Sorry that this took so long to get out. I wrestled with being unhappy with how it was turning out each time I rewrote and then when I thought it was as good as it was going to get and I was about to post, I realised that Care of Magical Creatures likely wouldn't have existed as a subject until Newt's work. Unfortunately, that was the basis of most of the conversations in this chapter so I had to rewrite it again and I'm just thankful that its over. Plus side is that a new promotional picture of Leta came out literally about three minutes ago when I was about to post so I could quickly rewrite the brief description of her wand. Thank you so much to anyone who is still reading. We respect and love Leta Lestrange in this house (and it's a small house, I know) so your readership and comments are always loved and appreciated.
"Quickly now, quickly!" Anemone Scamander called out while clapping and herding her two sons through the crowded Kings Cross Station with skill acquired from years of breeding and rearing Hippogriffs.
"Newt, dear, you first, go, go!" she shouted as they made their way between Platforms 9 and 10.
Her youngest child's sweaty fingers gripped on to the handle of his trolley, turning his knuckles white, as he started to run toward the barrier urged on by his mother, the large clock overhead that practically screamed how late he had made them, and the wheels of his brother's own trolley that he could hear squealing behind him.
Just as he prepared to disappear through the barrier, he squeezed his eyes shut and stopped in his tracks, his knees buckling uncomfortably, and his trolley swung to the side to his cat's dismay by the sound of her yowl.
Theseus let out a combination of a shriek and a curse word and flipped over his handlebar in a noble attempt to stop his trolley colliding with his suddenly stationary little brother.
He landed with a bang on his suitcase and the trolley wheeled him through to the platform unceremoniously.
"Newt! What are you doing?" his mother rushed over and pulled him through the platform with her.
"I…I don't f-feel very well," Newt stammered, his breathing unsteady and his voice croaky from disuse.
He hadn't spoken a word since breakfast time and the panic that blossomed across his stomach like a wound had been pulsing through him since he woke up that morning with dread in his heart.
He had sat in silence for the entire trip to Kings Cross Station, wrestling with the thought of another year of isolation and torment.
It was only when he was immediately faced with crossing over to the platform that the desperation took over.
Mrs Scamander looked at her youngest child with pity and sadness but smiled all the same, stroking the auburn hair he had gotten from her.
The sweater she had made him (it was only the first day into Autumn, but he always felt the cold) was thick and cosy but even she could see his chest rising and falling a little too rapidly as he held his cat, that he had quickly bundled out of its cage, a little tighter to his chest.
"Your father and I will write all the time, dear," she told him. "And before you know it, it will be Christmas break…"
Newt tried to stop himself from shuddering and concentrate on his mother but all he could hear was the loud noise of hundreds of students screaming and shouting, luggage being thumped to the ground and whistles blowing.
Theseus didn't seem to have suffered socially from his ungraceful entrance owing to the girls leaning out of the train and whispering and giggling to each other as he threw his and Newt's suitcases with ease over to his friends who were on the train.
"I-I can do my work from home. Maybe you…you can write and ask Professor Dippet. I promise I'll pay attention– not like the holidays – I won't go wandering off or, or anything."
Mrs Scamander hugged her poor, hopeful boy to her as tightly as the grumpy cat, Albertyne, in between them would permit.
"Everything I-I need…I can learn it from books. We've already bought all my textbooks and…"
"You can't learn everything from books, my love. You need people too, my dear, people who can fill your heart…"
"Nobody here," he said with certainty, his whole body defeated in a way that was beyond his twelve years.
She glanced sadly up at the groups of teenagers excitedly buzzing about the new year and shoving each other playfully as they started to hop on to the train. There wasn't a single stray soul besides her Newt.
A group of tall, rowdy Gryffindors were leaning against the train, and some hanging out the windows, waiting for Theseus.
"You certainly won't find anyone if you stay hidden."
He didn't look convinced as he scrunched his face.
"But maybe they'll be good at finding things…a bit like you," she smiled sadly.
As much as he didn't want to go (and had very little interest in making friends despite his family's insistence on the matter), he hated to see his mother so concerned and tried his best at a small, half-hearted smile to ease her worry.
