Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J.K. Rowling. This fiction is purely for my own enjoyment and yours. No money is being made by me or anyone else from this fiction.
Authors Notes: Originally edited by Nyxie. Any mistakes now present would be thanks to any dicking about I did in this chapter on... oops! Some changes have been made from this chapter on. Just something to keep in mind going forward!
It had been two months since they disembarked from the New York harbour, boarding a ship bound for Britain.
Two months later and a semblance of normality had finally begun to return to Hermione and Newt's life. Two months... and the guilt of leaching Newt's kindness was tearing at the edges of Hermione's mind.
No Money. No Job. No place to call all my own. Hermione thinks with a sigh as she rereads the same portion of her book once more, unable to concentrate fully on the task at hand.
It's not all bad, though. She relents. Her eyes glance over to Newt, working on the final edit of his manuscript at the small wooden desk shoved against one of the living rooms walls. Strong shoulders clothed in a white button down, his exposed forearms flexing as he drags his quill across the parchment rolled out before him. Exposed skin, deliciously freckled and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Not bad at all.
Hermione's mouth runs dry. Shaking her head as she attempts to focus on the task at hand once more, quickly failing as the words on the page begins to swim. Intelligent brown eyes glaze over, as she gets lost in her thoughts. The dim, lighting within the room eases her trip down memory lane.
There was no one waiting to meet them upon their arrival in Britain. Hermione, in particular, had been convinced that upon their docking an entire task force of Aurors and Ministry officials would be there to bring her and Newt in for questioning. Hermione certainly knew how to make an impression, and now she had caught the attention of the entire wizarding world, again. All thanks to the incident with Grindelwald and their adventures in New York.
Hermione sighs again, smoothing her ink-stained fingers over the pages of the book held in her lap, hardly registering the way the aged pages seem to pull at her skin. The muffled noises from the creatures in the basement below break the silence that seems to permeate the room.
Small blessings. She thinks. A small smile pulls at her lips, taking in Newt's tall, firm frame and the way his flushed cheeks look in the light. His freckled hand runs through his hair as he mumbles quietly to himself, fully immersed in his work.
Neither Hermione nor Newt cared much for their new status as the current heroes of the Wizarding world. That combined with the Ministry's silence and lack of presence since their arrival was disquieting, to say the least. Every day, a foreboding feeling would tickle the edges of her very being, just waiting for the other shoe to drop, dreading the day a task force of Aurors would storm into Newt's apartment and take them both in.
An audible sigh escapes Hermione's lips. Poppy clacks quietly in her ear, hoping to soothe her frayed nerves. The corners of her lips twitch into a gentle smile, recalling the conversation the two had just as they were entering British waters.
"Listen," Newt begins, pausing as if unsure of how best to continue. "You need a place to live, and I have a small home—"
Instinctively, Hermione's lips curl downwards into a frown, turning to face the magizoologist with piercing, irritated brown eyes.
Newt steels himself; straightens his back, squaring his shoulders as he turns his soft gaze to Hermione's own. Brown and blue meeting in a flurry of unvoiced emotions, both parties eager to say their piece as Hermione opens her mouth, brows furrowed.
"Wait! Please." He begs quickly, stopping her before she can begin. "Before you get angry with me just listen please."
Newt had already become somewhat accustomed to her occasionally explosive temper in the past few days, now acutely aware of her lashing reaction to anything perceived as a slight or grave injustice. It was nearly impossible to put a halt to the ensuing argument that was sure to follow.
"Have you given any thought to what you would do once we returned to England? It's fine if you haven't. Merlin knows you've had more than enough to deal with since your fall through time and the chaos of New York. But have you actually given it any thought—" He pushes forward, hoping to nip the bud of the argument that he's sure is brewing within her chest.
Despite her growing irritation, his charms distracted her. The way his copper-tinted hair is teased by the wind gives him a devil-may-care sort of look. The messy bedhead reminds her so very much of Harry's unruly hair. Her stern expression softening at the thought of her friend, curious brown eyes taking note of his freckled cheeks stained with red. Blue eyes open as he looks at Hermione imploringly.
"A bit." Hermione relents with a soft, frustrated sigh. "No money, no job, no identity or easy way to establish my existence in this time thanks to our new found fame."
Newt nods, a relieved sigh falling from his parted lips, glad to have avoided being the one who brought up such issues.
