So, this is literally the first thing that I wrote after stepping out of the theater – my mind was just overflowing with Newt Scamander's every single aspect and then this sort of appeared. And then I promptly wrote another fic, temporarily forgetting this one…like I said, overflowing. I can't stop. Btw I'm still crying over the utter perfection of that movie and there will be so many more FB fanfics coming from me… but in the meantime. This may not make sense, as I only saw the movie once (so far!) and may not be entirely clear on the timeline of events…just picture this as an alternate version where Newt didn't know what had become of his Obscurial and didn't have a chance to check until after the crisis was over.
Also if any of you have anything to say about Fantastic Beasts please just tell me what you thought tell me who was your favorite character rant to me about how adorable Newt is anything just I NEED MORE OF THIS FANDOM
...thanks for reading
As soon as everything was over – after Frank's magnificent silhouette disappeared from the horizon, after Jacob stepped off down that rainy street, and after Picquery's aurors finished their repairs on the city of New York – after all the commotion ended, Newt took the first opportunity he could to steal away into the depths of his case.
He didn't bother with rungs while climbing down the ladder, and he landed on a not-completely-steady pair of feet. The warm room he'd just entered was filled with far too many eyes, and on any other occasion Newt would have stopped and calmed them all, taken them back to their rooms. They must all have been in a terrible shock, what with strange wizards breaking in to ogle them, and Newt knew that he creatures missed him when he was gone too long. It pained him to be so suddenly callous, but Newt really couldn't stand to delay for another second.
And so, he strode quickly through the cluttered room, trying very hard to walk past his charges and their pleading stares. It was very near impossible. Even as he made his way out of the familiar shack, an even more familiar, whining growl came from behind. Newt's pace slowed to a crawl on its own accord, and he reluctantly turned his head to look round.
There were several varying faces peering out at him, but Newt's eyes were drawn directly to the perpetrator of the noise. Perched up on a rather precarious-looking shelf was a shimmery ball of gnarled, silver fur. The only things standing out from the fluffy sphere were two huge, dark eyes at the center, as well as a pair of long, tapered claws that divided at the tips. Newt tilted his head, raising his eyebrows in an expression of fond exasperation.
"Now don't look at me like that, Dribbles," said Newt quietly, smiling softly. "You know I always come back. Besides, you just want your appendages scratched. "
The silvery creature blinked slowly, rippling its metallic fur in a resemblance of a shrug. Newt's smile broadened for an instant, and faded again; he turned and started out once more, but not before stopping to extract a small, slinky-like, translucent amphibian from a pail hanging off the wall. "How many times, Morel?" He deposited the glimmering creature on the top of a broad rucksack that was lying on the floor, and with that, Newt hurried along.
Outside of his workshop, the air was still and quiet. They really had been frightened, thought Newt, and the thought sent a pang of dismay quietly rippling through him. This was all his fault; he really should've been more careful, and if he hadn't found them all – well, he didn't know just what he would have done.
Now, he rushed through cubicle after cubicle, just peeking in each one to make sure that everyone was accounted for. Everything seemed to be all right, at a glance, but Newt knew better than many that a glance sometimes tells you less than nothing. Newt's glances were fairly in depth, but still, he couldn't force himself to linger any more than he already was. He only looked in on each of his creatures apologetically, murmuring the occasional word of comfort before darting off again, as he wound his way through his zoo of a suitcase. It wasn't really that big of a place, once you got to know it, but it certainly did hold an entire world of life. The further reaches of the wide space contained the more isolated and…energetic of his guests. The higher-strung, those of a particularly large appetite…those with testy dispositions.
The closer he got to his destination, the faster his heart pounded. The question that had been eating at him for hours only grew, tearing at him for an answer.
Did they put her back?
Newt crossed his fingers tightly as he ran, headed straight for the wintery room of falling snow and constant emptiness. The sight of the heavy drapes, fluttering slowly in a magical wind – and behind them, the blank whiteness of that room – caused Newt to pull up short.
He took a breath, and his eyes crinkled in trepidation. "Please…" whispered Newt apprehensively, taking slow and creeping steps forward. The drape slowly arced upwards, revealing a widening corner of the room, and Newt almost averted his eyes for fear of the truth. He took the final step forward anyway, ducking past the drapes into the snowy sub chamber.
He'd been steeped in genuine suspense ever since his supposed trial – ever since Graves brought out the suspended Obscurial. Ever since Graves accused him of bringing her to America to set her free, ever since Newt had tried to explain to them that she couldn't hurt anyone, that she could only survive inside the suspended environment that he'd created for her. She could only live on while trapped inside that bubble. Newt had told them that, adamant and desperate, and they hadn't believed him. They must have known, but they refused to listen. But then they took Newt and Tina away to that room, leaving Graves with the Obscurial, and Newt had no idea what had happened after that. But surely – they hadn't believed him, so they'd think that the Obscurial might still have the ability to wreak havoc if she was released? And so they'd decide to let her remain in her bubble, untouched? And surely, they'd decide that Newt's case had done the trick of keeping her safe so far, so they might as well return her to where she'd been?
That was the story that Newt had kept on telling himself, over and over again whilst wondering what had become of her. Wishful thinking, but perhaps…still true? He'd wondered, and he'd hoped, but a single glance into the wintery room told him the truth.
It was cold, and snowy, and white; just how it was meant to be, except for its complete emptiness. Newt released his breath in a drawn-out sigh, slumping.
The snow swirled around at a faster pace than normal, seeming almost angry; Newt slowly bent his knees and sank to the ground, watching as the tiny flakes of conjured snow whirled and spun. It was almost as if they were scolding him. At the moment, Newt almost hoped that they were.
A well of nearly intolerable sadness and disappointment rose up within him, and Newt couldn't bear to even attempt to crush it down. The Obscurial who'd resided here deserved more than a few tears of remorse. There wasn't much else that Newt could offer, though, so there he remained.
"I'm sorry," Newt whispered, and the words were immediately snatched away by the blustering wind.
His hair blew all around his face, and his scarf fluttered up and around his frame; the wind gusted stronger, and the snow fell harder. Newt never pulled out his wand, and simply stayed there on the snow-covered ground. The empty space were the Obscurial belonged seemed to watch him, perhaps with some trace of gentle forgiveness; but Newt's gaze was firmly tracked on the icy ground, and he never saw.