Could - Crewt

Chapter 6

Once upon a time, my chapters were about 700 words long. Now they are about 7,000... I can't believe I spent so long wondering why it took me so much longer to finish a chapter. Anyway, here, have 6.8k.

January 5, 1927

It doesn't take long for Tina to get the banana.

It takes a bit longer for Mr. Scamander to get the leech juice.

It takes even longer for Credence to stop thinking about New Year's Eve over and over and over.

He had perhaps had a little too much. He'd said things... maybe he wouldn't have been brave enough to say otherwise. But nothing he didn't mean, and that's the strange part. He feels like he ought to have said something he didn't want to say or do something he shouldn't have done—he was drunk.

Perhaps drinking isn't an enormous sin that makes all men fools—Ma has been wrong before. Credence has seen her proved wrong again and again and again over the past month.

He also feels as if he should be having a much harder time coping with feeling these things he feels for Mr. Scamander if he's going to have this hard of a time coping with drinking alcohol....

It's just.

How can someone not feel that way for Mr. Scamander?

Mr. Scamander is hauling up this metal thing from inside of his suitcase. It's like a pot, but large and shaped as though it shouldn't really exist in the real world, like it came out of a newspaper cartoon. He calls it a "cauldron," like in the witches' stories. He's all long limbs and an awkward smile, closing the case behind him immediately—he's always careful about his case around Credence.

And his brown-reddish hair is a mess, and his eyes flick to Credence just once, always quick and then away. And Credence knows, he can see that Mr. Scamander hasn't stopped feeling—well, feeling the things that he feels about Credence.

It's only a matter of time before Mr. Scamander does something—something—about it. Grabs his hand and pulls him close and kisses him, or wraps an arm around his waist and holds him there when they're standing chest-to-back over the bubbling water in the cauldron, or walks him backward into bed when they return to their room after dinner.

And Credence—God. Credence wants him to. Credence wants him to so bad, he almost thinks he can't bear to wait.

He almost thinks Mr. Scamander's going to do it when they're both looking at the list, close enough that Credence can see the way the steam has stuck to the hair on the sides of his face, plastering it flat, leaning over it close enough to kiss. But Mr. Scamander just taps his finger on the next step and tells Credence to stir counter-clockwise.

Credence hesitantly asks if he can make it himself—he quickly points out that he's never even seen someone make a potion before, and if he botches this, they'll have to get new ingredients and wait for the next full moon and everything.

Newt promises to buy more ingredients if they need to do it again; there's no problem there. And he picked extra fluxweed just in case. He says he'll do it if Credence doesn't want to, but not to worry about botching the potion on account of Mr. Scamander's money.

Credence swallows, closes his eyes, and tries to compose himself.

Newt is handing him the spoon, repeating. Counter-clockwise.

"Why does it have to be counter?" Credence peers down at the bubbling green liquid, which is strangely consistent and viscous, even though they put liquid and solids in there. "And how did they even dissolve?"