Chapter Text
Muggles really can be remarkable builders when they get their mind to it. Well, truthfully, they get their mind to it fairly often. There hadn't been a settlement Newt had seen that hadn't featured one or two bits of remarkable engineering, containing tricky and clever little design solutions wizards and witches just don't think of. It's wondrous, sometimes, what the mind can come up with when it lacks magic.
They're building their buildings bigger than anywhere else, in New York. Big and grand and bold, with dozens of floor and peaks that reach higher than any tower a wizard has managed to make. Even magic, things start to twist around after couple of dozen floors – but muggles, they managed to do it.
Newt really must see the Woolworth building before he leaves.
Not that he would stay long for New York, but while he was there, he might as well sightsee a bit. You never knew when you needed the general knowledge of a place, when travelling and writing and should anyone ask, it would be nice to say, "I have see the Woolworth building indeed, sir, and yes it was quite very tall."
Not that he thought anyone would ask. But it was still a nice thought.
Pushing the future conversations never to be had out of his mind, Newt tightens his grip on his suitcase and pushes into the throng of muggles. There is another big old building there, very imposing. Bank, if he's ever seen one, with big staircase leading up to it and very dramatic pillars holding up the somewhat Roman-esque ceiling. Somewhat, though – Newt has seen the real deal, and this one is a little too… showy.
Architecture isn't really his thing, but he'd met a dwarf very much into it – she'd explained to him the intricacy of the old human architecture, how everything was absolutely necessary, calculated so precisely that you couldn't take one part without fearing others would fall over. In comparison, this muggle made thing, it's mostly for show.
It is a good show though.
"You, friend," a woman's voice calls suddenly and the people around him go quiet, look at him.
"Um, yes?" Newt asks, confused and looks around. Oh, has he wandered into some sort of gathering?
"What drew you to our meeting?" the woman asks. She has a… odd look about her face, as much as Newt knows human faces – she looks very excited but cold. Reverend but aloof? He isn't sure but it's, as far as he can tell a little bit off-putting.
Not that Newt has the foot to stand on when it comes to off-putting faces.
"Excuse me?" Newt asks, thinking he must have missed something. They probably talked about something important that he'd completely disregarded while looking at the architecture.
"Why did you come to our gathering today?" the woman asks, a little more demanding – he definitely did miss something.
"Oh, I just – I was just passing by –" Newt says and then finally really looks around himself, looking at the people in the steps who are conducting the – meeting?
And then he stops.
Oh.
Oh, he really is distracted to have missed that, good Merlin he must be going blind.
"Oh, I think you came here for a reason," the woman says while Newt stares in gob smacked astonishment at the young man beside her. She doesn't seem to notice that his attention has shifted. "You, sir, must be a seeker. A seeker of truth."
"More a chaser, really," Newt mumbles, staring, staring – oh he's staring, how awkward. Quickly he looks down, trying to think fast, trying to come up with something.
He's surrounded by muggles, everyone is staring at him, he can't do anything suspicious, but he must do something, think of something, and quick. He fiddles with his suitcase nervously to buy himself time to think, just in time to see hint of a webbed dark hand slipping back inside, foiled by his sudden interest in the case.
"So you chase the truth," the woman says. "You go after it with all your heart, sir?"
Newt swallows and looks up, his gaze avoiding her and looking at the young man instead. He's holding leaflets, printed with strict black print – some of the people in the gathering are holding them. New Salem, something, something reads on top.
The young man works for her, she is conducting the meeting – she must be the leader of whatever is happening. So if he… yes, that will do, won't it?
"Yes, I suppose so," Newt says and then, holding his suitcase securely in front of him. "I'm very keen on truth."
"Good, that's good," the woman says and smiles a stiff smile like she's won something. "Then listen, my good sir, hear my words and heed my warning, because I have much to tell you."
She then looks at the general gathering, rather than at Newt specifically, and continues the meeting with, "Witches live among us!" – and oh yes, she has things to tell them. Terrible things that make Newt smother the urge to grind his teeth and fiddle with his hands – he wants very much to not be hearing the poison she has to say, but oh, does it make sense.
The young man beside the woman stands stiff and awkward, looking at people's feet rather than their faces and when ever a person comes close he dully offers them a leaflet. Newt watches his every move, wishing he had his notebook and quill to write it all down.
It's remarkable and terrifying all at once – he has all the markers. Stiffness of back and awkwardness of motion – refusal to meet eyes or look at faces. Dullness of movement – sluggishness at the feet, like he's wading through water. His hands twitch every so often, and his fingers move ever so slow. Loss of physical dexterity, clear as day.
