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January 1st, 2018:

Part of Melanie is sad to miss the New Year's festivities. But she's seen the tree lighting ceremony, and doesn't really think she'll be missing too much. Besides, she doesn't want Newt or James to have to bespell her just so the crowds won't get too overwhelming.

That it's cold makes a difference, too. She doesn't really feel it, but when it gets very cold, like it is now, she's noticed that she starts to slow down a little. She isn't sure what hungries do in regions where it gets this cold, but she knows if anyone saw her slowing down too much, they'd just fret and bring her back inside, anyway.

It's not as if she doesn't like spending time in the Nook. The holiday decorations are still up, and they still look marvelous. She's perfectly happy to just snuggle up with a pile of books.

The books are so absorbing that she completely forgets to mark the official passing of the year. She doesn't watch the clock, she doesn't count down. But midnight still ends up being impossible to miss, because everything changes, all in a rush.

It feels a little like magic, the way her senses are suddenly muted. It's not that she can't smell, or hear, just that she can't smell or hear as much as before. She has to take a few deep breaths just to confirm that she can still smell anything at all, but the sharp pine scent of the tree is still there, and the lingering smells from Newt and James's dinner. To her considerable surprise, those scents, though faint, are more tempting than they've ever been before.

Melanie gets to her feet, frowning as she does so. She feels... heavy. Or heavier, anyway. She shifts her weight experimentally, then takes a few slow steps towards the kitchen. Her body still seems to be working like it should, but it also feels different in myriad ways she finds difficult to place. It isn't until she sets her hand on her own belly, patting herself as if to make sure she's all there, that she realizes she feels warm. Not safe-inside warm, but warmer-than-the-room warm.

She starts to get an inkling, then, of what this might mean, but it's so hard to believe that she shakes her head in automatic denial. Even Newt and James, with all their magic, can't fix her. They can make a broom fly, but they can't make her what she's not.

She's still standing there, bewildered, when someone finally walks into the room. "I think something's wrong with me," she says.

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Newt's exhausted and covered in debris by the time he makes it back to the Nook. He means to return to where the giant Hatchimal is still wreaking havoc on Darrow's shores, but first, in the midst of all the chaos, he needs to check on Melanie and make sure she's safe. He also needs a large glass of Butterbeer, and a chance to catch his breath. He's used up a lot of energy in trying to contain this latest crisis, and he needs to restore some of it before he can continue helping.

He staggers into the Nook, aiming for one of the chairs in the living room. Which is when Melanie turns to him, telling him something's wrong.

"Is it?" He asks, suddenly alert again as he makes his way over to her, glancing at her up and down. "What's wrong Melanie? Are you alright? Are you sick?" She looks perfectly fine to him. And then it hits him. She looks perfectly fine. "Melanie?"

Melanie almost regrets saying anything once she's taken in Newt's appearance. He looks worn out and messy -- nowhere near as bad as he'd been during the Purge, but worse than he ought to look after a celebration. She shakes her head quickly, not wanting him to fuss over her when there's clearly something bigger going on. "I don't feel sick," she assures him. Granted, she doesn't really know what 'sick' feels like. 'Hungry' is the nearest she's ever got to it, and she doesn't feel hungry.

That's all that really matters, at least for now.

"What's happened? You look like you've been fighting."

"Well, that's good," Newt says, smiling at her. Melanie looks very much healthy, he thinks. In fact, healthier than he can ever recall her looking before. "But what's happened? You look...some kind of different? I can't put my finger on it." Perhaps he would be better able if he were less exhausted from fighting, but as it is, his brain feels utterly scattered for the time being.

"I have been," he admits. He's never seen the need to hide the truth from Melanie; given everything she's already been through, he doesn't see why she can't handle all of the absurdities of Darrow.

"There's a giant Hatchimal coming in from the shore," he continues. "I've been trying to help fight it."

Melanie frowns at the Hatchimal news. It doesn't sound like the sort of thing she could help with, even if she was feeling normal. Newt's magic would make a bigger difference, and it sounds like he hasn't even been able to stop it.

But it must not be too dangerous, if Newt only looks a little messy, and if he felt like he could take a break. And she knows enough of what Hatchimals look like to guess that even a big one wouldn't be able to do much but crush things that got in its way. They barely even have arms.