His family, the hippogriffs and the small assortment of magical creatures that wandered into their field filled his heart well enough.
Anything his mother thought he was missing out on, it wasn't at Hogwarts. He was in the friendship house and couldn't find a friend.
She bopped his freckled nose with her finger, entirely unconvinced by his performance.
"Fill that beautiful mind of yours with as much as you can and tell me all about it in your letters."
"I will," he promised, resigning himself to another inevitable year of loneliness and homesickness as his mother hugged him tightly.
She kissed his forehead and stood up and did the same to her eldest son who jumped back in bewilderment as if she had struck him instead.
"Good lord mother, what are you doing?" he said mortified, looking around and fixing the single dark curl that draped neatly across his forehead.
"Oh, Theseus," she shook her head and smoothed down his robes before fixing his prefect badge. "Your father and I are so proud of you, my boy. How have you grown so much?"
"Running, Quidditch, and carrying this family mainly," he joked as the final whistle blew.
"…sometimes literally," he added hoisting Newt – cat in tow - under one arm and grabbed both of their carry bags with the other.
"Have a wonderful term!" she called to them as Theseus jumped on to the train which was already starting to move. "And write soon, and Theseus make sure-"
"He'll be fine, Mother," Theseus assured her as she picked up her pace to match the slowly departing train. "I'll write once we arrive."
His mother looked at him doubtfully.
"Hey! I will," he chuckled placing his brother back on his feet who waved weakly to his mother with one arm still clutched around his pet.
"Newt, dear, try to…"
The chugging of the train starting to create momentum on the tracks drowned out her words as they pulled out of the station.
"Come, Newt," Theseus said cheerfully.
Newt supposed he should feel grateful and relieved that Theseus insisted on Newt sitting with his friends again for the journey.
His first year was at their mother's insistence but Newt suspected Theseus wouldn't have left his side anyway.
He was sure it wouldn't have done Theseus any favours having his weird little brother trailing along behind him so frequently but then again, nobody seemed to give Theseus any trouble.
But part of him just wanted to find an empty space to crawl into and play with Albertyne and wait out the ten-hour journey.
"Second year now, Newt!" Theseus clapped him on the shoulder as they squeezed past a group of Ravenclaws that were greeting each other in the walkway.
"I didn't say in front of Mum of course, but I spoke to Father about getting you your own racing broom now you're allowed one of your own. He agreed eventually, provided you're not unsupervised and it doesn't affect your schoolwork, of course, and gave me the gold before he left for the Ministry this morning. I know you're supposed to be third year to visit Hogsmeade but I'm going to ask Professor Broadbunch if I can bring you along on the next trip and we'll pick one out."
"You don't have to do that, Thees," Newt said feebly, trying to imagine Theseus animatedly trying to pitch the idea of Newt suspended thirty feet on a strip of wood to his understandably hesitant father.
"Nonsense," Theseus waved him off. "What kind of brother would I be if I allowed you to learn the art of flying on one of those school-issued bundles of twigs? Besides, I need to pay a visit to Hogsmeade anyway and replace my Keeper gloves you creatively discovered doubled as Ashwinder egg mitts. Hopefully there's a trip scheduled before try-outs…"
"N-no one is as good as you," Newt said with certainty.
He wasn't flattering Theseus – he certainly wasn't lacking for validation. Newt only watched, from a distance, the Quidditch games that Gryffindor were playing but even so, he thought that Theseus was the best player at Hogwarts. He highly doubted a newcomer could knock Theseus from his well-maintained Keeper's perch – even with ruined Keeper gloves.
"You could, you could…play professionally," Newt thought out loud. "I-Imagine all the places you could, could travel, all the things you could see when you weren't p-playing. Wouldn't that be…"
"Oh no, Newt," Theseus chuckled. "I'll play for Gryffindor till I graduate. Then I'm going straight into Auror training. Maybe work with Father while I do so. Pave the way for you. Imagine it, Newt. Us working at the Ministry together. It would be cracking."
"I-I guess so."
Theseus led them to a compartment over-stuffed with a bunch of Gryffindors who whooped loudly when they came in.