Newt stares at his hands, holding the leaflet – there, a cut, red and sore in the young man's palm. A bit of paper is dragging against it and it must hurt worse than any paper cut could, but the young man doesn't notice.
From Newt's previous observations, they stop feeling physical pain towards the end – if they don't notice they're hurt or pay attention to it, they just don't feel it. Loss of sensation – accompanied by loss of sense of taste and smell, followed by loss of hearing…
And yet, the young man is in his twenties. Twenties and like this. He must be incredibly powerful.
Newt takes a deep breath. Remarkable and terrifying – and so soon after Sudan too.
The woman finishes her poisonous speech, expounding on the devilishness of magic and the evils of tricksters before handing out more leaflets to those who listened and telling them to come to the next meeting at some place Newt has never heard about. The crowd mumble and starts to disperse, few ask her a couple of questions which she answers with great, cold confidence.
Newt lingers for a moment and then, while the woman is distracted by a pair of younger women who are nervously asking her about stuff like love potions, the wizard pushes forward. He does his damnest to make the movement seem casual as he walks around the women, far enough not to be pulled into the discussion, and then he's in front of the young man.
Up close it's unmistakeable – and overwhelming.
"Could I have one of those by any chance?" Newt asks.
The young man with severe haircut looks up very briefly and then down again. He doesn't move his head at all when he does it and his shoulders look stiff and his neck doesn't move right – it's more than muscle cramps there, it looks like he can't fully turn his head anymore, his spine is starting to stiffen.
The young man hands him a pamphlet and Newt looks down on it. "WITCHES LIVE AMONG US" it says and Newt makes a face at it before quickly stopping himself. On the back there was some… truly terrible text about the evils of witches and magic, similar to what the woman said – Mary Lou Barebone, says the pamphlet, the Leader of the New Salem Philanthropic Society and the Second Salem Church.
Good grief, no wonder.
"Thank you," Newt says, and sneaks a closer look at the young man, just to make sure he isn't missing anything. But no, it's all there, clear as day and of course the feeling tearing under the young man's skin is utterly unmistakeable.
Nothing feels quite like an Obscurus, about to break free.
"Sir," the terrible woman is at his elbow, smiling at him. "How did you find our meeting?"
She touches him, fingers stiff and hard at his elbow as she turns him away from the young man. Newt goes with as much willingness as he can muster, lets her pull him away from the Obscurial, and looks at her as much as he can bear.
She is smiling at him, and it looks terrible. Like she's won something over him, like she has him, and that's not a look you ever want to see on a human's face.
"It was quite – quite enlightening," Newt says because it certainly was at that.
"Oh, but sir, you aren't from around here are you? Are you freshly come to New York?" she says and her eyes light up even further.
"Yes, fresh of the boat, I'm afraid," Newt says and he doesn't know what to do, what to say – he doesn't want her touching him, but it's an excuse to stay and certainly he can't just flounce off now, not with this brewing in the midst of these people… He clears his throat. "I'm quite new to New York, to be honest."
"Have you a place to stay?" she asks and looks him up and down, taking in his coat – which, Newt has been informed, is supposed to do quite well in muggle world. "Have you had anything to eat since you landed? The Second Salem Church is not far from here – we would be happy to have you for dinner."
We, meaning her, her children – the young man too?
"You – you live at the church?" Newt asks, looking at the pamphlet.
"Yes, it's where people can find us when ever they have any questions," the woman says and smiles wider. "And we're always happy to help those seeking the truth. Or those chasing it," she adds and quirks her lips, like making a joke.
It falls a bit flat and Newt clears his throat. Good Merlin he's gotten himself into something here, but… He'd almost been burned at a stake in Sudan, so, so far it's not going that badly. "I would like that, madam." he says and forces himself to look at her eyes. He can't manage it more than couple of seconds before he has to look away, but it seems to please her.
"Wonderful," she says and clasps her hand to the crook of his elbow. "Come right this way then. Children," she says to the young man and two girls at the stairs. "Gather up the leaflets and lets go."
Newt twiddles with his suitcase nervously as he looks about the Second Salem Church. The creatures inside must be feeling his anxiety because even Dougal is being meek as mouse inside, and even the Niffler has stopped trying to creep out. Not that it looks like there is much shiny to steal here.
Truthfully, it looks hopelessly grim and joyless, this place.
"What is your name?" a young girl, pale with her blond hair pulled back severely, asks while offering him a cup of bitter smelling coffee.
"Oh, it's Newt – Newt Scamander. Uh, thank you," Newt says and licks his lips nervously, looking at the coffee. Oh, now he wishes Dougal hadn't retreated into sullen silence – the Demiguise loved coffee. "And your name, Miss?"
