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The suitcase was a wonderful place. Newt would maintain that to anyone who cared to argue with him about it. It was as close to a home as he had. He kept all the things that were most important to him there. All his creatures, of course. He loved it.
However, he would also be the first to admit that it hadn’t been built with long term human habitation in mind.
Their rooms at Hogwarts were looking increasingly tempting.
They were in the tower so the rooms were small and the walls curved. They were also quite run down though Newt was more that used to that in the kind of places he made a habit of staying. There was a main room with a sturdy desk that would no doubt serve him and Credence for the work they needed to do, and a more secluded study with a desk and a rickety chair that he intended to claim for his more intense and private work. A small but functional bathroom and, of course, a bedroom.
Therein lay the problem.
The bedroom.
There were two beds, of course. Much like the dorms he’d grown up sleeping in. Two canopied beds and a narrow space to walk between them, but the room was so small that, in effect, he’d be able to reach over the gap between the beds and take Credence’s hand.
He wasn’t sure how he was feeing about that at all.
Someone cleared their throat behind him. He turned round to see Credence there and stepped back into the room.
Into their room.
Credence looked at the beds, wide eyed. He was hunching slightly against the door frame, head ducked. Newt rather wished he’d been more successful in breaking Credence of his head ducking but it was a work in progress.
“It’s…it’s a little small.” Credence said, fidgeting in the doorway.
“Yes,” Newt said. He sat down, gingerly, on one of the beds. His knees were almost touching the other. “But, well, cozy. And I suppose the Hogwarts experience does involve having a room mate.”
“You had a room mate when you were here?”
“Oh, yes. All the boys in the same house and year share a bedroom. I didn’t really get on with any of them though. People find me a little…” he waved his hand to show how people found him. He’d been given plenty of words for it over the years. Strange. Intense. Upsetting. Too much.
Credence came to sit beside him, lean over and pushed their shoulders together. Newt let himself lean into the touch. “People find me a little like that too.”
Newt imagined they did. With his awkwardness and shyness and all the anger. Not to mention the hair cut and his clothing. They were going to have to do something about clothing soon. He’d been using magic but it did tend to wear away at the fabric over time. Better to find him new clothes. And a wand, of course. From Diagon Alley. Newt had enough money to fund it for now, particularly if they were going to be hiding in Hogwarts for the foreseeable future.
“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing we found each other then.”
He risks a glance over and Credence is smiling. A almost imperceptible upturn of a lip, but it’s enough for Newt.
He resists the urge to reach and touch the smile, but only just.
“Well, we’re here,” he said, wincing a little at the words. “You’re first full day as a wizard. How do you want to spend it?”
“I want a wand.”
Newt nodded. That made sense.
“I did promise, I suppose. We can go down by floo and be back up here in no time.”
“Floo?”
Newt grinned. Of course, Credence wouldn’t have experienced it before. There was so much he hadn’t ever had a chance to see. So much that should have been his by birthright but he’d never been allowed.
And now Newt could fix it.
“Come with me,” he said, standing up quickly. “You’re going to love this.”
***
Credence decided that, on reflection, he’d rather take any other form of transport in preference to traveling by fireplace. Not even emerging to Newt’s beaming face could cure the rolling in his gut and he found himself sitting down on the floor of a strange room, grasping his stomach and gasping for breath.
“Ah,” Newt said, coming to kneel by him and lay a hand on his leg. “Yes, it can be a bit of an acquired taste. Don’t worry, the sickness will pass.”
“And hopefully soon.” They both started at the voice and turned. Credence took in his surroundings properly for the first time. He was in a shop, but not one like he’d ever seen before. It was stacked high with small boxes, just jammed with them. An old desk stood in the chaos and a staircase rose up between them. “Newt, my boy. Good to see you back.”
“And you, Mr Olivander,” Newt said, springing to his feet with a grin. Credence was beginning to suspect there wasn’t a soul in the wizarding world who he didn’t know. “Did you receive the samples I sent you?”
“I did. Come to admire the results?”
“Ah, not this time,” Newt said, casting a glance back over his shoulder. “Let me introduce my friend, Credence. Credence, this is Mr Olivander. He’s the best wand maker in England. His family had been making wands for generations.”
“And will be for many more,” the old man muttered, shuffling over to Credence. Credence looked down quickly, avoiding the gaze. He stared at the old man’s shoes and held his breath until he shuffled away again.
“Well, does this friend speak?”
“Yes,” Newt said. And Credence looked as Newt came closer, positioning himself between Credence and the old man. He wished he could jump back into the fireplace but, after all, he’d been the one to start this. He’d wanted magic. He wanted a wand.
He forced himself to his feet.
“He’s had an accident with his wand. Needs a new one. Nothing to worry about, of course.”
Olivander snorted. “What was his last wand?”
They shared a second of eye contact before their eyes darted away from each other’s. Olivander snorted and stomped away. He came back a second later, thrusting a wand at Credence and pulling it back almost as soon as his fingers closed around it.
“No, try this.” He did it again, three times. Eyes narrowing each time. Then he retreated to the shelves and pulled out a few more boxes, mumbling to himself.
“Newt?” Credence said, risking a step closer. He was rewarded with a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, my friend. This is normal. The wand chooses the magician, after all. You’ll know when you touch yours.”
“Right,” Olivander said, turning back to them. “This one. It’s a little long. Fir. The core, Newt, is one of yours. A thunderbird feather.”
