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Who: Newt Scamander (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
suffusive), Remus Lupin (xxxxx), Sirius Black (doggo), Tina Goldstein (goldsteins)
What: A reasonable wizard discussion that will almost definitely not end with many things on fire.
When: Nowish.
Where: House 34.
Warning(s): None currently, will update if someone dies or makes out.
[ Somehow, with how being entirely unimportant and probably not actually theft, there's tea. It isn't the best tea—something made that much more apparent by the lack of milk or sugar to go along with it and mask its defects—but as far as foreign planet teas go, it's really not far off from English Breakfast.
The currently-made tea is in two mismatched cups: one foisted on Sirius, the other already half empty and hanging at a precarious angle in Remus' hand. ]
—the day afterwards, [ he's saying in the quiet tones, even though he's also so far avoided any particularly clear statements, so it would take both eavesdropping and context to know what he's talking about, ] if it isn't any trouble—
[ He'd like to stay with Sirius and his muggle roommates after the full moon, is the gist of this conversation, if one has the necessary context to follow it. If a fourteen-year-old can suss him out over a school year, even a bright one, he's not inclined to leave extra clues for an Auror and her magizoologist friend (who may already be totally onto him, but he doesn't know that). Which means taking himself and his post-moon misery elsewhere.
But the rest of that discussion will have to wait, because there's noise at the door—possibly the very witch they're waiting for! possibly with company!—and Remus stops talking and straightens up, sort of. He doesn't stand up properly from where he's leaning, nearly sitting, on the counter top, but he looks a little bit more dignified about it. ]
suffusive), Remus Lupin (xxxxx), Sirius Black (doggo), Tina Goldstein (goldsteins)What: A reasonable wizard discussion that will almost definitely not end with many things on fire.
When: Nowish.
Where: House 34.
Warning(s): None currently, will update if someone dies or makes out.
[ Somehow, with how being entirely unimportant and probably not actually theft, there's tea. It isn't the best tea—something made that much more apparent by the lack of milk or sugar to go along with it and mask its defects—but as far as foreign planet teas go, it's really not far off from English Breakfast.
The currently-made tea is in two mismatched cups: one foisted on Sirius, the other already half empty and hanging at a precarious angle in Remus' hand. ]
—the day afterwards, [ he's saying in the quiet tones, even though he's also so far avoided any particularly clear statements, so it would take both eavesdropping and context to know what he's talking about, ] if it isn't any trouble—
[ He'd like to stay with Sirius and his muggle roommates after the full moon, is the gist of this conversation, if one has the necessary context to follow it. If a fourteen-year-old can suss him out over a school year, even a bright one, he's not inclined to leave extra clues for an Auror and her magizoologist friend (who may already be totally onto him, but he doesn't know that). Which means taking himself and his post-moon misery elsewhere.
But the rest of that discussion will have to wait, because there's noise at the door—possibly the very witch they're waiting for! possibly with company!—and Remus stops talking and straightens up, sort of. He doesn't stand up properly from where he's leaning, nearly sitting, on the counter top, but he looks a little bit more dignified about it. ]
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There's no eavesdropping going on and no intent to either way-- Suspicions there, of course, but currently the witch who lives there is being preoccupied by being accosted by the neighbor practically inviting himself over to cook dinner.] Why in the name of Deliverance Dane-- [She's speaking, exasperated and cheeks tinged, as she opens the door to the house only to stop short at the situation before them.
If Remus was in anyway a laughable sight he's forgotten in lieu of the man at the table and she straightens, any embarrassment evaporating as a familiar alertness took over.] What's going on?
[It's a good thing one hand was already in her pocket, honestly, given her need to grip a hand around her wand. She hates this place, truly.]
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I thought it would be a nice gesture to cook — [ for you is swallowed in lieu of Tina's subject change. Perhaps foolishly, his wand has been nestled in his coat pocket, and he cradles two bags of supplies (hard to know what Tina might enjoy, alright) from Thesa Station's mess hall, too occupied to quickly or easily arm himself. Newt peers over her shoulder in the doorway, eyebrows arching at the sight of Mr. Lupin and his, ah, companion. He glances from Tina to them and back again, expression neutral despite her apparent alarm.
Mr. Lupin had been friendly, after all, and a fan of his work. What's going on? Well. ]
Tea, I should think.
[ He had hoped they would be alone, in truth, but inconveniencing Tina's housemates is still preferable to intruding on the little, dragon queen. ]
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Except in this case it's not his garden at all, and the strangers were entirely expected. Or, well. One of them was expected, anyways. For all that Sirius swore never to be in Goldstein's line of sight again, he has voluntarily (more or less) brought himself here.
The other fellow is a surprise. Sirius' eyes jump from Goldstein to him, taking in lanky lines and the rest of it. The bags of something in his arms. Hands, spidery. No twitch to draw any weapons. Eyes back to his face, then.
