#need to do a tiny bit of editing for geographic and magical clarity but it’s here for now!

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Chapter One of Aimez-vous les uns les autres (Love One Another) posted today, sequel to Far Away from Temple After Sunset

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve and the first night of Hanukkah when Newt and Tina are injured in an action against Grindelwald, whereafter they are evacuated with Theseus & co. by the Magical Resistance to a small church in rural France. Dealing with curse-exhaustion, landmine injuries, and travel through Nazi- and Grindelwald-occupied regions isn’t how either of them expected to spend the holidays, but—-in the big scheme of things—-there were, arguably, worse ways to finish 1940… In the end, the experience brings them closer together and—-back in England—-holidays with their families give them paradoxical hope for shared peace in the years to come. (Written for @afrenchaugurey!)

Excerpt (opening scene):

Newt had woken up in an extraordinary number of incredibly strange places in his life, but—for him—coming to on top of a hay bale in the back of a Muggle lorry was really maybe the strangest.

In fact, if he weren’t so groggy, he certainly would have done more than a double-take to find his injured leg elevated on the thighs of what appeared to be an actual Christian pastor, sitting on the haystack directly beside him. Newt moved his arm to scratch at his nose then, only to fuzzily realise he’d been warmly tucked into what was definitely said pastor’s clerical robes, so he ultimately only succeeded in hitting himself in the face with its massive sleeves...

The pastor had looked up at him by then to offer a smile, but Newt’s mind still wasn’t up to its normal speed—though his heart felt like it was pounding doubletime—so he broke the gaze as fast as he could, casting about for his brother, who must have heard the shift of his head because—

“Merlin’s beard!” — A voice from across and behind him in the truck, and then Theseus had knelt on the dusty boards beside him, fingers instantly feeling at his wrist and neck for pulse and pressure, before pulling back to balance on his haunches, brows furrowed. “You are drugged to the gills, little brother... How in Gamp’s good name are you awake?” [1]

As the truck bounced over a particularly deep pothole, Newt couldn’t help throwing the robe’s sleeve over his eyes to hide his discomfort. Beside him, he could hear Theseus saved from falling on his rump thanks to the soft thump of one of the maquisards’ boots at his back.

“Humans don’t have gills,” he finally murmured through gritted teeth. “And to answer your question, I’ve developed a rather unfortunate resistance to a number of common substances, that’s why I’m awake…” A beat and a frown. “Where’s Tina?”

“You’re on her, Newt.”

He uncovered his face, tilting his head back to see what he was pillowed on, only to be met with the gentle dip at the top of his wife’s thighs; the scratch of her warm, wool coat; the subtle scent of her perfume that always reminded him of camping for pleasure (not work) in Puzzlewood Forest… [2]

He twisted back further for a better look (and he caught a glimpse of her, too—head low and pillowed on Auror Voorhees’ shoulder, deeply asleep), but Theseus put a hand on his chest to urge him back down before he could better assess her.

“Stop moving. Macmillan’s stability spells on your leg are already being tested by these roads...”

Newt relaxed reluctantly into the dry hay, and Theseus thoughtfully transfigured a handkerchief into a towel to tuck beneath his neck when he noticed him grimace at the texture.

“Look,” he reassured, “she’s fine — just utterly exhausted. She’ll be good as new with a few cautionary countercurses and a couple days’ rest. And we hope to be able to say the same for you soon.”

“So - where are we going then?” Newt countered with quiet acceptance, glancing from the pastor to Theseus and back again. “And - and what is he doing here?”

“Don’t worry,” Theseus reassured glibly. “He’s a squib.”