newtralize | The End Of Love

[His ears shoot up and flick as he tries to figure out what all the noise was. The traffickers are a rowdy bunch, but the noise was different. Much more chaotic. It goes on for a moment and then it goes quiet as soon as it started.

One of Newt's ears flick again as he tries to hear more. He's sure he can hear muffled chatter. They sound different from the usual riff raff he had before. And then there are footsteps and his ears flatten against his head. Someone was coming.

He lets out a low growl, despite his snout being bound shut by multiple leather belts.

He's a pitiful sight. The cage is too small for the beast as the cage bars dig into various area of his body. There are multiple scales missing and some of his injuries were obviously festering. Newt's eyes are blown wide though and it's probably obvious that the dragon was probably drugged. Likely to keep the proud creature from breaking free and so that they could sell scales and blood off without outright killing him.

Still, he growls. As though he intends to fight whoever was getting closer.]

[ A hand comes up to press the sleeve of his coat to his nose as he enters the basement. Only momentarily. The smell is atrocious, but what else could he expect from a smuggler’s den? There are papers and brewing cauldrons everywhere, bodies of magicfolk and beasts alike scattered throughout. Some of the creatures are half way between, and it pulls at something deep in his gut. He pulls his wand out to put them out of their misery, until he hears a noise.

One that chills his blood and snaps his attention up and to a dark doorway. That gut feeling twists and his curiosity gets the better of him, some faint inkling in the back of his mind pulling him towards the growling. Percival is far from a fool, however, and keeps his wand drawn as he follows it.

The sight stops him in his tracks.

At first he’s shocked—appalled at it. A guilt quickly hits him and even more quickly twists in him something sickeningly familiar. Dark eyes follow along the cramped form in the cage before him, legs pinned and horrible wounds that would have nearly made him gag, had the snarling face staring him down not gotten his attention first.

Surely not. He hadn’t seen him since—

Some broken emotion swells up and the arm holding his wand falls to Percival’s side. He should be afraid. And he would have been, and he not known this dragon. He takes a slow step forward, tucking his wand away. ]

What have they done to you?

[A part of him recognizes the other immediately. Percival has aged quite a bit since the last time he has seen him again. It was surprising the first time and still surprising now. Humans grew up so quickly...

Newt tries to bare his teeth at the other. To try and open his mouth despite it being shut. The part of him that recognizes the other was small compared to the more paranoid part. Ladled with whatever is coursing through his system, he can't help but be suspicious. And perhaps he was also upset. To be treated so terribly, it's hard not to be mad. The hurt he was feeling was far deeper than just the physical injuries that the other could see on the surface.

There's an attempt to thrash about, but it's pitiful at best. He was starving and exhausted and in pain. The best he can muster is to look at the other with some scrutiny.]

[ It’s difficult for Percival to think of himself as aging quickly when it feels like the dragon he’s come to known hasn’t. And it’s likely true he hasn’t, but that’s far from his thoughts given the circumstances now. For now he’s concerned with time, and how little they have.

There’s no room for fear of snarling teeth or flexing talons, not when the true fear is discovery—the rest of his aurors would be back sooner than he’d like and unlike him in this moment, they would not blink in the face of a dragon.

His heart races, tamping down the heat that wants to ruin his vision, and Percival crosses the space confidently and without a second thought. Despite his decisiveness then, when he finds the needles dug deep into the creature’s flesh he’s careful in their removal; one hand extracting while the other soothes it with magic. ]

I know it hurts, [ Percival reassures as he steadies a shoulder against the cage. ] Just give me a moment.

[His mind is still too muddled to quite understand. Why was the other helping him? Why did they feel so familiar? Everything is much too chaotic, but there's something calming about this person.

It's not that it matters. He's far too exhausted to really put up a fight, so he just lays there uselessly. His tail flicks a little as he watches the other.

And there truly wasn't enough time for Percival to free the beast because there's a voice calling out to Percival. Tina Goldstein. Perhaps a little naive and inexperienced, but she was steadfast and sharp.

More importantly though, she was loyal.] Mr. Graves?

[ Unbidden, memories of a lifetime before in foreign hill and mountainsides try and overwhelm him as he he works as quickly as he can. Though he manages to snap himself out of the thoughts, they do little more than bring a bright shimmer to his eyes and, in the end, distract him.

Percival doesn’t hear Tina enter the basement because of them, or even walk into the same room he’s in. So he freezes at the sound of her voice, a hand healing closed the wound from the IV he held in his other. ]

Ms. Goldstein… [ Taken aback, her name is breathless when he speaks it.

There was no mistaking the scene. Percival Graves—Director of Magical Security, head of MACUSA's Department of Magical Law Enforcement—was healing a dragon, not terminating it.

He turns, pallid, to see her in the doorway and tosses the needle on a nearby table. ] The smugglers are done processing?

The End Of Love

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