all_the_gifts | (no subject)

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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"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."