Fantastic Hearts and When to Trust Them (2)

Garden of Stars

No one else heard the knocking on the door when Newt did, as the door hadn't been spelled to inform guests that someone was knocking upon it, when typically it was only Newt wandering around his apartment or through his enclosures. However it was so rare that anyone knocked on Newt's front door—especially since he was so inconsistently home, or even on the same continent as his front door—that he hesitated before laying down his shears and hurrying to answer it, surprised that anyone would bother to call on him at all.

When he slid aside the cover on the peephole, and noted the number and occupations of the people standing outside, he thumped his forehead against the back of the door and contemplated whether or not he should open it at all. But he knew what kinds of conclusions people would willfully snatch at when they believed someone was withholding from them, so he braced himself and opened the door just enough that they could see his face and part of his shoulder, while he planted his foot behind the door, preventing it from opening further in case anyone stumbled into it.

"Hello," he greeted.

"Mr. Scamander!" the reporter in the front exclaimed, and the photographer behind him flashed the first picture. Newt blinked, wincing from the harsh light, and rubbed his eyes. "We heard the first Wizard to be affected by the illegal Portkeys is a friend of yours—can you tell us any more about the incident?"

"Is she here now?" another asked.

"Where did she go?"

"What was the Portkey made of?"

Newt glanced at the ground, much preferring it to so many faces clustered on his hall and the stairway adjoining it. "No, she is not here now. She's just fine. She went to northwestern Ireland. She was transported to the wall of a cliff, where she was trapped until locals heard her calling and pulled her up. The Portkey was a Muggle coin, which she picked up off the ground."

"Can you tell us where she is?"

"Is it true Miss Green is a Squib?"

"Miss Green is visiting from America, right? Where in America is she from?"

Newt heard his case opening and gestured behind the door for whoever had emerged to wait, out of sight, and hoped the reporters wouldn't hear her. "I'm sorry, but I'm really very busy."

"How did you become friends with an American Squib?"

"When did you meet?"

"When did you get the owl from the post office telling you where she was?"

"No, I'm sorry, I've got quite a lot of work to do. Excuse me please." He slowly closed the door, forcing those pressed against it to gradually retreat, still snapping pictures, until he could bolt the door shut again.

Celia stood beside his case, fingers flexing anxiously around an empty teacup. Noting that her voice was rough, he'd left her a cup of tea half-filled with honey for when she woke. As he locked the door she lifted her head and asked, quiet, "Are they going to find out what I am?"

"That you're a Muggle?" Newt grimaced. "We might ask Tina, but it's already been a few hours since word of your disappearance must have gotten out. She would know how easy it may be for British reporters to gain access to the American Wizard Registry," he clarified. "If they haven't got it now...."

Celia's gaze returned to the floor, and her mouth worked. "I'd rather never see you again than never remember you."

"Celia, you know I'll do anything I can to stop that from happening."

"I know, Newt, I know." Celia gave him a brave smile, and reached up to stroke his cheek. "But I also know it's not your choice to make." She rubbed her face, the back of her neck. "I'm having another damned cup of tea. You want one?"