Disclaimer: Not mine. The characters and storylines belong to JK Rowling

This story is unbeta'd so apologies for any errors

Three days after the beginning of term, Professor Kettleburn was waiting for Newt outside the transfiguration classroom, with singed robes and a nasty looking burn down the side of his face.

"Newt," he looked as though his words were dragging him over broken glass, "Newt. I've got some bad news. There was a fire, in the Forbidden Forest. I'm so sorry…." he trailed off, swiping his hands over his brow. Newt's stomach turned over queasily. "It was the old elm tree, where the bowtruckles' colony is. I managed to save them all except…I lost Pickett."

He rested his hand heavily on Newts shoulder.

Newt looked down at his feet, shifting guiltily, "Ah," he exhaled, tapping his pocket. A green twig unfurled itself, peeking out at the Professor.

Professor Kettleburn sagged in relief murmuring thanks to Merlin under his breath, before trying to pull his expression into some semblance of authoritativeness.

"He's not a pet, Mr Scamander. He needs to live with his kind," but he was trying very hard to not smile.

"He has separation issues," Newt mumbled, his cheeks colouring, "what started the fire?"

The Professor's wiry brows knitted together in confusion, "I don't know. There's a lot of creatures living in the forest but this is something different. Students maybe? Messing about with spells? I don't know," he repeated uselessly, with a deep sigh, "Right, I need some burn salve and a cup of tea. You put that bowtruckle back with the others today," and he was off down the corridor.

"Did you hear that? I need to put you back into the forest. Oh don't sulk," Newt grinned, as the creature burrowed deeply into his pocket.

oOoOoOo

Newt was picking at a plate of shepherds pie, trying to resist the almost magnetic pull of his gaze over to the Slytherin table. He had spent more time in the past few days than was possibly healthy, observing Leta from afar. He supposed that if he were inclined to write a book, he could easily fill a decent publication detailing the different faces of Leta Lestrange. There was the disdainful sneer she normally reserved for other people. This particular listing would have an addendum that in recent days, since her return from Bulgaria presumably, that she had started to smirk conspiratorially with a few of her housemates – a closed faced spiteful look that Newt realised regretfully made her look much less pretty. Then there was the warm smile that she reserved solely for him, the one that felt almost like a hug just to see it. How he missed it. And in the last few days, there had been something new, a pinched, pained expression, only there when she thought no one was watching.

Newt growled under his breath as he realised he was doing it again. Watching her. Watching as she scribbled on a scrap of parchment and ignored her dinner. Redoubling his efforts, he dug his fork into his dinner and attempted to concentrate on his food. Suddenly a butterfly fluttered down next to his plate. He reached out a finger to touch it and realised it was a pieces of folded paper, charmed to fly. It unfolded in front of him, revealing a swirling script.

Meet me outside your common room. Tonight at midnight.

He looked up to grin at her, feeling as though his heart was going to burst into rays of sunshine, but she was gone.

oOoOoOo

He slipped out of the dormitory and through the common room, guided only by the dying embers of the fire in the grate, without seeing anyone. He paused at the door for a moment to smooth down the front of his robes, which were slightly crumpled after he had gone to bed fully dressed; before creeping out into the corridor.

And there she was - his long drink of water in the desert - twisting the sleeve of her robe between her fingers and biting her lip contritely. He closed the distance between them in two strides.

"I missed you, s-so much," he whispered, aching to reach out and touch her. She seemed to be feeling the same because she reached out tentatively and brushed the cheek with the backs of her fingers.

"I missed you too."

"How was Bulgaria?" he could have kicked himself the moment he asked. He had spent the last two hours ordering himself not to ask about bloody Bulgaria, and it was the first sodding thing he blurted out.

Leta shook her head as though trying to dislodge bad memories, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why the secrecy about meeting me? Have your parents forbidden you to talk to me?" worry spiked in his chest.

"No. It's…I need your help," she looked up at him beseechingly, "I was down in the Forbidden Forest today. Don't ask me why," she raised a warning finger to him, "and I saw something. A creature."

"You're shaking," Newt frowned, "what was it?"

Leta seemed reluctant to meet his gaze, "a Dragon," she mumbled.

Newt took a sharp intake of breath. You didn't have to be a demiguise to predict the havoc a dragon in the school grounds could cause, "You must be wrong. There are no dragons native to this area and besides, how would it get in past all the enchantments? Are you sure it wasn't –"

"It was a dragon!" Leta insisted, "I got full marks in my care of magical creatures exams, same as you. I know a dragon when I see one. Only, I think it's hurt. It's not moving or anything. I thought you'd know what to do."

"I think we should tell the headmaster if there's a dragon in the forest." Newt's voice came out a lot more shrilly than it normally did and he carded his fingers through his hair.

"By the time we speak to the headmaster, it might be too late. Come with me now," she urged, tugging at his robes, "You didn't see it, it needs help."

