The clock strikes 9, and Newt looks up from the lines he has been writing.
I must not steal chizpurfle carapaces from the potions storeroom.
Detention has been long – it seems he has been writing the same line for weeks on end, and he cracks his knuckles one by one as he stretches out, preparing to leave the stoic office of Professor Dumbledore. The man seems to be overly keen on discovering Newt's every move lately – he has been asking a lot of questions, about creatures and Newt's dealings with them. Newt furrows his brow in thought – he will have to be more careful in the future. With a lot of things.
He slings his bag over his shoulder and stands, watching Dumbledore for an opportunity to say his final apologies and goodbyes. Instead, the rusty haired man dips his peacock feather quill back into his ink well, intertwines his long fingers before his face and meets Newt's eyes over reading spectacles. Newt gulps and immediately avoids his view.
He doesn't much mind Professor Dumbledore – he seems like a good teacher, a decent person – however, there is something off about him, like much he does is for his own gain and to keep up a good pretence… Newt gets a whiff of uncertainty off the man, however, he doesn't trust his judgement on humans as well as he does his judgement on his creatures. Usually, he is slightly off about the people.
"Mr Scamander," Dumbledore's voice is low and unthreatening, as if he simply wants to chat to Newt rather than further admonish him. "I am facing a dilemma."
"A dilemma… sir?" Newt's voice is soft and unsure as it always is when conversing with humans. Dumbledore eyes him for a moment and then nods his head thoughtfully.
"Yes, a dilemma. For you see, Mr Scamander I happened to inquire as to what N.E.W.T subjects you have chosen to pursue this year. Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration of course, Astronomy and… Defence Against the Dark Arts, was it? Yes, it was. Therefore, my dilemma is this; why, would a young man who isn't studying anything relating remotely to potion-making, steal a potion ingredient for the antidote to Uncommon Poisons? A draught learned in N.E.W.T level potions classes?"
Newt gulps.
His mind is swirling in fear and confusion and an utter inability to lie. He opens his mouth to speak, once, twice and ends up just looking like a fish, gasping for air. He closes his mouth and hangs his head, not bearing to look anywhere near Dumbledore for a moment more. Newt hears the squeal of his chair, and feels a hand land on his shoulder. Newt cringes in hatred of physical contact, but clenches his teeth and allows Dumbledore this moment.
The man seems to sense his discomfort, and removes his hand, but clears his throat to draw Newt's eyes back to his face. Strangely, Dumbledore looks pitying, like he knows the answer to his dilemma and knows Newt does too. He frowns with a definite sigh.
"Mr Scamander. I am of the belief that you are a fantastic wizard. That you excel in Care of Magical Creatures, and that you could well work with dragons or indeed teach here at Hogwarts in the future. I would ask you to question very carefully the next time you are coerced into helping a certain individual with their failed homework assignments – what is it you truly want from your time at Hogwarts. Where do your true loyalties lie?"
Newt nods his head and Dumbledore hums softly, as though he doesn't believe Newt has taken in what he has just said. He jerks his chin towards the door and Newt takes the opportunity to scramble away. As he reaches the door frame, he stops to the sound of Dumbledore's voice once again.
"And consult any History of Magic notes you may have kept from your O. , Mr Scamander. 'Lestrange' is not a name often associated with loyalty. Not to one such as you, or I at least."
Newt leaves the room without another word.
He has almost reached his dormitory when he feels a hand clutch his shoulder and he shrugs it off sharply, spinning round, wand raised to defend himself.
Leta is watching him with wide eyes, and a slight smirk on her face.
Newt frowns and shakes his head sadly.
"Not tonight Leta," he says, his voice tired and empty and he moves to walk away from her. Leta laughs outwardly then, and skips round to his side, her hair twisted up in a knot at the back of her head, held in place with her augurey feather clip.
