The World

Newt lounges just outside of his open suitcase, whistling softly and pretending like Credence isn't taking an unnecessarily long time to exit the suitcase.

Credence is immensely grateful for this. He's not left the suitcase since approximately a month ago, when he first fled into it. In fact, he would have been happy staying there, where the temperature is always moderate, and food appears on the table every day, and Newt helps him harness his magical abilities.

Newt, unfortunately, was not as pleased about the idea.

"You're a human being, Credence – not a creature to lock up," he had stressed. "You must become part of the human world."

It's not an appealing thought. The human world means betrayal, whips, and pain. Perhaps he doesn't want to be part of a world like that.

But then Newt started talking about the wizarding world, and he maybe got a bit interested.

Newt's head appears at the suitcase entrance. "Credence? Everything all right down there?"

Credence's throat works to form words that never emerge. As he paces, his hands are tight fists.

"I'll get tea," Newt decides, but before he can leave, Credence jerks his head up.

"What if I lose control?" he says all in one breath.

Newt raises a bemused eyebrow. "Have you lost control recently?"

"No, but this is different."

Newt hums. "You'll end back in the suitcase. You won't hurt anyone."

"Are you sure?"

"Swear it," Newt smiles softly. "Now, did you want tea? There's this new shop down the street…"

"No, I'm coming out."

Credence exhales heavily. This is easy. Just climb the little ladder and he's done, he's out. That's all it is. He's spent his life out of the suitcase, and he can manage fine outside of it now.

You call what you did managing fine?

His palms inadvertently sting, despite the fact they have long since healed. Sometimes the pain comes back, even when nothing is physically wrong.

When he told that to Newt, convinced there was damage neither of them could see, Newt assured him that it was real, but it wasn't physical. It was something his head conjured, but if his heart was strong enough, he could push through it and the pain would go away.

One hand slaps down on the wooden step. Push through it. He begins to climb.

Credence's fingers appear over the edge of the suitcase and his head peeks up.

Newt avoids his eyes. "Good day, isn't it?"

They aren't outside, which makes Newt's comment sound strange. But sometimes Newt says things like that - like he's not sure exactly what to say and just fills in the space with whatever pops into his head.

They're in a bedroom, which looks like a completely ordinary room. Credence's brow furrows. "Where did you say we were?"

Newt laughs. "This isn't Diagon Alley yet. That's just around the corner. This is a Muggle hotel room. Best if we don't stay long. I haven't reserved the room, see – just popped in to let you out."

"Oh."

"Personally, I don't much like the color," Newt says, flitting one hand at the wallpaper, one corner of his lips quirking as if he'd said a joke.

Red and gold? The colors didn't seem very objectionable, but maybe Newt was just making conversation.

"I'm going to come up now," Credence says.

"By all means."

Slunching his shoulders, Credence clambers from the suitcase and stands firmly on the carpet, eyes held respectfully low.

"Now, don't go do that," Newt chastises, and Credence jumps.

"Do what?"

"Hunch over like that. Do you know how tall you stand in the suitcase?"

Credence chews his lower lip. No, in fact, he didn't.

He didn't think at all about standing up straight or not in the suitcase. There's too much else to think about, and too much else to do. Feeding the creatures alongside Newt keeps him pretty preoccupied, if Newt's lessons on wandless magic aren't sufficient. Even in his free time, he likes to go visit the kneazles, who purr and rub at his calves, or the bowtruckles, who consider him a superior tree to their current one. Even the Mooncalves like to nuzzle up against him, and with all this company wherever he went – well, he didn't think about the way he was standing at all.

Why would he?

Newt does not press the topic. Instead, he continues in an entirely different subject. "You'll like Diagon Alley, Credence. One of the oldest wizarding districts. It started centuries ago with Ollivander's and the Leaky Cauldron, but all sorts of places have sprouted up since. It's very popular for Hogwarts students – you remember when I mentioned Hogwarts."

"Will they know I'm a…." Freak.

"You will look perfectly ordinary, for a wizard." Newt snaps the suitcase shut.

"I don't have a wand," Credence adds as he trots after Newt. "Won't they notice I don't have a wand?"

"Wizards don't traditionally run around with their wands in their hands for no reason."

"What if they do notice I don't have one?"

"Then explain you're extraordinarily talented at wandless magic."

"I'm not, though."

Newt halts just before the hotel's front door. Turning on his heel, he faces Credence directly. "Credence, how many spells do you think I can do without a wand?"

"I… I don't know. A lot?"

"Four. Only simple ones. And that's more than some can do."

Credence falters. That's not a lot of spells. Over the month that Newt's been training him, they'd covered plenty more than four.

