Well hello again everyone! I'm sorry, I had to do another brief hiatus…I had coursework and exams okay xD

But since they have now finished and both Quills and Swords and I have about 4 months off…expect more regular chapters in the near future.

To make up for my absence (no pun intended), have a 7,000-word chapter!

I don't say this enough, but I own nothing but the plot. Enjoy!

The plan should've been simple. Write to Leta requesting that she get Mr Flappy, with a letter to Tina attached, onto her father's next wizarding supply boat to New York. He was the owner of a private company and was the biggest and (considered to be) best in the business - of course. To add to that, because of the company's private status, they weren't subject to as many Ministry regulations. Or maybe that was just because everyone at the Ministry was terrified of Corvus Lestrange. Either way, it would be the perfect way to get Mr Flappy to New York without killing the poor pigeon from exhaustion.

There was just one problem. Leta herself. Just seeing her face again would bring all of it flooding back – all the memories of his incredibly naïve teenage self truly believing she loved him back. Not only that, but she might think he was leading her on or that he wanted her back by his asking her of all people for help. When in actual fact, he wanted the opposite.

But it was all he had.

It wasn't like his job was helping matters. Every few days Obscurus Books would send him yet another very impatient and self-important (Bit like Theseus, actually) owl pestering him about the book tour and has he considered it yet and did he realise how good this would be for the book, etcetera. And every time he replied with the same thing: That he had no interest in touring for the book and could not be persuaded.

Eventually, Worme got fed up with Newt's non-compliance and called him into the Obscurus Books headquarters for a meeting. Again, the contents of the letters were repeated to him. How the tour would make the book so successful, it would (supposedly) increase sales tenfold. How he'd gain millions of readers all over the world - as if he couldn't do that by just selling it and waiting it out a little.

After 10 minutes of simply sitting and listening to Worme drone on and on about profits and sales targets, Newt had had enough. He had too much going on in his life to still be under pressure from the publishers. He waited until Worme had finished his sentence (because if he was going to make his point, he might as well be polite about it) before actually speaking for the first time since entering Worme's office. "With all due respect, Mr Worme, I am the author of this book and therefore I should decide whether or not I tour. And I have no intention of doing so."

Worme simply blinked at him, clearly surprised that he'd actually spoken. But he didn't reply in the way Newt expected him to. Instead, he simply repeated what he'd already said, "Touring with this book will maximise its profits and its success."

"I am not motivated by money, Mr Worme. I'm not my brother. I'm sure you got that impression when I did not kick up a fuss when told I would only be receiving 40% of the book's sales profits, despite the fact that I'm its author."

"Did you not hear that it will also maximise the book's success? Don't you want more readers?"

"Of course I do, but it's only just come out. If people want to buy it, they will. Besides, if the deal for a second edition goes through, there will be more opportunities then."

"Sitting by and waiting for sales is not how this business works, Mr Scamander."

"The book is doing very well at the moment, no?"

"Yes, it's doing remarkably well. We've been overwhelmed with reprints."

"Exactly. If it's doing so well, why do we so desperately need to increase the sales?"

"We need to maximise sales as much as possible."

"They seem to be at maximum to me." Then Newt had an idea. "What about if we made the book a mandatory textbook at Hogwarts?"

Worme leaned across his desk, intrigued. "Explain."

"That way, students will be buying it year on year. It will keep the sales up AND educate the masses."

"You know, Mr Scamander, you might be onto something. I will owl Headmaster Dippett right away. If he approves, which I'm sure he will, you can forget the tour – for the time being." He paused for a second, then added, "This meeting is finished. I will owl you when I receive a reply."

When Newt arrived home at 4 o'clock that afternoon, he was surprised to find a pigeon practically headbutting his window, trying to get in. Living in London, he was used to pigeons flying into his window, but this one wasn't there by accident, he was sure of it. Confused, he slowly moved toward the window, and on closer inspection noticed that the bird was not only trying to get into his flat, but one, was carrying an envelope, and two, looked absolutely exhausted, the poor thing. So, obviously, he opened the window, causing the pigeon to go flying across the lounge and crash onto the coffee table, much like the Leaky Cauldron owl did, but out of exhaustion rather than genuine stupidity (Although that being said, pigeons are not the cleverest of birds). Still puzzled, Newt untied the envelope (the writing on which he did not recognise) from the pigeon's leg and opened it.

