(July 1st, 7th Year)
Graduation day was a night away.
Sylvia's time in Hogwarts had finally come to an end, as did a rather... memorable chapter in her life.
She looked around at the Gryffindor common room, alight with fervour and celebration – and smiled. A gramophone blared in the background with early swing music and the seventh year students who were brave enough danced along to its rhythm. Red banners had been magically placed around the room and a small buffet had been 'conjured'. One student had attempted to smuggle Fire-Whiskey into the party but was promptly caught by a professor, so they settled for pumpkin juice and punch instead.
Halfway through the night, Sylvia noticed something new. Even after all of her years of knowing Malvin, and they felt like very long years indeed, she had never noticed that he had a greater passion for something other than vol-au-vents and toffee apples. Dance.
She was quite happy enough to see him dancing, and rather well, with the other girls (and one boy who went red in the face), until he turned to her.
"Come on, Sylvia!" He meandered over and extended a hand, his cheeks aflame with exertion.
"Definitely not!" Sylvia laughed. Her mother had taught her to dance, sure enough. It was expected of a woman. But her legs when dancing reminded her too much of a baby deer on ice.
Malvin grabbed her hand and began to pull her towards the middle of the common room, where the chairs and coffee tables had been pushed to the sides.
"Malvin, I will curse you where you stand!" Sylvia warned, but the large grin on her face said something else entirely.
"I'm sorry, my dear," Malvin said, with an obnoxiously posh accent. "But you've already bewitched me!"
"Ugh," Sylvia gagged as he put his hand politely on her waist.
They swayed and turned to the rhythm, and Malvin didn't seem put off by their obvious difference in height – though it was Sylvia who had to spin him around. Sylvia forgot all of her anxieties, as they giggled and laughed louder than she could ever remember doing previously.
When the song changed to a much slower, rather romantic beat, Malvin and Sylvia eyed each other awkwardly before laughing. Without prompting, they switched their roles, Sylvia assuming the position of a man and Malvin a woman. He was surprisingly good at it, as the crowd they had gathered cheered and jeered around them.
The celebration continued on well into the night until a Gryffindor professor came in to send them all to bed. Seventh-year students they might be, they were still in Hogwarts and under their rules – so they broke up the party and returned to their respective dormitories.
Sylvia stood by her bed, sadly for the last time, and started to unbutton her blouse. Too busy thinking about Malvin tripping over a coffee table and spilling punch down himself, she forgot what lay beneath. Her fingers bumped into the raised scar that stretched over her abdomen and across her side – and for a minute she felt like she had jumped into the icy waters of the Black lake. Recovering her breath, for it had escaped her body without her noticing, she slowly turned towards the mirror that sat on her bedside table.
There it lay. A grim reminder of her brush with death – and the loss of her friend. Reality washed over her quickly and for a moment she stood lifelessly. She normally changed clothes in the dark and away from the mirror, but with the merrymaking and happiness, she had forgotten all about it.
It had been over a year since Newt had been expelled. She briefly wondered what he was doing at that current moment in time as she touched the scar gently. It was slowly beginning to fade. When she had first returned to the dormitory, the other girls wanted to see it desperately. Sylvia remembered thinking they could have one if they wanted – if they were willing to pay the price for it.
Sylvia went to bed a little sadder that night. It was nothing she wasn't used to.
(July 2nd, 7th Year)
"Move closer!"
Sylvia huddled a little closer to Malvin, their graduation caps touching.
"And... smile!"
Sylvia smiled widely, though she spied Malvin out of the corner of her eye pulling an absurd face. A blinding flash went off, which took Sylvia several moments to blink out of her eyes. Malvin reacted as if he had been shot, much to the photographer's amusement. Sylvia had a deep-set feeling of déjà vu.
"Brilliant." The photographer said. "Another one?"
"Definitely!" Malvin called over the excitement of the courtyard. "I've got a great idea!"
He turned to Sylvia. "Pretend to strangle me."
"What?" Sylvia blinked. She saw the crazed enjoyment on Malvin's flat features and couldn't bring herself to deny him the pleasure. "...Only pretend?"
"Oh, shut it you." Malvin laughed as they stood in position. Sylvia clasped her hands around his neck, lightly, and Malvin tilted back with his tongue hanging lopsided out of his mouth – much like an over-excited Labrador. Sylvia had to stifle her laugh and focused on her angry face. It was surprisingly hard to pull off when she felt a little lighter than she had in years.
