Quidditch League-

Falmouth Falcons, Captain: Must feature a character born in February (Arthur, Luna, or Newt)

Hogwarts, Assignment 1, Archeology task 3: Write about planning for the future

Word Count: 1347

Newt glances up when he hears the door open. He expects to see Rolf or Luna, but, instead, he is greeted by red hair and a crooked grin. The years have been kind to Charlie Weasley. Though his freckled face has given way to lines and hints of wrinkles, he still has a youthful glow about him.

"Ah," Newt says, sitting up. It's a great effort, and his breathing quickly becomes pained and unsteady, but he tries his best to smile through it. "Come to visit an old man on his deathbed?"

Charlie's grin fades at that. He swallows dryly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he shakes his head. "You aren't dying, old friend," he says with such conviction that Newt almost believes him.

It isn't as though he is afraid of dying. Letting go and giving in to that big sleep is difficult, but it's becoming easier to accept as the days pass. He has lived a full life, and he has seen and done so many wonderful things. He knows that he will be able to leave this world with few regrets.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner," Charlie continues, moving closer and taking a seat in the chair next to his bed.

Newt has lost track of exactly how many people have sat in that old, worn-out oak chair over the past few weeks—friends, family, acquaintances, strangers who think they're important enough to intrude on a dying man's final moments of peace to tell him how very extraordinary his books are and how he has changed their lives. Although it is nice to know that he has touched so many lives, it has been so draining. He only has so much energy left, and the constant influx of visitors has left him more tired than old age ever could.

"Things have been busy at the sanctuary." The younger man pushes a hand through his shaggy, fiery red hair. "The Belgian Ministry intercepted a dozen Longhorn eggs being sold at an underground market. Zoelie has been busy playing mother dragon to them in the hatchery."

Somehow, Newt doesn't mind it when Charlie talks. So many people just want to talk about him, about the things that he's done. Newt doesn't care about that. He's already well aware of his accomplishments—things done out of passion, not out a need for glory and notoriety—and doesn't need to hear about them now.

But Charlie isn't like that. He reminds Newt so much of his younger self— so alive and full of hope and with a thirst for knowledge and discovery. Newt had never expected to develop such a deep camaraderie with the other man when the young wizard had shown up to a book signing with a battered first edition of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them clutched in his trembling hands, some thirty or so years earlier.

A chuckle escapes his lips. It's so strange how life never seems to go as planned.

"Is something funny?" Charlie asks, his brows knitting together as he studies Newt.

"Do you remember how we met?"

Charlie nods, leaning back so that the chair balances precariously on its back legs. "The book signing," he answers. "You learned my name and acted like I was something special."

"Because you are something special," Newt confirms. "I've known so many people in my life, dear boy, but I've never known anyone with your passion. Ah, in another life, we might have been brothers. Will you bring me my suitcase?"

"Your… suitcase? Are you planning a holiday?" Charlie teases as he climbs to his feet and makes his way over to Newt's bag.

"Yes. A rather permanent one, I'm afraid," Newt says, his thin, chapped lips twisting into a wry smile.

"That's not funny." Charlie sets the case on the edge of the bed.

Newt brushes an almost skeletal hand over the battered case. "No," he murmurs. "I suppose most people wouldn't see the humor."

His finger joints ache as he frees the latch and allows it to open. There is no great fanfare. The magic has long since faded, and it is little more than an ordinary suitcase. Newt can still remember those wild, wonderful days of his youth when he held so many extraordinary creatures inside, but those days are gone now. The only thing inside the case is a battered journal, bound in tattered, burgundy leather.

Newt plucks it from the case, his thin lips twisting into a fond smile. "There were some things about dragons that didn't make it into my book, you know," he says, opening the journal and tracing a finger over the thin, yellowing pages within. "Always said I would publish a separate book about them." He chuckles, shaking his head and closing the journal again. "Never got around to it. There was always so much to do."

That, he realizes, is his greatest regret in life. It doesn't matter that he's traveled the world, found love, had a family, and has done more than most can even dream of. Some days, it had been too much. There are still so many things he has left undone.

But there's no need to dwell on such things now. He looks up, offering Charlie a weak smile. Maybe there isn't much time left for him, but it doesn't have to be the end. His legacy can still live on in the young man standing before him.

"See that something comes of it," Newt says. "Dragons are still so misunderstood. I think you know that better than anyone."

"You can still publish it." Charlie's hopeful tone and bright smile are almost heartbreaking. "And when you do, you'll have to bring me a copy to the dragon sanctuary. You know, you still need to see the new cafe they've put in. They make this amazing cinnamon coffee—"

"Charlie…"

"—that'll knock your socks off!" Charlie continues, ignoring Newt's attempted interruption. "Maybe next spring? Great coffee weather, don't you think?"

"Charlie," Newt repeats, putting as much force into the word as he can.

Charlie's smile fades. He swallows dryly, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"I'm dying," Newt says. "I appreciate that you're trying to distract me by making plans for the future, but please… I am at peace, dear friend. I am not afraid to die."

Charlie exhales deeply and pulls the chair closer. He sits down, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "That doesn't make it easier on the people you're leaving behind," he says.

"No. I suppose it doesn't."

There's a long stretch of silence that seems to go on for an eternity. Charlie's eyes remain warily fixed upon the old journal as though it might sprout fangs and bite him. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he reaches out and takes it. Newt watches him flip through the pages, unable to resist an amused grin as Charlie's jaw drops slightly.

"This…" Charlie turns the page, his eyes wide as he scans through Newt's notes and drawings. "This is amazing."

"Let the world see it," Newt instructs. "That is all I ask, and I can't think of anyone better to see that it gets done."

"I won't let you down."

Newt leans back, content. "I know you won't." He stretches, wincing at the way his old bones seem to rub together. "Now, I hate to cut this short, but I need rest."

Charlie stands, almost hesitantly. For several moments, he just stares at Newt, mouth slightly open as though he has something to say. Instead, he just nods. "Sleep well," he says with a smile.

"I shall do my best."

And then he's gone, and Newt can finally break. Now, he doesn't have to ignore the pain that tears through every nerve within his body. He sits up again, leaning forward and groaning. Tears sting his eyes, and he lets them fall silently.

He doesn't have much longer. Each day brings him one step closer to that final, eternal sleep.

Now, he is ready to embrace it. His legacy is in Charlie's hands, and he knows it is safe.