Chapter Text
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He should have known that this was going to end badly. Very, very badly. When his best mates cornered him with that look in their eyes, it never ended well. This time it was a camping trip to the northern corner of the Forbidden Forest as their last hurrah before graduating. “Come on, Moony! It’s not as if they can expel us, we’ve done all our exams and the graduation ceremony is on Tuesday.” James was leaning in over the table at breakfast, his dark eyes shining over at Remus with their usual intensity. He stuffed a piece of toast with jam into his mouth and managed to knock his tea over in his enthusiasm, causing Lily to glower over at him grumpily as she silently cleaned up the mess with her wand. There were still times when the girl had a hard time remembering why she’d given in and finally fallen for the arse.
“Yeah,” Pete chimed in, pudgy fingers reaching for a pastry. “And it’s not as if we don’t know our way around that part. We won’t be lost.”
It was Sirius that clenched it, however, with his usual smirk, “C’mon, Moony, don’t be such a bloody puppy about it. Or are you scared that there are things out there scarier than you?” Under the table, where their friends couldn’t see, a hand was slyly inching up his thigh, the message clear. Camping. Alcohol. Plenty of space and time to shag without anyone else knowing.
Remus had rolled his eyes and caved, thoughts of a mostly naked Sirius pinned and mewling against a tree running rampant through his mind. That had been the beginning of the end, and now he was lying on his back, staring up into a gray winter sky framed by rather new buildings far taller than he’d ever seen. He felt as if he were just waking up from a bad full moon transformation and he automatically did a body check for anything more severe than the normal joint dislocations and random bruises and scrapes. He hadn’t torn himself up really badly since Prongs, Padfoot, and Wormtail had started spending the moons with him, but since he was disoriented and couldn’t remember anything of how he’d ended up in a bloody city of all places... The last thing he remembered was… was the darkness of the forest closing around them as they built the fire and set up the tent. James pulling the bottle of firewhiskey he’d smuggled in, Pete producing the somewhat smashed but still edible tray of sandwiches and pastries he’d nicked from the kitchens, and Sirius falling back onto his backside when something gripped his ankle from the darkness outside their circle of light and jerked…
A whimper left his throat as he felt broken bits of his ribs grind together when he jolted at the sudden visual memory. Merlin’s balls, that fucking hurt! His right wrist was tender, but he could move it, which was more than he could say for his left knee. Electric agony shot up and down his leg when he tried to bend it, but he recognized it as a dislocation instead of a break, which was good. There were gashes along his sides, but they were bigger than what his own claws could make and somewhat deeper. Tears spilled as he realized the futility of his position. He didn’t know where he was, but it definitely wasn’t anywhere near Hogwarts.
He felt his wand digging into his forearm holster, the one that James had gifted him for Christmas a few months ago. Bloody Christ… James. Panicked shouts echoed in his ears as he remembered flashes of running through the underbrush that seemed so much more difficult to navigate on two legs. He cried out as he tried to reach it, his shoulder sending jabs of electricity straight to his brain. He had to get to his wand, that was the only thing that could help. He grit his teeth and tried again, stubbornly pushing past this all too familiar pain. It was too much and he fell back with a defeated grunt, lights swimming in his vision.
There was a rustling sound and he squeezed his eyes shut, panic making his breath choppy. It hurt, bloody fuck, it hurt to even breathe.
“Hey, there, don’t move,” a soft voice ordered him and Remus cracked his eyes open to see an angular, freckled face peering down at him. Auburn curls fell into a pale forehead as swift but gentle hands moved over him, one hand resting in the middle of his chest to keep him still while the other held a russet wand in the familiar diagnosis patterns. “We’ve got help. Y-you’ve been banged up good, chap.”
“Mr. Scamander, I told you, you can’t just take off like that!” The female voice startled Remus, making him jolt and turn glazed, terrified eyes to a dark haired young woman who sucked in a startled and horrified gasp. “What happened here? Oh, God. We can’t… I’ll call the mediwizards. Even if he’s a no-maj, we can still get help and then…”
Remus jerked again and tried to pull himself back and away. He coughed and nearly vomited at the pain of it, but he shook his head, “N-no mediwizards,” he croaked. They wouldn’t help him. It would be the same thing as it always was, they would take one look at the old bite wound on his shoulder that had never really healed and they would know. He didn’t know what the policy was here on werewolves, but at home, that would leave him in a cold, sterile room for days, if not weeks while they investigated whether or not he’d hurt someone while ‘incapacitated’. And if they even suspected that he had… well, they may be more forgiving than the days of killing werewolves on detection, but not by much.
The woman squatted down and reached out a hand, misinterpreting his fear, “It’s all right, we’re calling in doctors to help you. You need to stay calm, you’ve been very hurt.”
He shook his head and collapsed back when his shoulder gave out completely with a wet popping sound. He swallowed the scream that swam up, feeling waves of white pulsing behind his eyelids. “T-they w-won’t help… me. P-please.”
He felt a calming hand on his face and a murmured sedation charm sent waves of relief over him. He tried again, “Not… not a muggle… no medi-” He couldn’t finish the sentence as another, warmer wave went over him and took him under.
*~*~*
Newt’s eyes widened as he understood what the battered young man was saying. Ms. Goldstein spluttered behind him when he stopped her from calling for the healers, “Help me get him back to your flat.”
“What? No, we need to get him into the hospital! He’s been near to ripped apart.”
Newt’s jaw tightened as he glanced back at her. Without another word, he gripped her arm and apparated them to where he remembered her rooms to be. When they popped in, her glare could have melted ice, but he was distracted by the welcome sound of Queenie’s gasp. “Oh, the poor, poor dear! Newt, bring him over here. No, Tina, we don’t want to call the healers, we’ve got this one handled on our own. It’s better that way.”
