Newt grinned at the item in his hand. It was a piece of paper, nothing more; but to him, it felt like a collection of his very favourite creatures rested in the palm of his hand.
It was a postcard. Just a postcard. But all the same, he felt as though he'd been given a gift, because the post card was from her.
When she'd written it, she figured he would receive it, read it and then dispose of it. She didn't know it would end up on his mantle piece, framed alongside all the other items that reminded him of her.
Newt realised he needed to find where the nearest portkey was; he had to see her. He had to be near her. Even thinking of her made his heart fill with an aching warmth.
He looked down at the postcard once more, smirked, and then pocketed it safely. He knew he would get to see her again, and that made the entire journey, the dangers and the anxiety, very much worth it.