"A little unusual, but I'm sure your grandchildren will find it most hysterical." The photographer commented as he removed himself from the camera's blanket.
"Pfft," Malvin scoffed loudly.
Sylvia chuckled as her eyes scanned the sun-bathed courtyard. The seventh-year students from every house were outside, dressed in graduation robes, having their last mementoes of the school taken. One boy was having a picture taken of him pretending to be cursed by their Defence Against the Dark Art's professor. Sylvia smiled at the scene - until her eyes landed on a lone figure sitting on a bench.
Leta sat alone, her arms folded neatly in her lap as she also observed the scene in front of her.
Sylvia often saw her alone. While Sylvia had Malvin and a select few other friends to fall back on, she realised Leta had... no-one. Even on her last day.
A strange feeling settled in the bottom of Sylvia's stomach. Pity?
"Why don't you take a picture with Anderson?" Sylvia said. Malvin raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm going to see if Bettie wants one."
"Sure?" Malvin said slowly, his eyes narrowed. "See you in a mo'." Malvin walked off, hunting through the crowd for his friend. Sylvia waited until he was lost in the thick of students before she went walking over to the bench.
Leta didn't notice Sylvia's presence until she sat down.
"Strange to think this will be our last full day here." Sylvia stared around the stone structures of the courtyard. "It feels like a lifetime."
Leta nodded and smiled. Sylvia glanced at her.
While Leta had tried her best to retrieve her polite, 'pleasant' resting face that only a pure-blood could perfect, Sylvia could still see the cracks in the facade. It seemed what happened had damaged her badly, arguably worse than herself.
"Want a picture?" Sylvia said through slightly gritted teeth. The words came out in a rush of air as she was scared that if she didn't get them out quickly, they wouldn't come out at all. Leta stared at her as if Sylvia had just propositioned her. "I promise I photograph better than I look."
Leta completely missed the joke and continued to stare blankly as Sylvia stood up. She spied the small scar on her upper lip.
"For old times sake," Sylvia said quietly, as she held out of her hand.
Leta grasped it lightly as she stood. Sylvia vaguely remembered her confident grip when they first met in the girl's bathroom. Compared to then, it was like trying to hold hands with the wind.
Leta stood up and stared deeply into Sylvia's face, evidently afraid this was all a cruel joke. When no punchline came, Leta repeated her words quietly.
"For old times sake."
They walked towards the photographer that had previously taken Sylvia and Malvin's picture and waited for his attention. Even the photographer looked at them oddly.
"Well, stand over there..." He mumbled.
Leta and Sylvia stood in position. Leta looked incredibly awkward standing next to Sylvia.
Sylvia rolled her eyes. She wrapped one arm around the smaller witches shoulder. She flinched.
"For Newt," Sylvia whispered to her.
Leta wrapped her arm around Sylvia's waist. They both smiled.
To anyone who didn't know their history – Leta and Sylvia looked like awkward, yet friendly, acquaintances. They were not, even by Sylvia's standards, but she recalled the note that Newt had left her. She wouldn't forgive herself if she couldn't even pretend to be nice, even after what Leta had done. They both owed Newt that much.
"And..." The photographer called.
The flash went off.
"There. These pictures will be mailed to you over the holidays."
Sylvia thanked him and removed herself from Leta. She looked very shy.
They walked away a little together.
"Thank you." Leta broke the silence first. "For that. I don't think I could bear to take one on my own."
"It's quite alright," Sylvia said. She wasn't exactly going to frame it and put it in her yearbook, but she was glad she put aside her feelings and asked her. Leta seemed grateful. She did have an idea what to do with the picture, though.
There was a call for group photos for the different houses. Gryffindor was first.
"I'll see you around," Sylvia said as she waved goodbye. Leta returned it gingerly.
That was the last time she ever talked with the Slytherin girl who had caused herself and Sylvia so much grief.
The boat bobbed gently in the water.
Sylvia turned around one last time and looked at the castle looming over them, slowly fading away. Most students joined her, and a reminiscent silence fell over the group.
This particular chapter in her life was over. Another one had begun.
This was the third letter Sylvia had sent in the past few months. Newt never replied.
She tied the piece of parchment to Adalard's foot, and even though the bird was getting on in years, it still didn't do anything for his temperament. Nursing the small cut on her hand, Sylvia lastly rolled up one last thing. The picture of her and Leta.
