Chapter Text
There were so many dresses. Rows and rows of them, in every conceivable color— pink and green and yellow and blue and all covered in beads and sequins. Credence let his fingers brush along the skirt of a pale purple number, tracing the careful embroidery. He heard footsteps, though, and snapped his arm back to his side. Queenie had him in here to measure him for new clothes, not for him to be nosing around in her private possessions.
Queenie came into the room a second later, a curious expression on her face. She seemed to decide that whatever question she had wasn’t worth pursuing, though, and simply set down the brown package that contained the material she planned to use on her dresser. Not five seconds later, she had summoned a tape measure and was getting to work. She was a very chatty person, Queenie, not that Credence minded particularly. There was something soothing about the cadence of her mindless small talk. He only needed to nod or hum on occasion and she would do the rest of the work.
“Of course, Newt’s quite awful about this stuff. Have you seen the man? He has three scratchy white shirts, three pairs of black woolen trousers, and only a single set of plain, musty dress robes! I can’t imagine how he ever gets by in civilized society.”
“Dress robes?” Credence asked.
“Oh, yes! Dress robes. You see, wizards wear robes instead of suits like no-majes do. Though, I suppose, it’s rather fallen out of fashion in recent years since they started tightening the Statue of Secrecy so dramatically. We need to blend in and all that.” She squinted a bit. “Don’t worry dear, I doubt you’ll be needing them regardless. They’re rather uncomfortable, I hear, what with the tight collars.”
In no time at all, she had magicked together a set of clothes, two grey pairs of pants, two white shirts, and a sensible coat, folded neatly on the dresser. Credence collected them carefully in his arms, still awed by the capabilities of this power that he’d always hidden from himself.
“Thank you so much, Queenie.” He told her.
“Don’t mention it, dear. It’s quite fun to have someone to sew for who’s not Tina. Lovely girl, no sense of pizazz.”
Credence half-smiled at that. Tina’s clothes were all very sensible and drab, unlike Queenie’s closet of wonders.
He was halfway out the door when Queenie spoke again. “Credence— if you ever want something—if you want to have a little more… pizazz… of your own… just ask, alright, honey?”
It was an odd sentence. Credence immediately pushed it out of his mind, avoiding whatever she was trying to imply. He nodded, once, and left again with a second “thank you.”
That night, he was woken in media res by an uncomfortable nightmare. It was mostly about Ma, as they usually were, but he was lucky enough this time not to panic upon waking. Instead, he just shifted the covers quietly and left the bed, careful not to wake Newt. He found himself in the bathroom, staring at his own reflection in the mirror.
His hair had grown out considerably since he’d been at the church, and it framed his face almost like Tina’s did, reaching down past his ears. It was messy and disheveled from sleep, and he attempted to rearrange it into something resembling a bob. He still had rather sharp features, with high cheekbones and arched eyebrows, despite having eaten well since he came home with Newt. His lips were thin, and he wondered audaciously what they would look like smeared with red lipstick. The dark, guilty pleasure that it gave him was addictive, but he was startled out if his reverie when he heard soft, padding footsteps outside of the bathroom.
“Credence?” Came Newt’s croaking, sleepy voice.
“I’m alright,” Credence said automatically.
“Can I come in?”
“...yes.”
They stood in silence for a little while, both facing the mirror. Newt seemed concerned.
“I’m sorry I woke you, I meant to just get up for a bit.” Credence explained, as if this wasn’t a fairly regular occurrence.
Newt shook his head. “It’s fine, I just… Queenie mentioned something earlier. Sort of slipped out. I’m sure it didn’t mean much—“
Credence tensed.
“—She said you liked her dresses.”
He knows He knows I’m a freak, a repulsive deviant, he knows he knows he knows
“They’re nice dresses,” Credence manages, his knuckles white. I can’t show him what a fool I am, how sick I am in the head
“Credence… it’s alright. You can like the dresses. Hell, you could wear them. I mean, you’d have to ask Queenie, but I don't think she would mind.”
Credence glanced at Newt incredulously with blurry eyes. “You don’t understand,” he croaked. “It’s always like this, I’ve always been disgusting and queer— Ma caught me playing with Chastity’s dolls when I was five, it was the first time she beat me so bad—“ Credence was crying now. The words were spilling out like he’d broken a dam somewhere inside. “so bad I couldn’t walk. Don’t you see? You should hate me! I’ve not a creature of God. It’s unnatural, it’s wrong, and I couldn’t—could never stop it, I’m too weak.” He spat the last word like it was poison.
Newt was speechless. He had always suspected that there was some reason that Mary Lou hated Credence more than the rest of her adopted children, but he would never have guessed that this, something so pure and innocent to Newt’s estimation, would have been it. It made him madder than words could say.
He stepped forwards and gently caught Credence’s wrists from where they were pressed to his face, trembling.
“Credence… Credence, it’s fine. It’s all fine. I don’t hate you, and I never will, especially not for something like this. Listen to me, love, please.” He led Credence’s wrists to his chest level, grasping them softly, and looked the boy in the eyes. “It’s okay if you want to wear dresses. Your Ma was a bloody evil woman, and she was wrong. You can do anything you like with your clothes, your hair—any of that. It’s all yours. I’ll—I’ll help you, if you like.” He paused. Credence was breathing a little easier now, with a look of apprehensive wonder on his face. “Maybe not just this moment, though. We ought to sleep, yes?” He left the statement open-ended, giving Credence room to make his own choices.
The boy nodded, after hesitating a little. He allowed Newt to lead him gently back to the bedroom, and slipped under the covers.
Newt couldn’t help himself. “You’re a miracle, Credence,” he whispered, and gave his forehead a feather-light kiss. They were both asleep within five minutes.