the inventor ➝ fantastic beasts

SEVEN - THE CHANGE

Splinching is usually repairable - but the thing is, there was nothing to repair. 

I had no idea where the rest of my leg was in the first place - Grindelwald's minion Ritter could have apparated me halfway across the country for all I know. And even if I did know where it was, Grindelwald probably destroyed it just out of spite. 

So, with nothing to fix back onto my body, the option of a quick reattachment was crossed out. Instead, my leg had to be grown back from nothing with a potion.

And by Merlin, it was painful.

Two days I spent in St. Mungos, doing my best not to stare in horror and some type of bizarre entrancement as my flesh, bone and muscle slowly, slowly formed from the stub of my thigh down, moving like slow burning candle wax. Fitting - as it hurt as if the flame licked every single inch of freshly grown meat.

Irritatingly, my nose was fixed up in a matter of painless seconds.

Telling Newt and the Healers about what had happened to me was hard. The looks of horror on their faces had been unbearable, particulary Newt's, because he knew what Grindelwald had tried to do to me when he was posing as Graves. 

It made sense now. Grindelwald had claimed that he wasn't trying to seduce me - that it was a misunderstanding, that he had been leading up to ask me to join him. 

Nevertheless, both outcomes of that situation make me feel ill.

I have been trying in vain to repress all memory of Grindelwald. I can't bear to think about any of it - the last "therapy" session, the torture, what he wanted with me, the things he told me about myself - but it's all I have been able to think about.

Veris was at the hospital a few times, once with Jamie. It took me longer to be able to explain to him what had happened, and the shock had hit him hard. He didn't even know the whole truth; I made it out like I was jumped in an alley. I couldn't possibly tell him I was tortured by Grindel-fucking-wald. We both ended up crying, him grasping my hand and sobbing about how I could have ended up like Ray while I kept apologising desperately - partly because of the guilt of yet another lie, and partly because I couldn't bare to see him so sad again. 

Newt visited me too, mostly to make sure I was alright, but once to bear bad news.

My leg, even though it will grow back sufficiently, will never be the same again. I will have to use a cane for a few months, and even after that, there will be times when the muscles simply collapse.

Brilliant. If Grindelwald ever hunts me down and finishes what he started, I will be an easier target than ever.

When I finally return to Newt's flat, I spend my first few days in bed with that terrifying thought swirling around my mind. Without magic or a reliable leg, he'll take me down in a heartbeat if he finds me. 

I morbidly distract myself by staring at the newly grown synthetic flesh of my leg and remembering the stump and blood in it's place only three days ago, the surrealism of the flesh slowly growing back. 

When I think about that, I have to distract myself from my distraction before I start to feel sick, and call out for Newt, or talk to myself, even. Anything to avoid thinking about that power going to waste inside me.

Whenever I need him, he's by my bed in seconds. It doesn't matter what he's doing - if I call him, he always comes. If it's something important, like my leg hurting, he quickly fixes it up with magic and continues to ask if I'm alright.

 And if it's something not so important, like just wanting to chat, he'll pull up a chair and sit right down without a question. And I'm still interested by him - he hasn't turned out to be like so many of the others were.