Authors Note: New to the fandom here! I've done a fair bit of research, but I'm sure they'll be some discrepancies somewhere along the way - feel free to point them out! Constructive critiscm welcome.

(12th September, 3rd Year)

It was a suffocating classroom, Sylvia recalled. Small and cluttered with large tomes, vivarium's and glass cabinets of creatures that she could either not pronounce or couldn't care to remember their names in the first place. The teacher, a small, stocky man with a few missing fingers and a lisp that made his words almost incomprehensible, stood at the front stuttering on about the life-cycle of a Flobberworm with an almost embarrassing amount of enthusiasm. Struggling with consciousness, Sylvia attempted to stifle her yawn in the sleeve of her jumper (a poor choice for such a warm day) and was promptly noticed by the professor.

"Segovstein, is it?" He called. For a such a small man, Sylvia noticed, he had a decent set of lungs to produce such a sharp shout. A few students turned their heads towards the tall girl at the back.

"Yes, sir?" She said, straightening her back slightly and removing her head from its perch on her fist.

"Perhaps you could tell me a Flobberworms preferred diet, hm?"

It was only now, the young girl realised, that he was holding one in his hands - it wriggling slightly and making a stomach-churning squelch with every movement. This helped her little. Even though the creature in question was a few metres away, she had not been paying attention since the beginning of class and was caught, as her muggle father liked to say, like a deer in headlights.

She inhaled a breath in preparation for what she hoped would sound like a heartfelt apology, before a voice that was barely a whisper, sounded to her left.

"Vegetation."

Sylvia's breath stopped in her throat and her eyebrow twitched. The voice was so quiet she could barely make out the sound of the syllables. Whilst the act was inherently kind the witch was, at the time, too proud to accept help off another - especially when the mistake had been hers, to begin with. After scolding herself for laziness (her mother would have had her rear for such incompetence) she replied with a honest shrug.

"Really, Segovstein, for such an accomplished duellist you attention span leaves something to be desired!" He huffed and a the students returned their attention to the front with a snicker. "The Flobberworm, especially dear Susan here," He lifted the squirming worm into the air slightly. "Loves cabbage! Now, Flobberworms do not need to..."

Flushing slightly, the redhead looked to her left, and for the first time since she had first arrived at Hogwarts, noticed the also lanky, auburn haired boy sitting next to her. His eyes were glued to the notebook he was scribbling in, ink blotches spotted over his fingers and his nose. She had a distinct feeling he was avoiding her eye contact, as the tips of his ears poking out from his rather unruly hair were turning red.

"Thank you," Sylvia whispered. It was pointless really since she had not accepted his help, but she admired the gesture anyway. His writing hand stopped momentarily, and his eyes flickered up to hers for the briefest of moments before promptly returning to his book.

"It's quite alright." Came a small reply.

What remained of the lesson dragged on without any other incident, apart from a girl squealing inherently loud when asked to handle Susan. Sylvia's eyes met with the strange boy for one last time as they were packing their books away, and as would become the norm, he looked away first.

(12th September, 3rd Year)

The Great Hall bustled with activity, as was it's custom every dinner. Sylvia didn't enjoy eating with the rest of the school, finding the noise to give her a migraine that wouldn't leave until the morning - but she felt drawn there that day. She wasn't sure if it was by divine intervention, or by her rather annoying and insatiable blonde-haired friend with an aptitude for pointless conversation and gossip. He was a small, chubby boy with a questionable northern accent, and whilst at the beginning of their friendship Sylvia had tried to distant herself from him, he only proceeded to hover closer with a stubbornness that the witch had begun to admire and curse simultaneously. Though the smell of chicken dinner, Malvin's pomade, and his father's aged aftershave made her nose crinkle, with his (somewhat) gentle insistence, they made their way to the Gryffindor table and sat down on opposite sides.

"-and she just wouldn't shut up about that dark-haired lad from her Divination class! Honestly, I thought my ears were going to detach from my skull and walk away." He spooned a large serving of potatoes onto his plate, before reaching for the bowl of boiled carrots.

