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Of All Times to Come Out of The Case


It was the creatures that drew Newt Scamander from the demiguise nest. They needed feeding. He could hear baby fwoopers crying and the erumpent was getting restless and the little occamies were calling for their mummy. Newt struggled to sit up, his face stained with tears, and he held out a palm for Pickett, who climbed onto his hand and rode up to Newt’s shoulder, where he sat, holding onto the collar to steady himself. Dougal put a hand on Newt’s back and the other little bowtruckles hurried to climb up him and straighten the tie at his neck. He slid from the nest, his boots hitting the floor and the baby hippogriff used his beak to tug at the trench coat, the little tebo bracing Newt up from behind by pressing his snout against the backs of Newt’s knees… The momma fwooper flying before him, cheering him on…

Dumbledore looked up from the book he was reading - “A Brief History on the Medicinal Care for Dragons”, a book Newt had written during a five-year stay in Romania in the early 1950s that was anything but brief, being over seven hundred pages long and quite involved. “Ah, Mr. Scamander,” Dumbledore said.

Newt’s eyes flickered to Dumbledore. He looked lost. His eyes sort of drifted to one side, away from Dumbledore’s, and his over-large front teeth only just rested on his lower lip, which trembled slightly. “Gotta feed my creatures,” he murmured, and he moved toward a shed where he kept the feeds, noticing the Moon Calves were quite a lot fatter than they’d been that morning, standing about the overturned wheelbarrow with nauseated expressions on their tiny round faces. “Except you lot, seems you’ve had quite enough already.”

Dumbledore stood, leaving the book on the boulder where he’d been sitting as the creatures all flocked along behind Newt Scamander, including the invisible Dougal, who now hung from Newt like a backpack. “We were quite worried for you,” Dumbledore said, including the creatures in his statement.

“So sorry,” Newt murmured, opening the shed.

The erumpent stamped her feet in excitement.

Dumbledore drifted along behind him as Newt loaded up his pockets and gathered up buckets and bags of feed, cutting up bits of meat and letting a few seeds drop into the pocket of his coat for Pickett who squeaked a thank you from within. Newt shoved a couple buckets into Dumbledore’s hands and he started off on his rounds through the case.

The fwooper took the funny coloured worms Newt held up and flew away to her nest to feed her babies.

“Mr. Scamander,” Dumbledore said, “Mr. Kowalski has offered to feed your creatures for you…”

“I feed my creatures,” Newt answered. “Every day, every day I feed my creatures.”

Dumbledore nodded, “Yes, Mr. Scamander, but since you are a bit… under the weather…”

“I could be dying and I’d still feed my creatures, Mr. Dumbledore,” Newt’s voice shook as he spoke, moving between habitats… The baby hippogriff galloped along beside him, still too small to use his wings properly, he flapped them uselessly at his sides. Newt threw a few thick, dead rats into the hippogriff habitat he’d built and the little one ran in and started eating merrily. “They need me.”

“Mr. Kowalski is perfectly capable of --”

“They need me,” Newt replied, interrupting Dumbledore, stopping before the basin of occamies. He stared at Dumbledore for a long moment, then turned, biting his wand in his teeth, and tearing open a bag labelled roach pellets and dropping little pellets into each of the occamies mouths in turn, carefully making sure they each got their fill of pellets before sealing the bag and moving on, dropping more worms into the fwooper nest for the momma, and shooing the moon calves back to their silver-lighted hill over the bridge. “Off you hop,” he told them, “Go on then.”

Dumbledore took Newt’s shoulders as he turned back from the bridge and he held Newt firmly for a moment, looking into his eyes. “Mr. Scamander,” he said lowly, searching Newt’s eyes.

Newt’s lip trembled. “I can’t dwell on it, Albus. I’ll crack apart, don’t you see?” he whispered the words, as though he were afraid to speak them. He stared up at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore sighed and nodded, and let Newt go. Newt quickly stumbled away toward the Tebo’s habitat, leaving Dumbledore behind.