After a bit of rearranging which included two sitting cross legged on the floor and one of the Gryffindor Beaters perched up in the bag racks, Newt was squeezed uncomfortably next to Theseus who was deep in discussion with his friends. He was just thankful he was next to the window and could rest his forehead against the cold glass.
"I need to go do my rounds," Theseus turned to Newt, snapping him out of his reverie.
The Gryffindors jeered and teased Theseus about being a Prefect but he smiled and slapped them across the head as he climbed out of the compartment.
"Back in a bit," he said, mainly to Newt, and then looked rather warningly to a few of his friends before joining a rather impatient looking female Prefect waiting in the walkway.
One of Theseus' friends seated opposite Newt straightened up and cleared his throat.
"So, urgh, Newton, right? You, err, you looking forward to school?"
Newt nodded politely and deep down, cursing Theseus for orchestrating what appeared to be the beginning of an unbearably painful exchange on both ends.
"Do you…have a favourite…class?" the boy pressed out of obligation.
Newt bit his lip nervously, trying to remember all the seven core subjects he studied in first year.
He supposed it should be Charms. He didn't excel especially in any of his classes, but Charms would be his best subject. He could be quite handy with charms, but he didn't find the class or the work itself overwhelmingly enjoyable.
"Um…Transf-figuration?" Newt replied hesitantly hoping that was an acceptable answer.
His favourite parts of school weren't in the classes at all, but Transfiguration could be quite nice. Professor Dumbledore was always very patient and kind to him. He'd also flicked through this year's textbook and saw they would be covering trans-species transfiguration.
"If only your big bro felt the same way," the boy lying across the bag rack laughed. "Poor bugger has to get at least an Exceeds Expectations in his Transfiguration O.W.L's. Couldn't imagine putting myself through that."
"He's going to be an Auror, Bellamy," one of the girls said teasingly. "We can't all sell parchment in our granddad's shop for a living. We save those jobs for those who have taken one too many Bludgers to the skull."
"Just think, Hunter," he retorted back cheerfully. "If you become an Auror too, I could get a job mopping up the trail of drool you leave behind following after Scamander."
She sent a spell flying upwards that shook the rack to the Beater's intense fear and dismay.
"I always liked third year," a girl that Newt recognised from Theseus' Quidditch team said to him, ignoring the ensuing fight that had developed opposite them.
"You get to pick a couple of electives. You can't drop any of the core seven so it's a bit more work but at least you get a little more of a say in what you want to do. I think I did Divination and Ancient Runes. Yeah, that sounds right. Your brother did Runes too."
"And A-Arithmancy," Newt added, somewhat distastefully. He had seen the Arithmancy homework spilling over Theseus desk over the holidays and couldn't imagine a more intimidating subject.
The girl chuckled. "Yeah, too many numbers for me. What do you reckon you'll pick?"
"I, um, I d-don't know. I-I thought maybe M-muggle Studies?" he said quietly, twisting his fingers into his jumper.
"Huh, okay, well, an easy pass at least," she shrugged, a little surprised at his seemingly unambitious choice. "You've got a whole year to decide."
He just nodded again feebly and hoped that Theseus had nearly finished.
"Neat cat," said the girl who Newt remembered had been called Hunter though he wasn't sure if that was her first or last name.
"T-thanks," he said hugging Albertyne close. "Her name is, um, Albertyne. They thought s-she was a boy to start with, so…so she was called Albert. She-she didn't let a-anyone touch her, so they couldn't check but she, she liked me, so I got to keep her, and I found out she was a-a girl. I think it's nice though because it - Albertyne - means 'intellegent', so I think that's…n-nice. She's very smart. She's part Kneazle…well, I-I think."
The group just stared at him and he blushed profusely, digging his fingernails into his palms. He knew his speech propelled between struggling to get a word out and speaking so fast his words mixed together and in his momentary excitement he had let out a stream of what he could only imagine was a garbled mess.
"What's a Kneazle?" the Beater hanging above them asked after enough time had passed to render the environment officially uncomfortable.
"A bigger cat," someone answered him boredly flipping through a copy of Which Broomstick, and Newt sunk a little further back into the seat. He had a feeling that his knowledge that Kneazles had different fur, ears, tails and temperament to cats was better kept inside his head.
