DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J.K. Rowling. This fiction is purely for my own enjoyment and yours. No money is being made by me or anyone else from this fiction and I in no way claim to own any of the ideas or content directly taken from the Fantastic Beasts film or Screenplay.
Author Note: Alright just to be clear. Anytime I use italics it's Hermione's thoughts unless explicitly stated otherwise. With that said, thank you everyone for the reviews! I truly appreciate each and every one of them!
corie.f: Look forward to more Newt x Hermione interactions in the future! I'm definitely glad the potential for hotness is coming through in my writing... that's what I was aiming for!
A young boy's led by his father down a busy street on the Upper East Side. A large lollipop clutched tight in his small fist. As they pass a fruit stand, a large bright red apple levitates into the air, bobbing along beside the boy as they walk. He follow its path with his eyes full of wonder, watching as a large bite is taken from the apple, an audible crunch filling the air. The boys smile fades, a pout gracing his lips as his lollipop is snatched from his hand by an invisible force.
Along the skyline a little ways away in the distance a thin blue tale slithers inside a small attic. The roof shakes, tiles falling the structure settles once more.
I really should be leaving-Though it's not as though I have any place to go... A broken time turner, 1926, New York City... Time Turners haven't even been invented yet! Even more to the point, the research into time magic hasn't even begun! Hermione has a one sided, mental argument with herself as she watches the scene play out before her.
After disapparating away from Mr. Kowalski's apartment, the ragtag group of four made their way to Ms. Goldstein's apartment, a small apartment filled with magic in the middle of New York, where they then met Tina's younger sister, Queenie.
Queenie Goldstein, a beautiful young woman about Hermione's age, only an inch or two taller, with perfectly styled strawberry blonde hair, fair skin and stunning pair of greyish green eyes.
Which brings us to the the current predicament.
Trapped. Hermione stands in the middle of the room unsure of what to do, her eyes dancing from one person to the next.
Displaced in time. Newt looks out the window, eyes searching, as if in a hurry to leave.
Lost. Suddenly Jacob stumbles sweat coating his skin, clearly unwell. The motion catches the eye of all the rooms occupants. Queenie rushes to him, Tina hovering in the background as he falls onto the sofa.
"You need to sit down, honey." Queenie intones in a sweet voice before continuing her stare steady and soft on Jacobs sweating, shaking form.
"Hey-he hasn't eaten all day. And-aw, that's rough,-he didn't get the money he wanted for his bakery. You bake, honey? I love to cook." She carries on as though having a conversation with herself.
Odd. Hermione furrows her brow staring at the woman, her curiosity roused.
Queenie holds the attention of the room and this time for something more than her beauty or state of dress. Newt turns from the window his interest piqued.
"You're a Legilimens?" He asks, though it's really more of a statement.
Bugger! A quiet gasp escapes Hermione's lips, the pieces clicking into place. A feeling of dread overwhelming her senses. Luckily none of the rooms occupants pay her any mind.
"Uh-huh, yeah. But I always have trouble with your kind. Brits. It's the accent." She supplies looking from Newt to Hermione in turn before focusing her attention once more on Jacob.
Though the expression on her face betrays nothing, Hermione's palms begin to sweat, her mind racing. Now, once again unnoticed by the room she begins to slowly inch her way towards the door.
Thrown backwards in time, a head full of knowledge, sensitive knowledge. Knowledge that pertains to the future and suddenly trapped in a room with a skilled Legilimens-Could this day get any worse!? Her mind practically screams.
Unbeknownst to her one person is watching her still. Newts eyes following her every move, his brows furrowed a look of intense concentration on his face, as well as a healthy dose of suspicion.
"You know how to read minds?" Jacob asks, appalled.
A bit more than just that if she's reading yours with such ease. Hermione thinks attempting to control her breathing, one sweaty palm closing around the naked chain about her neck. Pulling at it with desperate fingers.
