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Perhaps it had been rash. Perhaps it had been foolhardy. But inaction had eaten at her as news came home from the front in the form of telegrams and dog tags. No-maj newspapers flashed headlines and no-maj posters stirred the spirits of the population and it was just enough to get under the skin of an auror in training. She simply couldn’t stand placidly by while The Great War stole lives and hearts in turn.
Tina was not the only young VAD nurse stationed at the cold forest outpost who had lied about her age, she was sure. The girl who’d passed her the water pitcher that morning couldn’t have been older than fifteen, but that was the nature of desperate times. There were too many wounded to be cared for and too many dead to be of help.
She was also sure she was not the only witch.
It had happened at the beginning of the week. A whiff of a spell; too quick to pinpoint who or what, but definitely there. Of all her skills, Tina was most proud of her ability to smell magic. Charms, enchantments, transfigurations, they all had unique scents present only at the moment of casting. That particular morning, she’d caught the golden honey of a sleep spell.
Like a bloodhound, she had followed the snatches of aromas that did not belong in a field infirmary until she came upon Mrs. Murray, an elderly American woman who headed all the nurses at the command.
“My dear, you can stop humming the Ilvermorny chant at me every time I walk by. You’ve found me out, I’m a witch. You are too, if that glamour spell is anything to go by,” she whispered as the two loaded a batch of freshly laundered bandages into baskets.
“I – oh, you can tell? I thought I’d applied it well,” Tina said a bit disheartened as she tugged at a long, dirty blond curl.
“I will admit, it’s very well done, but it begins to fade when you get upset. At first I thought it might be a trick of the light – I’m sure that’s what the no-majs think – but yesterday when you were crying behind the storage shed your hair was about a foot shorter and about 4 shades darker.”
“Oh,” she said simply, more embarrassed at being caught crying than anything. Mrs. Murray patted her hand.
“It’s alright, dear, we all have those moments. But, this is good! I’ve been hoping we’d get another one soon. I have some boys from the dragon corps who I would much rather be attended by one of us and I can assign you there, if you’re up for it.”
“Yes, whatever you need me to do.” They had a dragon corps?
“Excellent! I’ll take you there and get you set up then. By the way, which house were you in?”
“What? Oh, um, Thunderbird.”
“Ah, well. Can’t all be Puckwudgie. Come along dear, it’s this way.”
Tina followed her, mind still reeling at the revelation that they had a dragon corps.
The woman marched them through the camp and to the maze of interconnected tents that made up the sickbay, bearing her load of bandages smartly on one hip. Tucked away behind a small screen in a back corner was an alcove of about six beds, five of which were occupied by heavily bandaged soldiers. A tired looking nurse was dressing a nasty burn on one man’s hand.
“Afternoon, Maisie, I’ve come with some fresh meat from my alma mater to help you,” Mrs. Murray announced as she strode to the back table and burdened it with her load of bandages.
The girl, Maisie, nodded to them, understanding the implication behind the discretion as Tina strode over to copy Mrs. Murray’s actions and listen to the nurse’s explanation of the situation.
The little band of soldiers had suffered various injuries when one of the Ukrainian Ironbellies they dealt with had spooked and gone wild. One of their comrades had been killed before the dragon could be brought under control and it was through a bit of conversation with those awake that Tina found out there was really only one soldier the beasts would listen to.
They pointed him out, telling her that he was a bit of an oddball, but damn good with the dragons. He lay on the bed at the end, head and face bandaged from being thrown into a tree; one eye covered, the other closed in sleep, with a smattering of freckles covering his sickly pale skin. She left him to his rest and went to acquaint herself with Maisie.
Together, they drew up a rotating shift schedule so that there was always at least one nurse on hand, since dragon burns were tricky to deal with and usually required a bit of magic tending to them at any given moment. It was during one of her night shifts that Tina first spoke to the man with the freckles.
He’d been silent in sleep, and in the rare moments he was awake he’d simply lain there staring at the ceiling, unmoving. In truth, she’d been startled when he’d made any noise at all. It had been as quiet as the infirmary could get, with all of the dragon corps asleep, when she’d heard the first soft sob. Carefully picking her way over, she found him in a fretful doze, tears falling from his unbandaged eye and quiet whimpers dying in his throat. She hovered over him, unsure of what to do, when his eyelid fluttered open and his unfocused gaze found her.
“It’s my fault,” he whispered, voice hoarse and barely audible. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault…”
“Shhhhh shhhh,” she hummed, sitting on the edge of the bed and casting about for a way to calm him. “What’s your fault?”