Meanwhile, one of Sirius' hand is lying on the table beside the tea. The other hand is hidden beneath the table, clutched hard around his stolen wand. Yes, he'd have said to Remus, if they hadn't just been interrupted. Or perhaps, Don't be stupid. Now he's not saying anything at all, mouth pressed grimly shut as if to bite back a snarl.
Because he is tense, or because he has forgotten some level of normalcy, or because he can get away with it, Sirius only goes on staring. The tension in the room winches up in kind, despite the deceptively pleasant smell of something like tea. Hot leaf juice, is what Sirius had called it a moment before. Now he is staring mutely like half a madman, which means that Remus will be doing the talking, then. For now.]
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Ms Goldstein was expected, obviously. They were practically lying in wait. Maybe not very sporting of them, but fairness is a Hufflepuff value. Mr Scamander was not expected—but that's all right. Probably. Maybe Ms Goldstein will feel a bit less cornered this way.
So after that pause, he says, ] Tea, [ agreeably, and slides his wand off the countertop to set the kettle back to heating. Otherwise he doesn't move, however strong the urge to place himself somewhere between Sirius and Ms Goldstein until they stop clutching their wands. He can get there in a second if he needs to. ] Hello, Mr Scamander. Ms Goldstein. This is my friend, Sirius Black.
[ That appositive gets a comma because my friend is a precise identifier. He only has the one. Ha ha sad grammar jokes.
Fiddly wand movements with the kettle complete, he puts his wand back down on the counter, hand pressed flat over it beside him, and smiles. It's not a very big smile. Sort of apologetic. ]
I know you two have met, Ms Goldstein, but it sounds like you might have gotten off on the wrong foot.
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Newt had wanted to speak to Remus, but any trust she'd placed in the other man dissolves as he calmly moves about with the tea. Bitter instinct telling her this was planned and they're simply lucky she does not pull her wand then and there.
It's no wonder she doesn't come back to this house.]
Tea.
[She repeats the word dryly, the word almost laughable. Certainly, there was tea-- Damn these British and their obsessive need of it, she'd always preferred cocoa or coffee-- but she thrums with distrust and both men with their hands on their wand is more than enough to keep it there.]
I've no particular interest in righting it on your terms. [Her answer is sharp, where Remus tries for apologetics and politeness she cuts through it-- All too aware of how it would have been if she arrived alone.] Newt, let's go.
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Still no move for his wand, hands relaxed at his sides. ]
[ tipping his head. ] Mr Lupin. Mr Black. [ and back to Tina. ]
Tina. [ and that's soft, yielding rather than warning. ] I don't think we should — [ Jump to any conclusions? Turn down tea? The use of 'we' is intentional, regardless, a reminder that she isn't alone at the moment. They best take this opportunity, or else it might be two against one the next time. He won't allow Tina to be cornered, not alone. ] — get off on a worse foot.
[ And perhaps the 'we' refers to all of the wizards in the room, too. Exacerbating the problem of their relations, particularly as they live in close proximity to muggles, is of great concern. ]
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You ought to have an interest, Goldstein.
[It comes out entirely too grim for what he means by it. Borderline threatening, given the way he's sat with great tension. All the slow and deliberate movements in the world aren't helping to calm him just yet.
Remus, moving a kettle around, is helping a little. Sirius shoots him half a glance and tries to winch in the urge to snarl.]
There's not that many of us. We sort this now, it saves us all a load of time later.
[And possibly saves Sirius from any accusations that might crop up when anyone besides James and Lily Potter climb out of their long sleep. A handful of others, maybe, if he's truly lucky. Harry.
He flicks his gaze back to Newt again. Something professorial in him. Less rigid than Goldstein, anyways.]
He's with you?
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He's Newt Scamander. [ The kettle whistles—it hasn't had very long, but, you know. Magic. Remus has to raise his voice over it while he slides off the counter's edge to stand upright and see to it, continuing to determinedly act like nothing is particularly wrong or weird. ] The magizoologist.
[ There's a note to that—he's Newt Scamander, the magizoologist—that would work just as well with something like, she's Celestina Warbeck, the famous singer, if Remus cared about Celestina Warbeck. He doesn't.
Cups out of the cabinet. Two. He assumes most Americans are sane, being a charitable sort of person that way, and therefore assumes they enjoy tea at least a little. The way things are going he also assumes Ms Goldstein will think they're trying to poison her or something, but no harm in offering. ]
Our terms are tea, [ he adds over his shoulder, aimed at Ms Goldstein, ] and talking like adults. If that doesn't work, we can consider wands at dawn.
[ That would be a joke. ]
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She isn't unreasonable, although she remains every bit on edge-- Blame constant vigilance, a trait even she had to learn. Though it does her little good to ever relax, not that she would now with the way her hands lie on her hips and though she doesn't leave neither does she come any closer to the kitchen table.]