With that, Tina was pushed to the side and her sister took over, moving on instinct and listening to Newt’s instructions as they efficiently stripped him of his layers of jumper and shirts. “I need to go into my case for a moment,” he told Queenie abruptly, pressing a warm, wet cloth into her hands. “Keep pressure on that side wound.” With that, he opened his case and disappeared into it.
While he was gone, Tina stared helplessly at the boy bleeding out on her living room floor. He was no more than seventeen, maybe eighteen, tops, tall and wiry. His features were slack and rode the line between handsome and bland. Golden brown hair fell into his forehead, and her eyes widened when she noted the healed scars that ran across his face. It looked like claw marks. There was a sudden drop in her stomach as she processed exactly what he’d said in that alleyway. He hadn’t been frightened of magic, he’d been frightened of them, of a trip into the wizarding hospitals. For a suspended moment there was a horrific battle between empathy and ingrained, instinctual and guttural fear. Her sister pinned her with golden eyes that clearly told her that trying to pry her away from this poor boy would be dangerous at best.
“He is a child,” Queenie hissed, rare anger sparking from her. Saved from having to react, Tina’s eyes snapped to Newt’s case as the Brit came back out, clutching another leather satchel.
“Right.” Using quick, terse sentences, Newt quickly set about repairing and healing what he could. Almost paralyzed by internal conflict and her own revulsion at her innate urge to contact her superiors to report in like a dutiful witch despite her demotion, Tina moved back and watched her sister and their strange new friend tend to the mauled teenager.
Newt was a different creature right then, his hands calm and confident as he retrieved potion bottles and waved his wand over broken bones and dislocated joints. He soothed and stroked when it seemed as if the young man were about to wake, murmuring barely audible words of comfort. “There’s a good boy,” she heard him say quietly when there was a sickening pop as his shoulder was pulled back into place. She felt like she wanted to throw up. What had done this to this kid? And he was a kid, she realized. Queenie was right.
“Of course, I’m right,” her sister shot back at her, still sounding sharp.
“I didn’t say you weren’t,” Tina whispered. She watched as Newt’s long, thin fingers moved over the mess of bruises that covered the boy’s torso, gently prodding with a scarily intent look on his face. Was this what he looked like as he tended his beasts? Would he take this one in too? Could he take this one in too, like a broken stray that needed looking after? Did it work like that when…
Queenie shot her a nasty look, then cooed and stroked the boy’s curls back when he made a short, pained sound and moved restlessly as Newt healed the worst of his broken ribs. Finally, after what felt like ages, Newt relaxed back on his haunches and took a shaky breath. He had done what he could, now the rest was just a matter of waiting. There were some things that he couldn’t heal with magic, at least not all the way. This wasn’t the first time this poor boy had gone through something like this, he mused. The still angry, cursed bite mark that covered the entire left side of his shoulder and back told the story, as did the various scars that littered the lanky but well-muscled body.
“I need to report this.” Tina’s voice sounded small and it took a moment for it to register, but both Newt and Queenie turned wide eyes up to her.
“No!” Newt was quick to stand, unconsciously bracing his feet as he stood protectively over the sedated werewolf. There was a hardness to his eyes that Tina hadn’t been sure he was capable of. “I will not have him executed. N-not on my watch. He is a human being twenty-eight days out of the month, with a conscious mind and a right to live just the same as all the rest of us.”
“Wait,” Tina held up her hand, and even Queenie looked at him in horror, “No one said anything about executing him. Where did you get that hideous idea?”
Newt blinked at her, green eyes darting up to meet hers, then darted away. His fingers toyed with the sleeve of his jumper. After a moment, he said in a quieter tone, “I guess I should ask what the policy on werewolves is here, then, shouldn’t I?”
“It’s not kill on sight,” Tina said, finally feeling something other than the dangerous mix of guilty obligation and righteous pity. “We’re not complete barbarians, Mr. Scamander. There would be an assessment of his mental and emotional capacity, a look into his background for any obvious leanings for violence or criminal behavior, and a trip in to register with the Lycanthropic Affairs Division. It wouldn’t be pleasant by any means, as part of that is a stint in isolation while he’s assessed, but it’s not an immediate trip to the chamber.”
There was a strange look coming across Newt’s face as he let the information sink in. “For all of the brashness and abruptness, you Americans are in some ways far ahead of Magical Europe.”
Queenie looked horrified, the hand not holding the boy’s in a comforting grip rose to press against her mouth. “My God, Newt. They actually… Oh, dear. But I thought we had a stricter view on magical creatures?”
Shaking his head shortly, Newt nervously went back to his knees next to their guest. “Not as such. Now, would you be a dear and help me get him in my case? That would be the best place for him for now.” He turned bright, strangely compelling eyes up to look at Tina. “I would implore you to hold off on reporting right away, Ms. Goldstein. Please. I- I would like to see what exactly happened to bring him here, a-and n-no offence to your profession, b-but magical law enforcement has a habit of shooting first, ask questions later. It would be easier for me to gain his trust and offer help without interference.”
Tina took in a shaky breath and looked at the young man lying on her living room floor, still looking as if they’d pulled him out from under a train. As if on cue, he restlessly turned his face so that the light caught his achingly young features. This side of his face held nothing but smooth, creamy skin and a smattering of faint freckles. For a second, he wasn’t anything but a victim of some horrible violence, nothing more, nothing less. He was a human child and didn’t deserve to be poked and prodded and treated with harshness when his only crime had been to survive.
“Please, Teen,” Queenie said softly, and Tina’s eyes flickered over her sister’s open, sweet face. Feeling that now familiar creeping doom in her stomach, she reluctantly nodded.
*~*~*