"Just two days ago, you transfigured me into a kneazle," Newt points out.

"You were stuck that way for three hours."

"Not the worst experience of my life. The point is, for an Obscurial… no, for any wizard, you've demonstrated extraordinary talent and power. You're performing spells at a level far beyond a first-year at Hogwarts, and you're not even using a wand to do it! Frankly, if some witches and wizards in Diagon Alley knew about that, they'd be jealous."

"Will they be jealous?" Credence whispers worriedly. He doesn't want to make anyone feel bad, not over him.

"Unless you go transfiguring every witch and wizard into a kneazle, they won't bother you in the slightest."

Credence smiles faintly. Worry still gnaws at his stomach, but for Newt's sake, he tries to ignore it.

Newt nods. "Leaky Cauldron is this way."

They exit into the street, and it's a bustling cobblestone road that looks not too different from New York. Credence hugs close to the shop windows and Newt.

"There's all sorts of things you can find in wizarding shops," Newt tells him. "Not just wands and robes."

"Are there wizarding stores in New York?"

"Oh, yes. Everywhere across the world, really. Ah, here we are."

Newt ducks into a shop – Credence darts after him, glimpsing a weather-worn sign boasting of a cracked cauldron.

The door chimes behind them, and Credence freezes up. The place is frighteningly crowded, and right away Credence knows they're all witches and wizards. It's hard to say exactly how he knows, but he does. Do they know what he is? Do they realize he's not really one of them?

The reminder of his own nature shudders through him. The shadows creep under his skin, and he's absolutely certain that if he stays here one second more he -

"Credence." Newt taps his shoulder. "Come along."

Credence jumps, snaps out of his daze. He's fine. Newt thinks he can manage. He can manage. "S-sorry."

Newt winds through the crowd, looking almost as uncomfortable as Credence. "Not that good with people," he confesses as they slip into a back alley. "Much easier to work with animals, see."

Credence looks about in confusion. The small alley doesn't have any exit. It's just a square block of brick wall. Is this Diagon Alley?

Newt flashes one of his tiny smiles. "Magic," he says, and turns to the far wall. Raising his wand, he tap tap taps a pattern out on the bricks.

Nothing happens.

Credence wipes his sweaty hands on his pants.

Newt's brow furrows. "Hold on… I had this down, I swear…."

Tap tap tap tap, he tries another pattern. "No…."

Credence glances back at the door.

Tap tap tap tap tap.

There's a grating noise, like sandpaper rubbing together; Credence jumps as he realizes the very bricks that make up the wall are parting down the middle, rotating, shifting, opening.

"Aha!" Newt declares.

A new archway forms, revealing an explosion of color and people.

"Diagon Alley," Newt says triumphantly. Credence freezes.

Owls of all colors, shapes, and sizes swoop overhead, and hoot and chirp in a store window. A rainbow array of candies are positioned directly beside stacks of books ambitiously reaching over slanted roofs, while one store is selling outrageous pointed hats that almost everybody seems to be wearing.

Men, women, and children run and mill about wearing robes of purples, greens, reds and blacks. Credence clutches his own stern black outfit self-consciously.

"It's really sprung up in the last few years, from a couple of shops here and there to this," Newt says, weaving through the other witches and wizards.

Credence can do nothing but silently take it in, his eyes practically popping from his head. He can't seem to turn his head fast enough to catch each new bizarre thing cropping up in a window or store front, but yet the witches and wizards present didn't seem at all flustered.

"I-Is this what magic is like?" Credence murmurs.

"The commercial side of it, I suppose," replies Newt. "Often it's a bit too crowded for me."

Partly, Credence has to agree. Though the trinkets, baubles, squawking beasts, talking books and moving pictures are all astonishing and overwhelming and hardly of this world, the narrow street became claustrophobic very rapidly.

"Hm…" Newt glances at Credence. "Let's go to the menagerie. Fewer people. Been in the family for generations, if I remember right."

"Menagerie?"

"Animals," Newt elaborates. "Any kind of companion animal a wizard would want. Unless of course you're me, but – well."

Credence chuckles, and then flinches at the sound of his own laughter.

Together they slip into a rather cramped and tiny store, but one that fewer people occupy.

A gentle humming emanates from one corner, while there's the sound of little feet pattering about in cages all up and down the aisles. Credence jumps at a burst of fire somewhere to his right. When he glances over, a large jewel-shelled turtle-like creature huffs out smoke.

"Fire crab," Newt explains. The magizoologist seems reluctant to move from the door without some indication from Credence about where to go. Stiffly, Credence selects an aisle at random and shuffles down it.