A friend. [She cuts in quickly, after Remus' introduction, the words sharp. She doesn't like the idea of someone speaking about Newt as if he was famous-- not because he doesn't deserve it, and she's encouraged him on his book, but there's something stifling about someone knowing their futures.
She chances a glance at the man in question, dark eyes serious before she shakes her head and returns to the question at hand:]
Newt wants to trust you. [She directs that at Remus, clearly indicating that she'll listen because Newt asked, before flickering a glance at Sirius.] It's clear the two of you are hiding something.
[Still pointed given the fact that suddenly now they want to talk and it was obvious this was supposed to be 2-on-1 and her own suspicions about the more cerebral of the men remain.]
Well--
[She draws a breath. Still far from coming to join them at the table or having any interest in the tea, less from any other reason than relaxing right now is far from of her mind. She still looks ready to pull out a wand at any moment, but for now she glances sidelong at Newt to allow him to take on if he wanted.]
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The constant back and forth is enough of a preoccupation. And Lupin's description of him as the magizoologist leaves him a touch flustered. ]
I, yes, both. [ magizoologist and friend. A jack of all trades. He hooks his overcoat on the chair across from Sirius and settles in, hands folded neatly on the table. He loosens his bow-tie and clears his throat — ]
And the bit about trust. I did say that the other day. [ He shoots a sideways smile at Lupin, though it's more amused over Tina putting their prior conversation so directly than anything else. As it happens, he has a private interest in Mr. Lupin, grounded in suspicion over the scars on his face, but that's hardly a polite thing to say. The moment passes, and he shifts his attention to the table. ] Nothing in my tea, by the way, or I might change my mind.
[ Another joke! That is to say, no sugar or milk, please. Have some dignity. ]
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Merlin's beard.]
Doesn't look a thing like his Chocolate Frog card, does he.
[Also Newt Scamander's Chocolate Frog didn't say anything about friend to pinch-faced American Aurors who are currently suspicious and angry and refusing to take tea. Then again, the little space on the back of the card is only so large.
Sirius does not quite settle, still, and he does not pick up his tea, but that stare of his begins to look more curious than ready to bite.]
I heard a little of this. Time, getting all-- [He sorts for the word a second.] --cocked up, let's say. However they sorted out saving people from the world ending, it ended up more like they were turning a satchel upside down and shaking it to see who fell out.
So we're not hiding anything from you, [pointed, back toward Goldstein.] We don't even know you. But in the interest of trust, and all.
[Cagey again, he looks back to Remus, pouring out for beardless Mr Scamander.]
I've been in Azkaban for a crime I didn't commit. Broke out nearly a year ago to get the real traitor. And there's only seven people that know the truth of it, not counting me. Remus. Our friends, James and Lily Potter. They're dead because they were betrayed, and that traitor, he's also one of the seven. And one's Voldemort, a Dark wizard worse than Grindlewald ever was, and if you're really Scamander the magizoologist, you'll have been around when he was the big threat. He's not any longer. Voldemort's taken that one from him pretty handily.
[So, there. When his voice gets tight on the bit about James and Lily, it's likely only a strain Remus will notice, because Remus is tuned to that grief and anger just the same as he is.]
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I don't know, the shrug says silently, I think he might, around the eyes.
Tea goes on the table. He pours for Ms Goldstein, too, though she hasn't made a move to sit down. Remus doesn't sit just yet either; he has to go back to the counter to fetch his own cup, and his wand, and then he stands next to the table, pleasant expression dipping into something more solemn at the list of names. ]
More than seven, now, I believe. [ He sits down, finally, and sets his wand on the table with a satisfying sort of clack. Hands off, but he isn't putting it away. ] Those people, some children, and Albus Dumbledore. [ Is that news to Sirius? Remus doesn't know what he was told. ] I'm sure he would have been able to sort everything out if we'd had more time, but...
[ He gestures with his tea-less hand to indicate their general surroundings, i.e., not Earth, i.e., not even the greatest and wisest wizard of all time can sort anything for them now, with utter faith that this is the only reason Dumbledore won't have solved everyone's problems and had Sirius' name cleared by the end of the summer. ]
If anyone else from our time arrives here first, they won't know that he's innocent. We thought we ought to sort things out now with whoever we could, instead of waiting until someone is making a scene.
[ Speaking of. He looks up to smile again at Ms Goldstein who, presumably, hasn't eagerly slurped down her tea. It doesn't occur to him to explain that when they were growing up, when Sirius was locked away, Aurors were free to use Unforgivable Curses first and ask questions afterwards, if there was anything left to ask questions of. He can't step back from himself and see the line connecting that era to his current refusal to pocket his wand. But the line is there. ]
There's sugar in the cabinet, Ms Goldstein, but I'm not sure who it belongs to.
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her eyes narrow towards the man speaking, sIrius. Of course she wants to rebute that she had given him an opportunity to speak and she might have listened, but he insisted on half answers. THere's reasons her suspicions had remained and the unhinged appearance he had that day is justified at the word azkaban.]