"Modesty," she says and points towards where the other two – the older sister and the young man – had gone. "And then there's Chastity and Credence, they're going to make dinner."
Credence – that has to be the Obscurial's name.
"Newt," Mary Lou the Leader of the Second Salemers asks with interest while coming closer. "That is an interesting name."
"Short for Newton," Newt explains with awkward smile and leans his elbows onto his suitcase in order to fiddle with the cup instead. He should make a pretence to at least try to drink it, probably. "Your church is," he starts and then can't quite manage a lie. "It's very neat," he offers instead. Because it is. It's is almost obscenely tidy.
"I keep a clean house," Mary Lou agrees with a nod, looking around herself with clear pride. "The neighbourhood children come and go – I have a meal for them once a day, and they can leave such a mess, but we've managed to enforce a certain level of cleanliness."
"That's… nice," Newt says rather desperately. "That you offer them food."
"We've been teaching them," Modesty says proudly. "About the church and witches. They make the leaflets too."
"Ah," Newt says, little at a loss at that. She says the word, witches, like it's a dirty word and she's proud to say it like that.
"Number of them cannot ever read, the poor dears, but they can still write and even draw if they have example to copy," Mary Lou says. "So they do a bit of work as payment for the food for us and learn the value of it."
Newt nods and lights the bitter smelling cup to his lips to save himself the necessity of replying. He isn't sure what to think at all.
"Well, I should check up on the food," Mary Lou says and looks at Modesty. "Darling, why don't you sing Mr. Scamander your song?"
She nods and Newt looks at her – or just little past her ear, but it counts – as Mary Lou hurries off to the kitchen. "I made it up myself," Modesty says and takes a breath.
And Merlin's beard they've even managed to make songs terrible here.
The dinner is… edible. It's obvious that these people don't have much in way of funds – the food is simple, bland and terribly cheap even to Newt's taste buds, and he's never been in possession of great deal of money himself. But it is edible.
The dinner discussion sours it on his tongue though.
"How did you come to know about… about witches?" Newt asks, and doesn't look at Mary Lou. He might look accusing if he does, so he keeps his eyes on the plate, on the piece of dry, hard bread. Somewhat ludicrously he wishes he could just whip out his wand and add a bit of taste to it.
Mary Lou hums. "It's all terribly obvious when you open your eyes. These attacks lately, they're just the tip of the iceberg," she says darkly. "New York is such a shining, glorious city that people fail to see what goes about in shadows. People cursed, losing their minds and senses…"
Newt nods along as she tells him of the people she's met, the things she's seen – not just in New York, but in the people passing through. Those people coming back from the war – something terrible happened to them and they came back utterly bewitched and no one seemed to see it. The old world, with it's old crypts and temples and forests surely had even more witches to enchant poor innocent people.
"You mentioned attacks?" Newt asks awkwardly.
"Oh, you have not heard?"
Newt shakes his head. "I only arrived this noon."
Mary Lou eyes him for a moment and then rises to her feet and heads out of the room, leaving Newt alone with her children. He takes it as chance to look them over.
There is something terribly wrong with this family. Modesty with her horrible song about witches, Chastity with her stiff posture and furtive glances, and… Credence.
He still hasn't spoken a word.
He just sits there, slowly and methodically eating his food, the spoon held clumsily in his obviously stiff fingers. He looks a little out of it – but at the same time, there is that pinched quality to the way he sits, stiff just so. Listening with wary keenness Newt knows well.
It was how Frank looked at him, when he first approached the thunder bird in his cage. The alertness of a wounded, beaten animal in a corner he can't get out of.
Credence has scars in his palms that make Newt's own palm long to grip a wand and throw some spells around and damn the consequences.
But no – he'd learned his lessons. This wasn't place or moment for shows of power. This was a treacherous land and he had to thread very, very carefully here. Not for his sake, or the sake of the Secrecy… but for Credence.
The Obscurus was so close to the surface that Newt could taste it in every breath he took, the tingle almost physical, bitter and stinging. Metal and rust and pain.
"It's good," Newt says awkwardly and glances at Modesty and Chastity. "The food, it's good. Thank you."
Chastity looks at him nervously and then glances at her younger sister. She makes a face, regretful and a tiny bit mischievous. "It's a bit bland," she admits.
Credence glances up at that, just a little.
Newt looks between them quickly and something in his chest unclenches. It's very, very slight, but they all three of them have relaxed just a bit, with Mary Lou no longer in the room. It isn't just Credence – they all have felt it, they all know.