As his eyes ran over the writing on the parchment, a smile broke across his face. The fact that Queenie was willing to try anything to help her sister was wonderful to see, despite the fact that Tina had stopped owling through no fault of her own. Then he realised there was not one but four pieces of parchment in his hands. Slowly he read each of them in turn, memorising every syllable as he had with all of Tina's other letters. He chuckled at the second one – at least he wasn't the only one finding himself drinking more than he normally did. It was the last sentence of that one that caught his eye though. 'I hope that you're more than just a man'. That I am, my Tina. Oh for Merlin's sake Newton, she was quite clearly drunk when she wrote that. She's not and probably never will be yours. And now is not the time to think about it. He shook the thoughts from his mind, chuckled at the 'drunk and disorderly' sign-off, and moved onto the last one. This time it was the first sentence: 'I miss you.' Reading those three words made his heart beat faster and tears start to well up in his eyes. She missed him. She wanted him to go back. Nobody had ever said that to him before - a lot of the time people were glad to be shot of him (or so he thought). But Tina actually wanted to see him again. And it felt wonderful to be wanted by someone. I miss you too, my love.

Christ, Newton, pull yourself together man. Friends miss each other, it happens. Then something else occurred to him. If Queenie had thought of a solution by sending the pigeon – Mr Flappy, he reminded himself – surely he didn't need to go through with his own plan? He crossed to the coffee table, where the dazed pigeon had managed to pull himself to standing. Newt sat on the end of the sofa nearest to the bird and studied him. His feathers were dishevelled and he looked almost cross-eyed. Newt stifled a chuckle, "So you're Mr Flappy, hm? The pigeon that drunk Tina adopted on New Year's Eve?" To Newt's surprise, he could've sworn the pigeon nodded as if he understood what he was saying. Then a split second later in a burst of feathers the pigeon was on the floor and flapping helplessly trying to get up. It would've been comical if the bird wasn't so horrifically exhausted. He was in no fit state to fly back to New York. With a flick of his wand, Newt transfigured a nearby mug into a cage and helped the pigeon inside. "You rest up, old chap. I do hope you're up for a boat trip next week."

Several hours later, Newt was still sitting at his desk in his case, having not written a word of his letter to Leta. He was simply sat there staring a blank piece of parchment and twirling a quill between his fingers. For hours now, he had not found in him the courage to write to her.

In the end he sighed, pulling his hands down his face, and with a flick of his wand put the kettle on. With another flick of the wand he added tea leaves to a strainer and placed it over the top of his one slightly chipped and very well-used mug (well, the only one he kept in the case). "When in doubt, have a cup of tea, right Pick?" He addressed Pickett who was sat on top of the still-closed inkpot on the desk.

The bowtruckle nodded and squeaked a response, to which Newt chuckled and replied, "Yes, that is a rather British thing to say. Tina and Queenie would certainly think so." He paused, then added, "I will never understand the American obsession with coffee. It tastes rather vile if you ask me."

At this Pickett looked questioningly at the magizoologist, who answered, "Yes, Pick, I have tried it, and I would much rather," he paused as he poured the water through the strainer, "Drink something that doesn't taste like burnt mud." Finally, he added milk (he kept a constant supply in the case, charmed to stay cold) and sugar, and stirred. Pickett made a noise that sounded like a laugh, then squeaked again. Newt laughed, "Yes, maybe I shouldn't say that to Tina and Queenie."

Then Pickett's expression went serious and he pointed to the blank parchment. Newt sighed, "Let me drink my tea, will you?" Another very British thing to say. "I promise I'll get to it. But it's hard to bring yourself to write to someone who, 14 years ago, broke your heart then cut all ties with you. And is now trying to get back into your life." He sipped the tea, the hot liquid instantly calming him. Tea truly is the solution to all problems. And that is yet another very British sentence.