Newts eyes track her movements, the cogs of his mind rapidly moving.
Once more recalling its fate her hand drops before settling on the pocket of her trousers. Slipping her hand within, fingers finding purchase on the broken, warped remains of the time turner.
Her time turner. The one she was given in third year, before being gifted to her once more in the wake of the war. She hardly registers the pain as the jagged pieces cut into her skin.
Newt watches as she pulls a bloody hand from her pocket, wiping the evidence on the dark black fabric of her pants, a small smudge staining her crimson coloured blouse. The spot now a shade darker. Narrowing his eyes he begins to slowly, cautiously move towards the now visibly shaken woman.
"Aw, don't worry, honey. Most guys think what you was thinking, first time they see me." Queenie laughs before playfully gesturing towards Jacob with her wand.
"Now, you need food." She says making her way into the kitchen, Tina following her.
The two women busy themselves in the kitchen, magic doing much of the work for them as Jacob watches with wide eyes.
Hermione's fingers wrap around the cool metal of the doorknob, a turn away from freedom, her mind momentarily flashing to the night she left Ron, sadness washing over her.
Harry, Ron, George, Ginny, Mr. And Mrs. Weasley... They have no idea where i've gone. Have they noticed i'm missing yet? She thinks sucking in a deep breath, the familiar sting of unshed tears reaching her through the haze.
She begins to turn the doorknob when suddenly a large calloused hand closes around her wrist, halting the motion. The spark that hadn't made its presence known since earlier that day once again fills her stomach. A tingling sensation, reaching out from the place their skin meets, racing along the skin of her arm making all of the hairs stand at attention.
His hand slides gently but firmly from wrist to hand, cupping her hand with a heavy palm. She turns her head quickly. Wild, watery eyes met with the site of a golden waistcoat. Her eyes focus on the glittering golden threads interwoven on the piece of fabric, her breath catching.
He's so close, so very close. His hand closed over her own, curving his body slightly to cage her in, his overcoat brushing against her body, the thin fabric of her clothing doing little to ease the sensation. Slowly she raises her head, hand relaxing on the door knob until with a shaky breath she meets his eyes.
Newt's bent slightly at the waist, face lowered towards her own. From this distance she can see his freckles so clearly. The small marks with no discernible pattern making him appear younger, more innocent, less worldly. But his eyes, those brilliant blue eyes had changed. Gone was the awkward and adorable young man she met earlier today. In his place stood the man who would soon help to defeat Gellert Grindelwald for the first time. His stare freezing her in place.
He opened his mouth a question dying before it's born, a small unintelligible sound escaping his parted lips as the spark roars to life. A blistering inferno in her gut, raging wildly. Her skin feels as though its burning, a slow, torturous burn engulfing her body. The heat even more present and persistent where their skin meets. A strange and unusual feeling fills her, making her feel as though she'll burst. A knotted sensation settling in the centre of the flame, aching to be unravelled.
A gasp escapes her lips, eyes wide and focused on a pair of stunning blue. She recognizes the look of shock and confusion crossing his features, a look she imagines is mirrored in her own eyes.
Does he feel this too... She questions, the single thought breaking through, eyes still locked, breathing in sync. It feels as though all the blood in her body has rushed to her head, waves crashing, the rest of the world melting away. All that's left, two strangers, yet not.
Focus. Her mind curses. Body stiffening, she pulls her hand from his grip, biting back the moan that begs for release as his rough fingers drag across the top of her lightly scarred hand. The sensation eases. The spell waning. Neither move, breathing heavily now, eyes connected. Newt is the first to regain his senses and a low voice full of gravel fills the air.
"What was that?" He questions a touch of fear but also intrigue in his eyes, licking his lips, one quick lick before it disappears again, the small appendage finding refuge between his parted lips. Hermione missed it instantly. She found herself shaking with need, an overwhelming urge to learn if those lips truly were as soft as they looked filling her.