YOU'll have to understand if that's a bit difficult to understand. [Her words are firm, even if there's some softening to it. Grindelwald for them is still very much real, having invade MACUSA unbeknownest to its staff.]
Or tea. [her answer is quiet, met with a shake of her head and an almost apologetic shrug. HOnestly, that's a lot of information at once and she's not sure how to handle, but they went without fanfare and a part of her is riven to believe it.]and what are you going to do should someone unwanted appear?
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Instead, he scrutinizes Mr. Black, searching his memories for the name. Sirius Black. Vaguely familiar. Of the pure-blood family, presumably. Rather close with the Lestranges, wasn't it? Or perhaps all pure-blood families are close. And he only knows one family well-enough to make the connection. It doesn't mean much, or tell him he and Mr. Lupin speak the truth. He certainly looks like he's been isolation. And as someone expelled from Hogwarts for another's crimes and arrested (rightfully, he supposes) by one of the people in this room, well, Newt remains open to justifications for a false arrest. His features remain set in neutrality. ]
[ softer. ] I'm sorry about your friends. [ and that's genuine. ] We recently [ a pause he selects the word. ] encountered Grindelwald under the guise of someone — someone thought to be trusted, so war has made us all rightly suspicious, I'm sure. [ the World War, the fight with Grindelwald just kicking off for him and Tina, whatever suffering has been inflicted by this Voldemort. It's in answer to Tina's guardedness and Mr. Black's questionable phrasing if you're really Scamander the magizoologist. ] Forgive me if I share Tina's concern.
[ He explains things to ground he and Tina's misgivings in their experiences. And support someone he knows is a better sleuth than himself. Assurances need to be made about how others will be treated. That's all that matters. ]
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James, Lily, Remus. Harry, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger. Peter. Voldemort. Scamander, Goldstein. And Dumbledore, and even after twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit, easily proved--and, yes, even after the world has ended--there is still some obedient trusting instinct in Sirius that thinks, well, if Dumbledore knows. Call it canine. Dumbledore, who is no doubt also asleep up there, somewhere, and well, if he knows, then that's all right, then.
Only it's rather less than all right. Sirius turns his attention to the kitchen floor so he doesn't have to go on looking at anyone any longer.]
Neither of us are Dark lords in disguise. I'd know. So there's nothing to be concerned about--except being ready for whoever it is that wakes up first. What we do will depend on that.
[And if it's someone unwanted, and they can't convince, or cajole, they'll act. He doesn't need to meet Remus' eye to know that he'll be all right with that.
Grindelwald. Newt Scamander's Chocolate Frog card, had it said anything about Grindelwald? The little portrait isn't anything Sirius can fix in his mind, let alone whatever was written on the back. In fact, this is the part in this conversation where some other wizard would say, and we'll need your help.
You're an Auror and a magizoologist. You both have wands. Instead, Sirius goes on staring at the floor. If Peter wakes up. He's skipped back to that track again. If Peter wakes up. If. What then.]
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That's fair. Two sets of two. For Remus' part, he turns his attention to Sirius when he talks, gaze fixed on his profile even though he's staring at the floor, and picks up the thread of Sirius' response when he falls quiet, as swiftly and easily as if they'd rehearsed it together. ]
That, and what time they wake up from.
[ Would he assent to kill an 11-year-old Tom Riddle, in this new world, where he might grow up to be something altogether different? No. Probably not. Certainly not an 11-year-old Peter Pettigrew—who he won't be volunteering to discuss any further. Peter isn't a matter of wizarding politics or war. Peter is personal. They don't need anyone's help or permission to handle him, except maybe James'. ]
But if we're talking about these men in their prime coming out of those pods, we would have to do something. All of us. Grindelwald... in 1926, he'd already started massacring people, hadn't he? He kept on. He wasn't fully and finally stopped until 1945. [ Sorry about the spoilers for your futures, antique wizards, but also not sorry. It's no one's future anymore. ] Voldemort and his people cared more about hunting down muggle-borns and blood traitors— [ that phrase with a fond half-smile and glance back toward Sirius, like it's a compliment ] —but they took about the same line as Grindelwald on muggle inferiority. They'd kill them and call it sport. I know there are people here who can do things even we can't, and maybe they could stand against them, but people will die if they're given the benefit of the doubt.
—I do realise the irony, when we're asking you to give us just that. [ He finishes off the last cold remnants of his tea and adds, with cavalier cynicism, ] Perhaps we'll be uncharacteristically lucky and it will never be a problem.
[ It would be better keeping with their usual luck to instead have both Dark wizards appear at once, full grown and ready to conquer, maybe holding hands.