"Clabberts, Flitterbies – those can be mighty cheering when you're feeling down – oh, Darpoofles – I hope they have a license for those."

Credence kneels beside a black wire cage, which contains a population of bizarre multi-colored snails.

"Streelers."

"Hmm-mmm-mmm~" comes the humming from the shop's corner.

Credence lifts his head. There, in a little box, dozens of tiny-multi-colored puffballs are gathered. "What are-?" he starts and then trails off.

He drifts towards the little puffs and extends his hand gently. Maybe one of them will like him. Newt's animals seem to like him okay. As long as they aren't scared of him?

Suddenly anxious that he may be scaring them, Credence pulls away – but to his surprise, a runtish fawn-color puff clings to his hand.

"Just a puffskein," Newt chuckles. "Hullo, you."

"I'm not hurting him, am I?" The puffskein is a lot smaller than most of Newt's animals. It has cute little eyes and a very very fluffy body, but it looks very fragile. What if he drops it? Credence cups both hands beneath it cautiously.

"Her," Newt corrects. "I think she likes you."

"Her?" Credence squints, trying to discern how Newt figured that out.

"Subtle differences in the facial structure," Newt explains.

"Are you sure she isn't just scared?"

Cupped in his hands, the tiny creature emits a soft purring sound, which both tickles his ear and feels oddly soothing.

"Absolutely sure. Would you like her?"

"Whu-?"

"The puffskein, Credence."

"O-oh, no I – I might accidently hurt her, o-or forget to take care of her or –"

"You fed the Nundo yesterday, Credence. I fully trust a puffskein to your hands."

"But – I don't any money –"

"Consider this your paycheck, then."

"My paycheck?"

"You've been assisting me with my animals for weeks." Newt glances down at the sickles in his hand, and a frown appears on his lips. "I pay you very poorly."

"N-no. It's plenty. You cook, too, and the bedroom and everything – it's already too much."

"Then one puffskein will do little harm." At this, Newt strides purposefully up to the counter.

Credence sighs. There's not much he can do to dissuade Newt, if the magizoologist really gets in the mood.

Credence lifts the puffskein to eye-height. "I'm sorry," he whispers to it quietly. "If you'd like to go back to your box, you can. You don't have to be around me."

She purrs softly.

Credence frowns. "No, you don't understand. I'm not even a real wizard. I don't have a wand or anything. I'm an Obscurial."

Nothing he says seems to deter the puffskein whatsoever. A tiny tongue licks at her little pink nose. This task done, she makes one soft 'mhyep!' noise and snuggles lower onto his palm.

"If you're sure…"

"Mhy," the puffskein says.

Tears sting at Credence's eyes and he fiercely blinks them away. Now is not the time. But… His first real pet. A magical pet, nonetheless!

"Thank you," Credence whispers.

He tells Newt thank you again, as well – in fact, Newt sternly tells him he's not allowed to keep thanking him, and they move on from the menagerie.

His puffskein perches contentedly on his shoulder.

"What will you name her?"

"I'm not sure yet…" Credence hasn't ever had a pet of his own in his entire life. He's never had the pressure of naming something the right thing, and wants to mull over it before deciding.

"Want to go somewhere quieter?" Newt suggests, to which Credence nods.

"The bookshop, then."

The bookshop, as it turns out, is the quietest. Only a few people flit between the shelves, many with their faces buried in books.

"It's a madhouse around the time for school supply shopping, but calm otherwise," Newt comments.

Credence instantly likes this place; the aura is warm, and gentle, and the scent of books is pleasant.

"Are there any books about Obsurials?" Credence whispers as they tread into the shelves.

"Regrettably, no. Not one." Newt shoots him a sideways glance, not quite meeting his eyes, and there's a smile at the corner of his lips. "Not yet, anyway. No one's had the material to make one, see."

"I hear they're rare," Credence utters.

"Very. Although, writing a book that addresses Obscurials could be extraordinarily helpful for wizardkind. If such a book were to be public knowledge, perhaps children wouldn't – slip through the cracks, so to speak."

Credence slips a book off the shelf and fiddles with it mindlessly. "It'd be useful for an author to first know an Obscurial."

"In our current world, I can't imagine that happening. You'd have to get both an Obscurial and an author."

Credence flashes a tiny hesitant smile that quickly flits away. His eyes dart. "If… If an Obscurial did happen to know an author… And maybe… maybe was willing, to um…"

"Would you like to help me with such a book, Credence?" Teasing, he adds, "I think you'd have to come with me to personally deliver one to Tina."

"Yes." Credence breathes. This time, the smile stays.