Pickett then let out an angry string of squeaks and clicks, evidently about Leta. In response, Newt put his mug down and came down to the bowtruckle's eye level. His expression and tone were serious, "Language, young man." But then he smiled despite himself, "My sentiments exactly."

Then Pickett clicked again. Newt rolled his eyes in response, "Rumours, Pickett. That's all they are. I only mentioned them earlier because, well, they involve my brother, and we both know that Theseus has more than his fair share of rumours about him – the Ministry just looks the other way because they're afraid of father. As is Theseus, might I add. My brother might be, shall we say, a bit of a ladies' man – putting it politely, I know – but one, he's not engaged. He would've almost certainly made a point of calling me to his office just to tell me by now. Not to mention the fact that getting engaged generally means you're committed to that relationship, and commitment isn't exactly his middle name. Two, even if he was, he would never get engaged to Leta of all people. We might have our differences on almost every level, but this is one thing I know he'd never do to me. He knows – if a vague account of – my history with her. And I'm sure mother and father – especially mother – would never allow it."

Pickett seemed to accept this, pointed at the blank parchment and squeaked again. "Yes, Pick, I was just thinking that. How does one write a letter to the woman who broke his heart, asking her to help him illegally correspond with the woman who has somewhat replaced her?"

Pickett's string of clicks sounded almost triumphant. At this point, Newt decides it isn't worth getting embarrassed about. "Yes, yes, you win. I'm in love with her. Tina, I mean. Obviously." At this, Pickett punched the air in celebration, happy that he's finally managed to get Newt to admit it.

"Alright, alright." Newt picked up his mug again and finished the tea in two huge gulps – he'd now left it a little bit too long and it was just on the right side of lukewarm. He'd managed to somewhat gather himself, but not quite enough. "You know, Pick, if I'm going to write this letter, I'm going to need something much stronger than tea."

Pickett nodded but then his next string of clicks sounded very stern. Newt laughed, "Not to worry, Pickett, I'm fresh out of firewhisky anyway. Merlin's beard, what does that say about me?" Pickett's response got him an indignant glare from Newt. "No, I'm not an alcoholic. It just says that I've had a trying few weeks." He stood from the chair. "But I think this letter in particular calls for a large scotch at the very least." Pickett, again, seemed to agree, but still looked stern. Newt laughed again, "Just one, I promise."

And he really did keep that promise.

One very large scotch and a lot of scribblings-out and crumpled pieces of parchment later, there was a fully completed letter on the desk in front of Newt. It read:

Leta,

I know you must not be expecting a letter from me. Believe me, I would not be writing to you if I had any other choice.

Recently I've been corresponding with a female friend of mine that I met in New York. And that was all well and good until my delightful brother decided that both the Ministry and MACUSA would interfere with the letters. So now it is near impossible to send them.

I'm writing to request that you consider sending both my letters and a messenger pigeon (since they cannot be tracked by the Ministry like owls can) on your father's next private shipment to New York. Like I said, this is truly my last resort, or you would not be receiving this letter. But it would be greatly appreciated if you could help.

Regards,

Newt

Once it was sealed, now there was the problem of working out how to send the letter. If he used Herbert the Ministry would immediately intercept it, regardless of who the letter was for. Theseus had made that very clear, the bastard. Anyway, if this letter was intercepted his plan would obviously be found out. And he couldn't send Mr Flappy, the poor pigeon was still in no condition to fly anywhere.

After several moments of not knowing what to do, he decided to go out and clear his head. He stood, shrugged his coat on, tucked the letter in the inside pocket (just in case he had an idea along the way) and headed towards the ladder out of the case.

His destination of choice was, of course, Diagon Alley. More specifically, Flourish and Blotts. Because what better way to clear one's head than to surround themselves with books?