"I just don't think we should be sneaking around in the middle of the night after creatures."

"Newt, I need you," she whispered, her eyes wide and pleading. She turned and took a few steps as though that was the end of the discussion, before she looked back over her shoulder and beckoned him urgently. He didn't even hesitate before following after her. Their footsteps echoed down deserted corridors but they didn't meet as much as a ghost as they hurried through the sleeping school and slipped out of the side door.

Newt was almost hyperventilating at such a massive breach of the rules but he had never seen Leta look so scared and that trumped any fear of retribution. He'd follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked, he was sure of it. They continued in silence past the quidditch pitch and to the outskirts of the wood.

"I just found it here, just lying there on the ground. It wasn't moving," she whispered, as she edged deeper into the undergrowth, her wand point shining faintly in the darkness. The forest was eerily silent, as though the other animals could sense the danger. After a few minutes of tripping over concealed tree roots and being scratched across the face by low hanging branches, they reached a clearing.

"There it is," Leta breathed, gripping his hand tightly.

Newt peered through the gloom and could make out the outline of something large slumped onto the floor in front of him. The moonlight above them was reflecting down onto its scales, making them shine like gold. But the reddish firey glow that it should be emitting was almost gone.

"Shhhhit" Newt eased out though his teeth, "It's a dragon."

"Told you so," Leta whispered, with a nervous giggle. Newt left her side and began to inspect every inch of the dragon.

"It's received some curse damage," he frowned, running his hands over its scales, feeling the interruption in the pattern over what looked like a deep gash, "and it's too cold. This is a Peruvian Vipertooth. They normally live in the desert. I can't be sure but I think it's been shocked into a hibernatory state. Not that that's a bad thing right now. But it can't stay like this - its flame is in danger of going out."

"Can't you help it?" She wrung her hands in distress. He could see the gleam of tears in her eyes.

"If I do anything to it, I could wake it up and I don't fancy facing a cranky dragon with morning breath, do you?" he paced the length of the animal again, "What's it even doing here?" Newt shouted in a rare loss of temper.

Leta choked down a sob and covered her hands with her eyes. Newt ran to her side and grasped her gently by the elbows.

"It's ok, it's ok. It'll be alright," he murmured in the voice he normally reserved for the more skittish and frightened animals, "I'll fetch Professor Kettleburn and he'll know what to do. He's got friends that work with dragons, maybe he could -"

"No!" her hands shot to his in a jerky panicked motion that stopped him in his tracks. "We'll get into trouble. We're in the Forbidden Forest, in the middle of the night, past curfew. We'll get expelled!" her eyes flickered between Newt and the dragon nervously.

He thought he heard it in her voice then, even under the fear, the cunning edge so valued by Salazar. What she was really asking of him. To take the blame, once more. He felt the grinding, grudging resentment warring with the giddy desire to please her, to warn a hard won smile from her.

"You go back to the castle, I'll go and fetch Professor Kettleburn. Don't worry," he assured her, trying to sound braver than he felt.

"Don't worry? We're going to get expelled!"

"Worrying about something just means you'll suffer twice," he grimaced wryly, "Right, you go ahead, I'll give you a head start of a few minutes, then head back to the school,"

She nodded, with one more long look at the dragon, then peeled away from him. She was almost out of the clearing when she ran back and threw her arms around his neck.

"I really have missed you, Newt," she whispered, her breath hot on his neck. "I knew you'd help me. I'm not like you, you always know the right thing to do because you're good, through and through, so it's easy for you. I just get so confused!" she grabbed a handful of her hair in frustration, "You don't know how hard it is for me!"

He reached out and smoothed her hand away from her face. She was luminous in the dull glow from the dragon. Newt swallowed hard, feeling like all of the moisture in his mouth had migrated to his hands in an instant, as her searing gaze dipped from his hazel eyes to his lips. His hand stilled on her cheek.

He leaned his head down towards her, just an inch, maybe less. But it was enough. Her body melded against his compliantly and her lids flickered closed as her face tilted up to him. He could have counted every one of her eyelashes if he'd wanted to. Hesitantly, as though he might have misread the situation, and with his heart banging in his chest so hard he could almost feel the blood and adrenaline just surging through it, he closed the gap between their lips.

She was warm and cold, hard and soft, diamonds and ice and fire all at once. Her hand threaded up into his hair and pulled him in to deepen the kiss. The lips he'd spent so long imagining moved against his own, gently at first, before working to a frantic pace. Her bergamot scent swirled around him, making him feel giddy and he had to open his eyes for just a second to check that he really was finally kissing her.

He didn't know how he managed to pull away from her, and the sight of her when he did, her lips rosy, her breath coming in pants, almost undid him, but he knew that if he kissed her again, he wouldn't be able to stop.

"Run back to the castle," he ordered. She nodded slowly and without a word, ran from the clearing.