"I wish I knew." Hermione responds in a breathless voice, aching to reach for him once more.
"Hey, Mr. Scamander-Hermione, you prefer pie or strudel?" Queenie calls into the room her greyish green eyes settled on the pair, a smile curving her lips.
The two jump apart embarrassed and red in the face as Tina and Jacob follow Queenie's stare.
"I-ah-I don't really have a preference" Newt manages before clearing his throat, looking to Hermione from behind his fringe.
"Ah-Likewise." Hermione finishes lamely, a blush further colouring her cheeks.
Looking into the kitchen Hermione notices that Jacob is now seated at the table, a napkin tucked into his shirt, a dopey sort of smile on his face as he watches Queenie.
"You prefer strudel, huh, honey? Strudel it is." At her statement Jacob nods enthusiastically earning himself a grin from a satisfied Queenie.
With a flick of her wand, and a stunning display of magic all eyes watch as she creates the strudel, mixing, building and baking all taking place mid-air before their very eyes.
"Well, sit down you two, were not going to poison you." Tina states settling herself into her seat, her gaze flickering between Newt and Hermione, a look of mild suspicion making it home across her features.
Somewhere in New York, in a dark, abandoned alley way, late at night stand two men, heads bent, bodies close, a secret conversation being had.
"You're upset. It's your mother again. Somebody's said something-what did they say? Tell me." The Auror, Director of Magical Security and head of MACUSA's Department of Magical Law Enforcement inquires of the younger man.
"Do you think i'm a freak?" The young man with a rather unfortunate haircut asks, voice insecure and quiet.
"No-I think you're a very special young man or I wouldn't have asked you to help me, now would I?" Graves comforts the young man.
Silence fills the air as a pause punctuates the conversation. Graves brings his hand up to rest atop the young man's arm.
"Have you any news?" Graves asks, tone urgent.
"I'm still looking. Mr. Graves, if I knew whether it was a girl or boy-" The young man starts in way of explanation.
"My vision showed only the child's immense power. He or she is no older than ten, and I saw this child in close proximity to your mother-she I saw so plainly." Graves cuts in.
"That could be any one of hundreds." The young man replies at a loss.
"There is something else. Something I haven't told you. I saw you beside me in New York. You're the one that gains this child's trust. You are the key-" Graves states his tone softening, comforting the young man.
"I saw this. You want to join the wizarding world. I want those things too, Credence. I want them for you. So find the child. Find the child and we'll all be free." He urges continuing his speech.
Conversation coming to an end, Graves drops his hand from the young man's arm. A look of sadness crossing the young boy's face at the loss of contact. The two part ways, disappearing into the night.
After sharing a delicious meal, during which Queenie and Jacob got on famously. Much of the awkward silence being filled by their flirting and playful banter as Tina, Hermione and Newt looked on uncomfortably for much of the conversation, the group split. Jacob and Newt lead to the backroom by Tina where they were offered to bunk for the night, leaving Queenie and Hermione alone.
This decision leading to a rather awkward few moments in which Hermione avoided Queenie's eyes at all costs well reciting every single potions ingredient she could recall in her head as the pleasant young woman attempted to make small talk. All of which culminating in an offer from Queenie for Hermione to freshen up a bit. The young woman's eyes taking stock of Hermione's frenzied state.
Queenie then showed her to her room for the evening before leading her to the bathroom. Once safely in the bathroom away from prying eyes Hermione dropped her purse on top of the closed toilet before looking into the mirror hanging above the sink.
Merlin. She couldn't help but gape at her appearance.
Her once neat bun atop her head could hardly be called such in its current state. A mass of straining curls at the nap of her neck, tangled in a clump, a few stray flyaways sticking up at awkward angles, large, tangled strands framing her face, brushing her collarbone. Her brown eyes, wide, wild and fairly bloodshot stared back at her. A small amount of mascara smudged to the side of her familiar scar under her left eye. Her complexion pale, making her freckles stand out even more against her skin.
