Chapter 8: Curse Research Begins
The safehouse, a rented, moldering warehouse basement, felt different upon their return. It was no longer a temporary storage shed for a magizoologist; it was a sanctuary charged with the complex mix of relief, new tension, and the heavy, unsettling presence of their newly acquired charge. The chaos of the circus still clung to their clothes and the frantic pulse in their necks.
Nagini remained wary, moving with the quiet, unnatural grace of someone who was constantly anticipating the next moment of captivity or pain. She stood near the central crate-table, her gaze meticulously studying the small, strange group of people who had risked everything—including the wrath of MACUSA—for her freedom.
Newt, ever the master of making the strange seem normal, immediately offered her a chipped ceramic mug of lukewarm, stewed tea.
"It's a secure location," Newt said softly, carefully avoiding direct eye contact. His shy kindness was deliberate, a non-threatening gesture that Nagini instantly seemed to appreciate. "You're safe here, for now. No one will touch you."
His simple assurance, without any demand for thanks or explanation, was a potent balm to her battered soul.
Jacob, meanwhile, was completely awe-struck. He simply stared at her, not with the judging fear of a circus patron, but with a wide-eyed, gentle curiosity, nervously twisting the brim of his salvaged baseball cap.
"You were… I mean, you look… normal now," Jacob stammered, then winced, realizing his social blunder. He quickly recovered. "Er, sorry. I'm Jacob. I make pastries. And I try not to turn into a giant snake."
Nagini smiled faintly, a subtle movement that miraculously transformed her haunted, strained face. It was the first true, unguarded emotion Sam had seen from her.
"You do not fear me?" she asked in a soft, Parseltongue-laced whisper, the hiss more noticeable in the intimate quiet of the small, dusty room.
Jacob merely shrugged, the movement a caricature of No-Maj resignation.
"Everyone's a little strange in this crowd, ma'am," he quipped, a wave of his hand dismissing the monumental magical risk they had just taken. "It's fine. We had a guy who was literally a twig on Newt's shoulder. You're normal."
Sam watched the exchange, a quiet current of warmth running through his chest. He felt his luck surge again—not a random, chaotic event this time, but a steady, profound current of ambient energy, easing the last vestiges of Nagini's fear and doubt. It was a silent, empathetic connection.
[SYSTEM: Achievement: Circus Savior. +300 Mana.]
[Congratulations, Sam. You saved the girl. Now you have a brooding love interest and a huge target on your back. Money well spent.]
" She's not a burden. She's the key. This Mana can be used for the library access. Minimize future effort by solving the problem now. "
A determined resolve settled over him. Nagini, in turn, sensed his profound empathy and the lack of judgment in his tired gaze. Her tense shoulders finally relaxed, and she slowly sank into one of the musty velvet chairs they had hauled in, officially joining their unconventional team.
Later that evening, after the group had settled into fitful, exhausted sleep, Sam took the opportunity to finally engage with the Locket of Merlin hanging around his neck. Alone in the flickering, weak candlelight, he placed his palm flat against the surprisingly warm metal.
[SYSTEM: Mana Threshold Reached. Unlocking Locket Subspace: Arcane Library.]
[Initiating Library connection. Don't spill tea on the priceless, ancient scrolls, Sam. I'd have to mock you forever.]
He closed his eyes, leaning back against the cold brick wall, and felt a subtle, instantaneous shift—not physical, but internal. He was instantly in the Locket's Arcane Library. The air here was dry and cool, filled with the deep, comforting smell of antique vellum, dust, and old parchment. Hundreds of shelves, receding into an impossible, star-dusted distance, were lined with books of every imaginable size, illuminated by an eternal, silvery candlelight.
His mind, sharp from the Mana boost, instantly began filtering the massive collection with focused keywords: Nagini. Maledictus. Curse. Anomaly.
A single, impossibly thick, leather-bound tome floated gently down to the reading table before him, landing with a soft thud.