"Hm, I can imagine how that would be annoying." She avoided his stare as she reached for a jug of water. Malvin simply rolled his eyes and continued his conversation.

"How was your magical creatures class anyway? Andrew told me it was right boring. Then again, there's not a lot Andrew finds exciting, so I didn't believe him at first-"

"We learned about Flobberworms." Sylvia cut in as she idly moved peas around her plate.

"No more needs to be said." Malvin giggled as he shovelled another portion of sprouts onto his plate. Slyvia eyed his gluttony curiously.

"By you, I hope."

"Ha, ha." He laughed sarcastically. "Sylvia the Cynic, that should be your name you know."

Sylvia's smiled, and as her eyes flicked upwards for just a second, they locked onto another pair across the hall. She recognised him this time, though, but as was his custom - his eyes flicked back down first, his cheeks reddening.

"Who's that?" Sylvia found herself asking.

Malvin looked up mid-shovel, mouth already full and giving Sylvia a fine view of its mushy contents. He followed Sylvia's eye line to the same boy a table behind him.

"Him?" He pointed with his head, his hands too busy reloading his fork.

She nodded in reply.

Malvin racked his mind for a second. "Newt, I think? I know he's a Scamander - he's Theseus' little brother." She had no real recollection of who Theseus was but nodded anyway. "If I remember right he's the one obsessed with creatures and stuff. A bit odd if you ask me," No one ever did of course. "But each to their own."

Sylvia noticed he sat a foot or two away from the rest of his house and hitched an eyebrow. "I take it he doesn't have many friends?"

"Nah, people think he's a bit weird." Both of the witch's eyebrows raised at this. "He don't talk much."

"He seems nice enough. A bit... shy, I suppose." She thought out loud. Malvin's eyes slowly raised from his plate to find Slyvia staring past him again.

"People are going to start thinking you're weird if you don't stop staring at people like that."

"I wasn't staring. Merely... evaluating." It was a poor lie and Sylvia knew it, but she couldn't help but find herself a little curious at the boys... quirks.

The boy now known as Newt left before they did – alone, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him as he weaved past the crowds of people by the entrance, unnoticed. Sylvia felt a slap upon her hand.

"For goodness sake, Sylvia."

(23rd October, 3rd Year)

The Defence Against The Dark Art's class was where Sylvia felt most comfortable. She prided herself on her wand work as her mother made sure it was the focus of her efforts. This week it was different, though, and as if her vision had been widened she began to notice how the Hogwart's professors liked to seat the students alphabetically. She soon realised whenever the Gryffindor's shared a class with the Hufflepuff's, there he was seated next to her. She didn't really mind, of course, until the DATDA classes began to take on a more practical approach. Then she felt as if she was sitting next to a walking train-wreck.

They were attempting to learn a Lumos Duo Charm to defend against Hinkypunks, and whilst Sylvia had grasped it rather quickly, her wand producing a bright light that was almost blinding, Newt was appearing to have a bit of difficulty. She observed him quietly out of the side of her eye as he struggled, knocking off his books and ink-pot in the process. Sylvia fiddled with her wand for a moment and hoped the Professor would notice his struggle, but she was too busy scolding a boy who thought it would be funnier to try and poke his wand down his friend's ear. She glanced at Newt again.

"Try pointing your wand instead of flicking it." She said as gently as her voice would manage over the bustle of the room. She hoped she didn't sound condescending, but she was beginning to worry he might blow something up – namely herself.

His gaze flitted to her quickly, as was his custom. He sat stationary for a second, his arm not moving, until he took a small breath (of what she presumed was courage) and tried again. He dipped his wand downwards and to the right, before pointing outwards this time instead of flicking, and sure enough a small, yet bright light emitted from his wand. It wasn't particularly bright enough to do its duty, she noted, but it was a light none-the-less and she was happy that no-one had gotten hurt in the process – namely herself again.