Setting the cup down, he pauses to consider—he'd been so prepared to be defensive, to have to answer questions or argue their right to keep some things private, that it hadn't yet occurred to him that they might have the right to ask questions of their own. It does now. He inclines his head to one side, looking between Mr Scamander and Ms Goldstein to include them both. ]
What were you planning to do if Grindelwald turned up?
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Dark eyes fixing themselves on Sirius Black, what grooves of her features softening marked again by the way her brows crease. They're insistent they believe them, which is so easily a falsehood. It's blind faith, all of it, and for as much as some part of her wants to believe it intuition tells her not to just yet.]
Of course you could say you're not dark wizards. [It's a heavy answer.] The two of you have the upperhand in any accounting for what's to come. You could have a well rehearsed story-- [Her eyes flicker to the tea, as if in proof that they had time to concoct one.] -- and us believe it only to turn against us very shortly. Either on your own or when your masters come back.
[It's a pointed answer, only half apologetic. She doesn't trust easily and though some pieces line up well enough from reactions thusfar, at the same time the point must be made-- They're the ones in the weaker situation here, and at least for her that trust doesn't come easily.
Newt is a different story.
Her eyes dart back to Remus and for a moment she forgets to breathe. 1945, if this was a true accounting-- which she can assume it is, that's twenty more years of fighting. A good chunk of their adult lives, even if wizarding health means they live for much longer. But it gets worse-- of course it does, there is no such thing as long among wizards which is why she almost laughs at uncharacteristically lucky.
If she has any response for that it's lost for now at the actual question propose and the woman's frown creases deeper.]
If our recent encounter taught us anything I'd say it's that the two of us can't keep him restrained-- [It's not wrong; She dueled him effectively, combined they disarmed and stopped him, but he was also distracted by a subway room full of Aurors.] The simple fact is if Grindelwald showed up-- or your Voldermort, as you say he is-- then even the four of us wouldn't contend to that.
[Grimly put, that at least she doesn't have answers yet-- And the plan of informing people and worrying them for a destruction that might not happen doesn't sit well with her. Either would need followers before setting their aims about and who knew if they'd manage that.]
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Without time to process, they've shifted back to matter at hand — the thing Remus and Sirius seem single-mindedly concerned with, as if all else is merely a footnote in their school-books. They provide snippets of horror Newt has no desire to know, though he may very well face them here in Olympia, regardless.
His mouth twists downward, and that's not due to any problem with his tea. He glances from Tina to the other men again before setting his cup down. ]
[ evenly — ] That being said, we intend to try. [ He doubts anyone is suggesting a valiant and deadly rush into battle, unless an attack occurs upon arrival. ] Grindelwald [ He hesitates. ] has interests and aims, like anyone else. [ followers, obscurials. ] Even the cleverest men make mistakes in their attempts to achieve them. [ and Grindelwald had made several over the course of a few hours in New York. ] We'll spend our chances wisely.
[ said simply, though he realises nothing will be easily or handily sorted. All he means to say is that they are prepared to act however seems best when the time comes. He tips his head, addressing Sirius this time. He's the would-be convict, after all. ]
What would you like us to do? [ that is to say: what's being asked of them, plainly and clearly? Is it only for the benefit of the doubt? Is it for assistance, in the event of an altercation? ]
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Blood-traitor status did him precious little good in keeping him out of Azkaban. Perhaps it inexplicably cast him as the likelier traitor, knit too close to his family tree to extract himself. That's what they must have said, anyways. He wouldn't know.
Snappish, he looks around at Goldstein instead, picks out the most offensive word she's offered--]
We don't have any masters.
[That rankles, like a hand rubbed wrongways against fur. But despite that, she does have a good point, says a sensible part of Sirius. Remus is more or less acquiescing the same and calling it irony, that's all. They are asking a lot without proof, without knowing that it will ever actually matter, and Sirius turns his stolen wand over in his hands, a very thin defence against the possibility of two Dark wizards, scores of muggle deaths, old evils that they can't contain, barely contend with.
But that's the way it's always been, hasn't it. When Sirius looks up again, he's collected some more bits of himself.]
We want you to believe us. [Us. Another thin defence, but one Sirius is glad to wear again. Perhaps they once had put too much store in themselves as the Marauders, but he'll never be the one to say it. It's Peter that's to blame. Cut out that rot and they'd have been fine.] Remus is right. If anyone wakes up and recongises me, wants to start some campaign against me, then we want you to help us shout them down.
And we want you with us, if it comes to that. Against Voldemort, against Grindelwald, against anyone that's going to come out of that sleep up there and wreck havoc. There might be only four of us, but that's better than any of us trying to do this alone.
[The Order was down to thin ranks by the time Sirius got shut away in Azkaban, hopelessness barely countered by their purpose and grim conviction. That's the way it's always been becomes rather less comforting if Sirius lets himself remember how it ended, if he thinks for a moment about a garden strewn with rubble, little ruby-red shards of glass from that leaded pane above the cottage door, sprinkled like snow through the grass and crunching under the heel of his boots. A price he wouldn't pay twice if it was asked of him. All of that matters, but it matters rather less if James is up there asleep.]
