"Was that you speaking?"
Newt's cheeks were flushed with color.
"It's me. Not a ghost or anything," the black cat replied.
"You're a Kneazle?"
Newt dropped his shyness around people completely, becoming much more relaxed and focused.
"...Yes."
The black cat hesitated. He was a Kneazle, of course—at least part of the time.
"That's truly fascinating," Newt marveled, a hint of excitement in his voice. "If you wouldn't mind answering... where is this place?"
"The world behind the Veil. My own personal borderland," the black cat said.
"So, lovely Bastet, are you here to guide me into death, to reunite me with my family?"
Newt looked momentarily lost in thought.
As a knowledgeable wizard, he naturally knew of the borderland's existence—the world after death, the starting point of the next great adventure.
And Bastet was the cat goddess of war and family in Egyptian mythology. Her nature was dual: both gentle and domestic, yet brave and warlike.
"No," the black cat shook its head in a very human-like manner.
"Then, I suppose I'm a guest..."
Newt turned his head, gazing into the distance. All sorts of bizarre, floating mist clusters drifted around, threatening to burrow into a wizard's mind if he wasn't careful.
The black cat seemed adept at handling these mist balls, casually sweeping away one that drifted too close with its tail.
"The wandering souls... are they real?" Newt asked cautiously.
"Maybe. If a soul neither wishes to leave nor resists death, you might see them here," the black cat said, its ears twitching as if deep in thought.
"Leta Lestrange... have you seen her?"
Newt wore an expression the black cat couldn't quite read.
"I haven't. Wandering souls appear just before dawn. By then, I've usually left."
The black cat looked out into the distance. Right now, it was daytime here, not yet night.
"So, is there a chance for me to see her again?" Newt asked.
"That would take some time... and if you stay here too long, you'll lose yourself," the black cat said, its whiskers twitching slightly.
"I understand, lovely Bastet. But if I wanted to do that, what would it cost me?"
Newt's eyes crinkled into crescents, as if holding a light within them.
He always found his answers by observing magical creatures. The black cat seemed to possess a kind of great power he couldn't imagine—power enough to make this happen.
"You miss her very much?"
The black cat didn't understand. He didn't know who this person was.
"We do," Newt said, looking a bit distant.
It had taken him a long time to admit that he was the first person to capture Gellert Grindelwald.
Before that, like everyone else who suffered through grief, he endured the pain brought by the war.
Leta Lestrange had been his best friend in childhood. Even now, a framed photo of her sat permanently in the work shed inside his magical suitcase.
He would never forget 1927. Paris, France. Père Lachaise Cemetery.
By then, Leta Lestrange had become Theseus's fiancée. That same year, Leta sacrificed herself at Gellert Grindelwald's rally in Paris. She used a powerful spell to destroy Grindelwald's skull-hookah, distracting him so Newt and Theseus could escape. Leta herself was consumed by Grindelwald's fire.
It was her death that finally steeled their resolve to fight to the end against the terrorist who ended her life.
"She was my friend, and Theseus's fiancée. She died saving people, died in the war..."
"And war only brings despair, tearing apart every family that should have been happy."
Bastet, symbol of war and family—do you understand?
Newt didn't say that last part out loud, just explaining slowly.
He knew this was a dream, and so within the dream, he didn't fully bury his emotions.
He was lost, hurt. The polite smile on his lips froze, then, as if unable to bear the weight, slowly and irrevocably drooped.
Suddenly, he felt a weight on his shoulder. It was the black cat. It had jumped up and was staring at him with emerald green eyes.
"I'll do my best... to stay a little longer," the black cat said.
And Newt thought, perhaps even gods have feelings.
"What do I need to give in return?" Newt asked softly, hands behind his back.
"Some knowledge."
The black cat grabbed its own tail to stop it from swishing around.
"Gladly."
Newt's mouth curved up slowly into a smile.
Sometimes Newt thought gods could be interesting, even though he wasn't originally a believer—and of course, he still wasn't. He just viewed today's dream as a powerful form of magic. Since this magic was obviously magnificent and rare, it wouldn't be surprising if the being casting it was mistaken for a god.
Besides, he had read Tales of Dreams and knew that only the legendary Merlin could achieve such a feat.
And now that such a miracle had descended upon him, he felt a bit dazed.
Especially since this was a cat trying to learn spatial magic. This... was just too amusing.
Various mist clusters drifted to and fro in the clean, bright, white space.
A wizard's magic failed abruptly here. Only wisdom could manifest through the mist clusters separating from their minds.
The black cat's understanding of this was: knowledge and desire clearly symbolized a wizard's rationality and emotion—two concepts often represented in magic and faith.
So, the rules of the borderland were to manifest the components of a wizard's magic. And a wizard's magic, as explained in Godelot's Magick Moste Evile, resided within the wizard's soul.
That was why wizards became ghosts or could enter the world behind the Veil—because magic existed within their souls.
Only when magic was completely stripped away—meaning the soul had forgotten emotion and wisdom—would one become lost, or in other words, pass on.
These were the rules of the borderland.
The black cat seemed to have an epiphany. The look of deep concentration on its face made the corners of Newt's mouth twitch uncontrollably upward.
Finally, the fog began to rise.
The black cat now knew how to use the Severing Charm; all that was left was practice.
He had also learned the Snowstorm Charm, a type of atmospheric spell. So, he planned to create a snowy field inside the Book of Wizards. Or maybe a snowy mountain?
If he could lift a mountain, that is...
"Goodbye, Mr. Scamander."
The black cat flicked its tail in farewell.
"I'm willing to return here anytime. Though, I hope it will be by your invitation."
Newt smiled.
The black cat's whiskers twitched; clearly, it understood the joke.
"Wizards have long lives," the black cat said.
Mr. Scamander would be alive until at least 2017. After all, he was writing the foreword for the new edition of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them back then.
---
Ilvermorny Original Cottage
The quill woke up earlier than Sean. It scribbled quickly across the page:
[Five minutes. Remarkable progress.]