"But, I don't need your charity Newt." She pauses, "I've already imposed upon your kindness for far too long." A frustrated look crosses Newt's face as the words fill the air around them, his mouth pulling down in a slight frown.
"It's no imposition-I-well, I like you—" Another pause as his brows furrow in deep thoughts. "I – Well, I enjoy your presence, and I don't believe I've ever implied that you're in need of charity. I'm well aware of how resourceful you can be when you put your mind to it. I have no shadow of a doubt that you could very easily make your way through this time all on your own if you so wished." He relents, blue eyes never leaving Hermione's own, his words hurried.
"You shouldn't have to, though." He murmurs, a small smile pulling at his lips. Reaching out, he rests a heavy hand lightly on Hermione's. The small touch warms her skin, sending a jolt of pleasure and contentment through her senses.
"You fell through time." His voice drops a few octaves, leaning closer to her ear. "You were given barely any time to adjust before being thrown into the middle of an international incident involving the greatest war criminal of our time. You—" He removes his hand and runs it through his already mussed hair. He sighs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Hermione's eyes follow its heated path.
"Have you even let yourself work through your emotions yet? Of those you left behind and the life you established in the future? You put up a good front, but these past few days… I can tell that you miss them. I'm here whenever you feel ready. I won't push you, but you need to confront the feelings I can tell are raging within you. You don't need any more stress added to your ever-growing pile of difficulties. I-I just wish to relieve you of some of the burdens—"
Hermione sighs, her irritation swept away by an ocean wave as she turns to the sea once more. Eyes focusing on its dark depths, she begrudgingly accepts his offer with the slightest of nods. Relief washes over his features at her acceptance. His hand reaches out for hers, together, they look out into the sea, lost in their thoughts.
So here they were, two months later after leaving New York, finally in Britain. Hermione still followed Newt around like a lost child searching for home, struggling to come to terms with all that had happened, struggling to accept the reality of her situation despite her powerful words spoken in New York.
The nightmares. Nightmares that had finally become less frequent in final few years before her fall through time had returned. Only now it wasn't just the war, Voldemort, Bellatrix and the faces of her loved ones from the future dead.
No. Now the macabre scenes had extra players. Grindelwald, Graves, Newt and their friends in New York. Grindelwald's laugh often played on a loop, mingling with the mad cackles of Bellatrix Lestrange, taunting her while she lay awake in bed before following her into her dreams. Hermione's own personal failures. The possibility of her trip through time causing irreparable damage to the timeline and making the future a far darker place plagues her. The 'what if's' driving her mad.
Failing to ignore her building worries, the nightmares persist, pushing her to ward and silence her room, lest Newt hear her screams in the middle of the night.
Although, Hermione never knew that her wards had occasionally flattered, alerting Newt to her unvoiced struggles.
The pair settled into a comfortable routine, barring the occasional nightmares that woke him. With Hermione's help, Newt worked on the finishing touches on his manuscript before sending it off for publication. Neither left their now shared home too often, both of them well aware of the need to keep a low profile for the time being.
It was peaceful, the life they shared. Both parties respected each others privacy and need to be alone at times. They continued to bond — their attraction, magic, and friendship growing stronger each and every day.
A routine was quickly developed. Each day filled with the simple comforts of their odd little life.
In the morning, Hermione and Newt would work in his basement, making small repairs to the enclosures and enchantments, feeding the creatures and looking to their needs. The basement, like his case housed a variety of magical beasts and creatures. Hermione shouldn't have been surprised by the fact that Newt had expanded upon his living space, putting more care and attention into the construction of his basement than the rest of his home.
They would share most of their meals, only eating alone whenever one was too immersed in thought, work, or a really good book.
Books. Hermione smiles; she strokes the pages of the book, strewn open across her lap.
The two shared a love for reading. A fact, Hermione was eternally grateful for. Arriving at Newt's home, his living room caught her attention. Though much of his home was sparsely furnished the living room held at least a touch of personality. It was directly attached to the entranceway, where an entire wall was filled with floor to ceiling bookcases, full of rows upon rows of hardcover novels, a mixture of Muggle and Wizard authors.
Throughout the day, they would work on Newt's manuscript, compiling his research and editing its contents. Each time, Newt passed her a completed entry she discreetly pulls out her copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them from her bottomless bag, comparing the first edition to her own, taking note of the creatures that he had yet to find and study.
Newt, however, was fully aware of her favoured pastime. A small amused smile gracing his lips when she would discreetly dig around in her bag, pulling out the future version of his book, which now had a false cover. It was adorable, believing she had him fooled. A curious twinkle with a touch of amusement filling her bright brown eyes as she notes the differences.