As they resumed their rowdy chatter, Newt shifted to move from his seat. The noise of it all was starting to collide together causing his head to throb and his vision to tilt no matter how much he closed his eyes or tried to focus on the countryside flying past outside the window.
"Where are you off to?" enquired one of the designated babysitters Theseus had assigned in his short absence.
"J-just to get Albertyne a-a drink," Newt stuttered.
Apparently, this was deemed an acceptable request as a couple of them shrugged at each other and the rest looked relieved like they had been holding their breath during their short, attempted entertaining of the young boy.
"There's a water fountain at the end of the train," the girl on Theseus' Quidditch team said kindly. "Otherwise you could find the trolley witch?"
Newt nodded appreciatively, put his bag strap over his shoulder and carefully stepped past them all to get to the walkway.
He figured he may as well go along with this story and fetch Albertyne some water. They were sitting near the furthest end of the train, so Newt figured it would be some time before the trolley witch would make her rounds in this carriage.
He headed in the direction of the water fountain, one arm carrying Albertyne while his other hand rummaged in his bag for the little wooden bowl he carried on him.
Distracted, he was very nearly floored by two Slytherin fourth years who didn't even waste the time to push him aside and instead just walked straight into him as though he were non-existent. The force of the much bigger student's torso knocked him flat against the closed door of a compartment, making the glass shake in its panes.
Newt waited, slumped against the bottom of the door for a small while, clutching Albertyne with his eyes pressed tightly closed as he heard a few more students walk past him, thankfully, without notice.
On shaky legs he walked quickly, keeping his eyes down and his body as close to one side of the walkway as possible as he reached the magical water fountain that neatly filled his bowl.
He was grateful that there were no waiting students behind him to hear him automatically thank the inanimate fountain.
It was only on his way back down the corridor that he had realised he would have to walk past where the elite and particularly cruel Slytherins sat.
In his haste to keep his head down and get to the end of the train, he had not noticed (and luckily neither had they) that he had wandered through what was unofficially, though very much forcefully deemed, strictly Slytherin territory.
The only House he had heard of that sauntered confidently through this section were Gryffindors who usually did so in a deliberate effort to incite something. He remembered Theseus and his friends had gotten into a fight with the Slytherin Quidditch team here in their third year.
Thankful that he had yet to change into his Hufflepuff robes but entirely aware that he positively embodied the yellow and black, he mapped out where he knew the worst of them would be.
If he hadn't been placed behind Theseus' metaphorical shield, he thought that he might have been more terrified of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws than the Slytherins. Some Slytherins could be very unkind but mostly they seemed to keep to themselves. He even admired some of their core values.
But none of the bad seeds in the other Houses combined could measure up to the well-known, vicious bunch of Slytherins that came from the family's he had heard his father talk about over dinner, much to his mothers' displeasure. It wouldn't be icy glares or cool indifference he would receive as much as hexes and dark curses from that group.
He was best calculating his chances of slipping by unnoticed when he saw a spine-chilling sight ahead. Caecilius Lestrange, Vinda Rosier and Castor Black were marching down the walkway looking as ferocious as ever.
They weren't in their usual space. With his heart fluttering in panic, he slipped into the doorway of an open compartment to hide.
A sudden mournful cry from behind him made him jump and slop the water he was carrying down himself and a very unimpressed Albertyne.
"That's an Augurey!" Newt said in amazement before he had even spun around to see the beautiful green and black feathered bird perched sleepily in a large bronze cage.
He froze with the sudden realisation that he had just wandered into a compartment in a dripping wet sweater, with a grumpy cat, completely wandless and without any assurance that it didn't contain one of the particularly cruel Slytherin students. This was their usual compartment after all which meant whoever was in it had prompted them to abandon it.
He nearly missed the sole occupant among the mess of odds and ends scattered haphazardly over the seats, but his eyes quickly fell on a girl sitting with her legs stretched out on the seat in front of her, his presence seemingly not disturbing her from the book she didn't glance up from.
