They spend their first morning as a married couple in bed, touching gently through the blankets as they speak in low murmurs.
"My parents used to take us to the shore on hot summer days," Tina says, her gaze turning distant. "We'd get shaved ice on Coney Island, and hot dogs. Those are some of my favorite memories."
"My brother and I used to be very competitive," Newt admits sometime later, squinting against the shaft of sunlight falling into his eyes as Tina pets his hair. "We aren't anymore, the war resolved that, but…"
"But you're still siblings," Tina guesses and smiles when he nods before hugging him properly, hesitantly pressing his face into her neck.
"Right you are," he mumbles and squeezes his eyes shut. "Are you ready to get up, Tina? As much as I'd like to spend the day lounging in bed with you, I'm afraid I need the toilet, and I imagine you do too."
"I thought you'd never ask," she gasps before leaping out of bed, where he's treated to the sight of her bare legs crossing the room as she retreats to the water closet. Newt waits until the door comes between them before groaning and hiding his face in her pillow, willing away the inevitable physical reaction to her proximity by recounting the properties of Swooping Evil venom until the flush leaves his cheeks, his center no longer quite so achy.
Then he flings aside the blankets to stand, reaching determinedly for his travel satchel.
They feast on a breakfast of toast with marmalade, augmented by plenty of hot coffee and tea before dressing individually. Tina admits she still isn't feeling well and Newt is not inclined to push, so they decide to spend their few remaining hours together cloistered on the couch—talking, laughing, sharing stories and tentatively bringing the other into their confidence.
"How old were you?" Tina asks suddenly after the shadows have grown long across the apartment. Newt slants an eyebrow at her in question and she blushes before looking away. "I mean, the first time you were with a woman—how old were you?"
Newt watches her steadily from beneath his fringe as she worries the edge of a cushion before opening her mouth, only for him to touch her fingers. "I'm not sure you'll like the answer," he says slowly, "but I can tell you that I was still in school when it happened. It was shortly before my expulsion, in fact, so I was no more than 16 years old."
Tina's jaw hardens. "Leta." It isn't a question.
He nods, and now it's his turn to look away, heat climbing into his face. "Yes. It would not be a lie to say that my—my encounter with her was the catalyst for everything that happened afterward. I was a means to an end Tina, nothing more. Please don't concern yourself on that count."
"I'm not worried," she says, and though her jaw is still tight, she turns to meet his eyes. "I'm not because she's over there and I'm here, and I'm the one with your ring on my finger. Not her."
Newt thinks this a rather stubborn oversimplification of the facts and almost says so—until he realizes that her face is pale and her eyes are anxious and overbright where they land on him. "Yes," he says instead and squeezes her hand reassuringly. "I haven't spoken to her in years, Tina. Please don't concern yourself on that count. Not now." She nods, and he looks at where he holds her, where she isn't breaking out of his grip before blurting, "And you? How old were you when…?"
Tina smiles, though it's a strained thing. "It wasn't until I became an Auror. There was a guy. I thought I loved him, but…" She shrugs, and Newt nods in perfect understanding before focusing on the patterned wallpaper to wrest down a sudden, inexplicable jealousy. Now you know how she felt, old chap, he thinks and closes his eyes when she strokes his scarred knuckles, sitting in amicable silence.
The clock chimes 5 pm, and Newt exhales gustily before forcing himself to look at her. "It's time for me to go," he murmurs, cupping her cheek when her lips tremble. "I—Tina, would you come with me, please? See me off at the Floo station?"
"I was hoping you'd ask," she warbles, and he takes her hand as they stand, abandoning it only to help her into her jacket and scarf before Summoning his satchel and escorting her down the stairs.
The international Floo terminal is as deserted as he expects on a Monday evening, and they linger awkwardly beneath the Transportation Specialists' keen gaze.
"Promise me you'll write," Tina says suddenly.
Newt cradles her jaw in lieu of his true wish—kissing her thoroughly—and shows a weak smile. "Every day," he promises, sliding his thumb along her bottom lip, feeling her silent gasp. "You'll be tired of me by the time I come back, I think."
"Doubtful," Tina says and squeezes his hand. "I'll keep an eye out for your letters. And your book. Just...promise me you'll be careful over there."
"I am always careful, but I promise to make more of an effort," he says and allows his eyes to fall to her waist, taking a long moment to gather his courage. "Especially now."