"Do you want me to make tea?" she offers. She's learned how to do it; even without magic, it's easy. "And I could get you some food. You should rest."

"Luckily there's a bunch of us trying to stop it, though I fear, given its size, it'll cause a decent amount of destruction," Newt admits, shaking his head. And here Darrow is without a group of Aurors able to reverse the damage in a matter of hours. Oh well. He'll do his best to help with the aftermath where he can, as well. He's used to these sorts of messes by now.

"Tea would be fantastic," he admits, still watching Melanie. "Would you like help with the tea? I can get the stuff for your tea, if you'd like?"

"I've got it," Melanie assures him, not wanting him to spend any magic or effort on tea when the whole city needs help. "And I'm not hungry."

She's not so sure about that last part. Hunger ought to be a familiar feeling, but now she's awash in feelings that are much harder to define. They could be some new kind of hunger, or they could be something else. But when she tries to imagine eating what she normally would, her insides roil in a way that doesn't seem... good.

Pushing the thought aside, she fills the kettle from the sink. Her brow furrows; it feels heavier than normal, and she peeks inside, as if to make sure nothing more than water has snuck in there, before setting it on the stove and starting the burner.

"Alright," Newt says with a nod. He still doesn't know much about raising young beyond the creatures in his care, but he knows from personal experience that children do like to be independent. Granted, his personal experience is two decades old, at this point, but still. If Melanie says she's got it, he'll let her. "Let me know if you change your mind."

Finally, he lets himself sink into one of the chairs in the living room, the warmth of the cushions cradling him like a very welcome cloud. A nice, strong cup of tea, along with something sweet, sounds exactly the sort of strength he needs at the moment.

He lets his eyes fall shut for a brief moment.

It's all the smells that are strangest. She can tell her nose isn't as sharp as it used to be, but everything used to fit into a few simple categories: food or not food, friend or stranger, familiar or new. Now, it's like someone has gone through all the boxes and started switching things around. Tea is still familiar, but it used to be not food, but now she's not so sure about that last bit. The biscuits she fetches down are even more confusing on that front. She has to hold them closer to her nose to get a good whiff of them, but once she does, her mouth starts to water as if she's just smelled a rabbit or something.

She glances over at Newt. His eyes have fallen shut. Turning her back to him, as if she's about to do something shameful, she takes a tiny, experimental bite of biscuit.

Oh. It's good. And it shouldn't be good; the last time she tried one, out of curiosity, she'd spat it out like it was poison. But now it tastes like the best thing she's ever had, almost as good as when she'd first bitten into that soldier, and she chews in rapt silence for a few moments before the magnitude of this discovery sets in.

"Newt!" she shrieks, spraying crumbs. "I'm eating a biscuit!"

Newt doesn't fall asleep so much as he lets his eyes rest. He does this often, usually in his case, sitting up at his work bench, preparing a potion or reading up on the mating habits of Fwoopers. Typically, he has a mug of tea next to him, one he has to constantly reheat with his wand as he tends to forget about it while it cools. Always, he tells himself he won't let it happen again.

In fairness to him now, he is properly exhausted from all the fighting. The giant Hatchimal is proving quite the foe, and frankly, it's taken more out of him than he expected just to be able to hold it off, let alone slow it down.

He's on the verge of sleep when he hears Melanie shriek. He doesn't make out her words. Instead, alarmed, he bolts from his seat, rushing into the kitchen, wand out at the ready.

"Melanie?" He calls out in concern, glancing around for any sign of danger. "What's going on? What's happened?"

The biscuit is so delicious that she ends up taking another bite in the time it takes Newt to reach the kitchen. His alarmed expression throws her for a moment -- this is definitely strange, but she doesn't think it's bad-strange -- but her mouth is too busy chewing for her to say anything. Instead, she points to the half-eaten biscuit in her hand, and then to her own mouth, her face alight with excitement.

Once she's swallowed, she repeats, "I'm eating a biscuit! Normal food!"

It takes Newt a moment to realize that Melanie actually isn't in any danger. Blinking, he comes to the realization that she's eating a biscuit, and she's enjoying it. She's eating regular, human food, and it isn't making her sick. Blimey, he thinks to himself, a grin slowly spreading across his face. James was right; she really is human.