"Of course not, the Ministry don't allow Augurey's as pets," she said unabashedly over her copy of 'Why I Didn't Die When the Augurey Cried' by Gulliver Pokeby. "She's an Irish Phoenix."
"That's…t-the same thing," Newt stammered against his better judgement.
Her finger stopped tracking the words on the page and she paused momentarily but long enough to make him worry if she was going to curse him and contemplated running off.
Her teeth tugged at her lower lip thoughtfully and she glanced up from her book ever so slightly, striking him with luminous eyes that rooted him firmly to the spot.
"Is it really?" she smirked teasingly and slightly impressed, resting her chin in her hand. He was used to people teasing him, but her eyes appeared to be twinkling kindly and with a curious playfulness he wasn't familiar with.
"Then it seems frightfully irresponsible to not add that to the prohibited domestic creatures list. It would cause awful confusion."
The pair of honey coloured eyes set into the smooth, tawny face stared at him expectantly and he wanted nothing more than to say something amusing and clever too but the only thing that came out when he opened his mouth was a breathy, nervous titter that he would traumatisingly play over and over in his head for the next two weeks.
He desperately wished for her to either start talking again or for his legs to remember their primary function and run back to Theseus and his friends, but she was holding his gaze rather commandingly and with an inquisitive smile that told him that she had no plans to rescue him from this awkward silence that seemed to only be troubling one of the pair.
He tore his gaze away from hers and his eyes darted around the compartment desperately trying to latch on to a coherent thought to vocalise before she inevitably started laughing at him or got bored and ordered him to leave, but he couldn't help but be drawn back to her.
Newt snuck a glance at the tie through the dark hair that was escaping her untidy bun, so he could at least determine which house she belonged to.
The standard navy robes and tie with the Hogwarts crest gave nothing away except that she must be a first year.
He had thought she would have been second year at least, but he hadn't seen her around the castle before. He didn't pay much attention, but something told him he probably would have noticed her.
Newt realised he was staring at her, maybe a little too long than social etiquette would dictate but she didn't seem to mind, staring back in amusement.
After he had opened and closed his mouth several times, she sat back, chuckling slightly, and decided to put him out of his misery.
"You make as good a door as you do a conversationalist," she joked, and he realised he was still standing awkwardly in the doorframe. Her eyes drifted down observantly and landed on his wet jumper and cat.
"Would you like to sit and dry your cat?"
Newt's head snapped down to Albertyne and then back to the girl who had unearthed a small tin from her robes. She unscrewed it to reveal a collection of dead flies and insects which she fed to the Augurey who had become noisy once more.
"I-I don't want to d-disturb you."
"I dread to refuse a boy who fears no god nor death," she teased, flipping her book back open on her lap and crossing her ankles over to make room on the seat opposite her.
He bit his lip hesitantly but tentatively sat down in the allocated space. His thoughts overrode his better sense as usual and he immediately regretted the words that seemed to take an eternity to get out once he started.
"Um…t-the Augurey's cry doesn't…doesn't…actually mean y-you're going to d-die. Oh, A-and I'm Newt. Scamander. N-Newt Scamander…I didn't…I mean, I-I should have…but I-I didn't say."
He waited for her to get frustrated and tell him to spit it out or worse, nod along with exaggerated patience and pity. But she jiggled her feet next to him casually, continued reading her book and listening as he stumbled through his words.
Once he was mercifully finished, her eyes paused on her page and a smirk tugged on her lips before dramatically tossing the well-read copy aside with an aghast expression.
She removed her legs from the seat and folded them underneath her neatly before leaning forward close enough that he could count the faint sprinkle of freckles across her nose. He toyed with the urge to tell her how many before deciding that was a terrible idea.
"Why, you spoiled the ending of my book, Mr Scamander," she smiled and reached to stroke his cat behind the ears which Albertyne surprisingly did not object to, stretching up to curl against her open palm.
"I do hope your Augurey knowledge is more entertaining than the ending because it was the only thing I had to do on the way."
He lit up like a candle. "Well, they, um, they can predict the weather."
"Well," she smiled up at him and Albertyne made a displeased noise at her attention being diverted. "I do hope you don't spoil my favourite trick. It scared off my former carriage companions. I'm awfully fond of it. I've become accustom to carrying rainwater with me."
