Chapter Text
“You know, once again,” Newt said, voice muffled because of the hood over his head. “This whole thing is extremely rude. I demand to see my lawyer. For your information, you can’t just go around abducting people - that's illegal.”
His interlocutor said nothing, just kept circling him. Newt could hear their footsteps.
Ever since he’d woken up here, dazed and tied to a chair and blinded, they’d done nothing but simply exist while he rambled on. Perhaps they were just an underling, tasked with guarding Newt silently until the real villain made his grand entrance? But the magizoologist failed to see who he could have possibly angered this much in recent months. He reviewed all his significant and recent encounters but there wasn’t anything notable: he hadn’t rescued a creature from poachers in quite a while, and the person he talked to the most was his editor, via letters or floo when he had the chance. And Mrs. Miller seemed very pleased with his progress on the second volume of Fantastic Beasts so far, so really he failed to see what this was about, although he assumed he was going to find out soon enough.
Indeed, a few minutes later, a door behind him creaked open and someone strode into the room. From the smell of cologne that wafted over to Newt when the newcomer passed by to the heaviness of his footsteps, it was a man.
“Is he awake?” He said said in a terribly, terribly familiar voice. Newt’s blood ran cold.
“Yes sir,” the underling replied.
“Good. Leave us alone, Cedrik.” Hurried footsteps again and the sound of a door closing.
Grindelwald stayed silent for a long moment, making the hair on the back of Newt’s neck stand on hand. Fuck. He wasn’t here for a good time.
There was another sound like the slide of cloth over skin, as if Grindelwald took off a glove, and then the hood was abruptly removed from Newt’s head, allowing him to see his surroundings. He blinked, disoriented, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. The moon shone through a small, round and barred window. This room was four brick walls and a parquet floor, completely void of any furniture or decoration. There was only him, Grindelwald, and the uncomfortable chair Newt was tied to.
Mercifully, his suitcase was at his feet. Newt gazed up at Grindelwald in incomprehension. His mug was still as ugly as the last time he’d seen it, skin chalk white and blond hair slicked back on top of his head, deep set eyes of a different color staring back at him. His wand was tucked into an holster at his belt, and Newt paled as he realized he could no longer feel the weight of his own weapon around his forearm.
“Newt Scamander,” Grindelwald sighed at last. “You are a menace.”
“Why thank you,” Newt snarked back, his heart racing inside his chest. “But I really doubt you’ve brought me here to compliment me. Also you ought to hire better underlings, the man who was here - Cedrik, was it? - is unbelievably boring.”
“I’ll think about it,” Grindelwald replied dryly without missing a beat. “I won’t beat around the bush, Mr. Scamander - you’re here because the last time we met, you intervened and completely spoiled my carefully constructed plans by minding business that wasn’t yours and ruining my cover. Now of course I escaped - they are a bunch of morons thinking their little parlour tricks can hold me - and my plans are again in motion, but you remain a stain on the otherwise immaculate snow… I’m afraid something has to be done about you.”
“Are you going to kill me?” Newt said, curling his hands into fists. “How very original.”
“I won’t kill you,” Grindelwald said idly, checking his manicured nails as though he was bored.
“You won’t?” repeated Newt, disbelief lacing his tone. “What the fuck do you intend to do to me then? Enslave me? Brainwash me? Torture me? I’m afraid that last one wouldn’t be very productive but well it’s what villains do.”
Grindelwald looked affronted. “Do you take me for a barbarian?! No, what I have in mind is much more subtle and powerful work, Newton… But allow me to demonstrate.”
He held out his right hand and started reciting an incantation in a language Newt didn’t know. It sounded vaguely like Polish, but Newt spoke Polish (as well as six other languages) and he couldn’t understand this; what he could understand, however, as beads of sweat started forming on Grindelwald’s brow, was that whatever this spell was it demanded a great amount of energy. That a wizard of Grindelwald’s level struggled with it was a bit terrifying to contemplate.
An eerie blue light formed around Grindelwald’s hands, his voice getting louder as he poured his magic into the spell until it came to an end. The blue light coalesced into a spiral and thickened into an oval, thin shape. There was a flash of bright light and Newt squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he was staring at a sort of black hole hovering in the air in front of them. It looked very, very uninviting and very, very forbidding, and Newt swallowed around the lump in his throat. He glanced at Grindelwald, whose chest was heaving and hands trembling, but there was a glint of triumph in his eyes.
“... What is that?” Newt whispered.
“That, my friend,” said Grindelwald, “is a portal. And you are going right through it.” Without further ado he grabbed Newt’s case on the floor and threw it in the black hole, ignoring Newt’s cries of protest. “Don’t worry, you’re next!" And in a blink he'd untied Newt, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pushed him straight into the portal. “Farewell, Mr. Scamander.” Grindelwald smirked at the panicked expression on the young man’s face, and watched as the black hole swallowed Newt whole, his distant screams fading out.
