Chapter Text
It was late at night when Credence’s magic first manifested itself after Newt took him in. He’d woken up, as he tended to, after a nightmare, and he got up to splash his face with water before getting back in bed. He tended to get jittery, and he didn’t want to end up kicking Newt or something while he was trying to fall back asleep.
Blearily, he turned on the faucet and let the cold water run over his fingers, refresh his cheeks. It was a miracle to him that the Goldsteins had indoor plumbing, and it certainly had its advantages. His mind slowly began to clear, and he turned to leave—but his arm swung around at just the wrong angle and bumped a decorative vase on the counter. Credence froze in terror, but the crash he’d been expecting never came; instead, the vase just tapped down softly, nary a crack in it. This immediately struck him as odd, but he was tired, and he let it go, replacing the vase on the counter and shuffling back to the warmth of his bed with Newt.
In the morning, though, he remembered. He explained the whole thing to Newt, who listened thoughtfully.
“This is incredible,” he said in the end, “unprecedented, really. We knew that there was no record of such an advanced case of an Obscurus, but to have it lose power—this could mean wonderful things, love!”
“Does this mean… I could do magic? like a real wizard?” Credence gasped.
“This is clearly an example of your magic being used in a normal, healthy way--involuntarily, the way any untrained child would. The obscurus could be shrinking, or simply losing power... it's a very good sign,” Newt explained, his excitement clear, “and I think it’s time we tried.”
And the little ball of hot hope in his heart so painfully extinguished by Grindelwald that fateful afternoon began to burn again, with new ferocity.
Queenie must have sensed the commotion, because her head popped out of her room, blonde curls bouncing.
“Oh, goodie! Do we finally get to buy you a wand, darling?” She exclaimed.
“A wand!” Credence breathed, and turned to Newt with question in his eyes.
“How on Earth would we teach you magic without one?” Newt answered with a grin, and then turned to Queenie. “I’m not too familiar with American wandmakers, though. Might’ve sold some cores to a bloke named Wolfe once—“
“Wolfe? Really?” Queenie seemed impressed. “Well, the nearest one to here is a guy named Jonkers, he’s got a shop right down 34th, and his creations are a little more... mundane. We could go today.”
Credence took a shaky breath. So many wonderful doors were opening before him.
“Can we…?” He asked, looking up at Newt with wide eyes.
Newt met his gaze with incredible tenderness. “Of course.”
They decided to Floo to the shop, to avoid the long walk and the anxiety it evoked in Credence. They emerged on a well-polished mahogany floor, though Newt noticed that it was covered with a smattering of scorch marks and curse gouges. As he got up and brushed himself off, he was greeted by a young Scandinavian-looking fellow who was taller than him by about a foot.
“Welcome to Jonker’s Wand Emporium,” he said, giving Newt a very firm handshake. “I’m Hans Jonker, my father is Johannes. If you would please take a seat, he will be with you shortly.”
Newt nodded and thanked him, as Credence and Queenie tumbled in behind him. He was struck by the contrast between this place and what he remembered from Ollivander’s when he’d gotten his wand. Twelve inches, rowan, with an unusual bone-and-shell core, quite sturdy, the old man had told him. That old Diagon Alley shop was always dusty and smelled of mothballs, with a certain air of ancient mystery—quite a world apart from this shiny, enterprising American counterpart.
They sat down on a red velvet couch near the door, and before long, a portly man in his sixties emerged from the depths of the Emporium and introduced himself.
“My name is Johannes Jonkers,” he said in a thick German accent, “How might I help you today?”
“We’re looking for a wand Credence, here,” Queenie said.
“I see,” Jonkers replied, tilting his head slightly. Newt was relieved beyond belief when he didn’t comment further on what was indubitably a very strange situation. They must get all sorts in New York, he mused.
In the back, things started to look more familiar. There were ceiling-high stacks of wand boxes to each side, albeit stacked rather neatly. Jonkers turned with a thoughtful hum and summoned one from near the top. He took out the wand and handed it to Credence, who accepted it with startled reverence. He stared at it like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.
“Wave it around a bit,” Jonkers prompted him, “you will feel it if it’s the right one.”
Credence obeyed, and swept it back and forth. Nothing. His face fell.
“Don’t worry, now,” the old man said kindly, “not many find their wand on the first try.”
Credence flushed a little and nodded, handing the wand back to him.
They went through wand after wand, and nearly half an hour passed as Mr. Jonkers combed through his stores. Newt could tell that Credence was growing discouraged, and shrinking in on himself a bit.
He leaned over. “You know, I heard it took Albus Dumbledore two hours solid to be matched to a wand in his day,” he said in an undertone.
“Who’s that?” Credence asked.
“Oh, one of my old professors. Incredibly powerful wizard, he is, and very kind.”
Credence seemed to take some comfort from this.
“Ah—blackthorn and Pukwudgie gut,” Jonkers announced, passing Credence a rather thick, rough-hewn wand. It almost bucked in his hand, and Jonkers snatched it back. “Mein Gott, that’s a no then.” Credence just bowed his head.
