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Lost in the gray and I try to grab at the fray
'Cause I, I still love you but I can't
I was so sure of everything
Everything I thought we'd always have
And all the pages are just slipping through my hands
And I'm so scared of how this ends
- Bye Bye Baby by Taylor Swift
The last thing Newt saw before he flew backwards off his feet was Grindelwald’s smile, cruel and self-assured and as always, eyes seeking out Dumbledore’s prone form before he flicked his wand in a different direction, and then Disapparated.
The blastwave had been powerful and Newt raised his head groggily, searching for his wand. He really didn’t like this sort of thing, trying to outduel a bad wizard and always losing. It shouldn’t have been his fight, but somehow it had become so, and now he felt in too deep to back out.
Speaking of…as he caught up his wand, he saw you lying on the ground still, though everyone else had already stirred. You were facing away, motionless.
Newt didn’t remember deciding to get up and rush to you, but within seconds he was kneeling by your side, pulling hair out of your face. For once you looked unmarred by injuries and he rested his finger on your neck - a steady fast pulse. “Y/N?” he breathed softly.
You let out a groan and raised your left hand, skittered it over the ground, just the way he had. Looking for your own wand. He couldn’t see it anywhere and turned his head to look over his shoulder-
“I - I can’t…” He heard you say, in tones of pure distress, and snapped his head back to you.
“Y/N?”
Your eyes were open, unfocused and hazy as you peered around. “Newt? Are - are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I - I think everyone’s fine, Grindelwald’s escaped. Um - Y/N…” Because you weren’t looking at him, you were staring just to his left, eyes narrowed, your whole face scrunched.
Newt darted a glance in that direction. Nothing.
“Newt?” you asked again and he looked back at you as you started to scrabble your hands again, without even turning your head, making an attempt to sit up. “I can’t see,” you said, frustrated.
“You - you c-can’t see?”
You shook your head dolefully. “I - I don’t understand. Maybe I’m unconscious? I want my wand…”
“It’s here. You were lying on it,” Newt said, reaching quickly round you and holding it out before he realised and pressed it lightly into your hand. You didn’t let him go, grabbing onto his thumb with all the tenacity you could muster. “I don’t know why I can’t see,” you said desperately, and he could tell that your self-preservation instinct of shock was dying away, quickly replacing itself with panic; “I want to be able to see, my eyes are open, I can’t see anything!” You dropped his hand and your wand, scrubbed your eyes fiercely, blinked them open. Newt watched fearfully as you looked around, clearly blind, and then made a guttural howl of despair and started rubbing at your eyes even harder, fiercer and harder, your nails digging long grooves down your cheeks-
Newt snapped out of it and grabbed your wrists, pulling your fists away from your face. “Stop that,” he said firmly. “That won’t make it any better. Calm down. It’s okay, just listen to my voice. A Healer will be able to fix this. Alright?”
You took a deep breath, your shoulders hunching. Your eyes were red-rimmed now as you frowned up at Newt’s voice. “No?”
But you sounded more like yourself, without that horribly lost, frightened note in your voice that’d reminded him of when you first appeared in the 1930s; and he let a tiny smile curve his mouth as your arms dropped into your lap. “That’s my girl. Can I help you stand?”
“I hate chivalry,” you grumbled as he got up, taking your hand and pulling you up too. You kept your wand in your free hand, he noticed; fingers clutching rigidly onto it.
Dumbledore was walking towards them. “Unharmed, both of you, I hope?”
“No sir,” Newt said quickly, “Y/N, she, she can’t see.”
Albus frowned, head tilting. “Can’t see? Y/N?”
Your head turned toward him but your gaze was too far to the right, and the men exchanged a glance as you bit your lip. “Can’t see a fecking thing. It’s like I’m dark, or in a cave or something. I - I really don’t like it.” Your nails dug tighter into Newt’s palm and he squeezed your hand in reassurance.
Not that it was probably the moment to notice it, but he rather liked the feel of your hand in his, your fingers curled loosely through his longer ones; your warm palm dwarfed by his larger one, the callus between your third and last finger rough against his lifeline.
“Well, St Mungo’s will be our next stop…” Albus shook his head wryly. “And then the Ministry for a boring evening of debriefing and forms. How I love those.”
Theseus and Lally were walking over; you could hear them, and as Newt watched, you cocked your head warily and shrank back against him, your shoulder pressing against his upper arm. He tuned out as Albus told them what’d happened; they had minor injuries and Albus was sporting a scruffy burnt patch of beard, but asides from that they were unhurt. Newt watched you react to everything around yourself, wand still in your fist, hand tight in his and your whole body screaming vulnerable, coiled up and on edge, ready to attack.