"I know something even better than biscuits," he tells her, offering her a mischievous smile. "If you'd like to try it."

Since she is human, for however long this lasts, Newt is going to make sure she enjoys herself.

Maybe Melanie should be more careful about this, but if she was going to get sick, she's pretty sure it would have happened already. And biscuits never appealed to her at all -- there isn't enough protein to be worth the bother -- so if anything was going to make her sick, she's pretty sure this would.

"Yes, please," she says, lowering her biscuit-clutching hand, though she isn't about to set what's left aside, or throw it away. Biscuits are delicious. "What is it?"

"Ice cream," Newt tells her with a conspiratorial grin. "The most magical food in all the world."

He flicks his wand to open the freezer, summoning forth the variety of flavors he and James keep on hand. Newt, in particular, has a fondness for sweets, especially of the ice cream variety, and his collection offers a fair variety of flavors.

"And," he continues, flicking his wand again to withdraw some spoons and dishes, "we have the ingredients for ice cream sundaes, which are even better than regular ice cream."

Melanie grins. Normally, she doesn’t think much about which human foods are the best, or the most liked. She likes to know what Newt and James enjoy, because that means she can do things like make their favorite tea if they’re tired or bring them their favorite snack if they’re sad. That’s one of the things she likes about Darrow: food isn’t hard to find, so people can have what they like best instead of just making do with whatever they can forage from ruined shops.

But that broad selection doesn’t really apply to her, and she doesn’t know enough people to concern herself with what most people like. So it isn’t until Newt suggests ice cream that she remembers how popular it is. Not so much in winter, which is probably why she didn’t think of it, herself. But it’s warm in here, and she’s never really minded the cold, so she doesn’t see why a cold snack should be a problem.

“What’s an ice cream sundae?” Melanie gawks at the sheer number of ingredients and things that Newt is magicking over to them. For someone who’s always got by on a small portions, it seems like more food than she could ever manage, even if she only had a bite of each.

"Well, it's essentially ice cream, but with additional ingredients," Newt explains as he finishes laying everything out. "And you can choose which you'd like to add to the ice cream. It makes it taste even more delicious than usual."

"Here," he says, tucking his wand back into the loop on his trousers. "I'll show you."

He scoops some of the chocolate and strawberry ice cream, with just a dash of french vanilla and chocolate chip, for good measure. Once he has his mountain of ice cream established, he moves to the various bowls and containers, placing some crushed walnuts, almonds, whipped cream, and chopped bananas on top. He finishes with a literal cherry on top.

"See?" He holds the bowl out to her to show her, before taking a deep dig of ice cream and shoveling it into his mouth. "It's delicious. But you do have to be careful, though," he speaks as he chews, wincing a bit and holding a hand to his head.

"Brain freeze."

He doesn't like leaving Melanie alone for long periods of time, despite the fact that he knows the Nook is heavily warded. Without Lily or Harry to ring in the New Year with, he'd been perfectly content to remain at home and watch over Melanie.

She's had her nose in a book for most of the night, but it's just past twelve and James thinks she might appreciate a midnight snack and a cup of tea. It's New Year's Eve after all, and he's sure he can whip up something for both of them, bearing in mind Melanie's particular eating habits.

When he goes to flick the kettle on with his wand however, nothing happens at all. He tries again, but there's still nothing, and worse than that he feels... off. It's not the same as when his magic had gone haywire a few months ago. This time he can't feel it at all, and his wand feels like a plain old lump of wood in his hands, refusing to respond to his touch at all.

It's all so wrong, and James is still staring at his wand with a mix of confusion and horror on his face when Melanie walks in the room and announces that something is wrong.

"What is it?" he asks, glancing up quickly and trying to shake off the horrible feeling that's just come over him. Whatever is going on with his own magic, Melanie comes first.

"I don't feel normal." Melanie holds out her hands and peers at them, as if she half-expects them to have changed color or something, but everything looks as it should. "I'm not hungry, and I don't think I'm ill, but something's different."

She puts her hand to her stomach again, feeling the warmth radiating from her. Something gurgles inside her, and she jumps a little, but there's no accompanying rattle from her box, no tell-tale ache in her jaw.

