the inventor ➝ fantastic beasts

EIGHT - THE NEW

Newt Scamander was conflicted.

He had brought Erin Crowley to England in the hope of helping her, but she didn't want to be helped. He understood he had no right to order her around, but what she was doing... it wasn't right. It was impossible. It was dangerous. 

But her mind was too chaotic to realise it. He had known from the moment he had met her. The same moment, in fact, that he knew he couldn't leave her on that path of self-destruction.

But it was almost five months on, and she was still relentlessly, unapologetically, strolling down it. It was like she wanted him to see that she wasn't giving up, just to spite him. Newt had kept in mind at all times that Erin was unstable, that her mind worked in its own bizarre way, just to make himself keep going. He had refused to give up, and undo whatever, if any, impact he had had on Erin. He had refused to let her carry on. 

But, Erin wasn't having any of it. There was no way of getting through to her, and now, Newt was beginning to give up. 

Perhaps he had to just leave her alone. Lend her some money for a flat, help her get a job, and let her go her own way.

Every time that notion crossed Newt's mind, he felt a pang of guilt so unbearable it was all he could do to not tell Erin just to relieve it.

The englishman shook his head as he fished his wand out from his pocket and aimed it at the lock of his flat door.

"Alohomora," He mumbled. There was a click, and he pushed the door open, revealing the flat that was shrouded in darkness. 

"I'm back," He called out, cutting through his own thoughts, as he shut the door, unwinding his yellow and black scarf and tugging off his coat.

Newt paused, his hand lingering on his coat on the rack. Then, setting his suitcase down, he glanced around the living room, trying to see if she was hidden somewhere. He checked the bathroom, poked his head into the kitchen.

"Erin? I'm back," Newt repeated as he searched, stressing his words a little more each time. And each time, there was no reply. There was only one place she could be now. Swallowing, Newt made his way to the spare room and pushed the door open.

It was empty, the sheets still thrown back as if she had just gotten out of bed.

"Bollocks," Newt hissed, and pulled his wand back out. His hands were ever so slightly shaking.

"Homenum Revelio," He said urgently. Nothing happened, and Newt brought a hand to his face, squeezing his eyes shut.

What if she had wandered off? What if she had gone out to one of those places she visited in the day but never talked to him about, and had got into trouble? A tremendous weight seemed to crush Newt's chest, and his stomach was surging with a deep guilt ache and his head was spinning and-

He dragged his hand down his face. Where could she possibly be?

There was a moment where Newt's head felt far too light - then he suddenly came back to himself, and in an instant he was barging out of the door.

He searched in every place in the building he could think to search, and every place that he wouldn't have thought to search. The kitchens, the laundry rooms, the porches, even some of the resident's flats who he knew well. He couldn't apparate around - no-majs were in the building. So he had to run up and down flights of stairs, which he was fine with usually, but doing it so vigorously was tiring him out. 

But the fear and panic were really setting in now, distracting him from his breathlessness in the most unorthodox way. He was running out of places to search. He only had the back of the building left, where the bins were. He raced down the dark apartment stairs, bumping into a few residents as he did so, barely hearing himself apologising automatically, praying that Erin would be there. 

She had to be. For his own sake and sanity.

But as he barged out of the back door and looked around jerkily at his surroundings, she wasn't there.

Immediately, Newt apparated straight into his apartment, running for his coat and scarf. He had to find her. He had to go out and ask around for her, to track her down, and he wasn't going to return home until -

"Hi, Newt."

He whipped around, his breath catching in his throat.

Erin was perched on his couch, her hands clasped with her elbows planted on her thighs, her black wooden cane discarded on the floor. Newt opened his mouth to speak, to ask where she had been, when she had got back, before he noticed the look on her face.

He'd never seen her, or anyone, look so content and broken at the same time.

"Erin?" He whispered. She wasn't looking at him. 

"I threw it all away." She replied softly. Newt's features stuttered into a frown.

"Sorry?"

"All my brewing stuff," she muttered, and swallowed, her eyelids heavy.

There was nothing Newt could have done, said, or had at that moment, except stumbled across the room and set himself down next to her. She glanced up at him, but her eyes flickered away moments after. The silence in that followed was the most frightening thing Newt had ever heard in his life.

It was almost as if she had read his mind, because she said after a moment, still looking at her hands, "I did it because I've realised - death is unavoidable. I nearly died at Grindelwald's hands, and I couldn't have done a damn thing. I've thrown in the towel, Newt. You got what you wanted."

Newt watched her, hardly believing what he was hearing. She had done it all by herself. She hadn't needed his help at all.

He was still staring at her when she took a sharp breath and sat up, rubbing the back of her head with one hand. "Plus, I wasn't getting anywhere with it, anyway," She murmured, the phantom of a smile playing on her lips. She was almost poking fun at herself. 

Newt nearly chuckled. How could she manage to mock herself in the state she was in? How could she smile? 

But he forgot it all when he thought it over again - Erin had strayed from that path of self destruction that she had been propelling herself down, the path that Newt had so feared she would continue on. 

Even though he looked into her eyes that night and found the same precarious, unnerving madness, he knew that from here on out, it would only get better for Erin Crowley. And even though he had had no or very little part in the matter, Newt felt relief he had not felt for nearly five months.