"Oh come on Newt, there's something important I have to show you, it can't wait –"
"Can't it?" he asks softly, his shoulders slumped. "Just like those Slytherin prefects couldn't wait to go and collect their potions marks from the supply room after hours?"
Leta raises a carefully plucked brow, her lips quirking into an unpleasant smile.
"I'm certain I don't know what your implying Newt," she says, her voice low and dangerous. He sighs. He hates when she won't just admit to him the truth – she should know by now he can't help but forgive her anyway.
"I'm not implying anything Leta – I just recall seeing you with them a few hours before it all happened."
Leta snorts, blocking his way now, her stance threatening, that wild look in her eye that he despises. She reminds him of a wounded jarvey he found in the pumpkin patches behind the groundskeeper's house last winter. Snapping and biting viciously, eyes wild with anger because it didn't know how else to protect itself.
"You think I told them? Why on earth would I do that? I needed the carapaces in the first place!" She juts out her bottom lip in apparent hurt, and Newt feels his tired resolve waiver. She is right – why on earth would the very person who had requested he steal the chizpurfle carapaces, because she hadn't gone to Hogsmeade as instructed and collected some for potions, rat him out? It made no sense. He was just tired, and Dumbledore had been horrible about Leta's family, so he was annoyed.
"Newt? Are you listening?"
Leta waves her hand before his eyes, and his furious internal monologue stops blaring. He blushes deeply and hastily looks away from her, her snubbed little nose just inches from his.
"Sorry, Leta. I'm just – I just – "
"I know, little badger," she says the words softly, before reaching out and running her finger along his cheekbone. He shivers and she elicits a small smile from him. Satisfied that she has his attention once again, her eyes regain that mischievous sparkle and she grabs his hand.
"Now come on! There's something you have to see, right this instant!"
He doesn't even think as he allows her to drag him away, and out their secret doorway to the grounds near the kitchens and his own dormitory.
She tugs him down the hill towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest and before he knows it, she has dragged him a good 20 metres in, before he stops and questions her.
"Leta, where are we going? We're further in than normal."
She doesn't look back, but rather powers ahead, glancing around her.
"Nearly there, promise!"
Newt opens his mouth to protest, before they reach a small clearing and Leta stands back and makes a grand flourish. Newt's jaw drops and his eyes widen to saucers.
He is certain not even Leta's shining beauty can match that of the hippogriff that lies before him.
The creature is sitting down, legs folded beneath it. Its head is bowed, one of its large wings folded and tucked gracefully into its side. The other, is mangled and bloody, bent at a strange angle from its body, just enough to arise concern from Newt. He immediately drops his bag and hurries forward, stopping a few metres short of the beast so it opens its wide amber eyes and observes him. He bows, lowly so his nose is almost touching the forest floor, filled with admiration and respect for the creature. He glances up to see the great beast bow its own majestic head in response, and with that Newt dashes forwards and skids to a halt before it, rolling his sleeves up.
"Oh my beauty, what's happened to you?"
His voice is low and soft, a rumble in the darkness of the forest, and the hippogriff grunts uncomfortably. Newt reaches out a tentative hand to pet the grand feathers of its neck, before reaching his hand out cautiously towards the hippogriff's broken wing. He meets the hippogriff's eyes, before bowing his head again as if to ask permission to examine it. He doesn't expect the bird to bow again, but it does, and his heart nearly bursts from his chest in pride and delight, as he lays a delicate hand on the definite bend. He continues to do this for a few moments, before he remembers Leta is watching, at the edge of the clearing. He stands and goes to his bag, grinning in her direction as he does.
"I think it's just a funny sprain, not broken. I'll have to set it gently tonight to try and ease the pain, and I should be able to whip something up to combat any infection, but I think the most important thing I can do for him is food and water. They're very good at looking after themselves." He has opened his bag and pulled out a haphazard string of gauze he always keeps handy for emergencies – namely when he is cornered by seventh year Gryffindors and punched in the face – and begins to unravel it to bind the hippogriff's wing.