"I think..." she looks up at James, brow furrowed. "Can the city change what we are?" It's made Newt a woman, and it's done things to his and James's magic before, but they were both still human through all of it.

It's a little ironic, he thinks. For Melanie what feels abnormal is exactly what most people would find normal. She's never been loud or insistent about her hunger, but James has also never heard her say it's not there.

He watches as she places a hand cautiously on her stomach, and when she looks back up at him, he thinks he's starting to get an inkling. He doesn't know if the city can change them, but she's standing in front of him saying she's different, and there's a hollow feeling where James's magic is supposed to be.

"I don't know," he admits. "Maybe." Maybe it won't be for long, there's never any way of knowing in this city. He can't help but selfishly hope it isn't for long, though he knows that there's a chance Melanie will prefer this, whatever it is. "But I don't think it's just you."

"You feel different, too?" She doesn't sound relieved, exactly, but it is a welcome distraction. It might even be like a clue. Maybe strange things are happening to lots of people.

She gives James a thorough once-over, but he doesn't look any different. Not as far as she can tell, anyway. "You look okay," she decides. "You haven't turned purple or anything." The joke feels a little thin, like she's trying to hard to make everything okay, and she frowns. "What's changed?"

He can't even begin to explain the ways in which he feels different, so he just nods stiffly. She doesn't need to know how empty he suddenly feels, like part of his soul has upped and vanished. She's looking him over like she's looking for some physical change, and James shakes his head, smiling to try and reassure her.

"I'm fine," he says, trying to prove to both of them that he's not injured in any way, not changed in any way that might harm him. Devastate him, maybe, but that's beside the point. "Not purple. Just, my er, magic. Seems to be gone."

It feels like a hell of an understatement, but that's the sum of it. It would be more cause for concern maybe, if Melanie hadn't apparently changed, too. He would be worried if he suddenly couldn't help her if she needed it, but she's standing in front of him, ordinary for all intents and purposes. "Do you feel okay?"

Melanie sucks in a breath, stunned. "It's gone?" It wasn't even that long ago that the city had mucked his magic up. Maybe that's why it feels so unfair for it to be taken away entirely.

Beneath the flare of indignation, she can't help noting that now might be one of the best times for it to disappear, if it's going to. His magic is one of the big reasons she feels safe around him. Now, he can't protect himself, but she's pretty sure he doesn't need to, either. Not from her.

"I think my hunger's gone, too," she says, a bit gingerly, as if saying it aloud will make it un-happen. "I think... all of it might be gone. Like I'm normal."

He has to smile a little at the tone of indignation on his behalf. It's exactly how he feels, but he doesn't expect her to fully grasp what it is for a wizard to lose his magic. He doesn't want to focus on that right now, either. Quite apart from the fact that thinking about it anymore will frustrate him further, the more important thing is reassuring her, keeping his adult face on.

That's one thing he learned since becoming a father, he notes. Harry had been too little for it to really matter all that much, but he knows how to push his own feelings down and aside, focus on the child in front of him.

"It must be a Darrow thing." The thing about Darrow things, he knows, is that there's no telling how long it might last for. He wants this to be real for her, wants her to be able to grow up without worrying about hurting people, but he doesn't want to get her hopes up just in case they're dashed.

Not for the first time he wishes he knew how to cure her with magic, but that's a moot point right now anyway.

"Melanie, we don't know how long this will last," he says carefully, measuring his words. "It might be permanent, but it might not be. You understand?"

'Darrow thing' isn't very comforting to her, in part because she knows it can't be that comforting for him. She's been here long enough to know that 'just a Darrow thing' is what people tell themselves when they don't like what's happening and hope it stops happening soon. People back home would've probably called the Breakdown 'just a Darrow thing,' if they could have done. And they would've been wrong.

James is probably right, though. And it's good if he is. If strange things are happening to them, they're probably happening all across the city, and it would be better for things to go back to the way they were.

"I don't want your magic to be gone forever," she insists, though she knows that isn't why he's choosing his words so carefully. He's worried about her. It's something she used to find hard to recognize, because no one really worried about her back home except for Miss Justineau, and Sergeant Parks, at the end. And they'd usually been wrong to worry about her. She was safer in that world than they were. She was built for it.