Sylvia let out the breath she was well aware she was holding and relaxed. She chanced a look at his face and saw a lop-sided smile break out as he looked at his wand. His eyes flicked towards her again, staring more at her side of the desk rather than her being, and muttered a small thank you.

"A turn for a turn, I suppose," Sylvia said, more to herself than to him. It was only when she looked to him again she could see the puzzlement in his features. "It's something my father used to say." Still the same look. "He was a muggle."

The look finally changed into one of understanding and he smiled once again. "Both my parent's are magical. I-I still don't understand many muggle things..." He said timidly and with a rather nervous laugh at the end, but it was more than the murmur he usually spoke in.

Sylvia was partly surprised that he could speak in full sentences too, and she felt as if she was hearing him for the first time. "Lucky you," Sylvia said with a small chuckle. "My father still won't accept any mail by owl."

"Why?" Newt questioned. "A well-trained owl is perfectly capable of carrying mail and-" He seemed to catch himself as if his vocal word-count had reached its limit for the day and he quickly clamped his mouth shut and averted his eyes from her own.

"I suppose it's a muggle thing," Sylvia said with a shrug. "He doesn't trust many magical things - he still jumps when he sees laundry folding itself." She let out a small laugh again and Newt joined her coyly with his one-sided smile.

"I'm Sylvia, by the way." He seemed surprised by the sudden introduction but introduced himself too.

"I'm N-Newt."

Why anyone would find him weird was, at the time, currently beyond Sylvia's imagination. Shy, perhaps, but not weird.

(8th November, 3rd Year)

"Are you going home for Christmas?"

This was one of the rare times Newt had started the conversation. Sylvia had, over time, found he was more confident in their Care of Magical Creatures class. He rarely spoke up in class discussion, but if the teacher (who had lost another finger by now and nearly his leg) was struggling for anyone to participate, he always picked Newt, knowing he would have the correct answer and save them all from more silence and awkward glances.

"Yes, my father was planning on returning to Germany for Christmas, but he changed his mind..." She trailed off, and Newt looked at her oddly. Her mother and father were German but chose to move to the UK shortly before Sylvia was born. From what the young witch was aware of, things in central Europe had started getting tense for certain wizards. She still didn't have a full understanding of it, and approaching her mother only yielded her with a quick dismissal. 'You have far more important stuff to be worrying about, Sylvia,' her mother would snap. Her parents kept her away from newspapers too.

They were walking as a class to the Forbidden Forest. Winter had settled in properly, and they were walking in knee-deep snow. The bitterness didn't seem to affect many, though, as they were to meet the most exciting creature so far– a Hippogriff. It was certainly a lot more interesting than feeding a Flobberworm or trying not to get burnt off of a Salamander. Newt was especially excited. Sylvia had learned a few weeks ago his mother bred Hippogriff's, so she presumed he already knew everything to know about these creatures. She was correct.

"Are you?" The returning question caught him off guard (as did most of her questions) for a second but he recovered quickly. He nodded in response.

"We normally spend a large portion of it with the Hippogriffs." He laughed. "My mother even prepares them a roast dinner too."

They both chuckled.

(7th March, 3rd Year)

"Honestly, Segovstein, are you even listening?" Malvin clicked his fingers rudely in front of Sylvia's face. They both sat on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. Most students were at the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin quidditch match, and Sylvia used these quiet opportunities to work by the wood-fire. Today, though, she had clearly misjudged.

"To you? I try not to." She was reading through her essay from her last Care of Magical Creatures class. It was a rough draft, and she was paying more attention to the messy scrawls at the sides of the pages. She had asked Newt to review it, and he had accepted gladly (rather enthusiastically, Sylvia thought) and his corrections and tweaks were written in the corners. Whilst he was timid and quiet in the flesh, on the page he was rather ruthless. Unnecessary information. Stay on track. Salamander blood – this was underlined - has regenerative abilities, not their fire. Mention scale rot for + marks.