Looking at the sepia photograph, they looked very much awkward together. Sylvia's smile was undoubtedly uncharacteristically happy and she had an odd twitch in her eye while Leta looked unsure whether to look at her feet or the camera. But they at least looked... civil. If Newt did get it, Sylvia hoped he would be pleased.
"There you go, Adalard," Sylvia mumbled. The owl blinked once.
Letter and photograph securely tied to its feet, the dark owl ventured off without further hesitation, and Sylvia watched it fly into the distance.
She hadn't bothered to write an address, with the lack of reply Sylvia presumed he might have moved. It did take Adalard an awfully long time to return – and always empty handed. Or empty... clawed.
"Sylvia!" Her mother howled. "Come on, now. We need to prepare you for your Auror examination! You're N.E.W.T's will seem like a dream!"
Sylvia looked out of her window one last time, a childish part of her hoping to see Newt's kind owl – or even Newt himself.
The sky just stared back. Sylvia retreated downstairs with a sigh.
The party was in full swing.
Sylvia had been accepted into the Auror training program and was to begin the following week.
Her mother, who usually wasn't one for celebrations, decided a party was in order and had invited even her older relatives from Germany.
Her magical grandparents from her mother's side were there, Adolphus and Romhilde; her muggle grandfather from her father's side, Hanz and Sylvia's twin cousins, Ebba and Etta. Sylvia's auntie on her father's side, Wilhemina and her two uncles on her mother's side Rainer and Waldemarr and their respective wives – Sente and Wilde. The living room was very crowded and split into two sides. Magical and Muggle. Neither really trusted the other.
Sylvia had also invited a few of her now old friends, Malvin and Bettie, who didn't seem the slightest bit phased that no-one in the room was speaking their own language and that everyone was rather freakishly tall.
Sylvia had never learned German, even as many times as her father had tried to teach her, and even though the celebration was thrown for her – she had trouble understanding any of the conversation and resided herself to nodding and smiling politely.
As Sylvia retreated to the kitchen to escape the noise and cigar smoke of the living room, she bumped into her magical grandmother, Romhilde – who was rifling through their cupboard without a care in the world. She cast a glance at Sylvia as she stepped into the room.
"Ah, Liebling, no matter how many times I tell your mother to always keep Bezoar on hand – she never does."
"Are you... poisoned?" Sylvia had to take a moment to try and recall what a Bezoar was.
"Goodness no. I've just sat through three plates of your mother's cooking, I think I'm practically invincible now." Romhilde shut the fridge door with a loud crash. "Just a bit of heartburn."
"Oh," Sylvia said slightly awkwardly.
Romhilde was a strange old woman, even her own daughter – Sylvia's mother – didn't know how old she was. She had been a potions teacher at Durmstrang 'back in the day' (as her mother said) and often bragged about teaching Grindelwald himself. It seemed everyone on her mother's side agreed with his incentive apart from Hanna and Sylvia.
Romhilde stared at Sylvia and huffed. She had an eye missing, poorly replaced with a strange looking wooden one, and she walked so hunched over you would be sure she was trying to scrub the floors as she walked by. Sylvia felt very much nervous in her presence - but Romhilde did have a very sharp eye.
"You seem saddened." Romhilde tugged her shawl closer around her shoulders as she hobbled her way towards Sylvia. Two very shrivelled hands reached out and held Sylvia's face.
It took Sylvia every ounce of will not to scream.
"No... grandma, just... tired." Sylvia mumbled as her grandmother stared deep into her eyes with her own good one.
"Nein... You've had your share of battle – haven't you?" Romhilde smiled and exposed her semi-toothless mouth.
"How... could you tell that from my eyes?" Sylvia gasped. Romhilde always had an air of mystery about her.
Romhilde patted her face and laughed. "Goodness no. Your mother told me not long after it happened." Romhilde laughed again and Sylvia could have sworn she saw a twinkle in her grandmother's eye. "Just wanted to see if you'd lie about it."
Her grandmother took a step back and Sylvia breathed a sigh of relief.
After everything had happened between her, Newt and Leta - her mother had been informed immediately. After the threat of Sylvia losing her life had subsided, Sylvia was greeted with the worst scolding of her life – though there was something oddly proud in Hanna's voice.
"Your mother was the same," Romhilde commented as she reached into a cupboard for a small whiskey glass. "Always getting herself in trouble for someone else." She reached into another cupboard for a bottle of Firewhiskey. She poured herself a hefty shot and downed it in one.
"Did she?" Hanna had never mentioned much about her time at Beauxbatons other than her hatred for Quidditch and ice-sculptures.