With one hand still on a very comfy Albertyne, she used the other to withdraw a tiny vial of liquid from her robe pocket with a wink before popping it back when her bird let out another squawk. She used her free hand to hush and reach between the delicate cage to stroke the bird's feathers.
"Your cat is still wet," she commented, giving a now sleeping Albertyne a final pat and leaning back in her seat.
Newt glanced down and felt extremely silly. "I, um, left my…my wand…"
She chuckled and pulled out her wand which had been speared through her bun. She paused momentarily, her hand squeezing the dark, elegantly twisted chestnut wand tightly and staring at it, she now being the one that looked hesitant. It lasted so briefly that Newt wondered if he'd imagined it before her smile reappeared and pointed the handle at him.
She jiggled it at him when he stared blankly at it.
"I-I think it's supposed to be t-the other way around," he told her when nothing happened.
She laughed.
"No, for you to use, silly. If someone pointed their wand at any of my creatures unexpectantly, I think I'd jump between them and choke them out on instinct."
"Other creatures?" he exclaimed ardently, not at all deterred by her complete willingness to suffocate someone and instead latching onto the tentative hope that she loved magical beasts too. "You…y-you have more?"
"I don't think we're quite there yet," she smiled and bit her lip ruefully. "That's a later conversation."
Newt nodded, trying not to beam at the prospect that she may want to talk to him again. He knew he should excuse himself now, tap out while he was ahead. He knew the longer he stayed, the more he talked, the greater the risk was of him ruining the possibility of making a friend.
He was staring again, beaming this time, and she chuckled before prodding him in the arm with the handle of her wand which he had forgotten about.
"I wouldn't object to you taking my wand now before my arm falls off or you and your cat get the flu – whichever comes first."
"Oh, t-thank you. I'm not great with other people's wands. I-I'm fine with my own. But…I wouldn't trust myself to…I don't know if I should…"
"I can…dry you both?" she offered a little hesitantly. "But if you want to go so you can-"
"No!" he said sitting up straighter. "I mean, I mean, I don't m-mind if you…if you did it, if you wouldn't mind, I mean. I can leave if you want."
"Just thought I would check," she said brightly, spinning her wand the right way around. With a casual flick of her wand, a stream of hot air poured from her wand and dried Newt's jumper and Albertyne within a few seconds.
Newt stared in awe. "You can produce non-verbal spells?"
"A hot-air charm is hardly worth that lovely smile," she said teasingly as she stuck her wand back in her bun, but he still looked curious.
"I have a lot of time to waste and I don't exactly get to talk much at home so…" she shrugged casually as if the ability to acquire such a difficult skill so young required nothing more than that.
Newt realised her voice felt somewhat familiar. Even though he was certain he hadn't met her before, he tried to latch on to what was so familiar before he discovered she spoke very much like Theseus.
Or more so, how Theseus had started speaking some years ago. He had started picking up the dialect and vocabulary when he was much younger than Newt by copying people at the Ministry when their father would take him to work.
He ever so faintly recalled his mother finding it adorable when Theseus would sit (legs not able to touch the carpet) at their father's desk and pretend he could read the Daily Prophet, praising or reprimanding a tiny Newt who would crawl in to practise standing by holding on to furniture or pulling out as many books as he could manage before Theseus deemed him a 'troublesome, little blighter' in a proper, deliberate sort of voice that sounded like hard work.
Eventually, it just became the way Theseus spoke adding another element to how surprising their relation was to other people.
Although she didn't stuff fancy words or phrases into their conversation, she articulated each consonant fully in a manner more reminiscent of the old, walrus-looking, aristocratic guests that would pat Newt's head and call Theseus a 'strapping young chap' at the dreaded Ministry ball they put on for the families than any of the young students at Hogwarts he'd heard.
Newt noticed where he would move the edges of his mouth out sideways to make an 'ah' sound in his words, she would move her chin down like she was a singer to make hers sound like 'arh'. For all that Theseus would have strived for such natural proper vernacular at this age, words seem to spill from her perfectly with no effort at all. In fact, he suspected this was her speaking languidly.