Driven by a singular, focused purpose—the most pragmatic one possible—Sam began to pore over the intricate, cryptic texts and complex diagrams, focusing on the deep historical anomaly of the Maledictus Curse. He needed a cure, a loophole, a weakness; anything to avoid future, messy conflict.
He found a complex diagram of a creature that looked exactly like Nagini's snake form, annotated with a dizzying series of glowing, interconnected runes. As he traced the runes with his fingertip, a faint gold glow erupted from his neck where the Locket sat. Simultaneously, a tiny, dried drop of Nagini's blood—a small cut she'd gotten earlier that day during the escape—on the wooden floor nearby flared a startling, brilliant gold.
The Luck Nexus had recognized the subject of his research.
" I knew it wasn't just a simple curse. This isn't just about magic. It's about cosmic alignment and my stupid luck. "
The two golden lights—Locket and blood drop—pulsed in terrifying synchronicity, a profound moment of quiet discovery that hinted at the deep, mysterious connection between Nagini's curse, Sam's luck, and the Locket's ancient magic, setting up the entire arc of his quest.
Just as Sam was about to lose himself completely in a dense passage about blood-magic theory, the library connection was violently, hilariously severed by reality.
"It's sticky! Get it off! Get it off, it's judging me!" Jacob shouted, his voice rising to a panicked, terrified squeak.
Sam blinked, instantly back in the safehouse basement. Jacob, who had finally fallen asleep on an improvised cot, had been ambushed. A tiny Bowtruckle—Newt's companion, Pickett, having wriggled out of the suitcase—had decided Jacob's New York Yankees cap was the perfect, stationary tree branch.
The little creature was clinging to the cap with its twiggy, sharp fingers, administering tiny, playful but irritating scratches to Jacob's cheek, all while letting out soft, self-satisfied chirps.
"He's not hurting you, Jacob, he's just… exploring," Newt murmured gently, attempting to coax the creature down with a soft, coaxing hand.
"He's got twiggy scratches! And he's judging my nightmares! I know he is! Get it off me, Newt!" Jacob grumbled, his flustered expression complete physical comedy.
Sam, his mind sharp from the Mana boost, saw his opening. The most efficient way to solve the problem was not dialogue or beast-calming, but simple property retrieval.
"Accio Baseball Cap!" he muttered under his breath, focusing only on the object, not the tiny, protective creature attached to it.
The cap lifted off Jacob's head with a soft whoosh and zipped straight toward Sam. The Bowtruckle, startled by the sudden movement of its perch, detached just in time and landed harmlessly, apologetically in Newt's outstretched hand. The little beast, safely back with its master, chirped in a tiny, mischievous apology.
Jacob just stared at the empty space where his hat had been, utterly flustered by the casual efficiency of the simple spell.
Newt chuckled softly, shaking his head with a gentle smile.
"Well, I suppose that is one way to retrieve a companion, Sam," he said, the absurdity of Newt's Beast Mishaps and their successful, if accidental, teamwork instantly lightening the mood and solidifying their bond once more.
The small group finally settled into the pre-dawn quiet, the remnants of the day's tension replaced by a comfortable, weary silence. It was a brief, Quiet Moment—the kind that comes only after shared, profound chaos.
Nagini slept fitfully on the dusty couch, curled small like a child, her expression finally peaceful. Sam watched the Locket, his mind racing with the cryptic runes. Newt was murmuring soft, comforting phrases to Pickett and his other creatures.
Then, a sudden, frantic, but recognizable three-beat knock echoed sharply through the safehouse door, slicing the comfortable silence in two. It wasn't the tentative tap of Queenie, but the sharp, urgent, driven sound of someone in genuine distress.
Sam's blood ran instantly cold. He knew the source immediately: Tina Goldstein. She wasn't an Auror seeking justice; she was a friend closing in, and she was bringing the storm with her. The outside world had finally found them.
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