The Road to Nowhere • Fantastic Beasts x OC

two • welcome to new york

Albus sorts it all out for me. From everything to fake documents that talk about a news reporter/photographer by the name of Abigail Dolman to a complicated little camera to a convincing yet awful smart green outfit, he has everything prepared by the following Friday.

"Your biographical information is all the same," he says, handing over the documents, "but I have made you twenty-three years old because nineteen seems a little young to be reporting. Your birth year is listed as 1903, not 1907. Just try and remember."

I hum approvingly in reply, taking everything and stuffing it in my satchel. I wouldn't say my approval is genuine. I'm a little annoyed that I can apparently pass as twenty-three, seeing as whenever I look in the mirror I can't help but think I look quite young for my age. Though I am rather tall, which I suppose is an advantage in the case of lying about your age.

I may have packed too much. Way too many items of clothing for my planned two-week stay, an extra pair of shoes, Wellington boots, toiletries, books, food for Phoenix, all of my fake documents, my new camera, a notebook, a pencil case and a wealthy amount of muggle money. I also have my violin case and a couple of thick folders of sheet music. I have to do my best to make sure I won't be too bored in my free time, but I do regret that I considered that when I have to carry all of this on and off the ferry.

I board it just hours after everything is ready, and arrive in New York three days later. I daydreamed until I slept each day, resisting the urge to play my violin in my room while everyone else was trying to sleep, and daydreamed all throughout the next morning, and repeated.

"Name?" the man at the customs asks me flatly, snapping me out of it.

I'll be honest with you, I nearly slipped up.

"Abigail Dolman," I say a little too quickly after my initial panic, as I flash him my fake ID and heave my two cases up onto the counter. I had started to form the "Au" sound but saved myself just in time, so luckily he didn't suspect anything.

"You're from England?"

"Yes, sir."

"First time in America?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why'd you come over here?"

Once again, I'm momentarily caught off-guard by his questions. It surprises me even more that he seems to actually be attempting a conversation with me.

"I'm a news reporter, sir, for the Daily Telegraph. I've come here for research."

"Oh yeah? What about?"

I shrug my shoulders, which I hope will buy me a few seconds of time.

If I give away why I really came to America... I don't know who I'm talking to. For all I know, the Obscurial could be his son or daughter. And if I say I think I know something about this mysterious "dark wind", I don't know how long it would take them to get in contact with this Second Salem organization.
I'm beginning to wish that I took a few more days to rehearse Miss Dolman's imaginary life story.

"I'm comparing the living conditions between London and NYC," I hear myself say. "Between the rich and the poor. My report shall be published next Thursday," I continue with a smile.

"I'll keep an eye out for it," he responds, copying my smile.

He opens both of my cases, looks in them for a few seconds, removes a couple of items and then puts them back in again. I finger my wand in my coat pocket all the while, glad that I thought to keep it out of the way. Usually, I wouldn't think of something like that.

Satisfied, the man hands both cases back to me. "Welcome to New York," he says.

"Thank you," I reply with a second smile, which I let go of as soon as I step past him.

If I really am Abigail, I won't mind taking up this assignment at all.

I have only ever been to Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley and once to Godric's Hollow because I wanted to see where I was born. These streets were pretty much my first insight to how muggles lived, and I immediately fell in love with it.

There aren't as many carriages here than there are in what I've seen of London. Most people are on foot, but I see the occasional car or taxi rattling across the road out of the corner of my eye as I make my way along the streets.

Every building in sight is tall, towering and intimidating. Everyone around me, no matter how old or young, actually seems posh and intelligent, far beyond how much I am of both those things. I could tread along these streets for weeks, rather than the happily-lived half hour it took me to get to the hotel.

I have a pre-booked room in the Plaza Hotel on 5th Avenue, which I immediately retreat to once I gather up the courage to hail a taxi for the first time in my life. I had already trained Phoenix to fly over there and wait for me; a complicated process that involved me showing him several photographs of the building as well as a self-drawn map which was mostly a rough guess at what the surrounding streets looked like. Luckily, he's a very intelligent little creature, and was perched cheerily on the windowsill outside once I checked in.

When I let him in through the window, he circles the room thrice, getting a good look at it, and eventually settles himself on top of the empty wardrobe opposite the bed.

It had very clearly been stated that no pets were allowed in the building on a sign that I read as I absent-mindedly passed my identification to the woman at the counter. I don't really see the trouble on letting Phoenix stay, however. He's not dirty, he won't cause any bother, and I know he's too clever to get caught if anyone ever sighted him around the halls anyway. And even if they find him out, I doubt he can be traced back to me.

I unpack and sort everything as soon as I take my boots and coat off, saving myself from the task of doing all of this later when I'm a lot more tired.

Everything I brought with me looked like a lot packed in my suitcase, but stored on the shelves and few yet spacious cupboards in the hotel room, it all still seems very sparse afterwards.

Once everything is done, I set up my sheet music on its stand opposite the window, and tune my instrument slowly as I stare at the view outside, once again mesmerised by the busy NYC streets.

I try playing out what I know of Cantabile, Op. 17, but my hands are still struck by the cold of last night's air and I have to stop after just thirty seconds because I know I'm butchering the melody beyond belief.

Soon after a few pointless pluckings of the strings, I give up and instead pad down to the dining room in my socks. After being told I need to wear shoes, I have to trudge back up to my room and slip on my boots. Once the manager sees all the dried mud caked on the dark soles, he probably wishes he'd said nothing.

My assigned table is one for two, the other seat obviously empty. It makes me feel a little odd, sat there by myself with a head full of thoughts and a mouth full of roast pork.

I've been alone in my life for a while, but then was one of the few times that I actually felt lonely. I was never bullied or anything like that (though maybe that was just because everybody knew I was the niece of one of the teachers), I just never really fit in. I didn't share the main interests of a lot of the female students in my House, yet I also found the play of the boys a bit too rowdy and boisterous. Some people had my hobbies and thoughts, but never in a way that seemed easy to get along with.

I just played my violin and stacked up on knowledge of defensive spells and let the quaffle fly past me and through my team's hoop. Honestly, I was alright with that.

At least I won't have to be alone for the rest of my trip once I find the child. If I find the child.

The only description I have to go on is a timid child with violent tendencies, which is rather vague. Nevertheless, I already have questions and worries.

How timid is the child? How violent are these tendencies? How fragile will I have to treat them once they are saved? Will I be able to save them? Will I even be able to find them in the first place?

This entire task might just end up being one big road to nowhere.