He sighed again, pleased with himself, and sat in the chair Newt had just occupied, staring at the portal as it shrunk on itself and disappeared.
Casting this curse always left him exhausted, but it was such a good way to get rid of problematic opponents… He was very happy to have found it and mastered it.
He wondered where the hell he’d sent Newt, and then realized he didn’t care. He had more important things to do, like overthrow the current wizarding governments.
Whistling, Grindelwald left the tiny holding room and went back to his office, where he intended to take a well-deserved nap before getting back to work. Being one of the most powerful wizards of his time sure had its perks.
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Newt landed on all fours in the middle of a forest. “Ow!” He protested, and repeated louder when his suitcase suddenly landed on him. Newt glared at the treacherous object as he rubbed his head where he was sure that a bump would form.
He needed to check on his animals and make sure they were alright, but he had to gather his bearings first. Whatever a portal was, travelling through it at least was less nauseating than a portkey, and soon Newt was standing upright, suitcase in hand, attempting to figure out where the hell he was.
This place looked like your average European forest, similar to the Pyrenees of France. There were looming oak trees, a ground covered in a carpet of tree leaves and brambles. The air was chilly, the sky above his head cloudy and grey. The wind rustled the leaves and Newt could hear a crow in the distance.
This was all familiar, but it also felt… wrong. Newt felt weirdly off, like he should never have been there in the first place. The unsettling feeling made his skin crawl. He tried to ignore it and moved forward - hopefully he’d see a path or a road of some kind soon, and from there he could find civilization again. Even if Grindelwald had sent him to the most remote of places on Earth, Newt would eventually find his way home. He could be very patient.
He doesn’t know how long he walks for. Perhaps an hour? The landscape around him doesn’t change but he keeps going with determination.
After another fifteen minutes or so, he starts hearing voices. He smiles in relief and nearly trots up to where the sound is coming from. He isn’t being discreet - leaves crack and dry twigs snap under his shoes. He notices the voices have fallen silent at his approach, but he keeps going until he can see two human men. He waves at them from afar and gets closer to the clearing where they seem to have made camp, only to stop short when one of them suddenly draws a very scary, very real looking sword and steps protectively in front of the other one, glaring at Newt with startling eyes of a golden color.
He doesn’t look that much older than Newt, and yet his hair is fully white, long and gathered in a ponytail at his nape. A scar marks the left side of his face, crossing over his eye, and he is wearing layers of clothing and… (Newt ogles him disbelievingly) armor? Black leather armor with shoulder and knee pads and a codpiece at his crotch. Two wide leather straps cross over his wide chest, supporting two scabbards, including the one the stranger just drew his long sword from; the metallic hilt of another sword glints above his shoulder when he moves.
The other man is younger, and in contrast to Mr. Sword over here he is swearing much lighter, brightly colored clothing. His outfit seems to have come straight out of a movie set in the medieval age, looking like the cliché of the cheery troubadour, down to the purple and pink doublet and the feathered hat atop of his head. He waves at Newt with a smile, seemingly accustomed to the defensive posturing of his companion in the face of strangers.
Newt hesitates, his instincts telling him to put down his case and hold up his hands to show he’s unharmed. He does just that, and Mr. Scary seems to relax just a little, while the minstrel claps him on the back and says something in a language Newt can’t understand. Again. This is terribly inconvenient. Newt murmurs a translation spell, discreetly pointing his thumb at his throat, and feels much better when the gibberish turns into actual words.
“... Geralt, I need a coat like that! Look at him! Such a weird fashion sense - I’ve not seen anything like it in the Four Kingdoms!”
“Stay behind me,” Geralt grunts. “My medallion…”
“Oooh, your witchery senses are tingling? I shall be but silent backup then! Who are you?” He asks Newt, his eyes twinkling with joy, obviously excited.
"Newton Scamander. And you are?"
"Master Jaskier the Bard, also known as Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove," Jaskier says with a flourish and a graceful bow. "And this is my friend, the witcher Geralt of Rivia." Geralt doesn't lower his sword.
Newt has no idea what a witcher is. He's quite confused.
"Is this a Hollywood movie set?" He ventures, and Jaskier tilts his head in confusion.
"What's a holy wood? Something to do with Melitele?"
" What?"
"What?"
The witcher, Geralt, sighs deeply, exasperated. "Enough. What's your business in these woods, stranger?"
"Ah well you see, I seem to have gotten a bit lost… What country is this?"
"Why it's the Four Kingdoms of course!" Jaskier says, his expression puzzled. "Kaedwen, to be precise."
"Ah," Newt says delicately. "Then we have a problem."
"Where are you from, Newt - can I call you Newt? Yes? Where do you come from?"
