Chapter 1: [1] //Narrator\\ [Pilot]
Chapter Text
[11:00 - 06 December, 1918]
Mary Lou Barebone, a handsome midwestern woman in the early 1900s version of a Puritan dress, charismatic and earnest, stands upon a small podium stage by the steps to the City Bank.
Behind her stands a man parading a banner emblazoned with the organization's symbol: hands proudly grasping a broken wand amid bright yellow-and-red flames.
To her right, two children stand timidly, both raveonettes, the younger one with burnt sienna bordering-on-red eyes, and the elder with dark brown eyes, nearly black. They look rather skittish, and are quietly handing out leaflets for the organization’s cause.
“… This great city sparkles with the jewels of man’s inventions! Movie theaters, automobiles, the wireless, electric lights— all dazzle and bewitch us!...” Mary Lou calls out to the enraptured crowd.
The younger boy moved closer to what appeared to be his older brother. “Credence,”
“Er, Harry?” The now-dubbed Credence shuffles slightly in front of his younger brother, as if to try and protect him from the world.
“How much longer has Ma scheduled for today?”
“Oh- this one ends at 13:00 I believe, the only one for today.”
“Oh. Okay, thanks Cre.”
“No problem, Harry.”
“But where there is light there is shadow, friend. Something is stalking our city, wreaking destruction and then disappearing without a trace…" Mary Lou continues her speech.
A lithe, smartly dressed man with golden-blond hair and aristocratic features is attracted to the excitement, wearing an expression of detached curiosity.
“We have to fight— join us, the Second Salemers, in our fight!” Mary Lou lets out a rallying cry for comrades-in-arms. “You, friend! What drew you to our meeting today?” She turns her attention onto the man.
“Oh, I was merely curious and passing by.” The man says smoothly, unbothered by the sudden attention.
“Are you a seeker? A seeker after truth?”
A beat.
“I’m more of a chaser, really.” He smirked.
Had a wizard been present, they would have laughed at the simile which No-Maj’s would never understand.
The man watches from a small, unnoticeable alley, curious.
Mary Lou continues her captivating speech. “Hear my words and heed my warning… and laugh if you dare: Witches live among us!”
A scruffy man in a worn blue overcoat and carrying a worn suitcase passes by, casually making his way to wherever his destination may be.
Perhaps Arizona, in favor of the Thunderbird he might be transporting.
Chapter 2: [2] //Narrator\\ [Meeting Him]
Chapter Text
[2] //Narrator\\ [Meeting Him]
Afternote: Ok so I know Neosporin wasn’t invented until the 1950s and wasn’t approved till 1971, but it’s the only antibiotic cream I know the name of so-.
[18:15 - 08 December, 1918]
In a dingy wooden church, a child by the name of Modesty plays a solitary variation of hopscotch, singing what is presumably a rhyme the matron taught her.
“My momma, your momma, gonna catch a witch, My momma, your momma, flying on a switch, My momma, your momma, witches never cry, My momma, your momma, witches gonna die!”
The church is filled with paraphernalia- pamphlets, posters, and banners advertising the matron Mary Lou’s anti-witchcraft campaign.
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[18:45 - 08 December, 1918]
A pigeon chirps from a high window of the church. Credence walks in, Harrison following close behind, and claps robotically to shoo it away.
A girl, called Chastity, moves through the church and goes through the doors. She rings a large dinner bell to summon her fellow orphans for their evening meal.
Modesty is still playing her hopscotch. Harrison pauses, looking at her. Credence turns around, having noticed Harrison’s absence from his side, and follows his line of sight.
They watch as Modesty continues her rhyme.
“Witch number three, gonna watch her burn, Witch number four, flogging take a turn…”
As she continues her lonely hopscotch-and-rhyme, children stream into the church for dinner.
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[19:05 - 09 December, 1918]
A thick, brown soup is being ladled out to the children, who hungrily jostle each other trying to get near the front of the line. Mary Lou looks on approvingly, and smooths her apron before weaving through the crowd of children.
“Come collect your leaflets before you get food, children.” She chides them.
They flood to her, and after collecting their leaflets, go back to jostling around to be among the first to get food.
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[19:15 - 09 December, 1918]
Mary Lou, Credence, and Harrison are ladling out soup, Credence and Harrison’s movements being mechanical and empty.
