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Newt can’t stop looking at Credence.
The way his skin is unnaturally pale, even in the soft yellow light inside Newt’s suitcase. The way the blanket he is wrapped in drapes around his too-bony shoulders, and the steam from his tightly-clenched mug of tea weaves around his face.
Credence has been staring into his mug for the last number of minutes. Newt wonders if, perhaps, he should ask if something is wrong. That’s what he does, in situations like this one. He asks questions, hurriedly rearranges furniture and tugs at his clothes in nervous energy, constantly on the move and looking for a new outlet. But Credence- he’s a special case.
Something tells Newt that he should let the boy alone, allow him to think for a while, so instead he scribbles notes into his journal and sketches the rhino enclosure of Central Park- he thinks that it may come in useful for some creature’s new home, some day. But not yet. He will have to set aside his adventures, just for a short time. His only job now is to protect Credence, at least until they get to London and can stop running.
The blanket is sliding off Credence’s left shoulder. He hasn’t noticed. His eyes are gazing blankly into the milky tea, as though it holds the solution to his current predicament. On the run from MACUSA, a stranger in a new and quite frankly terrifying world, and rapidly discovering that nothing is as he originally believed. He may have had a far kinder life than this boy, but Newt also sees a little of himself in Credence Barebone. Scared and alone, and uncomprehending of the danger of letting the darkness rule you.
Oh, Newt knows the feeling of darkness- the creeping mist at the corner of his mind, telling him that he isn’t good enough, that nobody will ever understand him, that they’ll take his creatures from him and that will be the end of Newt Scamander. He’s found ways to cope and that’s part of the reason for this constant nervous energy that runs through his fingertips. They are very much alike, in some ways.
He rises from the table almost without thinking, but he knows where his feet will take him. He crouches at Credence’s feet and gently removes the mug from his hands, placing it on the floor with a soft thump.
“Credence? Are you alright?”
Their eyes meet, and Newt realises that his worries were certainly founded. Credence’s eyes are swamped in shadow, but he doesn’t hide it. Instead he looks at Newt with a fearful desperation, and it is all Newt can do not to pull the boy to his chest and hold him until he forgets. Instead, he motions towards the blanket’s drooping fabric and lets his heart ache in silence.
“Here, Credence. Let me just fix your blanket or you’ll get cold. It’s alright now Credence- you’re safe here, I promise.”
The boy nods, barely, and his eyes drop to the floor. Newt’s fingers brush the skin of his collarbone as he draws the blanket up and over Credence once more, making sure that it is tucked securely against him. He fights the urge to run a hand over Credence’s hair or stroke the tensed mounds of his shoulders. Newt is used to easy familiarity with his creatures when they are hurt, but Credence is different, and Newt isn’t sure what to do. He’s never been good at comforting people- there’s a reason he has dedicated himself to his creatures.
“Credence… Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?”
The words spill out in a rush and Credence’s eyes flicker to his, this time wide in not terror, but shock. Newt brushes his fingertips against his, hoping beyond hope that the boy will give him some instruction on what to do, on how to fix this terrible mess, but instead Credence’s fingers nervously intertwine with Newt’s. An ember of hope flickers in Newt’s chest and begins to burn brightly, and suddenly he feels that perhaps there is a way he can fix this. He’ll do what he does best- he’ll do exactly what he did for Jacob when he needed it. He’ll introduce him to the family.
He leaps up from the floor and tugs Credence up with him, leaving the blanket discarded on the ground. The nervous energy that always consumes him has returned, and he’s practically dragging Credence around the room as he pulls bottles and jars and vials from cupboards, chattering all the while.
“I know exactly what I can do Credence, I know exactly… Aha! Found it! Hold this, and this, and then take some of these and pop them in your pocket, they’re for the Mooncalves- they’re lovely, and so friendly! I should have done this straight away, what was I thinking?”
He whirls and beams that famous Newt Scamander smile- it’s infectious, and the corners of Credence’s mouth turn up just a little, and the hope in Newt’s heart grows a little brighter. His creatures- they’ve always been there for him, and when Jacob was so unsure of magic, it was the fantastic beasts that drew him to this new world like a nargle to mistletoe.
“Mr. Scamander… Where are we going?”
“It’s Newt, Credence, just Newt, and we’re going to visit my creatures! I promise you, they’re all absolutely safe- and they’ll love you, I know they will. I- Credence?”
The boy has shrunk back slightly, with that familiar fear growing on his features. His hands are quivering at his side as they do when he’s threatened- Newt wishes he didn’t have to know the signs of Credence’s fear.
“Credence, no, there’s no need to worry, I promise you that. Please- come with me, just for a moment. I just- I thought it might help you to understand that not everything in the wizarding world is dark. It’s beautiful really, Credence, and these creatures are the best part- the most wonderful things. Please, Credence.”
He shakes his head. He’s staring at the floor again, avoiding Newt’s eyes, and there is nothing he wants to do more than to tip up his chin and look into his eyes, to see his face and to wipe away every trace of upset and fear on his features.
“Alright- Alright, Credence. That’s fair, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. Let me get you some more tea.” He feels deflated for a moment, but then he feels a movement in his pocket and realises that there is still a chance.
“Hold on- There’s one creature I’d really love you to meet. He’s a bowtruckle- very sweet creatures really, and Pickett is the sweetest of them all. He has some attachment issues, so he lives in my pocket a lot of the time, but he won’t mind meeting someone new. Will you meet him? You won’t have to hold him or anything, I swear.”
He gives Credence what he hopes is an encouraging smile and reaches into his pocket slowly, trying to give the boy time to make a decision. He finally looks up from the floor and nods, and Newt sees what he thinks is a glimmer of trust in his eyes.
“Alright Pickett,” he whispers as he lifts the tiny creature from his pocket, “Here we go. I’d like you to meet Credence- he’s a very good friend of mine, so be nice.”
The bowtruckle clings to Newt like he’s a life raft and squeals, but it’s only for show- Pickett is the biggest drama queen Newt knows. He seems to detect Credence’s worry, however, and stops his wriggling to perch instead on the palm of Newt’s hand. He tilts his little head curiously and reaches one branch-like hand towards Credence. The boy looks fascinated and steps closer, and Newt has to catch his breath because this boy is going to be the death of him- there’s so much he wants to do, so much he wants to say, but in this moment he’s frozen and watching the light play off his features is the most beautiful, eye-catching thing he’s ever seen. He wonders what this is, this strange connection between himself and Credence, but decides that thinking too hard could ruin it.
Pickett squeaks, and Newt jumps, surprised. Credence is looking at him and smiling, and his hand reaches out to touch Pickett’s outstretched fingers gently with his own. Carefully, Newt lifts his free hand to rest it on top of Credence’s and for a moment, this is home.