Of course, going to Diagon Alley meant going through the Leaky Cauldron. Newt hadn't been back since his day-drinking incident two weeks prior, so as he walked over the threshold, he tried his best not to think about his possible intoxicated antics. While walking across to the entrance to Diagon Alley, he glanced around the pub and froze. There, sitting in the farthest corner of the smoky pub, was Leta. Thankfully she had her back to him, but he knew her when he saw her. What on Earth is she doing here? She's never associated herself with places like this. Her presence inside the pub she had once called 'common' unnerved him – was she stalking him? But seeing her also gave him an idea. Slowly he turned and walked back towards the bar, hoping to Merlin that she wouldn't turn around and see him. As Tom the bartender went to speak to him he held a hand up, shook his head and motioned toward Leta. Then he motioned for the bartender to follow him into the stockroom behind the bar where they wouldn't be heard. Tom nodded and left one of his employees in charge of the bar.

Once in the stockroom, the two men could speak freely. Tom grinned, "Guess you're not here for another round of firewhiskys then?"

Newt shuddered, "Merlin, no. That was not my finest hour."

"You can say that again." Tom paused then added, "So why are you here and what in Merlin's name was all that back there about?"

"Well, actually…" Newt hadn't planned what he was going to say, "I was on my way to Flourish and Blotts to clear my head, but my problem was solved when I walked in here."

"Only you would go to a bookshop to clear your head. But go on."

From his coat pocket, Newt retrieved the sealed letter. "My stuck-up bastard of a brother is intercepting all my letters, no matter who I send them to. I need you to pass this on to Leta. I saw her sat in there, which is…which is why I wanted you to come out here."

"You didn't want her to see you?"

"Exactly. Frankly, I'm surprised she's here." He didn't mention his sneaking suspicion that she might be stalking him. "But that's beside the point." He said, motioning to the letter.

"Why is Theseus intercepting your owls?"

"Erm, well, long story short, he didn't like me sending letters to a friend in New York."

"Would this be the American Auror lady friend?"

Newt was taken aback, "How…how did you know that?"

Tom grinned again, "Let's just say your brother had one too many firewhiskys the other night. Although not as many as you had, to be fair to him."

Newt rolled his eyes but didn't reply to this statement. "Yes, this is the female American Auror. That Theseus hates so much he's trying to ruin her career by invading her personal life."

"Maybe he's trying to help?"

"How…how could he possibly be helping?"

"Newt, your brother might be a bit of a pompous git at times, but he does care about you."

"Theseus would have to be utterly intoxicated to admit that he cares about his little brother."

"Not necessarily. Like I said, he wasn't completely off his face like you were."

"Cheers for the reminder."

Tom laughed, both at Newt's comment and at what he was about to tell him, "He told me that he only wants what's best for his brother and future sister-in-law."

Newt, to his horror, felt himself blushing to the roots of his hair. He struggled to get his words out for a good minute before saying, "Oh, I see what he's doing. Making my personal life a living hell in an attempt to push me into a relationship."

"He knows what you feel for her. It was written all over your face when he told you of the Ministry's plan to intercept your letters, apparently."

Shit, am I that obvious about it? "I can assure you right now, Tom, that Tina and I are just friends." Those two words, once again, stung him as they left his mouth, but what else was he supposed to say?

That grin was back on Tom's face. "We'll see about that, mate."

Suddenly Newt wanted nothing more than to get out of there as soon as possible. "Look, will you help me or not?"

"I guess so. Why do you want to give this note to Leta though?"

Newt answered almost too quickly, "It's a very long story, Tom, that I don't have time to tell." He handed the sealed letter to the bartender. "Just give this to her? Please?"

Tom was perplexed at Newt's obvious and sudden need to get out of the pub. "Consider it done."

Newt breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank you. And don't even think about reading it."

"Now why would I do a thing like that to a friend? Now go. Get yourself a takeaway and a cuppa, and don't worry about it anymore."

Newt smiled, "Cheers, Tom. Really appreciate it."

"It's absolutely no problem. Even if you won't tell me your reasons. Now get out and get yourself to that muggle chip shop already."

Two days went by, and Newt found himself wondering how he'd actually know if Leta had replied to his letter, since his arrogant tosser of a brother was intercepting every owl going to and from his flat (even the Obscurus Books owls. Newt now had no doubt that Theseus had zero respect for his own brother's privacy and career).

