Written for: QLFC, Round six

Falmouth Falcons, Seeker

Mandatory: Month by Month (You must choose a character born in that month to write about from the list provided next to your team's chosen month) February: Arthur Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Newton Scamander.

Word count (without AN): 1433

Don't Turn Back

The dragon fascinated Newt Scamander simply because it didn't belong there. Sure, it wasn't uncommon for dragons to migrate, but Newt didn't expect to see a Swedish Short-Snout perched on the edge of a cliff, some ways below Newt, in the mountain range of…

Come to think of it, Newt didn't know where he was. He figured he was somewhere in the middle of Scotland, as he knew he hadn't reached England, nor had he reached the sea; but, where exactly in Scotland, Newt had no idea. Not that it mattered, as he really didn't mind the idea of being completely lost in nature. There was nothing left for him back around people, specifically at Hogwarts, and he couldn't bring himself to go home—not after everything that had happened. Not yet, maybe not ever.

His eyes flickered from the dragon below him to the way he had come from. He had just summited a mountain, one of the many nearby, but it didn't feel like an accomplishment; none of the mountains he had climbed felt like anything at all. Everything was grey, and dull, and bleak.

Well, everything except for the Swedish Short-Snout.

The dragon, identifiable as a male by his small form despite appearing to be fully grown, was absolutely breathtaking. The sun reflected off of his silvery-blue scales, giving him an almost ethereal glow. Newt was captivated.

He was curious, as well; he needed to get closer. Having read about dragons extensively, he had always longed to see one up close, and this was his chance. After muttering a quick spell, to rid himself of the horrible stench that must've accumulated on him within the last couple of days, he stuck his wand between his teeth and started the perilous descent from the top of the mountain. His eyes only left the dragon to confirm his footing or to look for handholds.

The dragon didn't notice Newt until he was roughly fifty meters away, which honestly surprised Newt. He was dirty and probably still stunk, despite the quick cleansing spell he had cast. He should have been noticed nearly as soon as he had started down the mountain, but the dragon must not have viewed him as a threat.

Rightfully so. Newt looked anything other than imposing. He barely even looked his sixteen years, as thin and frail as he was, and he hadn't bothered to clean or mend his torn robes and school uniform. He looked as if he had been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs, so it was no wonder the dragon hadn't found him to be dangerous; Newt hardly seemed physically capable of hurting a Bowtruckle, even if he wanted to, much less a beast capable of ripping him to shreds.

Even the Ministry of Magic had deemed him not a threat. After his expulsion from Hogwarts, they had let him keep his wand, and he had been performing underaged acts of magic ever since. There hadn't been a peep from the Ministry, and Newt doubted there would be, unless he started doing magic in front of Muggles.

As his eyes made contact with the large, piercing gaze of the dragon, he slowly set down his most prized possession, his only real possession apart from his wand: a shoulder bag full of food held under stasis charms. The bag had been a parting gift from Leta Lestrange—an apology of sorts, he guessed, for allowing him to take the punishment that should've been hers. Between rationing the food from the bag, and picking the safe berries and roots of the land, Newt had managed to survive for a decent amount of time.

Still moving at the speed of a Flobberworm, Newt pulled the wand out of his mouth and set it atop the bag. He had a feeling that he wouldn't need either of his possessions anymore.

As soon as Newt straightened up again, the dragon began to slowly move forward, each of his muscles seeming to strain against themselves, rippling under silvery scales. Newt found himself enthralled with each step the dragon took, trying to take in every single detail that he could.

It wasn't very long at all before Newt could feel the warmth emanating from the dragon. Small amounts of smoke curled from his nostrils, carried a short distance by the wind towards the wizard, tickling his skin.

When the dragon was close enough, Newt raised his hand, palm facing out. His arm was shaking slightly, and anyone would've guessed it was from nerves—from the overwhelming fear that comes from being so close to something so dangerous. But, Newt wasn't afraid. He had come to accept whatever might happen and the quiver was simply from him being exhausted.

It burned when the dragon nuzzled Newt's hand with his snout. Newt could smell his own flesh singeing, but he couldn't move. He couldn't bring himself to move, not when the beast had so willingly come near him. No, he endured the pain, his expression one of almost peace.

A small smile quirked at Newt's lips. "You are beautiful," he murmured softly, his shoulders as squared and straight as they had ever been. The dragon snorted, enveloping Newt's hand and arm in smoke. Newt's smile grew. Somehow, he was in his element.

"Leta," he started, his voice a little wobbly. "Leta was beautiful too."

It took him a long moment of the dragon still nuzzling his burning hand to realize his mistake. "Is," he corrected, closing his eyes and leaning his head forward to rest on the back of his outstretched hand. "She still is beautiful."

He supposed he was right on both accounts. Sure, her physical beauty was likely to not have changed in the last couple of weeks since he had last seen her, but it seemed like every memory he had of her was tainted. Instead of her beautiful smile, welcoming him with open arms every school year, he saw the emptiness in her eyes as she allowed Newt to take responsibilities for her actions. When he wanted to remember the times they had snuck into the kitchen together to say hello to the house-elves, all he could see was the grimace on her lips as she pushed a bag full of food at him and showed her true colors.

"I appreciate what you did for me, Newt," she had said, her voice softer than the fluttering wings of a fairy, "but… you can't take it back. Not without—"

Her words had cut off, but Newt knew exactly what she had meant. He couldn't take it back without ruining her and her reputation. She would become a social outcast, where Newt already was one.

Newt averted his eyes, but accepted the bag that she had handed him, knowing that this would probably be the last time he would see her, his beautiful Leta.

As he walked away, his steps faltered. He was about to take one last look at her, no matter how painful it might be, but then he heard her voice.

"Don't turn back, Newt. Our time is over."

The dragon made another sound, an almost pitiful noise coming from the back of its throat, and it snapped Newt out of his memory. He was crying, still hunched over, but the tears weren't from the burning pain in his hand, but more from the emptiness in his chest.

A roar echoed through the mountains, deep and guttural, the sound characteristic of a female Hebridean Black, angry with the knowledge of trespassers on her territory.

Before Newt really could process what happened, his dragon spun around, his thick tail ramming into Newt's side, sending the wizard flying off the edge of the cliff.

Another loud, piercing noise sounded in the air around Newt, and he almost mistook it for his own scream, but when he opened his eyes, his ragged clothes rushing in the wind around him, he saw the Swedish Short-Snout roaring in desperation.

It look as if the large beast were about to follow after Newt, with his wings spread and muscles taut. Newt just shook his head, keeping their sight connected as he fell further away from the dragon. He watched long enough to see the dragon slump his head, wings falling to his side.

Then Newt closed his eyes.

He knew he was powerful enough to apparate to safety, with or without a wand, and so did his dragon. But, he also knew that his time was over, and that, from the moment he had left Hogwarts and Leta behind, there was no turning back.