In the evening, they would talk, learning more about each other bit by bit. Letting the days lazily pass by within their safe, now shared home. Two lonely souls had finally met their match. Their days of being alone, busying themselves with trivial tasks to pass the monotonous time was now a thing of the past.
He didn't want her to leave. As much as her guilt was eating away at her senses, Hermione had no true desire to leave Newt, his case and the home he had opened to her here.
They were happy. Truly and blissfully happy, content to pass their days for the time being eager to avoid the curiosity and questions of the Wizarding World, just a little while longer.
However, their peaceful days were soon coming to an end.
Back in the loud city of New York on the bustling Lower East side, street market stalls line the street with busy people, horses, and carriages.
A small bakery stands out amongst the crowd. Crowds of people throng outside the dainty little shop, painted with the name: Kowalski. People peer with interest into the shop's windows, and happy customers leave, their arms laden with baked goods.
I don't want her to leave. Newt leans back into his chair; he stretches to relieve the tension between his shoulders. Sad blue eyes falling on Hermione's form, sitting curled up in a plush brown chair a few feet away.
Beautiful and terrifyingly brilliant. Her wild hair tamed into a messy bun, her legs covered with a pair of loose, high-waist, trousers, pulled up onto the chair, tight against her body. Her ink-stained fingers brushing against the pages of her book with a far off look in her eyes.
Newt stands, barefoot, his quiet footfalls softly thudding against the hardwood floor, slowly making his way across the room. Hermione looks up.
He stops in front of a radio, hidden within a darkened corner. He turns the knobs; a slow jazzy number replaces the comfortable silence that surrounded them.
Every day, he learns more and more about the young woman he shares his home with. Every day, she shares a little more about herself with him.
Small things: favourite colour, food, and subjects.
Little bits of her past: her childhood in the muggle world, their technological advances in her time and her first bout of accidental magic.
In return, he shares pieces of himself with her.
However… many things are left unsaid. Her Hogwarts years, friends and family were touchy subjects most of the time. The young woman clamming up and shutting down every time he accidentally brushes against these trigger topics.
Likewise, there were topics that Newt himself is reluctant to discuss, such as his own years at Hogwarts, his friends and on occasion his family.
There is an unspoken agreement that two were extremely forbidden: The name Lestrange and the kiss they shared in New York.
Leta Lestrange the name and his past with her had entered Newt's mind more than he would have liked to admit during these past two months. Yet still Newt didn't bring it up to Hermione, in all honesty he hadn't a clue how to broach the subject. It was just one of those things that had been left unsaid.
So yes, the decision to avoid speaking of Lestrange was understandable, despite not knowing the reasoning, however, they hit a dead end with the second, and it was beginning to grate on their nerves.
Who knew that one little kiss could cause so much tension and secrecy in their, otherwise, steadily developing relationship.
How long will we continue to dance around the topic? Newt turns to Hermione, a determined glint in his eyes. He beams, offering a hand.
She closes her book with a snap, laughing. Jumping off the chair and approaching the man, slipping her fingers into his proffered hand.
Within the small, inviting bakery the doorbell rings, signalling the entrance of a new customer.
A variety of pastries and bread cover the counter, all moulded into fanciful little shapes — a Demiguise, Niffler, and Erumpent are among them.
Jacob serves with a bright smile stretching across his face, his shop full to the brim with customers.
"Where do you get your ideas from, Mr. Kowalski?" A woman asks, examining the little pastries.
"I don't know, I don't know - they just come!" He replies with a short laugh, handing over her pastries.
"Here you go - don't forget this - enjoy." Jacob grins, then calls over one of his bakery assistants, handing him a pair of keys.
"Hey, Henry - storage, all right? Thanks, pal."
The bell chimes again.
Jacob looks up, thunderstruck: It's Queenie. They stare at each other. Queenie beams, radiantly. Jacob, quizzical and totally enchanted, touches his neck - a flicker of memory.
He smiles back.
Hermione giggles at the bashful yet shy expression on Newt's face. Wand slipping into her free hand, she waves it over her body. Her 20s style clothing ripples away, in its place is the exact same flapper dress Queenie transfigured for her in New York.
Newt's eyes trail up her body, appreciative. He summons his bowtie from the other room, securing it in place with a flourish before dropping her hand and bowing. He straightens his back, palm outstretched once more.