He wondered if her parents were rather elderly or she grew up in one of those old, magical families without any other children around. Either seemed likely as he tried to make sense of all her odd belongings.
The intricate silver tin filled with dead bugs for one, and on the seat next to him a small crystal jar of lacewing flies, a bunch of gillyweed and dittany bundled together with what looked like a thin gold chain, a set of dirty, recently-used jade herbology tools soiling the mulberry silk scarf they were wrapped in, a serpentine encrusted journal with a violent scorch mark embedded in the cover and a silver hair pin in the shape of a snake– also encrusted with a tiny serpentine gemstone as the eye – which had been bent roughly to hold together some dried nettles.
For a person with many, admittedly uncared for, opulent belongings she seemed comically not put-together with her feet either on the chair in front of her or tucked underneath her, her hair disobediently escaping the bun she'd tried to tie the majority of it in, and the earth underneath her fingernails and streaking across one of her cheeks.
The only shabby item in her possession seemed to be the well-worn copy of the book she had abandoned remarkably in favour of Newt's company. Speaking of, he realised he'd let the conversation dwindle back into silence while he was stupidly analysing her accent, possessions and possible home life.
She didn't seem to have the same discomfort with silence that everyone else seemed to and was inspecting the tattered spine of her book thoughtfully as if deciding whether to repair it or not.
"Y-you've read that book a lot," he commented feeling immediately like it was a silly, obvious thing to point out.
"Yes," she chuckled, apparently deciding she'd like to keep it in its current condition. "What else are you going to do when you've read them all but read them again, I suppose."
"You've…you've read every book?"
"Well, the ones I'm interested in," she smiled a little sadly. "I've worked my way through many libraries and this is one of the few I've found worth reading more than once. I'm hoping I don't burn through all of this school's library too quickly. I'm not particularly good at pacing myself."
"If-If you like m-magical creatures," he stammered, daring to believe. "There aren't very many. I-I've read them all in my first year and, I-I'm not a very quick reader."
"You should write one then," she shrugged as if such ambitions were so readily available to people like him.
"I-I'm going to work at the M-ministry – the Ministry of Magic - with my father and brother…when I'm older," he replied automatically.
She raised her eyebrows in amusement. "You make that sound about as interesting as I imagine it to be."
Newt shrugged awkwardly and gathered Albertyne a little closer as the thought dawned over him like a cloud.
"Newt Scamander," she mused, testing the name out loud as she watched the countryside fly past. She pondered for a moment before apparently deciding on something and turning back to him with a smile. "Can't let a name like that go to waste on anything unextraordinary."
Incredibly conscious of the fact his cheeks probably looked like he was about to burst into flames like a phoenix, he concentrated very hard on his shoes and tried not to beam like an idiot.
"I-I don't think a name really makes a difference…"
He heard her take a faltering breath.
"It does," she said quietly and with a touch of weariness that made him look up at her again but she just half-smiled slightly, looking the same way he felt when he started talking about the Ministry, and went back to trying to smooth out the curling pages of her book distractedly.
He wasn't sure if she was finally starting to grow tired of him, realising how boring and awkward he truly was, or he had said something to incite the discreet change in her mood.
"W-what do you think you'll, um, become?" he asked timidly.
"Hmm?"
"Well, if…if you could p-pick an occupation based on what your name sounded like…w-what would you think you'd e-end up doing?"
She chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully before answering him.
"With a name like Leta Lestrange probably a muggle comic book hero. They do enjoy their alliteration…But I daresay I'll be made to-"
She paused when he paled at her words and Albertyne woke with a grumpy noise at how suddenly Newt had squeezed her against him.
Her teeth went back to digging into her lower lip, but she smirked humourlessly, her honey-coloured eyes now hardened into a steely, narrowed ambers.
"My, you look like you just heard an Augurey cry," she chuckled, a little more darkly than before. "I was beginning to think nothing could take the colour out of those cheeks."
"Newt?!" Theseus' voice cut through the tangibly tense atmosphere as he appeared in the doorway, a little flustered but in no way diminishing his commanding presence that was exuding disapproval and a thinly veiled degree of shock at the scene before him.