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The odds have been worse, [ he tags on agreeably. Never mind that over half the people they worked with are dead. Rat bastards excluded, they would have fought to the last man.
Scamander sounds the type too. Goldstein sounds—reasonably concerned about reasonable things. That's a thankless job among Gryffindors, Remus can report from his limited attempts at filling the role, and apparently among select Hufflepuffs as well. His smile, when he looks up at her where she's still standing, is sympathetic. ]
If belief is asking too much, Ms Goldstein, that's... Well, it's understandable.
[ He turns both palms up helplessly. What can they do? Veritaserum, legilimency. Neither is available, as far as he's aware, and even if they were he isn't sure either of them would submit to examination and put all of their secrets on display just to appease these strangers. Casting a corporeal Patronus is only rare for Dark wizards, not impossible enough to prove anything to someone who'd prefer skepticism, and Remus is neither going to send his stupid bloody wolf loping off around the magizoologist nor choose this public moment to find out whether the Dementors have interfered with Sirius' head too much for him to manage one of his own.
Which for the time being leaves nothing but belief, and the lack thereof. His smile goes a bit rueful, tighter and crooked, while he goes back to fidgeting with his empty cup. ]
But we didn't want you to hear it from someone else and think we'd been intentionally keeping something from you.
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Here and now required focus.
The metal of the locket was warming beneath her hand, a simple twist of her hand and she drops it to her side. Grindelwald, undefeated. A new dark lord. These two men insisting they trust them. Sirius Black certainly had the response of someone who had been in Britain's prison, she supposes-- But MACUSA didn't have dementors. She herself had been monitored when she lost her job and any truly dark cases were simply killed. Another effect of her government she almost faced.
It's a different kind of unhinged, she supposes, in the man's reactions thus far. Demands of trust and she frowns deeper yet, assessing the situation ever more quietly before she huffs out a breath.]
Look. The thing is none of what you've said we can prove. I'm not gonna deny a possible new Dark Lord or what your own war has brought-- [Because she does buy that, from their reactions. She's trained to study people and understand them, or try to anyway.] You've got to understand how it sounds. "Trust us, but should someone else appear they'll deny everything."
[Because again, that's exactly what it is-- Though from her grimace it's not as if she doesn't know what it's like to be on the other end of it. What with Grindelwald's recent dealings, but that had been a singular day and settled quickly. She pauses, glancing at Newt before sighing:]
I can't speak for Newt, but this is all a bit much. [Irony in that word there.] And while I'll agree on working you should Grindelwald or your Voldemort shows up-- [It feels like a dig at the separation there when she says it, perhaps because it is.] I'm not going to trust someone simply because they tell me too.
[And she's not. Though, she did trust Newt, but that was an entirely different circumstance. It's the best answer she has, though, because wariness is in her bones. Queenie was the only person she would trust with everything right now. Newt she trusts in many ways, but that bond is still new-- Her trust is hard-earned and careful and working with someone towards a common goal was entirely different.]
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I appreciate that you've given us all you can. [ in talking about this in the relatively neutral setting of Tina and Remus' shared home, rather than waiting for someone else to spring the information on them. A warning is better than nothing. A gesture of, well, perhaps not trust but rational thinking. He twists his hands on the table, hesitant to vocalize his conclusions. After a moment, he pipes up, soft yet firm. Again, he looks to Sirius. ]
And I'm willing to believe you. [ The benefit of the doubt, as it were. Because it's what he wanted and needed, back in New York, gallivanting around with illegal creatures desperate to return home. ] Wouldn't want wizards fighting around here, anyhow. [ in a densely populated city with refugees meant to blend in and barred from travelling far. If a second voice will diffuse the tension, he's happy to provide it. His opinion may even hold sway for once, given the chocolate frog card business — but that's a privately amusing thought for another time, isn't it? ]
[ Hard to say if he'd, ah, shout someone down for strangers (or if he has a particularly shouty setting to call upon, even if the situation required it), but he's terribly familiar with being misunderstood, teetering on the border between what's right and what's legal, trying to get others to stop and listen for one, bloody moment.
When he continues, he glances from Remus to Tina. ] If that's enough.
[ If half of the team on board is good enough for Remus and Sirius, and if it's alright with her goes unsaid, seeing as he's his own person. Of course, he hopes it's alright with her despite himself. Things will be messy, otherwise. ]
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Then again, there has only ever been a small and select group of people that Sirius has considered as enough. When stacked up against the immeasurable trust and loyalty enjoyed between himself and James, for instance--James, who would have trusted Sirius implicitly, without a second thought, who might well have been gone along with whatever he suggested, hexed who he said to hex, any request for explanation unspoken between them, to be discussed later when the dust had settled and they were splitting a cigarette or soaring across the night sky on Sirius' motorbike or walking up the path to the Potter's cottage--well, against James, everyone is lacking in all things.