And now she's built for Darrow. So maybe James is right to worry about her.

She'll just have to make sure she doesn't get used to it, and make sure she doesn't forget what she really is.

"I'll be all right," she says. "It'll probably just feel like it did when I lived in the bunker, and everyone wore e-blocker all the time. I didn't know I was a hungry child. So this is sort of... similar." Except instead of not knowing what lurked inside her, there just isn't anything inside her. Nothing but Melanie, all the way through.

It's a strange thought, but the discomfort soon gives way to a dawning excitement. "Does this mean I can eat normal food without getting sick?"

The difference, he thinks, is that she knows, now. It was one thing to be shut away in a bunker somewhere without knowing she was different to anybody else, without knowing what she might have been missing out on. All this time she's known what she was, what restrictions were placed on her, and suddenly that's all gone.

He doesn't want her to wake up tomorrow, back to the way things were, and be disappointed. He knows there's nothing he can to do prevent that, and that's the hardest part.

It's hard not to smile at the excitement that dawns on her face all the same. He doesn't see any reason why she can't enjoy this while it lasts, for as long as she can. When - if - things change again, he'll be here for her.

"It seems that way," he says, giving her an answering smile and after a beat, a wink. "There's only one way to find out. Ice cream?"

Ice cream, like most of the 'normal' food she's seen, has never been especially appetizing. It smells cold as much as anything else, and while cold isn't too bad on its own, it's nowhere near as good as warm. She thinks it must have some protein in it, because there's a faint edge to its scent that she can't dismiss: the sense that if things were truly desperate, it might be better than nothing. But it's never appealed to her.

She know it appeals to just about everyone else, though, and she lights up at the thought of giving it a try now that everything is different.

"Yes, please," she says, taking his hand and all but hauling him towards the kitchen. "What else should we try? What are your favorites?"

He knows she can't have necessarily understood the appeal of ordinary food before, but her eyes light up a little and James is taking that as a good enough indication. There are lots of things she might like to try, but he's partial to ice cream himself and he thinks it's a good starting point.

James lets her drag him towards the kitchen, biting down on a laugh. Once there, he picks her up and sits her on the kitchen counter beside the fridge while he gets to work. If they're going to do ice cream, they're going to do it properly. He's reasonably confident he can whip up a sundae, even if he has to do it the Muggle way.

"What do you want to try?" he counters, wondering if there's anything she might have been passingly curious about, even before. He has plenty of favourites, some that aren't possible to get in Darrow. He thinks of the long House tables at Hogwarts, laden with every food he could ever imagine, and he wishes Melanie could have experienced something like that.

Melanie gives the question due consideration, like it's a riddle Dr. Caldwell has posed to her. She knows that ice cream comes in a lot of different flavors, and it's easy to get overwhelmed by the thought of picking just one. Then again, she doesn't have to pick just one, either. They have more than one kind here, and they could go to the shops and get more if they wanted to.

So, after giving it a bit of thought, she declares, "Chocolate." She knows how popular that is. People sell it even in shops that aren't primarily for food. It comes in a lot of different forms, too, so while she might want to try others, chocolate and ice cream seems like a good combination to start with. It's efficient, in case this doesn't last as long as she'd like it to.

"And whatever goes best with that," she adds, though she's happy to defer to James' expertise on that front. He'd know better than she would.

There's a good chance, he thinks idly, that they're both going to be horrendously sick after this. If she only has a short amount of time to experience food in, James is going to concoct the most indulgent sundae he can possibly think of. A more responsible person would take into account the fact that her stomach probably isn't used to that kind of onslaught, but James is not that man.

Instead, he gets out two bowls and scoops the chocolate ice cream as requested before he moves about the kitchen, looking for things to add. It's ordinary Muggle ice cream, not the no-melt stuff that Honeydukes used to sell, so he moves quickly, not wanting her first taste to be more of a melted puddle.

James has always had something of a sweet tooth, so he manages to cut up some banana and dig up some wafers, covering the whole bowl in fudge sauce and sprinkles. He grins over at her once he's done, handing her a spoon like he's giving her something important.

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it," he instructs, sliding one of the bowls across to her. He leans against the counter to watch her, more interested in seeing her reaction than his own bowl for the moment. "Dig in."

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