A soft chuckle slips from her lips at the absurdity of it all, earning herself an amused smile from him in return.
"May I have this dance?" He asks; growing impatient, he wiggles his fingers a little.
"You may." Her hand slips into his, warmth sparks into life as they touch. She squeaks when he suddenly pulls her flush against his body, Hermione's skin heating, a faint blush colouring her cheeks.
They sway to the crooning voice of the female singer, a mixture of brown and blue as their eyes meet, faces so very close.
Hermione's lips fall into a frown, eyes pulling tight, teeming with remembrance.
Harry. Whispers her mind. Smoky wisps of memories gathering together, taking form within her mind. Her senses assaulted by the memories of the Horcrux hunt, when she and Harry were left alone.
Newt notices her melancholy; brows furrowing, tightening his arms around her, in hopes to anchor her to the present.
"I'm not Queenie." He whispers, mouth close to her ear, nose nuzzling into her hair, his warm breath causing a shiver to run down her spine.
"W-What?" Hermione squeaks, confused as she struggles through the dense fog of her memories. She tries to pull back, but Newt's strong hand holds her in place, pressed firmly but gently at the base of her neck.
"I'm not a Legilimens. I can see when you lose yourself in the past, but I don't know why. I won't know a thing unless you tell me." He explains; blue eyes searching deep into hers, he dares not speak louder than a whisper, pleading with her to share this with him.
"It's nothing," Hermione answers, avoiding his piercing gaze by looking away.
"Please." Hermione's breath hitches, she looks up at Newt beneath her lashes. "Tell me something, anything."
Newt stares hopefully as Hermione weighs the options.
She abruptly pulls away. A pained whimper escaping Newt at the loss of contact. Hermione walks across the room, burying her arm, elbow deep into her black leather bag.
He hears things knocking against one another. With a triumphant bark, Hermione pulls out a small silvery-blue sphere from her bag. She closes the distance between them quickly, standing in front of him with uncertainty.
"I—" She pauses, as her voice cracks, tears rim her eyes as she struggles to word her thoughts. "I can show you. I-If you'd like?"
Newts brilliant blue eyes see how she bites down hard on the tender flesh of her bottom lip. His features soften, aware of the shimmering tears collecting in the corners of her eyes.
Speechless and baffled, he nods.
With a shaky breath, she presses a small button on the orb. The globe begins to glow, soft as candlelight before materializing a holographic screen. She turns a knob, brown eyes focused on the mini screen as glimpses of her memories flash by, their image bathed in a blue tint.
Newt's eyes narrow, observing each memory that flashes past. Many are bright and cheerful snapshots of what looks like a young Hermione with various people quickly rushing by. However, most of her memories are of an older couple that she shares a resemblance.
Her parents. He concludes.
A young boy with black, messy hair, glasses and the brightest pair of green eyes Newt's ever seen, ages throughout the memories.
There's another boy with fiery-red hair too.
So many people he's never seen and likely won't for decades yet, but who obviously meant the world to the mysterious woman before him.
The memories then stop, landing on a single scene tinted darker than the rest.
The image clears and comes into focus. It's a young Hermione, around 17 or 18 standing next to a familiar dark haired boy, present in many of the previous memories. They're standing in an earthy-brown tent, bathed in the dim light from the lanterns on the wall.
"It… Well, this memory — It was a sliver of light in the darkest of times." She stutters, biting down on her lip once more, her fingers shaking. Hermione waves her wand, and immediately silence entombs them. Fingers fumbling, she presses the button, and the memory begins to play out on the blue-tinged screen.
Newt's gapes in wonder, eyes attentive and awed. Memory Hermione sits on a short set of steps that appear to lead to a small sleeping area. The dim lantern bathes her tanned face in a yellowish glow. Her hair wild and greasy, tamed into a loose ponytail that hangs at the base of her neck, her legs pulled tight to her chest, wearing a pair of pants that look like a second skin with a loose plaid shirt. Sad brown eyes focused on the small radio to her side.
"Harry." She clarifies, identifying the dark haired boy approaching. She smiles at the sight of him.
The young man — Harry crosses the room, looking just as dirty and worn down as Hermione. He sits in a foldable chair, facing his friend.
The radio crackles as a song fills the room around them in the present. It's like nothing he's ever heard before. The lyrics and music seem to overflow with emotion as he focuses on the two young people.