Turning on the taps, cupping her hands to collect the cold water she bends at the waist before splashing her face with water. A small sound of protest escaping her parted lips as the cold water washes over her skin. Scrubbing her face before reaching for a hand towel, with a shuddering sigh she dries her face before looking in the mirror once more. Pulling the hair elastic from her tangled hair with a fair amount of difficulty her nimble fingers get to work on untangling the worst of her hair as she takes further stock of her person.
The collar of her crimson blouse torn, burnt and stained a shade darker. Her black trousers though clean at first glance feeling gritty and stained. Dropping her hands from her hair she strips off her now ruined blouse and trousers with rushed hands. Standing in nothing more than a simply pair of matching undergarments she examines her newest mark. In the centre of her chest, between her breasts is an angry red burn, the skin broken by a number of small scratched. With a hiss of air she touches the mark, a single finger tracing the trail of a small incision before wetting the hand towel, gently cleaning the wound, pulling any stray glass shards from the cuts. Stepping away from the mirror she slips open the face of her black leather purse, shoving an arm, elbow deep into its depths. Knocking a few items away, her finger wrapping around a small glass phial with a sound of triumph. Pulling her arm from the bag she examines the label, her familiar scrawl reads: Essence of Dittany. Setting it aside she plunges her arm once more into the depths before pulling out a change of clothes.
She makes her way to the mirror, arms full. Setting the clothing aside she uncaps the phial of brown-coloured liquid, applying a small amount to her chest.
Greenish smoke billows as the potion makes quick work of her wound. Once cleared she examines her chest, the wound now looking to be several days old. Reaching into the pockets of her now removed trousers she cups the broken remains of her time turner, wincing as it cuts into her hand before pulling it from the pocket, dropping it on the counter. Once more she applies the Essence of Dittany to her cut and bleeding hands, the process repeated before capping the phial and setting it aside.
Ruined. With a sigh she pulls the naked chain from her neck and wraps it and the mangled remains of the time turner in her now ruined blouse. Stowing both the shirt, trousers and phial of Dittany in her purse. She pulls on a new pair of dark, tight fitting, high waisted trousers up over her toned legs and lightly curved hips securing them in place before slipping a cream coloured blouse over her head, tucking the hem into the waist of her pants. Smoothing her hands over her hair once more she sighs.
Good enough. She thinks collecting her purse once more, shutting on the lights before leaving the room.
After exiting the bathroom Hermione quietly makes her way through the small apartment, holding her breath as she passes the room Queenie and Tina are sharing for the evening before coming to a stop at the door housing Jacob and Newt. With an intake of air she raises her hand to knock before thinking better of it.
Quietly, slowly she turns the doorknob pushing the door open without a sound. Peeking her head in she notices to room is empty, the occupants gone. Stepping into the room, closing the door silently behind her she takes a breath.
Newts beaten brown case lies on the floor in the centre of the room. Approaching she drops to her knees before the case, fingers lightly touching the clasps. Smoothing her fingers across the worn leather before flicking the catches open, lifting the top. Peering into the darkness she stands before easing herself into the case.
After a bit of a nasty spill into the case, during which she collided with a variety of objects, instruments and bottles. She righted herself, checking her person for any further cuts and scratches before dusting herself off. With a nod she decides that nothing seems to be out of place on her person. Unbeknownst the her, her fifty-second edition copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them had fallen from her bag during the tumble. Making itself at home on a cluttered counter full of phials and other nick nacks just below the stairs.
Amazing. Hermione breaths taking in the small wooden shed around her.
A camp bed lays against one wooden wall, gear for every sort of environment and climate is strewn about, various tools hanging in rows upon the wall. Wooden cupboards break the line of tools, their contents, a variety of rope, nets, potions ingredients and mostly empty jars. An old typewriter, even older than the current 20's style models sits in a corner on a desk, a pile of manuscripts, and medieval bestiary surrounding it. With wide eyes Hermione approaches the corner, gentle fingers caressing the pages.