"My birth country is England. On - on... Earth..." Oh dear. What the hell had Grindelwald done? "What… What year is it?"
"1250 after the Conjunction of the Spheres," Jaskier says, looking more and more intrigued.
The what of what now? "...Can I come closer?"
"Do you carry weapons?" Geralt growls, immediately tensing, and Newt shakes his head.
"No, I… I had one but it was stolen."
"Oooooh, there's a story there!" Jaskier sing-songs. "Yes you can come closer, Geralt won't hurt you. Right Geralt?"
Geralt smiles terrifyingly and says nothing.
Newt squares his shoulders and walks into the clearing with his case. The witcher takes him in from head to toe, and seems to write down Newt as non-threatening in the end because he sheaths his sword again, much to Newt's relief. It looked very sharp and very… cutty. Had these people never heard of guns?
… Also was that a horse?
"That's Roach," Geralt grumbled, following Newt's gaze. Roach was happily munching on some grass. "Don't touch her or I'll cut your hands off." He smiled again, exposing sharp teeth, and Newt was certain that this was not an empty threat. That man would give Grindelwald a run for his money in terms of dangerous auras.
The bard, Jaskier, took Newt by the hand to make him sit down on a log forcefully. There was a dying fire in front of them and two bedrolls laid side by side on the ground with a large folded blanket on top. Newt also noticed two bags in addition to Roach's tack and gear.
Jaskier rummaged in one of the bags and with a ah-ah! of victory brandished a small, leather-bound notebook and a quill pen. "Now then Newt, tell me everything - who stole from you?"
"Err," Newt said. "Well. His name is Grindelwald. He sent me here through a - a portal?"
Geralt, who'd sat down on a fallen tree trunk opposite them, looked up and frowned. "A portal? You met a mage?"
"A ma -- well I suppose you could call him that. In my world we call him a wizard. He captured me because I annoyed him once, cast a spell and... next thing I know I... landed here?"
Geralt furrowed his brows even more - that is, until Jaskier threw a tiny rock at him and said he'd get wrinkles before his time if he kept on making that sour face. Geralt growled at him in annoyance but there was a small smile on his lips.
Newt cleared his throat. "What is a witcher?" He asked. "I've never heard that word before. I think… it's becoming clear to me that Grindelwald apparently sent me to another… world?" The prospect was terrifying. How would he ever get home?
"Have you ever heard anything like that Geralt?"
Geralt shook his head, a strand of white hair falling onto his face. "I'll ask Yennefer."
"You do that," Jaskier agreed. "Yennefer is a mage, a very powerful one. Very sexy too, and a tiny weeny bit insane. She and Geralt have a thing." He winked at Newt, who couldn't help but blush for some reason. Geralt scowled.
"Shut up Jaskier."
Jaskier mock-gasped. "Oh right, I forgot! Witchers have no feelings! God forbid you love Yennefer - or consider me your best friend in the whole wide world!"
"Jaskier."
"Anyway to answer your question, Newt, a witcher is a monster hunter. Ever since the conjunction of the spheres we have terrible things plaguing the Continent and devouring innocent people - sirens and vampires and ghouls and other nightmarish monstrosities.” He shuddered. “Believe me, you don't want to see them. Geralt's job is to kill monsters in exchange for coin."
Newt felt a tad nauseous, thinking about all the creatures in his case.
He'd have to guard it very, very carefully. A monster hunter. It stood to reason that this world was different from his own, of course, but Newt had made it his life goal to travel, rescue and study creatures other people labeled as monsters. His esteem of Geralt had suddenly dropped to a very low point.
"And that's why he looks like this," Jaskier kept going, utterly oblivious to Newt's internal turmoil. "Handsome and scary, white hair, yellow eyes, built like a stone house, etc. Terrifyingly good with a sword. I don't know if we can truly help you but I promise you that if you travel with us for a while, you shall at least be safe from monsters and bandits!"
He beamed at Newt expectantly. Newt tried to smile back, but he felt quite uncomfortable. Suddenly all he wanted was to go down in his case and curl up in his own bed, safe amongst the smells and sounds of his animal friends. "And… what's your role in all this?"
"Whenever our paths meet I travel with Geralt for a bit and take inspiration from his battles to compose new successful ballads. It's a whole process." He grinned, and pointed at his notebook again. "Hence this. Geralt's contracts have been terribly dull lately, but now a man coming from another world…! I must hear all about you. I can already see it - From the depths of the unknown/portails a man in a blue coat/ crying out loud where therefore am I? and wheeeeen the witcher approaches… o- ooh hmm… " He sang.
Newt met Geralt's eyes. "Is he always like that?"
"Yes," Geralt said, amused. "You'll get used to it, don't worry."
Newt sighed, already mourning the peace and quiet he was used to.
"I can hear you both, you know!" Jaskier exclaimed and, despite it all, Newt laughed.
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