It was a small affair.

Of course it was, thought Newt solemnly.

In a small chapel in Wales, mourners gathered in the quietness of the valleys. Newt recognised a few of them; Malvin and his husband sat towards the front of the pews, their hands clasped together tightly as Sylvia's old friend tried his hardest to squint his eyes and quell his tears – his normally bright blonde hair looking a sadder shade of ash in the dust of the building. Sylvia's mother greeted the grieved at the doorway, her eyes tired and sunken, though her back straight and proud. Her jaw was set in a firm line, her lips even firmer as she shared polite greetings. To Newt's knowledge, Fredrik had died some months before Sylvia. There were a few old school-friends he noticed, and Sylvia's old Defence Against the Dark Art's professor who Newt was faintly surprised to see still walking.

Several Ministry officials attended, more to show face than to honour those that they had sent so willingly to their death. Newt sat silently at the back. The atmosphere was thick and heavy, though the sky was bright outside. And odd contrast for such a sad day. Newt didn't bring his fiance, who had insisted she come for support. Newt met Sylvia alone – and he would say goodbye alone. She never did care for groups anyway.

The service was small yet meaningful, and after a few prayers and a eulogy by Sylvia's mother – it was over. Sylvia had insisted on being cremated.

As Newt filed out with the rest of Sylvia's family, friends and acquaintances; into the blinding sun and cool breeze, he noticed Hanna waiting by the gate that lead out of the small graveyard.

"Newt Scamander, yes?" Hanna greeted, her thin, bony hands clasped neatly in front of her. Newt nodded. A cold feeling settled in his stomach as he saw Sylvia's likeness in her mothers face. He settled for looking just behind her. "Walk with me, there's something that needs to be said."

They walked nearly a foot apart, following a small stream that flowed. Birds tweeted around them. Summer was in full swing, and yet to Newt, it had never seemed colder.

"I'm... not sure where to start," Hanna began, as she tucked a loose strand of grey hair behind her ear. Her hand shook. Newt walked silently with her. "Sylvia..." Her voice quaked and she stopped walking. She took a breath before looking Newt squarely in the face.

"She thought the world of you," She said so quietly that the gentle bubbling of the stream nearly overpowered her voice. "You... were on her mind constantly. Even when she thought you had forgotten her."

Newt felt like a knife had pierced him. He took a breath and allowed her to continue.

"Being an Auror is dangerous work. Dangerous, and lonely." Hanna let out a sigh, tears building in her eyes. "I was so incredibly proud of her when she was accepted. My daughter, following in my footsteps," Her voice broke again. "Had I known..."

"Sylvia was the bravest woman I have ever had the honour of knowing," Newt said unabashedly. "Loyal to a fault. I don't think she would have had... this... any other way."

Hanna nodded her agreement, a sad smile beginning to form on her features.

"As Auror's, we're prepared for death," Hanna whispered. "It's a career few live long in." She let out another shuddering breath before reaching for her purse. "She wanted you to have this." Sylvia's mother held reached into her bag and produced a small box. "It's not officially in her will, but she told me you'd know what it was."

Newt took the box from Hanna's hand slowly, his eyes registering what it was but his brain refusing to follow.

It was a small jewellery box. It had an engraved Hippogriff on the front.

The magizoologist held it in his fingers, which without his notice had begun to quiver. He opened the lid gingerly. A small note lay inside.

"Sylvia didn't have much to give - she didn't really care for material things." Hanna huffed. "A lot like her father. But she was adamant you have this, in the event of her... death."

Newt nodded as he closed the lid again, a small sob rising in his throat as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Sylvia believed those that died never really leave us." Hanna adjusted the bag on her shoulder. "I share that same sentiment. I think if Sylvia was to spend the afterlife watching over anyone..."

She didn't need to finish the sentence, Newt understood.

"Just like she spent her life." Newt breathed.

Hanna and Newt parted ways then. Hanna returned to the chapel to oversee the ashes burial, and Newt remained where he stood, the small box still held between his hands.

In that moment, nothing seemed to exist apart from him, and the present he had gifted his friend all those years ago.

There were still cracks on it, where it had been repaired poorly after it had been broken, and some of the Hippogriff's engravings had been worn away through age. The polish had rubbed away on the lid in the shape of fingertips. Newt ran his own fingers over them. He wondered how many times Sylvia had used it.

He walked to a small bench that sat nearby, in no better condition than the box that was in his hands, and sat down. Shaded from the harsh sun by a large oak, he summoned his own courage. Newt retrieved the small note from inside and opened it.

It was old. The black ink had worn to a light grey and the page had yellowed and creased terribly.

Newt closed his eyes for a second, unsure whether he was strong enough to read the words yet. Would it be rubbing salt in a gaping wound?

He opened his eyes. Curiosity always did get the better of him.

Newt,

I hate cliche's, but there's no other way to word this. If you're reading this, then I have more than likely been captured, or died. Merlin, that sounds terrible.

I'm not sure what to say, really. With Gellert still at large, Ministry officials are being killed or going missing daily and the Head insisted we write these as closure. Ever the optimistic, he is.

I hope you don't take my passing badly. I never wanted you to suffer. That's what pained me the most those years we never spoke. I was terrified that my actions of that night had caused you trouble – I can't tell you a number of nights I lay awake petrified I had ruined your life from my poor decision making. I at least hope by the time you get this, that we have met again and reconciled. That's my only wish before the inevitable.

I miss our time in Hogwarts. Our sneaking around after curfew, our long train rides to London, Pickett and your farm. I want it written down that these times I wouldn't change for anything. This box too.

I want you to have this back.

I hope it brings you as much happiness as it brought me.

Forever your friend,

Sylvia.

It was signed.

The birds tweeted. The wind rustled through the trees.

And yet the world felt a little quieter.

Newt eventually got married, and Jacob became his best man. It was a loud and joyful day, and for the first time in a long while, he forgot about his troubles or his pain. They say time is the best healer - and healed it did.

After a time, Sylvia's loss became less of a struggle. He began to forget about the pain of her death, and in its place, remembered the joy of her living.

When Newt saw a flash of red hair in the crowd, he smiled. When Newt showed Tina his mother's ranch and saw the Hippogriff's, he remembered the picture he took with his friend all those years ago and laughed. And when he saw the small, old jewellery box sitting on his bedside table each night, he sighed and remembered the Christmas he had summed up the courage to show Sylvia how much he appreciated their friendship.

He sometimes read through her old letters to him and envisioned the part of her life he never got to witness. Her memory never left him for more than a day.

She impacted him more than either of them ever realised.

And finally, after much anticipation, when Newt held his first child in his arms, the small being wriggling in his shaking fingertips, he smiled and looked into its small face. Sharing one small look with his wife, as her tired features melted into one of understanding, no words needed to be said between them.

"Hello, Sylvia Scamander." Newt cooed, his voice wobbly and tears of happiness welling in his eyes.

The small child hummed as it's small fingertips grasped at the strange new world around it, and Newt once again remembered his old friend from the warm Hogwarts classroom all those years ago.