All this is to say that Sirius tries to temper his flash of anger, tries to convince himself that it is a bit much, what did he expect, really--Goldstein is an Auror, she doesn't know him, shouldn't believe him, any amount of training or sense would tell her that, stop glaring at her--and anyways, Newt Scamander believes him, whatever it means to have the bloke who penned one of your old textbooks saying yes, he'll give you the benefit of the doubt, well, it's got to count for something anyways.
And really: Voldemort is the greater threat. That bit is very true. Voldemort and Grindlewald. Anyone else from their era who might wake up and deny everything, as Goldstein says, Sirius and Remus can shut them up one way or another. With or without sanction and assistance and approval from any Aurors hanging about.
So Sirius nods, tightly. Yes, it's enough for him as well. Yes, he agrees wizards and witches ought not to fight around here, when they're all trying to keep a low profile. Yes, they can be united against Dark magic, at least, not a high standard but something to begin with. Yes, and: he doesn't care if he has Goldstein's full and final trust.]
That's it, then.
[Carefully, he picks up his tea--which has long since gone cold--and takes a sip. Sealing the deal, sort of, and also demonstrating that he's not just an escaped convict who drinks ditchwater. See. He might be trustworthy yet.]
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The other half comes from realising he'd misread Scamander, underestimated his willingness to break rank. But he's hardly disappointed to have been wrong. On the tail of that absence-of-surprise comes a small smile that's so relieved it borders on confused. ]
Thank you.
[ So as not to leave anyone out, he looks up again. ]
And you, Ms Goldstein. When [ not if, surely when ] Dumbledore or our friends are awake, we'll be able to clear it up once and for all. Just as long as no one attempts to do anything in the meantime that can't be undone.
[ Translation: please don't take it upon yourself to kill my friend.
And an oblique addition to that translation, carried only in how confidently pleasant he sounds: because if you try, we'll put up a fight, and we're really very good.
But, undertones aside, he is entirely sincere about the gratitude. An agreement to unite against Grindlewald or their Voldemort is something worth thanks. The implicit accompanying agreement not to take what anyone else may say about Sirius at face value, anymore than she's taking what they say as the truth now—that's something as well. Preventing Goldstein from someday coming straight at Sirius with a wand and an Auror's sense of authoritative justice, based solely on someone else's hysterical screaming, was the only thing Remus had ever genuinely hoped to get out of this conversation. Everything else is a bonus.
Looking back at Sirius, sipping tea, Remus raises his eyebrows, up and then down, like a pleased sort of shrug with his face. This certainly could be going worse. ]
I'd like to hear more about Grindlewald sometime, if it's a story you wouldn't mind telling. We learned a bit in school, but our professor was... [ He pauses, trying now to find a way around saying anything to imply that events that are likely still painful or frightening to Goldstein and Scamander would someday be reduced to a droning history lesson that put sixteen-year-olds to sleep. But it's too late. The sentence isn't salvageable. So he abandons it entirely, eyes lighting on the bag they'd brought into the kitchen with them instead. ] Have we interrupted your dinner plans?
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And that would take some time.
Her brow arches all the same at Remus' comment. As if she would try to off someone right here. She might disarm and arrest, maybe, but unless someone was trying to kill another person she had no intention of such a thing-- Not really. She's just and maybe a wee bit wreckless, but even as an Auror she always tries to do the right thing than what the rulebook says. Which is, of course, what's gotten her into trouble before--
But it's not something she'll tell these two men and she far from understands the way British Aurors behaved in the later wars.
If she had anything to say then, it passes with a grimace as Remus continues. If it's a story you don't mind telling. They're nothing more than the past, what happens-- or happened-- to them clearly of no merit to the two sitting before them. It's the past so whatever fresh wounds exist isn't a bother, her fingers dig more deeply into the crease of her elbow and she glances at Newt--
Wonders minutely how he's taking to this being called famous. Surely no better than she, and no one's proclaimed anything of her fate short of a byline somewhere. It's a question for later and she almost misses Remus' latter question until she starts with a look of surprise and then forgets to look fierce and imposing as she colors just slightly, giving a huff of a breath.]
Ask Newt, since it seems he doesn't think I'm capable of feeding myself. [It's a light jab in answer, but still she's glad he'd come all the same... And not wholly because she actually is hungry and has to take a moment to figure out when she last ate (the night prior, maybe? she was bad without Queenie there insisting...)] However, it seems we're imposing on your tea.
[Said quickly, still pointedly; Of course she won't let that one go down for now, and it's possible later she won't stick around in this house because nice man or not she doesn't particularly like feeling cornered.] I was only stopping by for a moment anyway.