"You're doing it again! Did you hear anything I just said?" She hadn't.

"Keep frowning like that and you're going to get wrinkles, you know," Malvin spoke up after a moment's silent. Sylvia knew if she ignored his presence for long enough he would get bored and start gossiping to someone else.

"Did you know a Salamander's blood had curative properties?" Sylvia said.

"No, but I'm not taking Care of Magical Creatures, am I? I thought you didn't care for any of it, anyway?" It was the first time the witch had heard his voice laced with suspicion.

"It's not too bad." She muttered.

"Hm." He hummed, placing his hands together on his lap whilst staring into the fire, looking the picture of innocence.

"What?" Sylvia said, looking at him fully for the first time since he had sat down.

"Nothing."

"No, that was an accusatory 'hm'." She raised an eyebrow.

"It wasn't."

"Yes, it was." She accused.

"I just think that yellow is a perfectly cheerful colour." He hummed happily. Sylvia threw a pillow at him, thumping him squarely in the chest.

(18th June, 3rd Year)

The two tall wizards (as people had by then begun to call Newt and Sylvia) grew closer over time. Sharing small conversations, learning small things about one another in the few classes they shared. It was normally Sylvia that instigated their talks, and it never failed to make her head spin how much different Newt was from Malvin. She found it refreshing, almost. Their third year was starting to draw to a close and with the small end of year exams and assessments, Sylvia found herself in the library most of the time (when she could break away from Malvin's presence). Whilst DATDA was a class she was fairly confident in, the assessments she was finding to be a great deal trickier. Apparently, it was easier for her to cast a charm to deter a creature rather than learn where it originated from. Newt, it seemed, was having the same problem.

Sylvia found herself enthralled in a book about werewolves when she heard shuffling next to her. It was so quiet she thought it was an echo from the deeper parts of the library until she heard someone clear their throat. She looked up and flinched, not expecting someone to be standing right next to her. For such a tall person, she found he could be awfully quiet when he wanted to be.

"Oh, hello, Newt." She said, rather surprised that out of all the people she knew that it was Newt to be standing there, clutching a few small tomes to his chest. They rarely spoke outside of the classroom, and Sylvia wasn't sure if the same etiquette applied.

Newt shuffled from foot to foot again before tearing his eyes away from his shoes and locking eyes with her.

"I-I," He cleared his voice once again and took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you could... well, I'm not really good at charms and... I'm more proficient at creatures – I mean caring for them of course, and I'm not so well-versed in wand-work and I... what I'm meaning to say is..." A silence fell and Newt stood still with his mouth slightly agape.

"You would like... me to help?" Sylvia said, after a moment of trying to piece together what he was trying to say.

"Yes." He said in a nervous exhale, looking at her from underneath his mop of auburn locks.

"Sure?" She replied, and the relief was clear on his face. He gestured towards a seat next to her in a silent question. "Take a seat, I suppose."

Newt, in a supposed eagerness to sit down, knocked some nearby books on the floor in the process. His gangly frame quickly reached down to pick them back up, in turn dropping the books he already had, growing ever more flustered with each passing moment.

"Here," Sylvia said, bending down to help pick some up. The silence that fell upon them grew a little too uncomfortable for her tastes. "So, um, what do you exactly need help with?" They finished clearing the books up, and Sylvia made sure they were pushed a safe distance away.

"Most of it, really." He let out another nervous puff of air. "I can g-grasp the lore pretty well, but I can't really..." He trailed off.

"Wave your wand without taking someone's eye out?" Sylvia said with a small, knowing smile.

"Yes." Newt laughed slightly.

"I suppose I could help? I'm not a teacher, but I'm sure we can work something out." She reached to her side and removed a book from the pile. "This has some charms we could practice, nothing impressive, but enough to please the professor."

"Brilliant," Newt said, hoping to disguise the nervousness in his voice with excitement.