On the third day, there was a tapping at the window. Newt, thinking it was from the publishers or Theseus, rolled his eyes and reluctantly stood to open the window and let the owl in. Indeed, it was a very sleek and self-important owl, but it wasn't one of his brother's, nor was it from the publishers. Newt studied the bird for a minute, confused before he remembered that if he actually opened the letter, then he'd know who the owl belonged to.

He recognised the handwriting immediately. Leta had replied.

Newt,

Do not worry, I have people in the Ministry keeping this letter's existence from your brother.

I will admit I was very surprised when Tom at the Leaky Cauldron slipped me your note. I recognised your handwriting almost immediately.

If you want my help, come to my family's manor at 2 o'clock sharp tomorrow afternoon (I can assure you that nobody else will be home) and we shall discuss proceedings.

Yours,

Leta

When he finished reading the letter Newt found that his heart rate had gotten dangerously quick. Just the thought of meeting Leta, with no-one else around, made his stomach tie itself in a knot and nervous adrenaline course through his entire body. The very idea of being alone with her reminded him of all those times in the Room of Requirement where he'd often found himself with the overwhelming desire to kiss her – and had actually gone through with it a fair few times. Now, the thought of that made him want to gag. Her sign-off, too, didn't help. It reminded him of when he'd wanted nothing more than for her to tell him she was his. Now, again, it just made him feel sick at the very thought.

But, obviously, going was the only choice he had.

Later that evening, Newt decided to write his letter to Tina, just in case Leta did allow him to use her father's boat.

25th January 1927

Dear Tina,

It turns out that your sister did use a carrier pigeon to send me a letter. Not only one of her own, but those that you could not send me. And I will admit to you right now – I miss you too. Immensely. You, Queenie and Jacob were the only people I've ever met (aside from my mother) who made me feel valid, wanted and appreciated.

You are not the only one finding yourself drinking more since the letters stopped. I have, rather embarrassingly, finished up two bottles of firewhisky in the space of two weeks. Pickett is convinced I am turning into an alcoholic. Which, I can assure you, I am not.

You might be wondering how this letter is getting to you without my brother's knowledge. I cannot disclose full details here, but I can assure you that our correspondence may continue if you send me your letters with your pigeon, and I use my own method to get my reply to you.

I'd also like to use this letter to apologise profusely for the tone of my last one. I realise how cold I must have sounded, and I give you my word that in no way was that my intention. I apologise for how I most likely made you feel, but (I know this sounds like a terrible cliché) I really had no choice. I had to allow time for my plan to work. I was never actually going to stop communicating with you. Truth be told, I could not cope if we never had any more correspondence. It has become such a big part of my life and has come to mean so much to me.

To digress, I think I have managed (for the time being, at least) to get out of going on the book tour. I suggested making Fantastic Beasts part of the Hogwarts curriculum, and it's looking very likely. Do not worry, I will still be visiting New York in the near future to give you your copy. Speaking of which, when is a good time for you? I know you are terribly busy, so I would not want to come at the wrong time.

Without disclosing more than you're allowed, how are the interrogations going? More importantly, are you still being shadowed by my brother's colleagues? I hope you are not letting it get to you, hard as it may be. I have a feeling that Theseus is doing this not as a tactic to get Grindelwald transferred to London, but purely to wind me up. He knows that you mean a lot to me, and so is doing whatever he can to get a rise out of me. Which, I must admit, is beginning to work.

I hope to receive your reply soon,

Yours,

Newt

Newt hated himself for not telling Tina his plan, but he felt she might never forgive him if she knew he had asked for help from Leta of all people. He knew she'd find out eventually, through Queenie if no-one else, and he would deal with that when it came to it. He sealed the letter before he could allow himself to think upon it any more.

The following morning, in an attempt to distract himself from the knot in his stomach created by the thought of meeting with Leta alone, Newt finished his rounds as slowly as possible, came back out of the case and glanced at Mr Flappy. The bird seemed to have regained a lot of energy and was out of his cage, perched on the curtain rail. "Now, you are going to have to get in the case if I do have a chance to send the letter today."