You grabbed tight onto him as they made to apparate, your fingers clutching onto his coat, and for a moment he felt like pulling you into his arms and pressing his face to your head and whispering that everything would be alright.
But he didn’t.
*****
In the waiting room at St Mungo’s, Lally sat opposite, chatting away to you. Newt had dropped your hand when they sat, thinking you’d be oriented enough.
“...and if Albus would stop letting his ex just get away then I would be onboard with that,” Lally drawled.
You gave a forced smile, just as a Healer walked in. “Y/N Y/L/N?”
You started, looked around wildly. Lally leant forward to help but Newt was nearer, got there first; his hand landed on your knee and you turned towards him with a look of unmasked relief.
“Do you want me to take you?” he murmured.
“Yes,” you replied immediately, trying to stand - and almost toppling.
Newt shook his head at your uncoordinated state and led you from the room.
Lally smirked after them the whole way.
*****
You were tense in the wooden chair, the back rubbing uncomfortably against your shoulderblades as you stared down at what - presumably…? - was probably the tabletop. Travers’ voice was droning on and on and you couldn’t take any of it in, how could you be expected to, when your world was all dark and dreary?
It was a curse; Grindelwald had cursed you - you knew that bit. The curse was hard to remove, obviously, and the design was for the victim to lose their sight entirely - oh, you knew that bit, too! Who could’ve guessed? You fidgeted as Travers went on to explain that the Department of Mysteries potioneers could make a remedy, but it would take several weeks to mature.
At that, you faltered. You already hated feeling this lost and it had been a matter of fourteen hours; fourteen sleepless hours in the Ministry and St’ Mungos, dealing with your after-duel adrenaline and stress while being unable to see a fricking thing.
Newt, of course, was probably the only reason you were still capable of functioning like a vaguely clever human being. That dedicated, beautiful man had held your hand, literally, for almost all of those fourteen hours; and after you walked into a wall three times because you couldn’t find your way round a cardboard box in this state, he’d walked with you tucked into his side. It was cosy and safe there, and you could anticipate his steps easily enough. So. It hadn’t been as bad as it could be.
But you felt horribly vulnerable. Without your wand you were unable to defend yourself adequately; you might still have your wand but you couldn’t see a threat coming from a turnip’s length away, and you couldn’t aim spells either.
Every time your thoughts threatened to drown you, Newt had simply reminded you he was there - with a word or touch or squeeze.
You’d asked him how he knew, and he’d replied simply that your face was very unmasked, your reactions showing clearly. And that had been slightly irritating.
“Miss Y/L/N?”
You jerked, trying to look up but obviously you couldn’t so you slumped again. Newt’s foot was twined around yours under the table, tugging in a lightly swinging rhythm. You focused on it for a moment, got your thoughts in order. “Sorry, what?”
“Do you consent to waiting the required amount of time until the potion is ready?”
“I - uh yeah, sure, did I have any other option?” you asked, bewildered. You frowned at your lap.
“You do not,” Travers huffed. “But the question is still a formality. You will need to sign.”
You scoffed. “How?”
“I’m afraid you will still need to sign. Even in your current condition. Just do your best.”
“What exactly am I signing?”
“An agreement that you will partake of the Department of Mysteries’ workers’ produce, but not divulge any information you may learn.” You heard a ruffling and shuffling of paper and felt something land on the table in front of you.
“Mr Scamander, if you would help her sign.”
You felt Newt scoot his chair nearer and as he leaned over to pick up your right hand, you murmured, “Is that what the form is?”
“Yes,” he whispered quickly. “Don’t worry, I read it.”
“Wo-ot!” you heard from Pickett, just before he wrapped your fingers round a pen, lifted your hand and set it on the smooth paper. “Here,” he said, guiding your movement as you shakily signed.
“Excellent,” Travers said, whisking the paper and pen out of your hand roughly. You felt Newt tense, half-stood and leaning against you as he was; and then he’d sat again, interlinking your feet once more. Bless him - he’d understood your need for touch and was fulfilling it despite not being the most tactile of people himself.
“And now, I presume you will have made some arrangements?” he carried on, standing - or pushing his chair back at least. You hesitated as you tried to do the same, until Newt stood, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he pulled you up with him. Nestled into his side with his arm pulled closely around your shoulders, you squinted in Traver’s direction.
“You mean, because I’m not doing anything for you guys for a coupla weeks, I needn’t expect any resources from you,” you said flatly, and you felt Newt shake with a stifled chuckle.
Travers sucked his teeth in annoyance. “Crudely put, but if you wish to interpret it that way-”
“Thank you, I will.”
“Oh, good Lord, you’re even more annoying blind and helpless than you are usually, deprived of your singular talent at duelling.” Newt had tensed again, and you glared in Traver’s direction, aware you were probably giving a filing cabinet the evils but still. Before Newt could defend you, you smiled sweetly.
