Little Badger
She holds his hands, sometimes, when they go to the Shrieking Shack. On the rare weekends they are permitted to venture to Hogsmeade, the pair often escape to the Shack, where if one is lucky enough, kneazles can be found making burrows along the perimeter. She will slip her soft hand into his own as they trudge down through the village to the outskirts, when there is no one around. She always waits until there is no one else around, preserving their privacy Newt is sure, and he is glad for it sometimes.
Other times, he wishes Leta would play out her affections when they are around others, so he can be sure that is how she really feels.
He often chastises himself when he thinks like this – why would she spend time with him, if she didn't really like him?
"Newt, you're thinking so loud I can practically hear your thoughts," Leta's voice holds a giggle within it, and she glances to look at him as they walk. Her fingers squeeze lightly on his palm and he blushes furiously, nuzzling closer to his Hufflepuff scarf against the cold. It has been snowing. Before he can even put up a pretence of answering, Leta has begun talking again, never letting a moment pass without speaking her mind. "Wouldn't it be fascinating to be a Legilimens? Although, it might be quite embarrassing to hear what you think when you look at me."
Newt's cheeks take on a new shade of purple and he begins to stammer out a response to her, but she is already laughing, her mahogany dark cheeks red from the cold.
"Relax, Newt. I'm just teasing."
Newt wants to tell her what he is thinking – what he always thinks when he's around her. That she is mind-numbingly beautiful, and that her laughter is like music and that her fierce temper and fiery sense of humour makes it seem like the light from the sun bends around her, making her glow. He doesn't though, as he knows he sounds like a sappy child who has caught a glimpse of Witch Weekly on his mother's coffee table. Leta deserves someone who is strong and confident and can make her lots of money so she never has to lift a finger as long as she lives.
Leta would like that, to not have to work and be kept.
Newt couldn't think of anything more maddening than sitting around doing nothing all day.
They reach the Shrieking Shack at last, legs tired and breaths caught in their throats from the cold, and Newt leads Leta to a boulder where she sits and pulls her green and silver Slytherin scarf from her chin. Newt stretches and takes in his surroundings, the woods not far from where he stands buzzing with the distinct blur of billywigs. He moves to have a look while Leta gathers her breath, spotting one not that high in the canopy of the trees, and he begins making a soft clicking sound he has read about – supposed to lure them closer. As he clicks the billywig makes no move towards him and he frowns, wondering if he is doing it wrong. He begins to make a variety of soft hissing and clicking sounds, hoping to coax the tiny animal towards him so he might catch it and inspect its sting.
He hears Leta giggle from her perch and he grins, glancing over his shoulder at her briefly. His confidence soars as it so often does when in the presence of a magical beast.
"To anyone else, you would seem absolutely mad right now," she says, speaking loudly so her voice carries to him through the wind. Newt shrugs and turns from the billywig for a moment to address her.
"Isn't that what they all say anyway?"
She doesn't answer, just regards him sadly for a moment, forcing him to look away. He hates it when she looks on him with those pitying eyes. Like he is a wounded kitten, desperate for her care and affection. He looks back, and the billywig has buzzed away. Newt sighs and looks around in the trees for another to coax, when he feels the cold pelt of snow on the back of his head.
He whips around to see Leta standing, clutching another ball of snow in her leather gloved hand. Her smile is wild, just like her thick ringlets of hair, pulled back in a high ponytail to stay out of her way. She pelts the snowball at him, but he dodges, and ducks to the ground, picking up his own mound of snow. Leta raises a brow and eyes him warningly, although her maddening smile betrays her.
"Don't you dare, Newt Scamander – "
She can't finish her sentence, as his snowball hits her hard on the nose. He cringes slightly, but soon begins to laugh again when she reaches up a furious hand and wipes it off her face, her laughter mock outraged.
"Oh you're going to pay for that one," she says, drawing her wand and aiming it at the snow, rolling mounds of it up and flicking her wrist so they attack Newt. He shields his face and pulls out his own wand to do the same, but Leta has grabbed a handfull of snow and is running towards him as fast as she can, aiming to shove it down the front of his blue sweater. He grabs her by the wrists and holds them up before his face, and she laughs louder, her eyes sparkling with mirth and delight, attempting to twist from his grip. Although he is thin, Newt is a good head taller than she is at this point and stronger too, so he easily wrestles with her enough that she drops the snow from her hands and he stops them both tugging to catch their breath. He still holds onto her wrists as she half laughs, half gulps in oxygen, attempting to regain her composure. He is laughing too, his face relaxed and easy, no sense of the incredible tension he so often carries around in his shoulders.
