Re: cottage; ren & adrian
Shame absolutely rang a bell, and that feeling of familiarity went far, far back. The strongest memories were of after leaving school, the terror of being found, the shame, feeling like a coward for leaving his friend behind. Yet some of it was older, deeper, tugging on a thread he never liked to follow. It lead into an empty hole in his memory. Or a well, perhaps - there might be something at the bottom, but he couldn't bring himself to jump.
The Obscurus had never felt like his friend. Sue could control it, but maybe that was the wrong approach. Maybe Ren was right. "Well," he said, cautiously, "It is part of me. I've had to learn that the parts I don't like...they still exist, as little as I like them, and coming to accept that has helped." He resisted the urge to hug his own chest like a twelve-year old, lacing his fingers together behind his back instead. "It does usually act to protect me, I think. Physically, or emotionally." When things had ended with Newt; when he was losing his mind from another nightmare in town; when he was most afraid.
He watched Ren. He had seen him use magic before, but he still took a quiet pleasure in watching him wield it with such skill. There was something strangely calming about it. "That's true." He hadn't thought about that, really. None of these objects were real - everything around them was magical. Manipulating them should be a simple matter of dipping into that substance and rippling it, like a pond. The rock settled neatly into the hole it had left when he had shorn it from the ground, neat as a key in a lock.
He locked eyes with Ren. What did he want to do? Suddenly he felt like the kid at the back of the class being asked a question on something he hadn't studied. "Lift it," he said. "Just...hold it." Without throwing it or crushing it. Something neutral.
So he tried again. It was the only thing to do. He changed the picture in his mind. The rock wasn't being lifted by an arm, but it was lifting itself. It was being pushed from the ground on a gout of magic, the same stuff it was made of, the soil and the grass they stood on was made of.
He released his hands from behind his back. His fingers twitched, and the rock trembled, then began to separate from the ground again. A few inches, then a few more - and underneath it was a roiling gray mist, almost invisible, lifting it like a cloud.