"Oh, Ja." Romhilde chuckled as she poured herself another glass. "Pain in my rear. Didn't quite top yours, though." She turned towards the younger witch. "All of that trouble for a boy, hm?"
Sylvia struggled to hide the emotions on her face. "Yes," she breathed. "He deserved more."
Romhilde's thinning brows rose. "That's what your mother said too. Didn't work out, did it?"
"...No," Sylvia said finally.
Romhilde waddled over and gave Sylvia a strong slap on the back. "We never learn, do we? If you're as smart as the Ministry thinks you are, put it behind you." Another pat on the shoulder.
Her grandmother left without another word, leaving Sylvia standing in the kitchen alone.
"I hate family gatherings." Sylvia groaned.
"Focus, Sylvia!"
Sylvia did as instructed as she held the ward. Her instructor's barrages of hexes were unfathomably strong, and her magical barrier was just barely absorbing them.
The instructor lowered his wand and stood straight. He gave a subtle nod of approval.
Sylvia huffed and lowered her wand.
"That was inten-"
The instructor fired a stunning spell and Sylvia went flying against the padded wall behind her. It absorbed some of the shock – but not much.
"Constant vigilance, Sylvia. I didn't say we were done."
"Intense." Sylvia finished, as she tried to clamber to her feet. Auror training was far more rigorous than she could have ever imagined.
"For someone who faced down a ten-foot Jarvey and lived to tell the story, you're very oblivious. Focus." The instructor raised his wand again and Sylvia had a split second after getting up to do the same. "Again!"
How dare he? Sylvia thought.
Two years out of Hogwarts and that incident still followed her everywhere she went. She had quite enough.
The shield she conjured this time was much stronger and had a visible blue aura. The Auror trainer didn't look even the slightest bit fazed and continued his strong assault. The ward absorbed them easily.
After a minute or two the instructor, apparently keen on trying the same trick twice in a row, lowered his wand without saying anything. Sylvia followed suit – but was prepared this time. When the older man in front raised his wand, Sylvia reversed the spell.
Her fellow trainee's talked about how the instructor squealed in the air for weeks after.
"I'm glad you could get the time off, Sylv." Malvin smiled. The muscles around his mouth creased as he did so. How long had it been since she had last seen him?
"It wasn't easy, but I couldn't miss this for the world." Sylvia took the comb out of his hands and parted his hair neatly.
"It's mad, isn't it? To get married so young." Malvin's voice quivered as he fumbled to straighten his bow-tie. His slim fingers shook with nerves.
"Not really. Many people do." With his blonde hair now lying flat, Sylvia placed the comb on the vanity and looked at him in the mirror. "You look very..."
"Handsome? Dashing? Positively radiant?" Malvin joked with a smirk.
"Grown up, I was going to say," Sylvia said quietly as she tried to flatten out the creases on her green dress. "I feel like everyone's aged but me."
"You should be so lucky." Malvin turned around in his chair and looked at her closely. "I don't know, you seem very grown up to me. You should hope so for twenty-five."
"I've looked twenty-five since I was fifteen." Sylvia sighed.
Life had moved on so quickly since she left Hogwarts. Every other witch or wizard had moved on, but it seemed a part of her was still there.
Malvin shot her a sympathetic look as he stood. He outstretched his arms. "Bring it in."
Sylvia rolled her eyes as she bent over slightly to hug him. The height difference was still certainly there. It was silly to bring her personal troubles up on his big day.
"You still miss him, don't you?" Malvin whispered, slightly muffled from Sylvia's shoulder.
Sylvia stiffened in his arms.
"I'll take that as a yes." Malvin pulled away but kept his hands on her shoulders. "Even after all this time, though?"
Sylvia shrugged. The sadness was prominent in her eyes.
Malvin nodded.
"We shouldn't be talking about silly things now, anyway. It's your big day." Sylvia forced a smile. "And there is a very unfortunate man out there who is about to spend the rest of his life with you."
Her friend laughed, tears slightly in his eyes. "Yeah."
"Come on," Sylvia offered him her arm. "Before he comes to his senses."
Malvin wrapped his arm around Sylvia's and took a deep breath as they both faced the church door.
Sylvia still hated formal functions. The Auror's Christmas party was no different.
She also hated high-heeled shoes. There were only so many 'Wow, was your mother a giant?!' or 'What's the weather like up there?' jokes she could stand before she resulted to just sitting at her empty table whilst the others drunkenly danced. She toyed with her newly manicured nails whilst the party continued on.