"On one condition," Sylvia added. She saw his face freeze. Reaching behind her, she took out a large book that had fur, teeth and a very apt name. The Monster Book of Monsters. "If you could help me with this?"

It was the first time Sylvia had seen his face visibly light up with enthusiasm. "Of course!" He recalled himself quickly, but she couldn't help the little laugh that burst from her lips. This seemed to put him at ease, though, and his shoulders relaxed.

(19th July, 3rd Year)

Sylvia made her way along the train's carriages, her body sluggish and tired after the end of year finals. Her grades were pleasing (aside from her potions class, though) but her mother would no doubt make her the awful Spätzle that reminded her of maggots as a celebratory dish anyway. As she sidled past older years (whom she was slightly embarrassed to be almost as tall as them), she peeked into each cabin looking for an available seat. Malvin had already said he would save her one, but she couldn't bear the thought of a five-hour train ride listening to his annual review of the year. She had almost reached the end of the carriages until she spotted an almost empty compartment with just a lone figure. Sylvia had trouble discerning who it was at first, as their face was shielded by a large book. It was his hair that gave him away. She hesitated for a second, not sure if it would be a little too uncomfortable for a long train ride. Newt wasn't the easiest of her talking companions. She looked to her left and right.

Years later, she realised, she took that compartment out of pity. She was glad she did either way.

He didn't seem to notice her entrance at first, as she slid the compartment door closed again, shutting out the noise behind it.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" She asked, as he still hadn't looked up.

Sylvia knew by now he was far too polite to say anything other than yes, but she thought she would ask anyway. She had learned his certain 'tells' by now and could safely tell what made him uncomfortable or uneasy.

Newt lifted his head from his book, a frown on his features until he noticed the girl standing in front of him, to which his eyebrows shot up in a look of surprise. "O-of course!"

Sylvia gave a small thank you, before sitting down opposite him. She placed her hands in her lap, feeling slightly awkward as he returned back to his book. It was now she wondered what she normally did on the train rides back home, and she realised she mainly stared out of the window as Malvin ranted on about someone's relationship, or his personal favourite, their breakup. Finding herself the instigator of a conversation was something she still found odd, but what was even stranger was that she was normally interested in what Newt had to say. With Malvin, she would zone out nearly immediately.

"I got full marks on the Salamander paper." She said after a minute of thick silence, broken only by Newt turning a page. He looked up at her again, not quite sure where she was going with the conversation. "The one you proof-read for me? The professor pulled me aside and accused me of copying." She chuckled quietly. "Thank you for that. I'm sure I would have failed that assessment if it weren't for you."

Newt shook his head. "N-no, I'm sure you would have passed even without my help."

Sylvia raised an eyebrow with a half-smile. "Did you even believe that?"

The boy went to defend his words, thinking he had offended her in some way (he did this often, she found) until he saw her small smile. The corner of his mouth flicked upwards slightly, but he seemed deep in thought about something. He dog-eared the page in his book. Sylvia knew better than to push and ask what was troubling him, this only ever flustered him, so she patiently waited.

"Why did you choose Care of Magical Creatures as your elective?" He paused before quickly adding. "If y-you don't mind me asking."

Sylvia had to hide her smile at what he was implying. Even after a year, she still understood very little about creatures. It made her potion-work look outstanding.

She shrugged. "I wasn't particularly interested in the other options, I suppose." Newt nodded once in understanding. He was good at not pushing questions. Either that, Slyvia thought, or Malvin was tremendously bad at it. "I just presumed it would be a little more..."

"Interesting?" Newt finished.

"Yes," Sylvia said, a little sheepishly. She knew it was Newt's favourite subject, anyone could see that. Noticing the slight look of hurt (or it could have been embarrassment), she continued on. "I-I presume next year will be a little more enticing, though. We learn about Unicorns and... what are they called..." She couldn't think of the name but she knew what they looked like – like a platypus with fur, but she doubted Newt even knew what a platypus was.

"Nifflers."