Newt takes a moment to view Leta silhouetted against the stark whiteness of the snow, her magnificent dark skin and hair a fantastic contrast to the bleakness of the grey countryside. Winter has laid waste to the area around the Shrieking Shack, and Leta brings vibrance and energy and light.
He realises he has been staring at her at the same moment he realises Leta has been staring at him. Her eyes are clouded with something he cannot interpret, and her brows are drawn together as if in confusion. He lets his grip on her wrists loosen, but still her holds her there before him. Her full lips part for a moment, and then close.
Newt has never seen Leta hesitate to do anything, let alone speak.
The wind whistles in his ears, and he watches intently as she goes to speak again.
"I think I've fallen in love with you, little badger."
She says it quite plainly, as though it is the most obvious thing in the world. Newt drops her wrists, his gut churning in confusion and he takes a step back from her. Nonplussed, Leta closes the distance between them once again with a sure step forward. Newt swallows.
He is certain he is going to be sick.
Leta Lestrange couldn't possibly love him. He was the skinny, unsure, less intelligent, less powerful counterpart of his brother. He was odd, he hated people, he shied away from interacting with anyone but magical creatures. He was repeatedly beaten up, ridiculed, laughed at – Leta Lestrange was none of those things. She was his polar opposite, somewhere far away he could never hope to reach.
Leta lifts her hand to his cheek bone and lightly caresses it. She watches for his panicked reaction, before raising her other hand to his opposite cheek and cupping his face in her hands. She smiles, slow and full and radiant, and his heart flutters in his chest.
Could she love him? Truly?
"You're thinking too loud again Newt," she says softly, standing on her tiptoes and going to press a gentle kiss to his lips.
She has kissed him before – spontaneously usually, when she is happy or sad or angry. She has never kissed him like this before – with tender passion and a quietness that makes his heart hammer so hard in his chest he can hear the blood screaming in his ears. He can't say the words back, even though she makes up everything good in his life except for his creatures.
He just can't.
Leta pulls away and watches him carefully, looking for any betrayal of his thoughts. Newt swallows and does the only thing he can think to do, the only thing that could possibly give her a semblance of an answer. He reaches up, running a finger along her jawline, eyes trained on the smoothness of her dark skin. He sighs and gazes at her, and she smiles gently back at him. Moments like this with Leta, quiet and still, never happen.
She leans forward and wraps her arms around his middle, hugging him tightly for a minute. When she steps back she gazes up at him.
"But you know I'll probably have to marry one of the Sacred 28," she reasons, pouting her lips in thought. Her eyes light up for a moment. "Its rather rebellious that I should have any feelings towards the lesser of the Scamander brothers – what shame I will bring to my family!"
She raises her hand to her forehead, feigning horror and giggling wildy.
"Oh how exciting! Mother would hate it, my being with a nobody half-blood who wanted to run around the world looking for magical creatures! She'd probably slap me right in the face if she saw us now! Can you imagine the scandal, Newt?"
Newt is watching her warily, wondering if she even hears half of the things she has just said about him.
Are they horrible things to say if there is no horrible intent behind them? Or does it matter if the person being horrible doesn't know they are being so?
Leta doesn't seem to care one way or the other. She is still talking to herself, spinning some elaborate tale which he is only half listening to. The other half of him wonders if he truly is simply a 'nobody half-blood'? If that is the case, why is Leta with him at all? Why does she spend time with him? Does she truly like him, or is this another of her schemes for attention? Perhaps he gives her too much?
His mind is reeling and he doesn't even notice when Leta sidles up beside him and leans up to peck him on his rosy cheek. He immediately loses his train of thought and gives her a half smile as she watches him mischievously. She grabs one end of his scarf and gives it a soft tug towards the woods.
"Come on then, show me what you were clicking at, you strange little creature."
Newt doesn't think any more on the reasons for why Leta behaves the way she does. He simply allows her to pull him around the trees, gazing to the canopy, whistling for billywigs and asking nonsensical questions about Fizzing Whizzbees.
She is one beast he will never understand.
Thank you for reading~