"Not really your thing, I take it?" A voice spoke up from the seat next to her, it was definitely masculine. She had also heard this many times as well.
"Not really." Sylvia didn't look to see who the voice belonged to. No doubt another intern who she had never heard of.
"I'm not particularly keen either." The music poured on around them.
Sylvia circled the rim of her champagne glass with her finger. The chair creaked next to her. She wished whoever it was that was making a very poor attempt at conversation would realise she was a lost cause and leave. His fingers idly drummed against the clothed table, achingly out of time with the rhythm of the music.
"You certainly have grown since we last met."
"Is that another height joke?" Sylvia said tartly. She observed the crowd of drunken fools on the make-shift dance floor. The Head of the Auror department was making a tremendous arse of himself.
"It wasn't meant to be, though you have certainly grown, literally, since our family dinner all those years ago." There was a kind chuckle behind his words.
Sylvia's eyebrow twitched. "What?"
"Perhaps... it might help if you looked at me?"
Sylvia's grip on her champagne glass tightened. She turned her head towards the voice.
"...Theseus?"
A wide smile broke out on his face. He extended a slender hand. "Sylvia."
She grasped his hand gingerly, her mouth still slightly agape.
"I've seen you around. I must confess I haven't had the courage to introduce myself again properly until now."
Sylvia let go of his hand and returned it to her lap. She was stunned.
Theseus Scamander was certainly a legend around the Ministry, for what – she wasn't completely sure. Myth and legend were two completely separate things and her co-workers liked to gossip about both.
He certainly had a likeness to his brother, but there were very obvious differences. Theseus's hair was curly, like Newt's, but his almost fell to his shoulders – and looked very neatly kept. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and cheeks, though in less frequency; he had the stubble of a full beard when Newt's only centred on his chin and his face had a maturity surpassing his years.
"You comparing my likeness to Newt, aren't you?" Theseus grinned. He had a very friendly aura that drew Sylvia in quickly.
A small blush bloomed on Sylvia's cheeks as she was caught red-handed. She couldn't remember the last time she blushed.
"I'm sorry," Sylvia apologised, hiding her small smile behind a napkin.
"I don't mind," Theseus waved off her apology. "You're actually the first person to do it. Many seem to forget about my little brother."
Sylvia must have been one of the few not to. She felt quite jealous of those people at that moment.
"How... is he?" Sylvia said quietly. Theseus had to lean in to hear her words properly over the loud music and chatter.
"Newt? Fine as far as I am aware. I think he's in Indonesia at the moment, no doubt researching another dangerous creature no one has ever heard of. You know what he's like."
Sylvia chuckled and nodded. "I'm glad he's doing well."
"He talked of you often, you know," Theseus commented, watching her reaction carefully. "Newt rarely talked of much else, to be honest." Another kind, yet deep chuckle.
Sylvia stared at the bubbles of her champagne. She hummed.
"He was quite impressed when you were accepted into the Auror training program."
"Newt got my letter?" Sylvia's attention snapped to back to the man next to her. She had been sending a letter to Newt every time something happened in her life. He had, in a way, become almost like her diary. And just like a diary, he never replied. Theseus seemed slightly taken aback.
"Of... course?" He pushed a lock of his hair behind his ear, appearing to pick his words carefully. "He would always dash to the attic as soon as he heard your owl's call. Ruined many a vase in the process." Theseus reviewed Sylvia carefully. "I take it he never replied?"
"No," Sylvia mumbled. She waved off Theseus small look of condolence. "I'm pleased to know he at least got them. I was worried Adalard was just dropping them in the bin."
Theseus laughed and Sylvia gave a small smile. A moment passed between them as they stared at the dance floor together.
"Well, Ms. Segovstein, I may not have my brother's good charm," Sylvia mentally disagreed. Theseus stood. "But it would be a travesty if I didn't ask you to dance." He bowed low and extended a hand.
Sylvia wasn't keen on dancing, and she especially hated being called by her last name, but just this once she would put that aside. She accepted his hand and stood too. In a gentlemanly manner, he lead her towards the dance floor by the small of her back.
He was an adequate dancer, Sylvia noticed quickly.
Her fellow co-workers talked about the pair for weeks after. Sylvia found she didn't so much mind the rumours, but a small part of her still felt... empty.
"A spy."
A large grandfather clock ticked in the background.
