Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He remembers drifting, after the barrage of magical lights on the subway. He lets the wind push him every which way, except...except he also remembers wishing, with all that he had left, for safety and warmth, and for someone to help him. His mind flashes back  to the man who had spoken to him on the subway, the one who had promised to help him, who had asked to come closer, even knowing that Credence was dangerous. 

The push of the wind gentles, somehow. As if it had made up its mind on where to take him. Maybe it had. He's finding it harder and harder to consciously think of anything. He relaxes into the breeze and lets it guide him. He doesn't have anything left to lose. The cold has seeped into his very being and he doesn't think he'll ever get warm again.

And suddenly, he smacks into warmth the likes of which he's never felt before, like a tiny ice cube suddenly dropped onto boiling water. He hears a cry-- not his own, as he distinctly feels the absence of his body-- and he jerks away on instinct, startled, curling in on himself as much as his wispy existence will allow, expecting pain, because what else could he expect, it's always, always pain, he's learned that lesson long ago, and it-- it doesn't come. 

There is warmth, spreading slowly but surely all over him. There is the feeling of steady, measured, warm breaths flowing through him. Breaths that are not his own, because he doesn't have lungs at the moment, and if he did, he'd probably be hyperventilating. Sound slowly trickles back as well, and he hears words in a cadence that he isn't used to -- British, he realizes slowly-- and he is much too disorientated to even think about deciphering the words. What matters is that the words are steady, and reassuring. Like the breathing. 

He settles. He settles into what he belatedly realizes is a human. He clings determinedly and folds himself into the crevices of the human's clothes, seeking the warmth that the body gives off constantly. He grazes the human's skin with a tiny tendril, and he feels a pleasurable tingle spread all over him. It soon becomes overwhelming though, and he tucks the tendril away. The warmth is enough, and all his senses tell him that he is safe, and so he lets go of his tenuous connection with consciousness at last. 

Chapter Text

There is something darker about Newt Scamander when he returned from New York. Theseus knows how often the rumor mills of the Ministry distort the facts, but in this matter, the rumor mills are undeniably right. Less than five minutes into his reunion with his brother, he knows that something has irrevocably changed. 

He didn't think that anything would ever taint his little brother's blinding brightness and purity, and yet here Newt was, steeped in so much Dark Magic that Theseus could barely restrain the urge to put his own beloved brother at wandpoint. He had fought against many Dark wizards and witches in the war and won. He knows various ways to incapacitate, if not outright kill this--

He takes a deep breath, and another, and another, until he has the urge in control. With a few flicks of his wand, he closes his office door and erects the strongest privacy and safety wards he knows. He turns back to Newt when he is done, and demands, "Brother. If indeed you still are my brother. Explain, now. What happened in New York and WHY. ARE. YOU. OOZING. WITH. DARK. MAGIC?"

Newt startles, and looks down at his clothes. He certainly is oozing now. Visibly. Tendrils of semi-corporeal darkness are coming off of him. 

Newt flushes, like he always does when embarrassed, and flails his hands in time with shaking his head in denial. "I-It's not what it looks like, Theseus!"

Theseus takes another deep breath, and loosens his stance with conscious effort. Newt, who had closed his eyes and ducked his head after his proclamation, slowly peers up at him under his unruly bangs. Theseus offhandedly notices that Newt's freckles seemed to have multiplied over the years. 

"Well? I'm waiting," Theseus says, after another moment of silence. 

Newt bites his lower lip, before blurting out, "Did you hear about the business with Grindlewald...?"

Theseus gives Newt a flat, unimpressed look. Crosses his arms on his chest. And starts tapping his fingers. Newt gulps visibly and loudly.

"O-Of course you did, you're you, what am I saying..." Newt wavers, then takes a deep breath, seeming to gather his courage. "Grindlewald tried to break the Statute of Secrecy using an Obscurus, Theseus!"

Theseus does a double-take, and then the dots suddenly aligned and he knew. He pinches the bridge of his nose, even though he knew it would do nothing against the sudden stabbing headache he had developed.  

"You're telling me, that's--" Theseus gestures at Newt vaguely, "...an Obscurus. Because of course that's what it is, isn't it? That's what you do. You find a poacher with a demiguise and you bring it home. You find an Obscurus..."

Newt is nodding vigorously, smiling and happy that his big brother understood him so well. 

"...and you host it! It's a magical parasite, Newt! Your magic feels distinctly Dark now, and it'll kill--"

"No! Credence would never, Theseus!" Newt vehemently denies. 

"Credence, is it? And how long has Credence been leeching magic off you, exactly? The whole way here, I suppose? Can you even still use your magic, Newt? Can you still cast spells?"

Newt avoids his gaze, instead finding his shoelaces very interesting. Newt purses his lips, then sighs. 

