Little Badger

He hears her screams long before he even leaves the pathway towards their part of the forest.

Before he knows what he's doing, Newt has dropped his schoolbag, thrown down his cloak, and is sprinting down the bluff, towards the cry of Leta, his heart pounding and his eyes beginning to well up with tears.

They haven't spoken since she showed him the hippogriff, at least two weeks ago – he has searched for her in all of their most likely haunts, small alcoves in the castle that only they knew about, the space behind the greenhouses, the path along the lake towards the boathouse – it was like she had dissipated from his life without another word and it made him feel sick to his stomach. He felt sick that he had raised his wand to her – he felt sicker because he knew that it was the right thing to do. Still, his heart hurt. It felt like it was made of lead, resting in the pit of his stomach, unmoving. He felt nothing for those two weeks – every offhanded jibe about how strange he was passed right over him. He felt immovable and empty, like a stone. The only thing that brought him joy, was the hippogriff, wing slowly repairing. He would be strong enough to fly on his own soon, maybe a day or two, and then he would leave.

Then, perhaps, Newt would be all on his own, for the first time since third year when he saw her first.

As he runs towards her panicked screams, his mouth dry as bone, his eyes watering against the ferocity of the wind, he remembers a gentler time when he saw only the dark and enchanting beauty of Leta's eyes and skin. The twinkle from her emerald earrings and the shiny quality that her smile held. With age came a knowledge of what lay behind these beautiful features.

Finally, he reaches the clearing where the hippogriff should be.

No hippogriff.

Only Leta, lying on the forest floor, paler than he has ever seen her, eyes rolling to the back of her head.

"Leta!"

He runs to her side, scooping her up so her heavy head of dark hair is supported in the bend of his elbow. Her eyes roll a bit and Newt glances down at his hands to see them glistening with ruby red blood. His hand begins to shake at the sight of it, as he takes in the large slice that runs from her shoulder down across her fragile collarbone. She coughs, and leans her head into his jumper, inhaling deeply.

"Is that you, little badger?

"It's me," he gasps, leaning down without thinking and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It's me, Leta. What happened to you?"

She coughs again, her breathing ragged.

"I came – t-to apologise to you. When I entered the clearing the- the- hippogriff attacked me. It flew – it f-flew away…"

Her words are barely discernible from the whistling of the wind around them and Newt gulps down hard, trying to think of some solution to this problem.

He can't save her himself – he doesn't know any spell remotely able to close up a wound so large and deep. But if he takes her to the school, they will ask how she was so badly injured and he won't be able to lie, they'll see right through him. They'll eventually know he was keeping a hippogriff in the Forbidden Forest.

Newt's head is light and airy – he's been in his fair share of scrapes before, but this one leads to no other course of action than one drastic one.

Leta coughs more violently now, sputtering blood.

His decision is made.

Unable to apparate on Hogwarts grounds, Newt stands, picking Leta up as delicately as he can. She is dead weight, but he has been lifting and tackling all sorts of creatures since he volunteered to help with younger classes and Care of Magical Creatures so he surprises himself as he begins the trek towards the castle, and towards what he knows will not end well for him.

The door closes with a soft click and Newt doesn't look up from the table until Dumbledore sits down in the chair opposite him. The teacher sighs deeply, interlocking his fingers and allowing a few minutes of silence to pass before exhaling deeply.

"They have to expel you, Mr Scamander."

Newt raises his brows as if in surprise – he is not surprised. His heart is still that lump of lead, rotting in his groin and he knew what was coming. Any fool knows it is beyond acceptable for a student to sneak off to the Forbidden Forest to look after a beast known to be dangerous to those who do not respect it correctly – Newt may have escaped the ultimate penalty for that particular transgression. But a student had been hurt. Irreversibly, perhaps. And it was essentially his fault.

"I tried my best to reason with them – but Miss Lestrange's parents are – well," Dumbledore smiles wryly. "It is impossible to reason with the unreasonable. And Headmaster Dippet has only just been appointed. He doesn't want a powerful family such as the Lestranges recommending to the Minister for Magic that he is incapable of the job. You understand."

It's not a question. Dumbledore knows Newt understands, he's just speaking to fill the air. Newt nods lightly, his chin still resting atop his clasped hands on the table, his eyes watery with tears that won't come. He feels so empty, so defeated.

What will his parents say? How will he ever move on from this? He was already cast in the shadow of Theseus' greatness – now he was to be eternally known as the miscreant brother, expelled from Hogwarts for endangering the life of a student. He raises his eyes in attention when Dumbledore begins to speak at last.

"… difficult individuals, however I have asked that you be spared your wand being snapped. You and Miss Lestrange were great friends, therefore she would not want it, I reasoned. Professor Dippet agreed that expulsion was punishment enough – and that the war effort in the coming future may still require a young man with skills in care of magical creatures. Be grateful," he finishes, eyeing Newt carefully down his long crooked nose.

Newt nods again, empty and broken. He knows he should be pleased they aren't taking his wand. However, Leta is still asleep, having passed out before they reached the castle. He wants to assure she is alright, before anything else happens.

Dumbledore sits back in his chair and regards Newt carefully.

"Miss Lestrange's parents have now left the castle."

Newt looks at him properly now, confusion painted on his face. Left the castle? Already? It's as though they didn't give a damn about Leta, they just wanted to ensure his punishment was severe enough and then retire back to their mansion.