"Not so much a spy, per se." The Minister said seriously. "MACUSA refuses to liaison with the Ministry and we have had several reports of large magical disturbances across Northern America. If it's Grindelwald," A coldness settled in Sylvia's gut. "We need to know. He is Europe's responsibility, not America's."
Sylvia nodded and the Minister dismissed her.
This was her first big assignment since she had officially become an Auror, and she was keen to please – even if the thought did unsettle her. There were much more experienced Auror's who would have been a better suit, but they had picked her under the alibi of 'MACUSA haven't seen you before'. The whole idea didn't sit well with her, but it was just supposed to be recon – observe the situation and stay out of the way. She could do that.
"Well, what did he say?"
Susan, who Sylvia had begun to nickname the new Malvin, collared her as she left the Minister's office. She was a secretary at the Ministry – a slim girl a few years younger than Sylvia with bushy hair and a long nose.
"You know I can't discuss Ministry business," Sylvia said a little loudly. As they traversed the many corridors, Sylvia quickly grabbed Susan by the arm and dragged her into an empty office.
Sylvia quickly explained everything.
"America? Really?" Susan's eyes were enlarged by her large glasses anyway, but they seemed to grow even bigger with every word Sylvia spoke.
Sylvia hummed her confirmation. "I've never been."
"No offence, Sylvia, but why would they ask you? Why not Xavier or Verona?"
Sylvia shrugged. "They're sending a couple of other Auror's with a little more experience too. I don't trust it, but this is the first big case I've been handed. I can't exactly say no."
Susan nodded. "Are you nervous?"
"I'm actually quite excited." It wasn't an act, Sylvia did feel the small tingles of excitement in her stomach. "I better start packing. The boat leaves tomorrow, apparently." Sylvia opened the door.
"Oh, make sure you write!" Susan called as Sylvia went to leave. "And don't forget your reports are due by this afternoon!" Sylvia pretended not to hear that.
She, however, wasn't expecting the big surprise waiting for across the proverbial pond – and it most certainly wasn't the obscurial.
It was exactly like Hogwarts all over again.
There he stood.
Sylvia's breath didn't hitch or hold - all oxygen in her being practically vacated her body. In her shock, she deflated like a balloon.
It was a busy street, packed with muggles and automobiles and a hazy fog of pollution settled over the scene – but she saw him through it all within a second. Her partner, an older Auror named Veticus, stood next to her, wondering what was so shocking that she stood so deathly still.
Newt looked both ways before crossing the street, a shoddy suitcase clenched in his hand. He looked... years older. When Sylvia had last seen him, he was a scrawny yet tall boy with wild hair and shy, green eyes. Now, his hair was fairly well kept, his shoulders had dramatically squared out and his gaze was sure and focused. She wondered if it was even truly him.
"You know him?" Veticus asked from Sylvia's side. He was a New York native originally, but spent most of his life in England and worked for the Ministry – a little like Sylvia herself. They were meant to be posing as a married Muggle couple.
"Yes... we went to Hogwarts together," Sylvia said in a quick rush of air. Her eyes never left Newt's form.
"He looks a lot like Theseus from 'ere," Veticus commented. "But it's still hard to think the two are related."
"Hm," Sylvia hummed, she wasn't paying any attention as Newt joined a group of muggles by the bank across the street. A small smile played on Sylvia's face. He stood out amongst the group like a sore thumb.
"Come on, we need to get back to the hotel and write our reports," Veticus said loudly as he toyed with his dark goatee. "Old Mangus won't like it if we're late."
Veticus tugged on the sleeve of Sylvia's trench coat, but she felt rooted to the spot. Even though Newt had long since disappeared into the bank, apparently in a rush, she debated following him. Did she go after him? Ask him how he was doing? What would she even say? Did he even remember her?
"Sylvia," Sylvia blinked and realised what she was doing. "I don't know what the deal is between you 'nd him, but you need to sort it out at a later date. I'm not getting a disciplinary over you, doll."
Sylvia nodded. It had been... she wasn't even sure how long it had been since she had last talked to him – and here she was, standing like a love-stricken teenager at their end of year dance.
"Of course," Sylvia said finally and joined Veticus as they started back to the hotel.
She made a mental note that when her business was finished, she would track him down and... she wasn't sure what she was going to do. She just felt in her gut, that if she didn't so much as speak to him, she could never really close that chapter of her life once and for all. Sylvia never realised the impact he had on her until that moment. How much time had she spent thinking about him since he was expelled?
She couldn't help glancing back until they finally turned the corner and left the scene behind them