Tina flings herself at him, clutching him tightly as she peppers his cheek with kisses. "You crazy man," she gasps, and works her slow way to his mouth, kissing him gently, sweetly. "You foolish, brave, ridiculous man." She kisses him again, a little deeper, as Newt threads his fingers through her hair before cradling the back of her skull, drinking her in.
Behind them, the Transportation Specialist clears his throat impatiently, forcing them apart. Tina clutches at his lapels until he gently disentangles himself from her grasp, bending to pick up his satchel. "Every day," he repeats when the hearth flares to life behind him, walking backward to hold her gaze. "I promise, Tina."
"You'd better," she says with a watery smile and touches her lips with two fingers. He mirrors the gesture, holding her eyes as he steps into the grate. The flames flare green around him, turning her face into something ethereal when he is tugged away from her, sucked into the void.
Only then does he close his eyes.
They exchange letters every day, as promised.
Newt counts himself lucky to be connected to the Floo Network each time his hearth spits out a slightly singed missive from her. Their correspondences start out stilted at first, but by his third week in London (a week that corresponds with his birthday,) they are filled with gentle, if sarcastic affection and secret jokes.
My Dearest Husband, Tina starts her letters, or sometimes Dear Mr. Opportunity, and Newt smiles fondly while writing back: My Stubborn Wife, Apple of My Eye, and sometimes simply, Darling.
He works like a man possessed to tie up loose ends, in between last-minute details for the publishing of his book, writing MACUSA to hammer out an agreement to allow him and his case temporary residence in the United States, and courting company.
Professor Dumbledore comes by for a memorable visit, and he's barely through the door before he's congratulating Newt. "I'd like to offer a toast to the happy couple," Dumbledore says, raising his teacup. Newt returns the gesture in kind, but he can't help but notice, though the professor's lips are smiling beneath his scrap of a beard, his gaze is hard and probing.
Their conversation struggles to gain traction after that, both men too preoccupied with their own long thoughts to pretend civility. Newt extends an invitation to dinner which is declined, and he can't hide his relief when he sees Dumbledore off with an absent farewell.
He writes to Tina to ask whether she's had any contact with Hogwarts, and is entirely unsurprised when she replies in the negative. Do we need to be worried about this? She asks.
Newt chews the end of his quill, glancing around his home as if the wainscoting holds the answer, before hesitantly slashing out a reply. I think it is prudent, he writes, to keep your condition quiet for as long as is possible.
Tina agrees, and it's just one more thing for Newt to worry about until he can return to her side.
Theseus shows up unannounced one morning in early March.
Newt sits nodding over tea and scones as his brother makes small talk, only to come awake all at once when Theseus asks casually, "Have you heard from your wife yet?"
The Floo rattles into life behind them, and Newt frowns when a rough-looking envelop sails across the room. It's a letter from Tina, though the penmanship is shakier and more blotched than usual, her writing slanting into itself.
"What do you know that I don't?" Newt asks as he fingers the smudged lettering. Theseus runs a broad hand through his black hair.
"They found Director Graves," he admits. "Or at least, what's left of him."
Newt winces and uses his wand to break the seal, tuning out his brother as he reads her letter. She's understandably distraught at this turn of events, a situation made worse by her own inner-turmoil and the lingering symptoms of early pregnancy. Unsurprisingly, Tina doesn't ask him to return to New York. Instead, she implores him to continue to be careful.
Newt sighs heavily before setting the letter aside to press his face into his hands. "I should go to her," he murmurs, avoiding Theseus keen gaze. "I should go and...I don't know. Help her through this. She needs my support."
"I think that would be an extraordinarily bad idea," Theseus argues gently. "Much of your reason for marrying her was to keep her safe, wasn't it? So, what message do you suppose it sends if you drop everything to rush to her side when she's only saying goodbye to a superior?" Newt can't come up with an argument to that, and he huffs when Theseus goes on. "Stay here, Newt. She has her sister and her letters and I'll be heading to New York tonight. She'll be alright, I promise."
He lifts his head to meet Theseus' eyes, his jaw set. "Keep an eye on her," Newt says, infusing his tone with authority. "Keep her safe for me, Theseus."