In response the pigeon cocked his head to one side and regarded Newt with what he could've sworn was a glint in his eye. When Newt approached the curtain rail to take hold of the bird, Mr Flappy simply flew to the other end of the rail. This continued for several minutes and Newt was very quickly losing his patience. "Don't make me immobilise you, you little sod." In response, the pigeon simply flew out of the way again and this time Newt gave up. He glared at the bird, who was still regarding him with that same look. "You know, you and Pickett would make great friends. He's a sassy little bugger too."

Pickett, who was residing in Newt's top pocket, let out a string of angry clicks in response to this, obviously objecting to Newt's statement. Newt glanced at the bowtruckle, who had finished his rant and was now glaring at him with his little arms folded over the front of the pocket. In a similar manner to that which a father might take with his teenage son, he told Pickett, "Don't you speak to me like that, young man, else I will take you back to your tree, where you will stay for the rest of the day." At this, Pickett retreated back into Newt's pocket and didn't so much as squeak. When Newt glanced back up at Mr Flappy, he could've sworn the bird was giving him the side-eye. He tried one last time to move towards the pigeon, but when he flew across to the other end of the curtain rail again, Newt gave up and immobilised the little bugger.

Later, Newt found himself doing something he never thought he would - walking towards the Lestrange manor. It had a very different aura to that of his own family home – this house was taller, more gothic in style and much more imposing. It looked almost black in the shadows of the dense trees that surrounded it. With every step, he felt his stomach twist a little more and his heart beat a little faster. He placed his hand very gently over the top pocket in his coat, where Pickett was residing – somehow the little bowtruckle being there, plus having the case in his other hand, made him feel ever so slightly calmer. He took deep but shaky breaths to try and calm himself – but in vain. When he finally reached the front door, made of dark glossed mahogany, he had to take several moments to psych himself up into knocking the silver dragon-shaped knocker. However, when he finally raised his shaking hand, the door opened without him having touched it. Behind it stood Leta, dressed in a burgundy velvet gown. She smiled that classic smile at him by way of greeting, but he did not return it. She obviously noticed but didn't mention it. Instead, all she said was, "Come. We have much to discuss."

In silence, he followed her through a series of corridors and up a flight of stairs – all of which bore the same rich purple carpet and glossy mahogany furnishings. Eventually, the two of them ended up in what looked like a study. The desk was, like everything else in the house, polished mahogany, and behind it stood a matching chair. Leta seated herself in this chair and motioned for Newt to sit in another chair placed across from the desk. He did so wordlessly, his heart still beating a million miles an hour. He wanted nothing more than to bolt and never come back. But of course, he stayed exactly where he was.

Leta leaned across the desk, placing her chin atop her interlaced fingers, and smiled at him again. "So, why should I help you?"

"Believe me, Leta, if I had any other choice I would not be here." Newt tried to be as cold as he could. When he spoke, he addressed the wall behind Leta instead of looking at her – doing that too much would bring back too many painful reminders.

"That doesn't answer my question." She was short, sharp and just as cold – an all too familiar tone to Newt.

"Actually, I think it does. I have no other choice. That's why I need your help." He shot back – something he never had the confidence to do at the age of fifteen. He was surprised he even had the confidence to do it at the age of twenty-nine.

"And what makes you so desperate to get this letter to New York?"

Bugger. "It's rude to keep a lady waiting." Really, Newt? Was that all you could think of?

Leta chuckled, "Very true. Why on Earth is Theseus intercepting your letters?"

"Long story."

"I've got time."

"It's a very long story, and I don't intend to stay here long."

"Fine, don't tell me. I'm sure I can find out some other way."

"I'm not falling for that one again."

"What?"

"The tactic you always used to use to get me to tell you things." Instantly Newt regretted reminding her of their Hogwarts days.

She chuckled again. Newt was very painfully reminded of how attractive he used to find that particular laugh. "You know me well."

Yes, but I wish I didn't. For Merlin's sake man, change the subject! "I have the letter ready, should you decide to help."

Now she seemed surprised, "You planned ahead? You never plan anything."

"Well, this is one thing I wanted to get right."

"Because you're in love with her."

Her tone was so blunt it took Newt by surprise. And he felt himself blushing again which was not helpful. "I-what? I never said that."