Leta nods her head in understanding and grins.
"Isn't it gorgeous though Newt? I was immediately taken with it. Here, I'll help with that –"
She steps forward, but the bird grumbles angrily and Newt lifts a hand to her.
"You have to bow, Leta," he says seriously. She raises a brow and laughs.
"What? Bowing to a beast seems extravagant," she says, a hint of condescension in her tone and Newt frowns.
"I thought you knew about bowing to a hippogriff. It's always been the way, they're very proud."
Leta shoves her chin up in distaste before turning to the creature and bowing, a shallow, unfulfilling bow.
The hippogriff eyes her with malice in its amber eyes and makes no move to bow back.
Newt pales and instantly waves a hand at her to make her step back.
"Back Leta, back away! That was a distinct 'no'," he says hurriedly.
"A 'no'? What do you mean? If it wasn't for me, this beast would be dying, no chance of survival!" she says indignantly, her eyes flashing with the fierce rage he knows she is capable of. He swallows a lump in his throat and can't bring himself to tell her that hippogriffs don't judge individuals on immediate actions, rather their entire persona.
"Just back away Leta, I don't want you to get hurt," Newt pleads with her, stepping over to the hippogriff and beginning to bind its wing.
Leta huffs, her shoulders squared and her eyes flaming.
"How dare you tell me what to do, Newt Scamander? The beast is clearly beyond help if it can't even recognise that I wanted to help it. We should just put it out of its misery and be done with it," she says, her voice dripping venom and Newt's heart clenches.
Her mood swings are so volatile these days – one moment she is his shiny Leta, the next she is this snapping gorgon and he doesn't know what has changed since they met that day in the rain to make her moods come and go so quickly.
It makes him feel even worse when he considers the notion that perhaps, she has always been this way.
Newt finally registers what she has just said, although he doesn't fully understand her implication until he sees her raise her wand and aim it at the hippogriff. Immediately, he lunges before the creature, eyes wide and heart hammering.
"Leta, what in Merlin's name are you doing? Put your wand down now," he implores, his breaths sharp and quick, his words unsteady. His whole body is shaking and his blood runs cold when he sees the steadiness of her hand as she aims it at him.
"Move Newt. I'm going to end its suffering."
"He's not suffering -! He's going to be fine, there's no reason to destroy him! Stop it, Leta, please!"
He hates how whiny his voice is, how he is always the one to beg her forgiveness, to beg her mercy and he can't help himself as she takes a step forwards, wand never flinching.
He draws his own wand and points it at her, gaze steady.
"Put your wand away, Leta. Put it away and stop this, now."
His voice is trembling as his hand does and he watches Leta's dark eyes focus on his wand, and then move to his face. She lowers her own, those dark eyes distant and cold, like black holes – so empty. He's never seen them like this. The light beneath her skin has seemed to go out.
"You dare aim your wand at me?"
Her voice is shaking now too, but not from fear and sickening despair like Newt's is. It is shaking from rage.
Newt shoves his wand back into his robes, and extends his hand to Leta, taking a step towards her. She jerks back, like his touch will poison her, like he is diseased and one touch will infect her forever.
"Leta… Leta, I'm sorry."
He hates that he is apologising to her. She was the one to start this, to aim her wand at that innocent creature – she was mad to think he wouldn't intervene.
Leta smiles then, a small, dark, sad smile.
She shakes her head, and turns from the clearing. Before she leaves, he hears her words carry to him in the cool night air, and he feels his blood go cold, the perspiration on his forehead turning frigid.
"So am I, little badger."
I really must thank all my reviewers - to those anon or guest reviewers, I'm sorry I can't properly answer you're reviews, but know I am so grateful for them. Please, keep letting me know how you feel the story is going! I'm quite happy with it - I'm going to see FBaWtFT tomorrow again for the third time (hehe) so I'm hoping another douse of inspiration will hit me. Thanks guys~