn on the music!”
With that, some magical version of a phonograph started playing a record of its own accord, and some husky jazz singer’s voice filled the room. The two couples immediately started dancing, and Tina dragged Newt in at some point. This made Credence’s chest burn, though he wasn’t quite sure why.
Irene conjured a bottle of alcohol, which Credence avoided, but soon the relaxed atmosphere became infectious. It was Walter—Walt, everyone called him— who got him dancing in the end, and Credence felt incredibly awkward, but he started to realize that it didn’t matter to anyone around him. Tina couldn’t dance any more than he did. In the end, he just let his limbs move however they wanted, with Walt swishing intriguingly before him in that transfixing dress.
After they had all tired of dancing, and the rest had drunk a few more glasses of alcohol, Walter started looking sideways at Credence a little more.
“Queenie, you got some red lipstick? Real, dark red lipstick? I think we should put some on Credence. Look at him, it's practically a sin not to.”
Queenie looked at Credence softly. “How do you feel about that, sweetheart?”
“Alright,” Credence agreed, feeling rather lazy and open.
“Come on, then,” said Walt imaptiently, taking Credence’s hand and tugging him down the hallway. Queenie and Bess were close behind, and Newt trailed in the back. Credence found himself in front of Queenie’s dresser mirror, with Walt rummaging through her makeup box.
“Aha!” he called, holding up a small silver tube. “Now, hold still, sweet stuff.”
He carefully painted the dark red onto Credence’s lips, and when Credence gathered the courage to look at the reflection in the mirror, he saw a different person. He looked demure, even beautiful. He didn’t think he’d ever seen so much of himself in his own reflection.
“You like that?” Walt asked him.
Credence nodded, a smile creeping up on him.
“Oh, come on, let’s try some eyeshadow, just a little.” Walt wheedled. Queenie protested halfheartedly as he continued to pick through her paints.
In the end, Credence looked just as striking as Walt. He had long, black eyelashes, darkened lids, a spot of blush on both cheeks, and, of course, the deep matte lips.
“Beautiful,” Walt said, grinning.
It was getting awfully late, and the guests started to file out. Queenie and Bess sequestered themelves subtly into a private room, and Irene and Walt disapparated from the doorstep outside. Tina was awfully tipsy and dead exhausted, and dozed off on the couch. Credence wondered where Newt had gotten to. He was almost giddy with an excitement, a sensation so novel to him he had trouble naming it. Of course, once he thought about it, he knew exactly where Newt was.
After knocking politely once on the cover, Credence climbed down the ladder into the case. He poked his head out of the shed, and saw that Newt was sitting in the mooncalf enclosure, stroking Amelia’s neck and looking careworn.
“Newt?” He called.
Newt’s head whipped over, and Credence immediately felt an flood of guilt. How long had he been down here? He started towards the hill.
“Are you alright?” He asked, after a while.
Newt’s face softened. “I’m alright. It’s just— parties were never my forte. I hope you enjoyed it.”
“I think I did,” Credence replied honestly.
“You look wonderful,” Newt mumbled, looking down at his lap. Credence flushed. “Actually—I had a thought—“
Newt got up suddenly and started towards the shed. Credence followed. When he was at the door, Newt was holding something sparkly and blue. Credence’s dress.
“Would you like to?” Newt asked, holding it out.
He asked.
And just like that, Credence didn't want anything more. He turned around and changed right there, not caring whether Newt was watching or not.
Newt stared at the floor to give Credence his privacy. This new side of him made Newt's heart beat like it was trying to run away, and he felt redness creeping up his cheeks. The way he looked with the makeup on was otherworldly and perfect, but Newt was almost scared... he knew that he could never do that, never be like Walt was for Irene or Bess was for Queenie. He could only hope that Credence would still want him, just plain old Newt.
Credence slipped on the dress and turned around with a flourish. He saw Newt looking at the floor, and terror struck him. Was he that off-put? Credence felt all of his self-consciousness creeping back, and he felt like an idiot, a embarrassement, a malformity.
“Can I look?” Newt asked, still staring at the floor. Silence. “Credence…?” He looked up. “Oh, Credence,” he mumbled, swiftly moving to him and putting warm hands on his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, this is all just stupid,” Credence said to the floor. “I’m sorry.”
His voice had an awful mechanical quality to it.
“No, love, please, look at me,” Newt said as he rubbed his hand up Credence’s bare arm. Credence obliged. “You’re amazing, you’re beautiful. Please, believe me, I’ve never seen anything quite so magnificent.”
The earnestness in Newt’s eyes was miraculous to Credence. He looked like he was gazing upon the eight wonder of the world, not some skinny man in a dress. It was mesmerizing.
“Dance with me?” Credence breathed.
Newt hesitated for a long instant. “Alright,” he whispered finally. He placed a hand on Credence’s lower back, and let their hands intertwine on the other side. Slowly, gradually, they began to move together. Credence was unbelievably elegant—it was as though the dress and the makeup allowed him to do what he had always restrained before. They swayed slowly across the wooden floor, illuminated by a gentle moonlight coming in through the window. Credence’s eyes sparkled like two great stars.
Their lips met carefully, and the dancing was abruptly staid. For minutes, hours, days, they stood locked together, arms pulling them closer and closer together until it would seem that they were one. In the end, they pulled themselves up the ladder and into the bedroom, where the passion slowly gave way to exhaustion. With a glance, they agreed silently that it was time for bed.
Credence reluctantly went to take his dress off, and wash his face. The mascara left black circles over his eyes, an image that didn’t exactly rouse happy memories. He returned to the bedroom in his normal pajamas, feeling rather as though he’d awoken from a dream state. And yet, there was Newt, his face still flushed, waiting on the bed. He looked at Credence with the same softness in his gaze, that same gaze that Queenie gave Bess.
Credence lay down in the bed, and found himself encircled by warm arms and the smell of earth and wood. It occurred to him that this was what it was like to be home.
And so they slept, like they were in their own tiny, private world, just the two of them.