"Well! If it isn't my good friend, Leta," Theseus Scamander smirked as the golden doors of the Lift closed, effectively trapping her inside with him. "And how is your morning?"
It had been many years since Leta felt anything akin to a schoolgirl crush towards Theseus. Unlike some of his bosom buddies, he had aged quite well, all things considered; most male Aurors began to experience hair loss caused by stress within their first year of field work. Then again, if there was one thing that Theseus was always good at, it was managing things. People, timelines, appearances. It was one of the things that had both attracted and repulsed her about him.
"Good, thank you," Leta replied. Although Theseus was not as notorious of a gossip as Nott, it was still a good idea to remain reserved around him. Perhaps it was because of his connection to Newt, but something about the way he would fix his eyes on you as he talked deeply bothered her and felt as if he could see through her. "And how are you?" she ventured to ask, despite her usual abhorrence towards small talk.
"Why, it is going wonderfully well, especially now that the great Leta Lestrange has deemed me worthy enough to ask my wellbeing," Theseus replied, making her regret her boldness. If those words had come out of Nott or even Wormwood's mouth, she would immediately have slapped him, however from Theseus it felt more like a calculated move than empty flattery. "You know, I once heard that if a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff are made to stand in the same room together, the Hufflepuff stands no chance. Is that true?"
Is he mocking me? "Well, I'm not a Hufflepuff, so I'm afraid we won't be able to find out," Leta replied cautiously.
Theseus chuckled. "So I am aware."
Years ago, this encounter might have been a giddy, romantic opportunity.
If only she could return to such innocence...or the illusion thereof, at least.
Leta glanced at him again, trying to read his expression, but his face remained the same as always...vaguely polite, though not simple.
He knows about Newt, doesn't he?
Her left hand began to feel hot and sweaty. She loosened her grip on her wand and wiped it off discretely.
I'm sure he doesn't know about Newt, she thought to herself, trying to calm down. Even so, he's not the snitch type. Wormwood, definitely. Theseus wouldn't try and smear your name though.
Would he, though? She thought to herself. She'd never seen Theseus speaking badly of their other coworkers, but what if he was just gathering the dirt on her, getting ready to report to Silverskin? And Silverskin would listen, wouldn't he? After all, Theseus was the department favorite, and she was only an estranged bastard of the Lestrange family.
At the back of her mind, memories began to flow, trying to convince her paranoid mind otherwise. Hogsmeade. Quidditch. Studying. Theseus didn't hate her back then.
Ah, but all this was still before I left Newt, wasn't it? Leta thought to herself bitterly.
Something was burning her left hand. Leta yelped and shook it, forgetting that she had been holding her wand and sending it flying. It rolled onto the floor of the Lift, finally stopping once it hit the corner. She immediately bent down to retrieve it, feeling the heat spread to her face.
A hand that was much larger and firmer than hers got there before she did. "Allow me."
"Thank you," Leta said awkwardly, immediately withdrawing her hand. Theseus merely smiled and held out her wand. Trying not to betray any more nervousness, she restrained herself and made great effort to look unbothered by this exchange.
"My pleasure," Theseus replied, just as the Invisible Lift Operator announced that they were on Level 5. "Ah, that's my cue."
Level 5? Leta thought to herself. He must be in for a long job today. Probably about to argue over some protocol...or, if the rumors are true, rendezvous with members of the French Ministry.
"Do me a favor, Leta. Have yourself a good day."
Leta looked down, trying not to meet his smile.
He might not know about Newt. But he knows something.
They're brothers. Newt probably told him.
Her unease remained with her, like a heavy set of chains that made it quite difficult to move past such thoughts. It was only until the Lift announced that she had arrived on Level 8 that she realized she had missed her floor, all the way back on Level 3.
Oh, no.
For the first time in years, Leta Lestrange would be, in fact, late. By more than two minutes.