Harry looks to Hermione, hands folded in his lap. He's exhausted, dirty and suffering from sleep deprivation. He tries to focus on his friend.
Hermione stares at the radio, back hunched, arms wrapped tight around her legs.
Taking in her state of mind, he slowly makes his way across the room. He stands directly in front of her. Finally noticing him, she looks up; her eyes filled with unshed tears, a sense of defeat plain as day on her young, un-scarred face. Harry shuffles on the spot under her gaze; clearing his throat, gathering his courage, he offers her a hand.
Confused, Hermione swallows back the frog in her throat, blinking away her tears and accepts his hand.
"We - our friend had left us. We were on the run, hiding out in a tent and Ron..." She chokes, "he abandoned us. Harry and I - we had to bear the burden alone - the locket. It was vile." She stumbles, struggling to explain the context to him.
Anger batters against Newt's senses when she stumbles over the name. Ron. Despite not knowing who Ron is, Newt feels furious by his actions. But he reminds himself that this boy has yet to be born and has yet to thrust his share of the burden upon his friends.
Shaking his head, he chases away his anger and turns his attention back to the memory.
Harry reaches around her neck, fingers easily locating the clasp of the necklace as he pulls the locket from its place. His brilliant green eyes, filled with purpose, gaze unwavering into her brown.
Throwing it to the side, the heavy locket hits the wall with a clank. Hermione breathes a little easier as the tension slips away from her body.
Taking her hand, Harry walks them to the centre of the room. With a strained playful smile, they dance to the music; knuckles white, eyes fixed upon one another.
He spins her. She's smiling more and more as they gain more confidence in their unscripted dance, along with tempo. Her eyes still teary but no longer in sadness.
Newt's heartbeat quickens at the emotional scene.
There was no romance there, but it was clear that there was more than the eye can see. The bond between Harry and Hermione was deeper than that — their silly dance moves tainted with weariness speak of a bond forged through adversity and need. A friendship that will never become anything more than platonic, but stand firmly against everything the world throws their way. Those smiles, laughter, silly little dance — a comfort in this dark time.
A sliver of light in the darkest of times. Newt's lips purse thin. It's just like she said.
The pair take turns spinning one another, bright smiles, tinged with melancholy; laughter freely spilling from their lips.
A muffled sob startles Newt, his eyes widen as he looks to Hermione.
Tears are running freely down her face, shoulders quaking as her emotions burst through the dam. She tries to stem the cascade of tears down her cheeks with a forced smile; the memory shaking along with her.
The music swells, their movements quicker and joyous. The pair loses themselves in this playful dance. Harry and Hermione hold each other close, breathing heavily, resting their chins on one anothers shoulders as they continue to rock each other to the music. Hermione fists the back of Harry's shirt while he wraps his arm tighter around her waist, seeking comfort in the others embrace.
As the music fades out, the pair pulls apart, standing a minute distance apart. Their eyes meet one final time, before the memory wanes.
The moment the memory vanishes; Newt closes the distance between them with his long legs, gently prying the dormant orb from her hand. He tosses it onto the chair then pulls the sobbing woman into his arms. One arm snaking around her waist, another burying itself into her hair, he hugs her. He simply holds her, paying no mind to her tears soaking his shirt.
He tries to comfort her after reliving such an emotional memory, he blinks furiously as tears begin to sting the corners of his eyes, as a wave of empathy crashes into him.
"I'm sorry—" He whispers, choking with emotions.
He buries his nose deeper into her curls, pulling a deep, shaking breath into his burning lungs. His lips brush a hair away from her ear, warm breaths caressing her skin. Newt struggles to find the words, any words to convey his feelings. He wishes he could take away every single teardrop, quivering lips, and the shake in her shoulders as her body heaves in sobs. But there are just some things magic can't do.
"What for?" She asks with a sobbing laugh, arms tightening around his form.
Newt pulls away a little, meeting her tear filled gaze with a tender look of his own. He cradles her tear-stained cheek in his hand, wiping away the incoming tears with his thumb.
"You miss him — You miss all of them." He says laying a soft, adoring kiss on her temple.
"I-I really do." She stammers; breathing laboriously, more tears gushing down her face. Newt pulls back, giving her another soft smile, his hand rubbing small circles into her back.
"You can tell me about them, about him." Newt murmurs into her ear. "If you'd like."
Her brows furrow, lips quivering as she seems to debate his words.
"I – Okay. Yes." She relents, a teary smile filling her face. "I'll tell you. What do you want to know?"