With that familiar smile on her face, she said, "Oh, Newt. You forget that I know when you're hiding something. Of course you're in love with her. You're determined to get this right for her, just like you wanted to with me."

That statement was like a stab in the chest, so he dodged it entirely. "Are you going to help me or not?"

She smirked, "That depends. What's in it for me."

Shit, I should've seen that one coming. Just play dumb. "I'm sorry?"

"Newt, I'm not just going to agree to illegally transport a messenger pigeon on my father's next boat to New York for nothing in return. You should've known that." She was laughing again.

Unconsciously Newt rubbed the back of his neck – something he sometimes did when he was embarrassed or, in this case, at a loss. He genuinely hadn't thought of what she'd get in return, "I'll pay you?"

"How much?"

"10 Galleons?"

She laughed incredulously. "Is that all my services are worth to you?" she paused for a moment, then leaned across the desk toward him and lowered her voice, "I'll tell you what you can give me in return."

Her tone and the way she was leaning toward him made him extremely nervous but getting Leta's help was his only shot at communicating with Tina. Reluctantly he replied, "Name it."

"You express your public approval at the engagement of myself and your brother."

Stunned, Newt took several moments to think of something to say. "So-so the rumours are true?"

That classic Leta smirk was back, "True as true can be." It was like she knew he didn't know, as well as knowing how angry this would make him. Of course she knows.

Only when she gave her answer did Newt notice how overwhelmingly livid he now was. It wasn't just that Theseus was engaged to Leta (out of all the women he could've had), but it was that he didn't tell him – that Newt found out through Leta. This was the one thing Newt had trusted Theseus not to do to him, and now he had. It reminded Newt of how naïve he had been to think that his brother cared about him even in the slightest – Theseus truly did only care about himself and his reputation. But he couldn't show a single shred of this anger in front of Leta, or she wouldn't help him. He had no idea what to say without snapping. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to calm down.

When he didn't answer Leta pressed, "So? I help you send letters to your American lover, and you tell the Prophet that you're over the moon for your brother and his new fiancée. Once we announce it, of course. Which will be very soon."

Newt felt himself blushing again at the reference to Tina and becoming slowly consumed with anger again at her proposition. "First of all, she's not my lover." Yet. Dammit, Newton, not the time or the place.

"Oh really? So why are you asking me of all people to help you send her letters? You must be desperate to talk to her, so obviously she's not just a friend."

Newt really didn't want to explain himself to her. "Look, even if I had a love life, it wouldn't be any of your business."

"It used to be."

Another blow to the chest, but in another sudden fit of boldness, Newt found himself glaring right at her for the first time in the conversation. "Not anymore it's not."

She chuckled once again, "Doesn't change the fact that I still know how your mind works. If you care about someone, you'll do anything for them. Your American woman is no exception."

Yes, I got myself expelled for you and you weren't even grateful - NOT THE TIME, Newt, for Merlin's sake. "Tell me, Leta, are you planning on crushing my brother's heart too?"

She seemed taken aback by this – clearly, she wasn't expecting him to be so blunt. "Of course not, Newt. I love him."

Now it was Newt's turn to laugh incredulously, "Yeah. Right. You said that to me once, but that was a lie, wasn't it? Actually, I know it was, as you proceeded to tell me just that in your letter after I was expelled." He paused, if only for dramatic effect, before continuing, "You also told me more recently that you didn't want to marry him because he was too controlling." This reminded him of the ring she had shown him that day, and he found himself glancing down at it – knowing that the obnoxiously big diamond on her left ring finger was given to her by Theseus made his blood boil.

He'd got her there. "Yes, well, I was young. We both were. And as for that, I'll admit that it wasn't actually true." She confessed, and for once she was telling the truth.

Newt ignored the latter part of her speech. "Us being young at the time doesn't change the fact that I, in all my hormonal, teenage naivety, believed you. You led me on, and even after I got myself expelled for you, you cut all ties with me. I just don't want a similar thing to happen to my brother. We have a lot of differences, and I don't agree with most if not all of the things he says and does, but he's my brother. We share blood. Of course I don't want him to get hurt." There were tears in his eyes now – of anger mixed with his own past heartbreak.