Dumbledore seems to read his mind and nods his head slowly in thought. He looks at Newt and quirks a brow.

"Would you like to see her?"

The hospital wing is silent, unmoving. There is no one in it, the beds devoid of any patients except for the last one on the right, shielded by thin white curtains. He can see her silhouette through it, her chest rising and falling in deep breaths.

Dumbledore sweeps the curtain back and nods for Newt to go through, remaining, to Newt's surprise, outside. Newt crosses to Leta's bedside, and sits. He lifts his hand towards her own, and doesn't take hold of it immediately, rather ghosts his fingers along her palms and fingertips, finishing his journey at her well-polished finger nails. Her face is peaceful and full, the glow returning to her skin as she rests, her long lashes resting on her rosy cheekbones. He watches the freckles on her nose, recounting them as he has so many times before when she's not looking. He smiles as he gazes upon her, before his eyes fall on the thick gauze that runs across her shoulder. He winces, before tentatively reaching up to the corner of the gauze. He cannot help his curiosity, before he peels it back ever so slightly at the edge. Leta doesn't stir, the sleeping draught she had been given too powerful for his light touch to reach her.

His eyes flicker from checking her sleeping face, back to the tip of the wound.

And it is as if the lump that is his heart crumbles altogether.

As if he could sense the change in atmosphere, Dumbledore sweeps through the curtain then, and sees Newt at the edge of the bandage, gazing at the wound. Newt doesn't move his hands as he finds Dumbledore come straight to his side, and look over his shoulder at the wound also. He makes a small humming noise that makes Newt feel sick to his stomach.

"Very interesting."

Newt doesn't speak, because he cannot. All words have failed him, his lips too dry, his tongue heavy and useless. Dumbledore's long fingers reach down and take the place of Newt's now slack ones, toying with the edge of the bandage, before laying it back down atop Leta's shoulder. Dumbledore draws a deep breath before speaking again.

"I'm no expert – I certainly don't know as much about magical creatures as the likes of you do, Mr Scamander. I have to say that I admire your abilities at caring for them, earning their trust and creating a bond with them, whilst still maintaining their sense of wild freedom so they can live and support themselves eventually. I also admire your dedication to studying the cuts and bruises and other such maladies they have granted you with, as well as other people's – and finding cures and treatments for them. I must say, I believe in your abilities quite profusely."

He pauses again, and Newt looks to him now, the tears flowing freely from his eyes as Dumbledore stares back with such pity that Newt wants to run away from this place and never look back as long as he lives.

"In your well-versed opinion, Mr Scamander – does that look like a wound inflicted by an enraged hippogriff?"

Newt stares dumbly back at him, before Dumbledore takes him by the elbow and lifts him from his seat by her bed. Newt barely notices as the man leads him from the hospital wing, through the silent castle and to the entrance to his dorms. He taps the barrels in the familiar rhythm and leads Newt through the common room to his dorms, and holds his shoulder firmly before nodding towards the door.

"Some rest, Mr Scamander. I will send someone to fetch you and your things in the morning."

Newt's legs carry his numb body to bed, and he stares at the roof for what feels like an eternity before rolling over onto his side, throwing his feet from his bed and going to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

It is here that he falls to his knees, throws up what feels like the entire contents of everything he has ever consumed and sits, on the cold yellow tiles, his head resting against the wall until the physical numbness of his feet matches the numbness of his emotions.

Only then does he return to bed, and sleep.

He is sombrely looked upon by the headmaster and head of house before being sent on his merry way. He isn't allowed to see Leta again before he leaves, but for this he is somewhat relieved.

He has no words to give her. He plans to leave England, go to the Ukraine to train the Ironbellies, gain their trust and perhaps put them to good use in the ensuing war. After that who knows?

He feels an almost weightless feeling. Like he has been freed from Hogwarts and its many prejudices and expectations, from his family and their constant comparisons – and from Leta. Like her grasp on him has loosened, if only by a bit. His heart still seizes up at the thought of her. Of everything she was. Of everything she could have been.

It is not until he reaches Ukraine, that he hears anything of her. In a letter, no less, short and to the point and so painfully Leta that he doesn't know whether to read it or throw it in the campfire.

He decides, he must know and so before he can talk himself out of it, he opens the letter. Inside, there is a picture of her, her smooth shoulders and glowing smile – her thick hair is swept to the side like on the day he met her, and he sees the hint of an augurey feather resting at the back of her head. He pockets it, and continues on to read:

My dearest Newt,

I hope this letter finds you well. It was strange to graduate without you at my side. When the summer is over, I am to begin living the life of the socialite. My parents have high hopes for me; I should eventually marry someone in the ministry, and live a comfortable life.

I doubt your life is comfortable at the moment. I console myself with that thought – that I couldn't have come with you on your adventures, because I'm simply not cut out for it. Not bred for it, is probably more accurate. I am certain you are enjoying yourself though – I hope you are.

I never meant for what happened to happen. If I had known the beast would react in such a way, I never would have ventured there alone. I feel somewhat to blame for your expulsion. I hope you don't blame me too much though – you always were toeing the line between eccentric and downright troublesome.

I think that's why I love you. I do love you, Newt. It is the purest thing I have ever felt. I'm sorry if I don't know quite how to express it. You will just have to take my word for it.

Next time you're in London, visit me. I'll know if you don't.

Take care, my little badger.

Your loving,

Leta

This is not the end - stay tuned for another update~