Newt hesitates. "I, uh. I ate snake once," he said. "I was in Africa, year or so ago, and got a little… shall we say lost, for a couple of days. Didn't think to bring much food with me, wasn't meant to get lost you see, so I had to do with what I found. Snake is… let's say this is much better than raw snake."
They all stare at him now, their faces blank in their incomprehension.
"Ah," Newt says. That did come a little out of nowhere, did it? "I'm a – zoologist," he says, just barely managing to swallow the magi from the front. "I study various animals, preferably in their natural habitats. Africa has a lot of interesting specimens, but… they tend to be scattered all across the continent."
The sisters share a look and Credence looks down, frowning a little.
"You've been to Africa?" Modesty asks, her eyes a little wide.
"I've been… well, now that I'm here, I've been to every continent," Newt admits. "Africa, Asia, Europe obviously, I am an Englishman. Visited Australia just four years ago, fantastic country, that. Started in South America, actually – must have been close to ten years ago now – and from there I went to Antarctica and… yes, I think that accounts for all the continents."
He beams at the children, more because of the way Modesty leans in rather than because his own recollections. That's an expression he can recognise – curiosity. Best emotion there is, certainly.
"You've been to Antarctica?" Modesty asks breathlessly. "Isn't it really cold?"
"Isn't the Arctic a continent too?" Chastity asks with a thoughtful frown.
"Yes, Antarctica is cold, quite terribly cold, I was there during the summer, however – or rather, the winter here, which is summer there, so it wasn't quite as cold as it can be," Newt says, clad to have something he knows to talk about. "And actually, the Arctic has no land mass – it's all ice, you see, so it is not an continent."
"But… isn't it very big?" Chastity asks. "I saw a globe once, in the library, and it looked like there was a lot of space there."
"It is a very big ice shelf, yes, but it's only ice I'm afraid," Newt says and pokes at his food. "It has a lot more interesting creatures than Antarctica though, I will tell you that."
"You will tell them what?" Mary Lou's voice slashes like a whip and like that, the curiosity dies.
"I was telling them about places I'd travelled to," Newt says hastily, almost dropping his spoon in his nervousness.
"He's eaten a snake!" Modesty says quickly.
"What?" Mary Lou asks sharply.
"In Africa – I rather didn't have anything to eat," Newt says and flicks his gaze up and down in desperate search for something safe to latch onto. "I was studying the natural wildlife there and ended up terribly lost."
"Studying the… natural wildlife?" Mary Lou asks thoughtfully. "You're a scientist."
"Zoologist, yes," Newt say and his eyes land onto the papers she's holding. Muggle newspapers, with their still, stationary images.
"And you've been to Africa," Mary Lou muses. "Aren't the people very… savage there?"
"Don't they practice voodoo there?" Modesty asks, "The black magic."
Newt looks down at his plate hopelessly, swallowing everything wants to say, the explanations he wants to give. He grips the spoon tighter, swallowing. "It's… a very interesting sort of place," he says instead, hoping that the despair he feels over this family doesn't bleed through his voice. "Ahm, what do you have there, Mrs. Barebone?"
"Ah, right," she says, though her eyes are sharp. "It's Miss Barebone, I thank you, and here – I have saved all the news about the incidents. Surely there is no question about all of these being the results of most terrible witchcraft."
She hands the papers to him and Newt accepts them, both terribly grateful and nervous all at once. His fingers shake a little as he spreads the topmost out – and oh. Oh.
The paper calls it a Gas Explosion, put the picture shows a house that has collapsed, no hint of fire damage in sight. The article is… confused in it's facts, citing like gospel the tale of gas leak but then going around, confused about the lack of fire, actual explosion, noise, or even the smell of gas. MACUSA's hand there, the obliviations are clear in the holes in the story.
It is indeed difficult to deny the magical origins of the incident. Especially since Newt has seen destruction just like it before. Back then though… the Obscurus had seemed so powerful, destroying a hut in a single sweep through it. This one though, it was a six story building and it's been brought to ruin in an instant.
Newt avoids looking at Credence. "Incredible," he murmurs and spreads the paper out. "Incredible. You're quite right, Miss Barebone – this was no gas leak."
Credence shudders and Newt can feel a shiver crawling up his spine.
The young man knows.
Mary Lou nods, satisfied, as she takes her seat. "It's far from the only incident we've had," she says imperiously. "Magic is literally tearing this city apart, Mr. Scamander, there is no denying it. And witches… witches are behind it all."
No, Newt thinks, his fingers curling at the edges of the paper, twisting the pages. Not witches. A witch hadn't done this to her child.
A monster had, and she is sitting right across him.