“I think I might have spent half an hour in here when I was young,” Queenie piped up, looking nostalgic. “Silver lime and wampus hair, and worth every minute of the wait.” She twirled it lightly between her fingers, the mother-of-pearl handle flashing prettily.
Newt chuckled and pulled out his own, comparing the two. They were of relatively similar length, but Newt’s was considerably more careworn and rickety. Credence looked on with interest, and, of course, perennial longing.
“What is yours made of, Newt?” he asked.
“It’s rowan, with a bone and shell core. Ollivander was never sure quite what kind.”
“Ah yes, rowan…” said Jonkers, causing the three to look up at the reemerging figure. “Interesting. Anyway, I think you really ought to give this one a try, Credence.” He offered a long, tastefully simple wand which Credence took with some resignation. However, when he held it, a warm glow spread from his fingers, and his eyes widened as sparks flew from the tip. This was the one.
“Interesting…” Jonkers said again.
Credence, looking up politely, asked, “What is it?”
“Elder wood… with a core of Re’em horn.” He answered with some concern in his tone. “It was one of my earliest works, an odd pairing, and I had begun to think hat I would never sell it. It’s a dangerous wand, that one.”
Worry crossed Credence’s face like a veil. “Dangerous?” He asked quietly.
Jonkers considered him for a moment. “Dangerous, yes, but only if you make it so.” Credence relaxed by a fraction. “Please, go on up to the front and Hans will take care of things. Good day.” And with that, the old German wandmaker disappeared into the back.
Newt paid seven galleons for the wand (assuring Credence that he was perfectly glad to do so) and they went back into the fireplace once again.
When they arrived in the apartment, Queenie disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Newt and Credence alone in the sitting room.
“Are you going to teach me how to use it?” Credence asked, staring apprehensively at the wand in his hands.
“I’ll try,” Newt answered honestly, “I’m not sure I’ll be the best teacher, but I’ll certainly try. Tina and Queenie will help too.”
“I think you’ll be a great teacher,” muttered Credence as he leaned into Newt’s side.
Newt flushed. “Thank you.”
“Could we start now, please?” Credence asked, glancing up at Newt through his lashes. And if Newt were able to resist that, he probably wouldn’t be human.
“I don’t see why not.”
He got up from the couch, and Credence followed. It was actually somewhat difficult to decide what to show him first, since Newt had forgotten most of what he learned in his early years at Hogwarts, but he seemed to remember Professor Spangle starting their lessons with a levitation charm.
“Alright…” Newt said as he shuffled around to correct Credence’s posture. “Go on and stand up straight, plant your feet… good… now, the incantation is wingardium leviosa, try that.”
“Wingardium Leviosa,” Credence repeated, with a certain reverence.
“Let’s see, the wand movement is quite specific. It’s a swish—and flick.” He demonstrated, and Credence followed his movements carefully.
“Here—“ he said, summoning a feather. “Focus on the feather, and imagine what you want to happen.”
Credence readied his wand, and stared at the feather like it was his destiny. “Wingardium leviosa!” He said, performing a rather exaggerated movement. Nothing happened.
“It’s alright, try it again,” Newt urged.
So he did. And again. The feather lilted slightly, like there was a breeze.
“Good, good! It moved. Keep going—focus, now—“
Newt rested a bracing hand on Credence’s forearm, which was shaking a bit. “Focus,” he breathed.
“Wingardium Leviosa.” Nothing.
“Wingardium Leviosa!” And as he completed the movement, the feather jerked into the air about two feet, fluttering downwards.
“You did it!” Newt cried, throwing his arms around Credence and pulling him close for a kiss on the cheek. He could feel the heat of a blush creeping up the boy’s neck.
“Credence, honey!” Queenie exclaimed, hurrying into the living room “I’m so proud.”
“You’re incredible, you know that,” Newt said honestly.
“It’s a spell for kids, isn’t it?” Credence mumbled modestly.
“Yeah, kids who’ve been messing around with their magic for years and grew up around it.” Queenie corrected. “This is pretty amazing, dearie.”
Credence just reddened further and glanced at his hands.
Later, they were doing their evening rounds in the suitcase, and Newt was feeding the grindylow, who was being particularly impish.
“Credence, could you please hand me the kelp on the rock—“
But instead of passing it by hand, Credence levitated it, and it smacked the grindylow square in the face.
“Sorry!” he called from behind Newt, who was laughing. The grindylow spluttered and sulked away, hiding among the reeds.
“I’m leaving it here on the rock, George, see,” Newt said sternly to the creature. “Do remember to eat, you’ve been losing weight recently.”
The grindylow just clicked its bony fingers and continued to grumpily give Newt its back.
“Alright,” he sighed, and left George be.
“I’m sorry, did I—“
“You’re alright, love, he’s just gloomy as usual,” Newt reassured Credence. “Now, come on, let’s go to bed.” He kissed his lover on the forehead, and they went upstairs.