A boy with a prominent birthmark reaches the front of the line. Mary Lou reaches out for the boy’s face.
“Is it a witch’s mark, ma’am?” The boy asks nervously.
She briefly contemplates this, before responding. “No. It’s fine.”
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[11:15 - 09 December, 1918]
The Art Deco headquarters of a media empire glitter in the dusk-time light. Many journalists are hard at work in an outer office.
An elevator opens and Langdon Shaw bustles excitedly through the room, leading the Second Salemers. He carries with him several maps and old books, as well as a handful of photographs.
Mary Lou is composed, her face set determinedly, while conversely, Harrison and Credence’s faces are closed off and nervous- they don’t like crowds, or people other than each other in close proximity.
“... and so this is the newsroom.” Langdon chatters. He spins around excitedly, eager to show the Second Salemers that he holds authority here.
“Let’s go!”
Langdon moves around the office, speaking to the workers as he leads the group of three to the double-doors and the end of the open-plan area. Henry Shaw’s assistant, Barker, stands up, anxious.
“Mr. Shaw sir, he’s with the senator-”
Langdon arrogantly blusters through the doors, ignoring Barker’s nervous stutters.
The office is spacious and impressive, with a spectacular view of the city. The newspaper magnate- Henry Shaw Sr.- is talking to his elder son, Senator Shaw.
They are interrupted by an excitable Langdon, followed by the Second Salemers and a harassed-looking Barker. Barker apologises, only to be interrupted by Langdon’s eager pitch for the Second Salemer’s story.
Shaw Sr. firmly admonishes his son, clearly disgruntled.
Shaw Sr. and Senator Shaw stare at the Second Salemers, having just noticed them.
Credence stands with his head bowed slightly, embarrassed, nervous, his face flushing lightly. Harrison moves behind Credence, subtly clinging to the hem of his shirt, also embarrassed.
The leader of the Second Salemers puts forward her pitch confidently, only to be dismissed out of hand.
Senator Shaw interrupts Langdon’s attempted rebuttal to Shaw Sr., “Langdon. Just listen to Father and go.” He shifts his gaze to the two siblings before adding onto his statement.
“And take the freaks with you.”
Harrison flinches, and Credence twitches, at the sheer loathing directed at him.
Mary Lou ignores the slur and the subsequent reactions to said slur, and dignifidley concedes to Shaw Sr., leaving after being outright rejected several times.
As they make to leave, Harrison accidentally drops a leaflet. Senator Shaw goes to pick it up, and glances at the witches on the front.
“Hey, boy. You dropped something.” He crumples it up before pressing it into Harrison’s hand.
“Here you go, freak— why don’t you put that in the trash where you and your lot belong.” Senator Shaw sneered cruelly.
Behind Harrison, Credence’s eyes burn angrily. He clutches Harryison’s hand protectively, and they continue heading out.
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[17:00 - 09 December, 1918]
Credence and Harrison are on an evening walk, trying desperately to calm down from the horrendous and busy day they had.
After they had gotten back, Mary Lou had given them ten lashes each and ten slaps with a ruler on their hands for “making a bad impression with their freaky selves” in front of the Shaws.
While passing a pharmacy, Credence remembered an old, rumpled five-dollar bill he had in his pocket, and told Harrison of it.
“Harrison,” He began softly, pulling out the bill.
“Credence,- you have five dollars? Wow!” Harrison exclaimed softly, still easily excitable.
Credence chuckled at Harrison’s excitement. “Yes, a man passed it to me at the rally a few days ago. We could buy some cream and bandages with this, you know. Maybe fit in a pair of Coca-Colas as well.”
Harrison nodded eagerly at the prospect of being able to heal their wounds quicker, and a delicious drink.
They walked into the pharmacy, and quickly purchase a box of reusable wrap-around bandages, along with a large tube of Neosporin and two bottles of Cola. Their total was $2.75- a nickel for each bottle of Cola, a dollar for the cream, three quarters for the gauze, and a dollar for some cotton swabs and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.
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[17:10 - 09 December, 1918]
“Here, give me your hands- I’ll do yours first.” Credence declared.
Harrison hesitated, clearly wanting to help Credence first, before relenting.
“Fine. But I’ll do your hands before you fix up my back, okay?”