"I wanted to ask a favor, Theseus. I can teach you the spell to separate him from me. He can understand what's happening around him, you know. And he doesn't want to kill me. He just doesn't know how to unlatch, so to speak. But..."

And here, Newt steps forward and looks at Theseus in the eye. "Please promise me not to kill him. I promised him that I would help him, and if only Grindlewald hadn't--"

"Alright. I'll help."

Newt inhales sharply, and his answering smile is blinding in intensity. 

--

Credence regains his body after spending nearly a month as a black wisp. Newt regains his magic in a little more than a week, with the only permanent consequence being an additional Obscurus to his magical menagerie. Theseus, long used to using his considerable influence in the Ministry of Magic to get Newt out of trouble, produces papers for his brother's new "assistant" posthaste. 

Chapter Text

Newt remembers the various ghosts of Hogwarts. He remembers being barely twelve years old, and distractedly running towards a class, Charms, maybe, and running headlong through Sir Nicholas. Sir Nicholas was a very kind ghost, and if one had a choice of which Hogwarts ghost to run through, Sir Nicholas would be his second choice, and the Bloody Baron would be his last. The Fat Friar, of course, would be the first, being the Hufflepuff ghost. However, no matter which ghost it was, if one runs through them, the outcome is the same: it would feel as though someone has doused you with a freezing cold bucket of water. This is not unlike his new and unexpected experience with Credence just moments before, when a small patch of black cloud had abruptly swept into the open window of his cabin on the ship and latched onto him. Only since Credence is still on him, it feels more like being submerged in an ice cold bath.  

He tells Credence this, offhandedly, keeping his tone carefully even and his breathing regular. He doubts Credence could even understand his words at the moment. Past experience with his creatures gives him the insight that the words don't count as much as the way he says them. 

It didn't take long for Newt to figure out what the black cloud was, especially since the cloud was projecting feelings. Mainly, coldcoldcold and helpneedhelpneedhelp and needwarmth. 

Newt's instincts tell him that Credence is not going to kill him, despite the fact that the Obscurus has a body count in New York. He sees more than feels a black tendril stroke the skin of his collarbone, and sees it retreat after a moment. He experiences the curious sensation of something not quite smoke burrow into his clothes, and settle there like a particularly dark shadow.

- -

He finds an empty bit of parchment, and notes that the Obscurus is starting to tolerate longer and longer amounts of skin contact. 

He also notes that Credence is not violent towards him, or the Muggles on board the ship, or the the other creatures in his case. 

- -

He finds himself taking longer and longer to finish his rounds on his case. He feels constantly cold, and no amount of hot water or warming charms or layers of clothes works to warm him up. 

He notes this down as well. 

- -

He flicks his wand to summon some woodlice for Pickett, and nothing happens. Pickett chatters worriedly from his home tree, along with the other bowtruckles. Pickett had voluntarily climbed down from his place of honor in Newt's collar after the third day, unable to take the suffocating atmosphere of darkness that the Obscurus gave off. Newt shuffles over to the woodlice container, then shuffles back to the bowtruckles' home tree. Lifting his feet has never felt so tedious before. He gives them their woodlice, and does his best to reassure Pickett that he is okay. Pickett is not impressed.

He has never shied away from doing manual labor, but he never realized that there was so much to be done without magic to help him. He is exhausted, but he carries on regardless. Dougal is a godsend, especially with the baby occamies. He is a week away from home.

- -

He wakes to searing pain, more painful than the several minutes of lightning that he endured from Grindlewald. He opens his eyes to darkness. There is a single thought, and it is not his. 

I DON'T WANT TO KILL YOU. 

He remembers the girl he failed to save in Sudan. If this was the pain she felt when he separated the Obscurus from her, he could understand why she died. She'd been an Obscurus for several years by then, and was very weak. 

But...he'll be fine. He's nearly home. He's going to see Theseus as soon as he could, and he'll be fine.

"Credence, calm down. It's alright. I won't die. And I won't let you die either. It's fine."

He continues on this vein for a while, until the pain fades as Credence stops pulling away. He slips back to unconsciousness, and it is time to get off the ship when he wakes up.

- -

He downs two Pepper-Ups before he walks into the Ministry of Magic to look for Theseus. This translates into nervous energy, and he squirms uncomfortably under the stares of everyone he encounters on the way to his brother's office.

Theseus takes one look at him and adopts a dueling stance, but keeps his wand pointed away. Newt knows it takes all of Theseus' willpower to do so, and he has missed his brother terribly, but he thinks that under the circumstances, he'll forego the brotherly hug.

He fumbles his explanation when Theseus demands it, but just because Theseus was a Gryffindor doesn't mean he lacked brains. He catches on quick, and Newt smiles at him proudly.

He has the best brother in the world and he's looking forward to introducing him to Credence.