Leta was dumbstruck for a moment. He'd never done that before. She wondered for a moment if he was drunk but quickly ruled it out due to the fact that there was no smell of alcohol. She noticed his hand resting on the desk and went to reach for it, but he flinched away from , she looked him in the eye, somehow managing to hold his gaze, and said, "I promise you right now, Newt, I love your brother and I would never do anything to hurt him. You have my word." What he didn't see was that she was very childishly crossing the fingers of her other hand behind her back. She knew full well that while she could tell when he was lying, he still couldn't tell when she was.

Newt almost didn't hear her – he was too busy trying to stop himself crying in front of her. Because if there was one thing he wasn't going to do today, it was that. When he felt he'd successfully stopped the tears, he simply asked, "What is your word even worth anymore?"

"You can think like that if you want, Newt, but doesn't worrying make you suffer twice?"

"You have no right to tell me that."

"What, so I'm not allowed to use your phrases? That's petty."

He scoffed, "Petty? That's rich, coming from you."

She sighed, "Look, I don't want to argue with you anymore. Arguing is not going to get me to help you."

Now Newt sighed. He was still unbelievably angry about the whole engagement revelation, but he could think about that later. Very reluctantly, he decided to agree to her terms and forced himself to look at her. "Fine. I shall tell the Prophet that I am wonderfully over the moon about my brother's engagement."

She smiled that smile again. "Good, good. Anyway, the public doesn't know of our history. So there won't be any controversy."

"I'm sure daddy made certain that the public didn't find out about your history with me." Newt snapped.

She glared at him, "I can always rescind my agreement to help you."

He sighed again, "Alright, alright. Have we reached said agreement?"

"Indeed we have. The next ship to New York is in two days. I'll take the pigeon and the letter now, and I'll sneak them onto the boat."

This time Newt leaned forward slightly and asked suspiciously, "How can I be sure you'll actually do it?"

"Well, when you receive a reply from your American woman, you'll know I sent it."

From his inside coat pocket, Newt handed her the letter, along with, after briefly entering his case, a very placid (bloody typical) Mr Flappy. "Promise me you won't open it." He doesn't know why he should trust a word she says but requests this anyway.

"Of course I promise." Once again, unbeknownst to Newt, her fingers were crossed.

Newt's trust was still wavering, but he had to go with it. Finally, he stood up to leave. "Thank you, Leta." He says, purely out of politeness, but without looking at her.

Because he was looking at the desk instead of her, he didn't see her smirk yet again. "You're welcome, my Newt."

He'd reached the door and didn't turn around. He repeated the words he'd said to himself at the signing, but this time she could hear them. "I'm not yours anymore."

She didn't reply as he walked away.

The second the door shut behind him, and she heard his footsteps descending the stairs, Leta immediately and wordlessly immobilized Mr Flappy. She didn't know what magic had been put on the pigeon – he could well have had a navigation spell put on him, which could lead him back to Newt. The next thing she did was very carefully open the sealed envelope and read the letter inside, written in Newt's very familiar scrawl. She smirked. Just as she suspected – Newt was quite clearly in love with this woman. And Leta knew exactly who could use that information.

She picked up her wand again, along with a clean piece of parchment. With a flick of her wand, she copied the letter's contents onto the clean parchment, and then re-sealed the first letter with a charm – so it looked as if it had never been opened. She didn't feel a shred of guilt – Silly boy, he should've known better than to come to me. He's brought this on himself. Then she folded the second letter, and on the folded part wrote:

It was just as we suspected.

-L

Then she sealed this second letter, and with a single spell it burst into flames and was instantly sent to its recipient.

PLOT TWIST!

Seriously, this story is becoming a lot more complicated than I originally intended…oops.

And if you're wondering how a boat full of wizarding supplies would get into New York undetected…obviously there would be disillusionment charms on some seemingly abandoned part of the harbour. Don't ask me what these supplies are – to be honest we (it was Quills and Swords' idea) just needed a way to both involve Leta and to get Mr Flappy back to New York without him flying.

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Reviews are, as always, VERY much appreciated.