"Twenty years?" Newt repeats, shaking his head in disbelief. Back home, from what he remembers of the little Muggle history he knows, he recalls that the Civil War hadn't endured for so long. That it has in this woman's world, with help from his own government, is rather bleak. "I'm sorry," he offers, unsure of what else to say. "That sounds...truly awful."

Both of his eyebrows arch at that.

"That...rather seems like that would slow things down considerably," he agrees.

"Wands are how most people perform magic, where I come from," he explains. "Though the especially skilled don't require them, wands help channel and focus our magical energy." He sighs, shoulders sagging a bit. "It's temperamental. Sometimes it works. Other times, it backfires. Sometimes it does nothing at all, or just emits useless sparks. And every time I use a spell, I feel tired after, much more than I should be, even for simple spells."