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But he gained a connection with Tina and Queenie. Together, they captured a dark wizard (once the darkest, before this Voldemort), if only temporarily. That's nothing to sneeze at. Regardless, he would gladly trade the story for information on how Albus Dumbledore fits into the future ahead of him (and perhaps, a polite inquiry into the nature of Remus' scars), but he considers Tina's apparent discomfort above all else, noting the sharp grip on her elbow and crease in her brow. Another time, then. His mouth tugs sideways, almost a smile at Remus. ]
I'd like that, Mr. Lupin. [ a nod to Sirius. ] And Mr. Black. But, yes, we must be going. [ Then, he shoots a retort to Tina, mild and wry — ] I'd heard cooking for someone is a gesture of affection. From reliable sources, at that.
[ That's probably soft boy sass for accept this bloody kindness and remember to eat. He stands to tidy after himself, returning his cup to the sink and continuing on in neutral tones. ]
And I've a dragon queen rather justifiably unsettled by magic in my flat, you see. [ "Dragon queen" said as if it's an entirely normal problem to encounter in the wilds of this Olympia, more weary than irritated. The non-sequitur is meant to explain his appearance in the flat to Remus and Sirius, as well as diffuse any remaining tension. It shifts the topic away from the fragile, connective tissue of their criss-crossing histories, if nothing else. ] Makes even the smallest tasks mundane.
[ And difficult, including an activity as simple as cooking. He hadn't thought he relied on magic extensively until he needed to ask permission to utilise it freely. ]
We only meant to drop off supplies for later. [ The vegetables. He offers an apologetic smile. ] Best take care of our business first. [ Whatever business Tina means to imply meant they were only stopping by for a moment, if she even has anything beyond an excuse to leave this house. He seems intent to follow her, at any rate. ]
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And yet he's not going to protest interlopers who are content to see themselves out. Nor is he going to protest Remus doing all the necessary pleasantries so he can continue to sit here and drink tea like an animated skeleton.
Well. The thing about dragons stirs him to a little more life, at least.]
Dragon who is a queen, or a queen who rules dragons.
[--Looking a little less skeletal, by some miracle, when he looks around. Perhaps it's because this is the lightest sentence he's managed this whole time--sort of a joke, more proof that he's salvageable.]
Becomes a bit more of a critical difference when it comes to potential immediate destruction of your cottage, I'd think. Don't all beasts like being cooked for?
[Dragons, objectionable Aurors... you know, beasts. He takes another sip of tea.]
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If she's leaving, though... Remus reaches a hand across the table, past his own empty cup and the wand he still hasn't put away, and hovers over her untouched tea long enough to allow for objections that she wants it after all before he picks it up. It's lukewarm, by now, so there's no risk of scalding to prevent him from downing half of it.
Maybe he would have downed all of it, but he cuts short and lowers the cup at dragon queen, mildly alarmed and intensely interested in the potential presence of an actual! dragon! queen in Scamander's house, and of course her eating habits and magic aversion.
Sirius beats him to asking, while he's still swallowing, and then tells—well, it's almost a joke, and even if it isn't the funniest thing he's said, any attempt at levity from Sirius Black is going to be getting a smile out of Remus for the foreseeable future, just for the effort. For the fact that it's possible.
Then he realizes it's possibly a mean almost-joke, and his grin dims politely to a faint smile, so he's relatively straight-faced when he says, ] They definitely do, [ which could just be a comment on some personal experience with dragons or any number of other beasts or, sure, tetchy Aurors, rather than a joke that's somewhat more recklessly cheeky.
He finishes the rest of Ms Goldstein's kidnapped tea and stands up to start collecting cups. ]
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She'd already met one of them and he didn't seem too awful-- But, well.
Tina catches the tail-end of the joke, brow quirking but she says nothing more on it. For the moment, she hardly seems of the mind to enter this conversation at all. Her dislike to the situation or perhaps the humor goes unmentioned, but she draws a breath all the same.]
I'm sure you'll find much more interest discussing your Dragon Queen. [It's another give that he doesn't have to join her since surely he's more interested in the conversation going here, whatever way it goes. Creases in her brow deepening she manages a nod.] Enjoy your conversation.
[It's said stiffly, but said all the same before she loosens her arms and turns away from the group to retreat towards the door.]
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A mother of dragons, if you can believe that. Doesn't look it, mind, but very thrilling all the same.
[ In a tone that suggests mild mischief rather than outright thrill, but, well, best not to discuss the good queen too much, lest she hears of it and grows tetchier. Fierier? More likely to eat him, at any rate. He remains occupied with concern for Tina, too. Her provision of an escape perplexes him, certainly, striking him almost as a rejection of his company. He follows anyway, offering a parting flourish of a wave to Remus and Sirius. ]
I'll be sure to [ a pause as he recalls the word. ] telephone if she starts breathing fire from across the way — I live just across the street, as it happens. [ walking and slipping his coat on at the same time. ] So, you know where to find me.
[ tacked on in the event his new dog friends are looking for him!! ]