“It’s my fault, I should have noticed sooner. She was getting agitated and if I had just noticed Samson would – ” he broke off as a sob choked him. Samson, she had learned from the others, was the soldier who’d died during the incident. Tina gathered the soldier’s uninjured hand in hers and squeezed.
“Shush, now. You didn’t provoke her, it’s not your fault. I’ve spoken with the others and nobody blames you, okay? They all told me that if it hadn’t been for you none of them would have made it out. It’s not your fault and feeling guilty about it won’t bring Samson back.”
She held his gaze for a moment, unbreathing, as grief welled up around his uneven pupils. He couldn’t be that much older than her, but in that moment he seemed aged and weary. Finally, his hand squeezed hers in return, shaking slightly as he nodded once. She let out the breath she’d been holding.
“It won’t stop hurting…” he whispered.
“I know. It won’t, not for a while, but you can cry. Crying’s okay, so long as you aren’t blaming yourself,” she murmured, rubbing the back of his hand the way she’d done after every one of her sister’s nightmares. “I’ll be right here, alright?” For a moment he simply regarded her with one dizzy eye and she was afraid he was going to refuse and recede back into the unmoving statue he’d been before, but her fears were quickly dismissed as he slowly crumpled, sobbing in an unnervingly silent way. She sat with him as he wept, their hands gripped tightly, until he exhausted himself and drifted into a light slumber. For the rest of her shift, she perched on a stool by his side, with occasional rounds of the other patients before returning to take up his hand once more. When Maisie came to relieve her, she gave one last squeeze and went off in search of her own bed.
The soldiers were moved a few days later, sent to England for better treatment now that they were all in stable enough condition. While stripping the linens, Tina found the freckled patient’s uniform cap under his pillow and, a bit unsure of herself, slipped it into her apron when no one was looking. She kept it with her, packing it away when she was discovered and sent home, where she tucked it into a shoebox along with a few mementos from Mrs. Murray, Maisie, and some of the other VADs she’d come to know.
The years drifted by and the box stayed stashed away and mostly forgotten until one afternoon Newt found it hidden behind a few of the larger boxes he was helping the Goldstein sisters clean out of a storage closet.
“Oh, my, I’d forgotten all about this!” Tina said affectionately, as she took the shoebox from him, opening it to view the contents. She tilted it slightly so that Newt could peer curiously inside.
“Isn’t that a British uniform cap?”
“Mm, yeah,” she grinned sheepishly. “I may have run off for a few months in early ’18 to be a VAD nurse before Mr. Graves found me and dragged me back.”
“And it’s a good thing he did!” Queenie yelled from the kitchen. Tina grinned, glancing in her sister’s direction.
“That certainly sounds like quite the story,” Newt chuckled, before indicating the cap. “May I?” She nodded.
“Oh, it was. Queenie was furious and I’m still surprised Mr. Graves let me return to my auror training. Said I showed exemplary skills in disguise and subterfuge, but also gave me daily lectures for a month on the importance of following orders…Newt?”
His face was thoughtful as he regarded the cap in his hand.
“Tina, did you ever look to see whose name was sewn into this?”
“No, it never really crossed my mind. I’m not even sure why I kept it, to tell you the truth, I just kind of did. The soldier who it belonged to was one of my patients and I guess I just…sort of grew attached to him. All of them, really. Why, is it someone you know?”
He responded by tilting the cap towards her so she could see the neat embroidery set in the brim.
Newton A. F. Scamander.
“You’re kidding…” she whispered, flabbergasted. “That was you?!”
“I’d wondered where this went. I wasn’t sure if I’d lost it during the war or if I’d somehow packed it separate of my uniform.” He tilted his head in thought. “I could have sworn that nurse was blonde.”
“That was Teenie’s disguise,” Queenie said, coming into the hall, mugs of tea and hot cocoa in her hands. “She cast a glamour to keep anyone from recognizing her and so she would appear older.” The younger Goldstein passed the tea to Newt and giggled at her sister, who automatically took her hot cocoa, mouth still slightly open in surprise.
“What a small world,” Newt said, sipping his drink.
“Indeed, or maybe it’s just destiny,” Queenie arched her eyebrows suggestively at her sister, who promptly closed her mouth and glared, cheeks tinted pink. The blonde was getting more and more meddlesome, probably frustrated with watching Newt and Tina dance around each other.
“Oh, drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”