“Why would you annoy me when I’m clearly gonna be inactive and have nothing to do for ages but plot revenge, Travers? Why?” you asked mournfully. “That’s just silly.”
“Silly - you would dare call me - Mr Scamander, get her out of my sight before she says something she’ll regret,” Travers growled.
“In my opinion, Y/N is more likely to say something you would regret,” Newt shot back, without a hint of a stammer, before he edged you round with his hip and led you toward the door.
Strange. Blind and glued to Newt Scamander’s side, and you’d never felt more united, more unstoppable.
*****
“You can still do defensive magic in a duel,” Newt points out one evening when you’re sitting on the floor of his shed, balling up bits of paper and throwing it at his legs, or towards there anyway; he’s working on a manuscript or something, and you’re bored, unsettled, angsty, whatever you wanna call it, you’re that anyways.
“Yeah, true,” you mutter, tapping the edge of your wand against your hipbone where it is in your pocket - it’s become a bit of a nervous tic, past few days. You aren’t really surprised. You have an obsessive need to check where your weapon is and where your support is - the latter’s Newt, and even now you feel mildly uncomfortable that you can’t feel him, even though he’s very nearby, judging by the proximity of his voice.
Over the past week, you’ve learnt to navigate around his apartment quite well. Lally and Theseus drop by, keep you company when Newt’s busy; but you don’t like their company as much as his. Newt, having worked with animals, knows exactly how to go about this in a good way. He was well prepared for it. He knows the right combination of talking and movement he needs to do, how to keep you aware of his whereabouts by touches and quick words. How to get you to move with him while keeping you from tripping; how to keep you calm when he needs to do something like move behind you.
You manage to shower on your own by summoning clothes and blindly feeling around; you manage to eat after some difficulty, though even now Newt still has to occasionally guide your hand back to the plate when your fork keeps stabbing at the tablecloth impatiently.
It’s hot down here. You shed your green jumper - Newt told you it’s the green one, but you could have guessed from the woolly strands; and sits back against the cabinet with your arms bare, enjoying the light breeze. It feels pleasant.
“Woot!”
“Hi Pick,” you mumble, closing your eyes and then opening them again. No difference. Darkness was frustrating.
You feel him scamper lightly down your right arm, in a vaguely ticklish sensation-
“Woot! Woot!”
“Pickett?” You hear Newt’s chair scrape as he stands. “What’s wrong?”
He’s walking over. You tilt your head, confused, fingers brushing over the Bowtruckle as you try to feel what was going on. “Is he hurt?”
“I, I don’t know, he’s distressed,” Newt had knelt in front of you. “Pick? You alri - oh, Merlin.”
“What? What is it?”
You feel his hand land lightly on your right arm, and you freeze as a wave of realisation rushes through you.
The scar. The MUDBLOOD scar. You’d forgotten to Glamour it for, oh, ever since your accident; and your arms were bare.
Panic sets in and you yank your arm away and cover the scar, the rough edges harsh against your opposite palm. “Shit!”
“Y/N, it’s…that’s…”
“Shit! I didn’t want you to see that!”
Newt shifts closer. “I don’t understand, it’s…it’s a word!”
You press backwards into the cabinet, feeling just as trapped and helpless as you had on that day when Bellatrix had carved it into you. “It’s Mudblood,” you spit with vitriol, pathetically glad at Newt’s little intake of breath. “A bitch carved it into my arm during the war back in 1998. Oh God, I - I fucking hid it, and I fucking forgot, shit!”
Newt’s hands have migrated to your knees, warm pressure seeping through your trousers. “Y/N? It’s okay…”
You feel tears roll out of your useless eyes as you shake your head. “I never wanted anyone to see it,” you wept, like the weak little girl you felt like. “I’m not ashamed of the word, but I’m ashamed I let her do it, I lost my wand and she, she threatened someone who never gave a toss about me but I cared enough to let her do it to me instead and I, I, oh God!”
“Y/N!”
You shake your head again - and then freeze even more. Newt’s leaning closer, you could feel his breath on your neck and his curls on your forehead and you tense - (what’s happening? Is this what I think it is?), but he changes angles, bracing himself as he presses a kiss to your temple. Lingering, gentle, fond. You catch yourself through a sob and bend your head, letting him bring a hand up to thread through your hair as your eyes droop shut.
“It’s a-alright,” he murmurs. “We don’t need to talk about it.” He leans in again and presses a quick kiss to the side of your cheek. “Alright? C’mon, up you get, you should sit in a chair…”
Once standing, you flop against him and he winds his arms around you, holds you tight.
“I’m sorry this is like this,” you whisper. “I…I didn’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not,” he insists firmly. “You’re not a burden, Y/N. You’re brilliant. Grindelwald singled you out because he feels threatened by you - not by Dumbledore, but you.”