Sylvia clicked her figures. "Yes! Thank you, I would have been tormenting myself all the way back to London about that. My mother said her family had one as a child, but they had to release it after it stole and hid her mother's earrings."

Newt laughed a little at this. "They are notoriously attracted to shiny things. I once sprained my ankle tripping on a Niffler burrow. Did you know they can burrow as deep twenty feet bellow ground?"

The obvious answer was 'no', but Sylvia decided to indulge him. For such a creature-enthusiast, it was very rare Newt talked about them with her outside of class. Even when he did, he always seemed to trail off and apologise – she presumed this was out of habit - and she would try and re-ignite his flow, but he would always cut it short by saying something like 'it's rather boring anyway' or 'it's not that interesting'. This always hurt her a little. She wondered how many times someone had rudely cut him off.

"No, I didn't." She knew next to nothing about the creatures if she was honest. Sylvia racked her brain for anything she could add. "My, uh, mother said they were rare in Germany, that they come from, well, here."

She saw his eyes light up a little and she would be lying if she said it didn't make her slightly happy.

"Y-yes, I was just reading about them actually." He turned his book slightly so that Sylvia could see the chapters title. 'Nifflers and other tremendously tricky creatures'. There was a little illustration at the top of the beast in question.

"They're cute. I don't think I'd have the heart to take my necklace back away from one." She said jokingly.

"They are, aren't they?" It was the first time she had seen him fully smile as he displayed the book proudly.

"Do you know much else about them?" Sylvia asked, slightly shyly. She expected him to deter the conversation with his usual shake of the head and 'they're not that interesting', but instead he looked at her – fully this time. Not a glance or a flicker of the eyes, a full stare. Sylvia felt rooted to her spot for a second.

"What, um, would you like to know?"

She presumed this was a very big 'yes'.

For five hours they talked non-stop. Sylvia actually found herself struggling to keep up at some moments, but she looked like she was listening intently the whole way through. It wasn't difficult, but this was the first time Newt had spoken so casually since... ever, and Sylvia wanted to make sure he knew she valued his words. They stopped temporarily for lunch and talked idly about what they had planned over the holidays, before resuming their talks about creatures once again. She hadn't the foggiest idea most of the time what creature he was talking about, and he went off on many tangents throughout their conversation, but she reckoned as they pulled into King's Cross Station that she could tell the professor a thing or two next year.

As they collected their trolleys Sylvia said her quick goodbyes and well-wishes to a quite angry Malvin, who eyed her and Scamander suspiciously. Sylvia craned her head upwards and saw her mother standing towards the back of the large crowd of families.

"Is that your mother?" Newt said, quite clearly more confident after his five-hour lesson of magical creatures and their hundred year backstory. "You have her height."

Sylvia laughed at this. "It quite handy for finding her in a crowd."

"I presume that's your family?" She saw a friendly looking woman, with dark red hair standing next to a tall man with a large smile and much darker hair. They were fussing over an older boy, at least sixteen or seventeen, who shared familiarities with Newt.

"Yes and my brother." There was a slight distaste in his voice, she noticed. Sylvia presumed this was the Theseus that Malvin had mentioned.

She could see her mother crossing her arms, a knowing look on her face as she impatiently tapped her foot. Her ginger hair was darkening, as it always did when she began to grow impatient. Sylvia still wasn't sure if this was magic or just her mother. "I'd better be off anyway." Newt spotted her mother and saw the same look she did.

"Yes, of course."

"Have a good holiday, Newt. I'll see you after the break." He seemed to blanch a little at this, to Sylvia's surprise.

"S-Sure! Definitely."

Sylvia smiled at his eagerness and began pushing her trolley towards her mother, turning around once to wave goodbye to him, half surprised to see him still standing there. He returned the wave awkwardly, quickly lowering his hand before walking to his respective family.

I suppose he is slightly odd. She thought as she neared her mother. Though she couldn't, for the life of her, figure out how it was a bad thing.