When Dumbledore emerged from the briefcase a few minutes later it was to find that he’d completely lost track of time. It was early evening and Tina had gone to take a nap and left the briefcase in the kitchen, where Queenie stood cooking. She looked at Dumbledore with a funny expression as he climbed out of the case and carefully closed the lid. First her eyes flickered with confusion, and then realization of who he was, and finally a fearful sort of awe. “Mr. Dumbledore,” she said, “A pleasure.”

“Hello Mrs. Kowalski,” he murmured. He looked about and took a seat.

“Would you like some cocoa, Mr. Dumbledore?”

“Yes please,” he smiled, and she waved her wand and a bar of chocolate, hot milk, a bit of butter, sugar, and just a hint of salt sweeped together, spinning ingredients in the air, and fell into a mug that had appeared at his elbow at just the right moment to catch the steaming drink. “Why thank you,” Dumbledore said merrily, lifting the hot mug and raising it to her. “They must have an impeccable cooking course at Ilvermorny?”

“It isn’t a bad one,” Queenie ceeded, “But I learned most of the cooking spells from Teeny or else on my own.” She smiled.

“Very good,” Dumbledore sipped his cocoa.

Queenie stared at the sizzling potatoes and chunks of fennel she was cooking on the stovetop, a long moment, then turned to look at Dumbledore. “I’m a legilimens,” she said.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

“I mean, I do usually have a bit of trouble with Brits, but I can’t hear a thing out of you at all.”

Dumbledore replied, “I am an occlumens. And quite a fair one at that.”

Queenie’s mouth curved into a smile. “Ooh. You must be very good.”

“Indeed.”

“I imagine you’d have need to be, given you’re… you.” Queenie’s hair bounced as she talked.

Dumbledore nodded, “Indeed,” he said again.

Queenie continued on cooking and Dumbledore drank his cocoa quietly in the corner, unobtrusive. The smells of dinner filled the apartment and was only added to when the door opened and Jacob Kowalski came in, carrying a briefcase filled with creations from the bakery… He appeared much older than Queenie now, his hair white, but he kissed her and opened the briefcase in his fist to show her the thick stuffed pastries he’d brought home…

Tina came from the bedrooms, clutching a robe about her, her eyes red, and she said quietly, “Welcome home, Mr. Kowalski.”

Jacob’s eyes darkened when he saw her - pity in them - and he said, “Aw Tina, I can’t believe it. Just can’t believe it.” Lysander felt nearly as much a son to Queenie and Jacob as he’d been to Tina and Newt - having lived with off and on for the past couple years while he was attending University, and spending a month or so each holiday season during his years at Ilvermorny there as well. Jacob had a bit of a grey tone to his face, the sadness they shared evident in his features.

Tina had always loved her brother in law.

Queenie looked at Jacob, seeing his mind, “Oh sugar, he’s in the case stil. Hasn’t come out.”

“Newt?” asked Tina.

Jacob nodded.

Tina sighed.

“We have made a spot of progress, however,” Dumbledore intoned, lowering his mug of cocoa. All three of the others turned to look at him, even Queenie having forgotten he was there for he was so quiet - and she couldn’t hear his thoughts. “He’s out of the demiguise nest now and feeding the creatures.”

“Who’s dis guy?” asked Jacob, his New York accent thick.

Queenie snorted and nearly doubled over.

“That is Albus Dumbledore,” Tina said. “He’s the wizard who defeated Gri--”

“Grindelwald, yeah,” Jacob nodded. He knew of Dumbledore.

Dumbledore stood up and waved a wand to clean out his mug and return it to the cupboard.

Queenie paused and turned about, “Oh dear,” she whispered.

“What?” Tina asked.

Suddenly there came a little voice from the doorway. “I’ve had a nightmare.”

Queenie had seen poor little Bradley coming.

Tina bent down and Bradley climbed up into her arms and wrapped his arms around Tina’s neck tightly and pressed his face into her shoulder. Queenie left the stove, the spatula turning over the potatoes and fennel on its own as she drifted over to Queenie and she stood beside Tina, tilting her head at Bradley, her eyes wide and sad, and ran her hands over the little one’s hair. “Sweet little thing,” she whispered, “What a terrible dream you’ve had.” She frowned and cupped her hand over the boy’s tiny head and pouted at him as Tina rubbed his back gently.