“You sure know how to compliment a girl,” you laugh shakily, dropping your forehead against his shoulder. You stand there for an endless moment-
“Wanna dance?” you ask suddenly, grinning slightly into his coat fabric.
He stiffens. “Dance?”
“Yeah. I can get my wand to play music. Not like, a waltz or stuff, I can’t do that kinda dancing for shit, but something…futuristic.”
You feel his curiosity like it’s your own; he’d only ever heard snatches of you singing, not the real thing.
“Alright,” he begins cautiously. “But…you can’t see.”
“So? You can lead, if we’re gonna crash you can just steer. Dancing’s simple enough and I really need to do some movement or I’ll go crazy.”
“Crazy-you isn’t a mild prospect,” Newt concedes. “You cheer up too quickly at the idea of humiliating me, by the way.”
“I can’t even see,” you chide, flicking your wand. Soft music fills the little shed and you adjust your positions, let Newt step you backwards a few times and then you turn him.
It wasn't just like a movie
The rain didn't soak through my clothes, down to my skin
“This is an interesting song,” Newt murmurs quietly. “It’s sad.”
I'm driving away and I, I guess you could say
This is the last time I'll drive this way again
You nod, clutching onto his coat - he always wore it, why did he always wear it? - as you went sideways a few steps; you made to take another one and he catches you round the waist, stopped you and turns you the other way.
It’s a slow sequence of steps, careful and navigatory, like your entire relationship.
Bye, bye, to everything I thought was on my side
Bye, bye, baby
Instinctively you try to hold him a little closer, the music was just so melancholic, and he reciprocated, stepping in closer, twining you arms and raising them.
'Cause you took me home but you just couldn't keep me
Bye, bye, baby
Bye, bye, baby
His foot slides between yours and he twirls you, hand on your back to help you keep a semblance of balance; you stumble and he pulls you close again…
The picture frame is empty
On the dresser, vacant just like me
I see your writing on the dash
“Thank you for doing this, Newt,” you whisper. You could mean the dancing, or the care-taking, or the friendship, or all of it; he can choose. He might not know you love him, or that this is the most exquisite type of torture: blind, holding onto the only man you ever loved and knowing you can’t have him while you were in his arms…
“You don’t need to thank me,” he mutters.
Guess I never doubted it
Then the here and the now floods in
Feels like I'm becoming a part of your past
“You never will be,” he suddenly says.
You frown. “Sorry?”
“A part of my past,” he says quietly, and you’re standing still now, and you look up at him, forehead scrunched. “You’ll always be…I don’t know how to say it. You’ll always be present.”
You smile sadly. “Or past or future? You’re sweet, Newt, but it’s okay. It’s natural.”
Bye, bye, to everything I thought was on my side
Bye, bye, baby
I want you back but it's come down to nothing
And all I have is your sympathy
'Cause you took me home but you just couldn't keep me
Bye, bye, baby
You start to move again, tiny steps to each side, it wasn’t dancing, or swaying, but somewhere in between…You wished you could see his face; his eyes and his hair; you raise a hand and place it lightly on his cheek, feel the rough bristles under your palm; his cheekbone, hair brushing your knuckles as you look up at his face but can’t see it…
And there's so much that I can't touch
He lifts a hand and cups it over the scar on your exposed forearm. You freeze but don’t tense too much, and he runs a finger over the roughened edges, then bends his head and presses a kiss there.
You're all I want but it's not enough this time
And all the pages are just slipping through my hands
His hand falls to your face, mirroring your position; your foreheads touch as you stand there, the music playing around them. You close your eyes, realise it doesn’t make a difference, and opens them again.
And I'm so scared of how this ends
“Is it weird looking in my eyes and me not being able to see you?”
“Very weird,” Newt answers immediately, voice caught in the little space between your mouths. “You keep talking to the left of me, it’s made me realise what it’s like for other people when I don’t look at them.”
“What, just fine?” you joke quietly. You drop your arms, taking a step back as the music plays itself out and fades. “Thanks. Again. Where’s the chair?”
He laughs, standing behind you as he steers you toward it. You drop down, and he lays a hand on your shoulder. “Do you want your jumper?”
In response you flick your wand and it soars over, lands on your lap. You shimmy to pull it on.
“Al…alright. I’ll be just at the counter,” he says softly. You open your mouth to reply-
He bends and presses a kiss to your temple again.
*****
He’s the first thing you see, when you down the potion and open your eyes; blue overcoat and vivid eyes and copper hair.
Like the sun, just as blinding, just as beautiful.
I love you.
He smiles at you and you wonder if it was still written on your face, unguarded and open for him to read.
And you realise you don’t much care.