"Come on," he told Newt firmly in a tone that implied there was no room for discussion, not that Newt required one.
He sprang up and followed his brother dutifully, not daring to look back at the girl with whom he'd had the longest conversation he'd ever had outside his own family members.
Theseus glared circumspectly at Leta who smirked slightly and went back to reading with an amused smile.
Newt felt an awful, heavy, sinking sensation take residence in his stomach as Theseus led him back. To Newt's surprise, his brother didn't reprimand him or even give him a painstakingly patronising lecture, thankfully, but kept his hand firmly around Newt's upper arm as they walked back and even after they had taken their seats again.
The chatter immediately died down when they had arrived as Theseus looked formidably angry at his friends and for the first time, Newt felt lucky he didn't share a common room with his brother as that seemed to be where Theseus was saving his anger for. Theseus let ago of his arm and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly before talking him through the best beginner racing brooms.
Newt was glad that Theseus had elected to forget his short excursion, but it didn't not at all ease the despairing feeling in his chest and abdomen that he finally decided felt strangely like guilt.
At first, he thought it was the aftermath of panic. Finding yourself alone, wandless and completely oblivious in a small space with a Lestrange, arguably the worst family of them all, when you had not even properly begun the term was the kind of peak Newt Scamander behaviour that always had his family on edge.
He wondered, barely hanging on to Theseus' words now, if perhaps he was a little hopelessly oblivious like everyone annoyingly seemed to think for he didn't believe deep down he shared the disgust and distrust that rolled off his brother in waves towards the young girl.
Newt was simply and momentarily shocked. He had struggled to deal with the very basic of human emotions his life thus far let alone becoming practised in concealing them.
He was certain now that he was wrestling with guilt.
He had noticed her face, for only a fraction of a second, when he reacted to hearing her name. It made him feel unfamiliarly unkind to have inspired that all too familiar feeling in someone else.
Even one hour and a pumpkin pasty essentially force-fed by Theseus later, this feeling wasn't alleviated, and he had been, mercifully, left to his own devices which meant nothing more than sitting up, hugging his knees under his chin and not being able to distract himself from anything other than thoughts of her.
Newt tried to console himself with the conclusion that if she did have unhappy feelings, which his family seemed to believe feelings at all were somewhat in question for that family in particular, they wouldn't have been wounded by someone as especially insignificant as him.
Students with those kinds of last names were not outcasts by any means and he was sure as soon as the Sorting Hat announced her she would be whisked away to their formidable circle.
It wasn't as comforting an idea as he had first thought, the idea of her with the likes of the Rosiers, and the Blacks and the rest of them. They would stomp out any trace of bright, fanciful whimsy he thought he saw in her before she even made it to the Slytherin common room she'd indoubtly be placed in.
The hilarity wasn't lost on him, the fact that weak, clumsy, helpless Newt Scamander was concerned over someone as untouchable as a Lestrange.
Newt knew he had always had a protective instinct towards dangerous things that could easily destroy him but never another person before.
He started to wish a little that Theseus had not interrupted and wished that he was more skilled in concealing his shock.
She had only seemed far too bright, kind and patient to have belonged to that kind of family is all that had surprised him.
She had mentioned muggles briefly, he remembered, with no sense of hatred or disgust.
Maybe, he hoped for his sake and not at all hers for what it would cost her, she was different.
He knew how his brother would sigh deeply and shake his head as he always did at Newt's penchant for seeing only the beauty and goodness at such dangerous things, so he sat silently and did not indulge any of these thoughts.
It was likely too late for either of them now, anyway.
Despite her peculiarities, she belonged to a strange, dark world far beyond his reach even in the castle halls.
His world, and his family, were nearly just as stringent on such matters.
But for the sake of wild imagining, he wondered if he hadn't panicked and fled so ridiculously and in a manner absolutely putting a disastrous and unrecoverable end to their interaction, in some reality they could have been friends.
That would have been something, he thought laughably. Newt Scamander and Leta Lestrange.
L'esprit de l'escalier – The feeling you get after leaving a conversation when you think of all the things you should have said.