“Okay.” Credence conceded, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop Harrison from doing so.
He used a cotton swab to pick up a bit of hydrogen peroxide, and began gently dabbing the welts on Harrison’s hand, slight, almost silent whimpers betraying Harrison’s pain. After Credence cleaned Harrison’s hands, he dressed the welts with some Neosporin and wrapped a bandage around each hand.
Harry took the first aid materials, and motioned for Credence to put his hands out to receive the same healing treatment.
After their hands were taken care of, Harrison turned around, wincing, as he unbuttoned his shirt to allow Credence access to the welts that were ripped into his upper back.
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[17:10 - 09 December, 1918]
Meanwhile, the lithe, smartly dressed man from a few days previous walks through an alleyway, attempting to infiltrate the MACUSA for information by capturing a staff member and Polyjuicing as them for a short stint.
He hears a voice from an alley to his right and front, and slowly whispers “Homenum Revelio.”.
The spell allows him to sense two people in the aforementioned alleyway, and he creeps forward to investigate.
He comes upon the sight of two boys, both looking to be in their late teens. That isn’t what shocks him however- it’s the angry, red welts that decorate the younger boy’s back, some lightly oozing blood still, as the older boy treats them gently.
“Excuse me,” He calls out.
The two boys jump at the sudden presence, and make to gather their supplies and dash.
“It looks like you two might need a spot of assistance— if that is amicable to you?” The blonde asks gently, trying to avoid provoking the boys that he assumes are siblings.
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[17:15 - 09 December, 1918]
Harrison jumped as a voice suddenly addressed Credence and himself in the alley where they thought they were alone.
He froze, prepared to grab the supplies and bolt at the slightest provocation.
The man seemed to notice this, and gently offered his assistance, seemingly attempting to put them at ease.
Harrison turned to Credence for guidance, unsure if the man was trustable or not.
Credence nodded hesitantly after a brief pause, and spoke, “Sure, but, if you try to hurt us, we’ll scream.”
The man nods, and slowly walks up to them, avoiding any sudden movements.
“Here, may I see your hands?” He gestured to Credence’s shaking hands, where blood from the weeping welts was already beginning to splotch the bandages.
Credence hesitantly held out his left hand, and the man gently took it and withdrew an elaborately carved stick, about 40cm (15.75in) long, and swished it above the welts.
“Episkey Maxima. Vulnera Sanentur. Lenire livor.”
The two teens watched in awe as the welts were soothed and healed, and the angry red surrounding the scars faded. The man gestured for their other hands, unconcerned by their witness to magic. After all, the revealing spell he used only works on magicals. To reveal non-magicals, he would’ve had to use Nulla Magica Homenum Revelio, or Omnis Revelio.
“Erm, sir-” Credence began.
“You may call me Gellert, childe.” The now-dubbed Gellert said softly.
“Alright then, I’m Credence, and he’s Harrison…” He introduced himself and his brother. “Mr Gellert, what was… that? The wounds just vanished.” He asks hesitantly.
“It is magic. You both are magical as well,” He paused, only to see a look of horror dawning on their faces. He remembered seeing them with that awful anti-magic crone, May Rou or something of the like.
“Magicals are not the crooked, evil beings non-magical people believe witches and wizards to be.”
“But Ma said-” Harrison began fearfully.
“People fear that which they do not understand. The No-Maj’s,” He saw their confused expression at the term.
“Non-magicals, they hate magic because they know only the sheer power of it, and that they cannot easily defend against it.”
Harrison nodded slowly.
“So— so you are saying she— they hate it because it's… powerful? And the people with magic by extension..?”
Credence broke in. “But, how could we be magic?”
“Have any fantastical, or inexplicable things ever happened around you?” Gellert asked. “A pot floating, summoning something you wanted, and the like?”
“Yes,” Harrison began.
“But it stopped years ago- about when I was eight, and Harrison was three.” Credence finished.
Gellert quickly masked a worried expression just before it showed outwardly, as he contemplated.
Might they be Obscurials?
He hoped not.
Notes:
Ok so I know Neosporin wasn’t invented until the 1950s and wasn’t approved till 1971, but it’s the only antibiotic cream I know the name of so-
NymphadoraNightshade on Chapter 2 Wed 27 Jul 2022 04:01PM UTC
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