History! She squeals in her mind desperate to explore the pages further, to dive head first into the words, absorbing the information held within.
So much of history is lost to time! What lost words and stories could be found within! With a soft sigh she removes her hand.
Perhaps another time. She thinks moving further into the room.
Rows of pills and tablets, syringes and vials form a medicine chest. Her fingers dance over its contents. Her eyes taking stock of the notes, maps and drawings tacked to the walls.
A smile curving her lips, eyes bright as she takes in a moving photograph of a Ukranian Ironbelly. What she knows to be it's metallic grey and silver scales catching the light, despite the image being printed in black and white, wings flexing as it tilts its head to the sky, snout open wide as fire bathes the scene.
Beneath it a moving photo of a group of Cornish Pixie's sits. One particular pixie is pressed up against the camera as if grabbing it, its mouth pulled into a grin, sharp teeth at the ready, black, bottomless eyes wide and filled with mischief staring straight out.
The memory of their lesson with Professor Lockhart in second-year making itself known, a hint of sadness and longing filling her senses.
A childhood long lost, forced to grow up too soon. Loss yet again, thrown 70 plus years into the past, the faces of her friends and family a distant memory. The faces of children and later adults yet to be born.
Shaking her head she moves from the room focusing the animalistic sounds coming from just beyond the small shacks door. She opens the door and steps through.
"Breathtaking." She breaths aloud her brown eyes filled with wonder as she takes in the various habitats before her.
I wonder what sort of alterations he made to his Undetectable Extension Charm in order to create such an elaborate piece of magic. She muses, eyes tracing the perimeter of the leather case dimly visible in the distance.
Perhaps he'd share if I asked nicely. She giggles looking into the closest habitat.
A slice of the Arizona Desert stands, self sustained in place. A warm air rushes over her person causing her push her sleeves up, rolling them neatly to the elbow. Her mouth drops open as she watches a Thunderbird circle above. Its intelligent eyes focused on her, clear, even from such a distance. It's glorious shimmering, patterned wings spread wide, gliding in the air beneath the hot artificial sun. It lets out a cry, uncaring of Hermione's presence as it swoops and turns, gliding through the air. Shimmering golden strands streaking its body. The fantastic beast flaps its wings causing Hermione to brace herself as a great wind dances around her. Suddenly the habitat fills with a torrential downpour, thunder and lightening filling the sky. Uncaring of the rain soaking into her clothes, smoothing her wild curls she continues to follow its movements enthralled until finally with a shake of her head she moves on.
Walking further into the magical case full of breathtaking beasts and other magical creatures. She ascends a small ramp of stairs, entering a wooded area densely populated with bamboo trees. Weaving in and out of the tress before emerging into a sunlit glade. A small tree bathed in sunlight catches her eye, high pitched chattering filling the air. She moves slowly towards the tree an excited huff of breath escaping her lips as a clan of Bowtruckles rush out of the leaves, greeting her upon her arrival. Their small twig like bodies swinging and swaying in the wind. She reaches a hand towards the tree a startled sound escaping her lips as one of the Bowtruckles leap onto her outstretched hand before scuttling up her outstretched arm into her rapidly drying, bushy hair.
She laughs as the remaining four clack noisily as if in protest motioning in her direction. A quiet chattering from the Bowtruckle in hair filling her ears. Reaching up her fingers lightly prod the Bowtruckle, its small spindly plant like hands wrap around her pointer finger.
"Come on then." she urges the little creature in an attempt to coax it form her hair.
Its chattering increases, a few clacking noises punctuating its impassioned speech. A hard tug on her hair gets its point across.
It will not be leaving. With a low chuckle she drops her hand allowing the little creature to join her for now.
"Just until we find Mr. Scamander and Jacob." She promises setting off once again.