Bradley stared at Queenie uneasily - he had no frame of reference for a legilimens, having never been around one before.

Jacob said, tilting his head, “Who’s this little guy?”

“This is Bradley,” Tina answered, “Newt and I have sort of adopted him.”

“Going to be a big brother of sorts, then, are you?” Jacob asked, smiling at Bradley, “Or an uncle, I suppose it would be?”

Queenie had made to wave her hands to shut Jacob up, but the words were out of his mouth before he realized what Queenie’s frantic waving had meant and Jacob’s palm clapped over his face and he looked appalled at himself as Queenie groaned and closed her eyes.

Dumbledore looked quite astonished, but he was hardly the most stunned one in the room.

Newt Scamander had just come up out of the briefcase, his torso all that had emerged yet, holding the lid with one arm, the other bent over the side of the case to brace himself - and a good thing, too, for he’d lost his footing on the ladder in his shock at the words that had just come out of Jacob Kowalski’s mouth. He stared, wide-eyed, at the baker, his lips sort of curved about his teeth in a confused, partially terrified expression.

“What do you mean by that?” Newt asked quietly.

“Oh Newt,” Tina muttered, “Of all times to come out of the case.”

Newt looked at her, “What does he mean by that? By a big brother of sorts? Or an uncle? What does he mean by that?”

Tina looked at Queenie and Queenie nodded and took Bradley from her sister’s shoulder and wrapped her arms about him, “Such a big boy you are! Do you want to come along and have some cocoa with Aunt Queenie and Uncle Jacob? You love cocoa, don’t you, sweetie?” and she ran her palm over his head and looked at Jacob, “Get the mugs, sweetie,” she called to her husband and Jacob did and hurried out of the room after his wife, his ears and cheeks as red as could be.

Tina turned to look at the flabbergasted Newt Scamander and Dumbledore, who was already piecing the story together, his expression one of dawning understanding.

“Newt… it’s Jenny, Lysander’s girl…” Tina said quietly, stepping toward him as Newt’s grasp on the case tightened. “She’s… she’s pregnant.”

Newt stared at Tina.

“They were betrothed, Newt. He hadn’t told us yet, and when he found out he was ill… he… broke it off. But she’s pregnant. She came to the hospital and we had a long talk…” Tina’s voice shook.

Newt looked a cross between ill and terrified.

“Newt, she can’t keep him,” Tina said, “She can’t do it alone.”

He stared at her.

“I… I told her we’d take him. I was going to talk to you first, but there wasn’t time - she - she was thinking of ending the - the pregnancy, you see - and - and you were -- well. Dougal was still caring for you and wouldn’t let me near…” Tina looked apologetic.

Newt’s eyes were wide with bonafide panic now.

Tina’s were too, afraid of Newt’s lack of response.

“I think,” Dumbledore interrupted the awkward, trembling silence that had fallen in the room, as they waited for Newt’s reply, “That having the baby with the two of you is a most excellent idea!”

Newt looked at Dumbledore.

“Lysander’s child, raised by his father - Lysander would have wanted nothing more, I am quite sure of it.” Dumbledore smiled.

“I - I can think of - several - several things Lysander would probably have, uh, chosen over me caring for - for his child,” Newt replied starkly. “I - I suspect nearly anything.”

“Rubbish. Lysander loved you very much,” Dumbledore replied.

Tina nodded, her eyes welled with years at the horrible sound of her husband’s trembling voice saying that about his son, about his grandbaby.

Newt replied, “Lys-Lysander hated the case. He would - would hardly have chosen a baby be - be raised in it if - if he had the choice.”

Dumbledore replied, “You’ve another chance, Mr. Scamander, another chance. And this will be wonderful for little Bradley - a brother, of sorts, as Mr. Kowalski has said.” He nodded.

Newt stared at Tina. “You bring home b-babies like I bring home creatures.”

Tina said, “At least this one isn’t a werewolf?”

Newt murmured, “A werewolf is less terrifying.” And he ducked back into the briefcase.