Theseus raises his eyebrows while making a warding-off gesture with his hands. "You needn't worry, little brother," he promises. "In fact, that's why I came here." He rummages in his waistcoat pocket before withdrawing a rusty nail and a Galleon. "The coin will get hot if there's a problem," he explains, passing the items over, "and the nail is a Portkey. I trust you know how to use one?"
"Of course," Newt scoffs and watches his brother stand. "Wait—when do you leave?"
"About ten minutes ago," Theseus says, flashing a devil-may-care grin while shrugging into his coat. "I'll keep an eye on her, I promise."
Newt clasps Theseus' shoulder, squeezing gently. "Please do," he implores and manages a fleeting smile before looking away. "If you talk to her, tell her—tell her I'll be home as soon as I can. Tell her I'm almost done here. Tell her—"
"Newt." Theseus sounds amused, and he squeezes Newt's hand after wresting it away from his arm. "Write to your wife. Now, before you lose your nerve. I'll send you a letter either tonight or tomorrow. And try not to worry too much. She'll be fine. You'll see."
"I hope so," Newt mumbles, feeling cowardly and useless as his brother takes his leave, his Slytherin scarf bright against the grey backdrop of London. He waits until Theseus is out of sight before summoning his stationary, nervously unraveling the hem of his favorite jumper as he composes a reply to Tina.
Newt writes three separate letters that day, feeding them all into the Floo before he can second-guess himself. He writes three more the next day, which happens to be the day of Percival Graves' funeral. The third day sees no response from Tina, and he barely sleeps that night, enchanted Galleon clenched in his fist as he ruminates on the possibilities, over and over, until his eyes burn and he can no longer stand the feel of his bedsheets against his skin.
Tina's reply arrives just before noon on the fourth day. It lands with unerring accuracy in his soup, but he's too delighted to be bothered by the damp parchment as he devours her words, savoring them with a long sigh before reading it again.
Thank you for your letters, she writes. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for you to stay behind. Your brother explained your reasoning and I think it makes perfect sense, so you can stop apologizing now. I'll be okay.
A vast and sweeping relief prompts Newt to close his eyes, leaning his head on the table after pushing his soup aside. "Tina," he mumbles into the placemat. "I don't know what you're doing to me. I don't think you do, either." He scrubs his palm over his cheek while straightening, sending his untouched meal to the stove before standing to write a relieved letter to his wife.
Newt's set to return to New York in two days when an owl swoops through his window, bearing a small package.
He relieves the bird of its burden before treating it to a mouse, smiling as the owl takes a perch and tears into its meal. A cursory glance reveals that the package is from Theseus. Newt makes a thoughtful sound before untying the twine and parting the simple brown paper.
The box holds nothing more than a shiny key and a scrap of parchment. Intrigued, Newt scrutinizes the bit of metal to convince himself that it is, in fact, a key to the townhome he currently resides in before unfolding the note.
Dear little brother, it reads. I was unable to convince Mother and Father to welcome you back into their good graces, even after I explained your nuptials and impending offspring. Newt rolls his eyes, grumbling, "I could have told you to save your breath, Theo," before continuing.However, I am now old enough to claim my full inheritance from Grandpa McKinnon so I'll no longer have use of the house on Sherringford Square. Consider it my wedding gift to you.
Newt's hands tremble badly when he finishes the missive (With love, Theseus) before staring hard at the piece of metal. "Well," he says to the near-empty townhome, looking around the space that now belongs to him before making a fist around the precious key. "I suppose we don't have to worry about a place to live, should New York fall through."
Pickett chirrups questioning from his pocket, the owl hoots softly from its perch. Newt smiles as he scribbles an addendum to Tina's daily letter before sending it through the flames, picturing her delighted expression. He allows Pickett to climb onto his shoulder before popping the latches on his case, whistling cheerfully as he descends into the fragrant darkness.
Tina's there to greet him when he steps, sooty and disheveled, through the International Floo gateway. She is smiling, grinning even, her face glowing with happiness and something else. He takes a long moment to stare in awe before she takes him into her arms.
"I missed you," she breathes, her hands locked at the small of his back. "So, so much."
Newt responds in kind, the warm skin of her forehead beneath his lips as he breathes in her clean scent, memorizing it until she takes his hand. "Let's go home," she says, and he squeezes her fingers in agreement, watching the proud sway of her hips as she leads him into the street.