Newt beamed at that. Credence didn’t remember seeing a thunderbird in the suitcase. He rather thought he’d have noticed. But he wasn’t going to argue. He reached out and let his fingers brush it.
Right away, he knew.
The wand sparked with light and the magic that Albus had to forced out of him seemed to flow freely now. He wrapped his hand around the wand and it seemed to settle into his grasp and he knew right away that this was his.
His wand.
“Wonderful,” Newt said, wrapping his own hand over Credence’s where the wand was touched. “Frank’s feather. He’d be happy for you to have it.”
“You know, boys,” Olivander said, and when Credence looked up he suddenly looked more indulgent. Like a caring grandfather. “I’ve always said that Fir’s a survivor’s wood. I’ve sold Fur wands to two men before and both have survived things that might kill a lesser man. It’s a wand of character. Strength and purpose. With the feather in there it’ll be good for transfiguration work, I think.”
Credence just smiled. Let the words wash over him.
It was his.
“Good,” Newt said, squeezing his hand tightly. “How much, Olivander?”
And oh, Credence hadn’t even thought about that. Of course it wouldn’t be free. Of course he’d have to pay and he had no money. Nothing. But he couldn’t let Newt…
“For you, no payment this time,” the old man said, though he winced a little as though it pained him to say it. “You provided the core after all. And several other rare cores that you’ve refused payment for. But this is your only one. If he breaks it again...”
“I’ll never break it,” Credence interrupted. He’d tried so hard to get it, he’d never let any harm come to it.
“See that you don’t. Now, out of my shop.”
“Thank you, Olivander,” Newt said, sketching an awkward bow. “Come along, Credence. We have a few more stops I’d like to make before we go home.”
***
Credence lay under his covers, the curtains around his bed shut.
He held his wand in his hand.
His wand. His. Not anyone else’s. It chose him. And it was a wand that Newt had contributed to. The core was one that he’d found. It felt right. It felt like maybe this was where he was meant to be.
He’d waited so long to find out where he was meant to be.
Thought so many times that he’d worked it out and every time he’d been wrong, but not this time. This time he had a wand. He had a friend.
Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t destroy it.
He put the wand down at the thought. He didn’t want to think that way. There was no reason to think that way. But…it wasn’t inaccurate. He did have a horrible track record of ruining anything in life that had any meaning to him.
He had let the monster out of himself.
He hadn’t told Newt that, of course. Hadn’t told him just how much he WANTED to hurt. To destroy. Newt was…Newt was sunshine and hugs and easy acceptance and good things. Credence didn’t know how he’d react to that. To the fact that Credence had just let go. Had, in some way, enjoyed what he became. What he did. Liked that he’d destroyed the people who hurt him. Wished he’d hurt Graves. He knew the man was still out there. He might come back. Might ruin everything for everyone.
Killing was bad. He wasn’t a monster. He knew that. But…
He rolled over, buried his head under the pillow. It was over now, anyway. Gone. He couldn’t explode like that again. He couldn’t hurt people like that again.
He wouldn’t have to because nobody here was going to hurt him.
But he could. He had.
He’d enjoyed it.
He was scum.
He knew he was. Had known for so long. If only he’d been enough. If only. Then he wouldn’t have earned all those beatings. Then Graves wouldn’t have seen him as a weak link to exploit.
If only…
“Credence?”
Credence froze. Curled up on his side.
“I’m sorry. Are you asleep. You’re probably asleep. I’ll just…”
“No. I’m awake.”
“Oh, good.” The curtain of his bed was twitched back and Newt was there, wand lit, smiling at him. Softly. Carefully. So tenderly that it made Credence want to cry. “I could hear you moving. I can’t sleep either.”
“Sorry,” Credence said, but he shifted forward a little. He liked how close they were. How he could reach across the gap between their beds for Newt if he needed to. He wondered what Newt would think if he knew how much Credence liked it. Probably nothing good.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Newt said, reaching across the gap and awkwardly ruffling Credence’s hair. “It’s been a big day, after all. I had trouble sleeping the day after I got my wand. Though, of course, that was also the day before I left for Hogwarts. Good times.”
“Were you scared?”
“Oh, of course. Being away from family. Somewhere new. And it’s all very well to get an acceptance letter but I was so worried that I’d get here and not have any power to speak of. That I’d be terrible at all my lessons and they’d throw me out for incompetence. Of course, I was terrible at potions and that did throw me out. Not for incompetence, though.”
“What happens if I can’t work magic?”
His eyes went to the wand. His stomach clenched, like it was fighting to keep the words in. Like there was a way to stop them, rushing through his brain and out before he’d even had time to register what they were.
Newt smiled sadly and reached over, stroking Credence’s cheek.
“Credence, you have magic. I can tell. But, if you didn’t. You’d still be my friend. I don’t care about any of the rest. As long as you want me, I’ll be here for you.”
Credence suspected he’d test that limit one day, but it was a nice image. Himself and Newt growing old together. Supporting each other through life.
A little too nice of an image.
“Thank you.”
“Not a problem at all,” Newt beamed at him. “Now, sleep.”
“Newt.”
“Yes.” Newt was still smiling at him. So open and happy and Credence just wanted.
“Can we leave the curtains open?”
Newt looked shocked for a second, almost as though he might refuse, but then his expression softened. “Of course, my friend.”
Credence fell asleep that night to Newt’s breath and the feathery length of his eyelashes.