Little Badger
He is exhausted.
He sits, clutching a teacup, a copy of the Daily Prophet propped up on the teapot that sits upon his table. He is in the smallest corner of the Leaky Cauldron, the noisy pub beginning to quiet as the night wears on. He takes a gulp of his tea, wincing as the hot liquid burns his tongue. He blows on it absently, before setting it down once more, and shaking out the paper in his hands so it is flatter and easier to read.
He has been travelling home since last week. After his stint in the Ukraine with the Ironbellies and participating on the Eastern Front providing fire power, he had begun his real travels across Europe, and eventually down to the massive continent of Africa. It was there that he did most of his work, securing endangered and abused magical creatures, and sheltering them from the cruelness of this world inside his suitcase. In Rwanda he had found his erumpent, his sweet Penny – it was Sierra Leone where he had been following the whisperings and rumours and tracked down the last breeding pair of graphorns in existence; calving presently, much to his delight - and in Egypt, he had rescued his beloved Frank from the monstrous poachers who had imprisoned him to guard their treasure. Newt recalls watching their faces drop when he hexed their feet on backwards – normally, he wouldn't have resorted to quite such a terrible punishment, but Frank had been in a bad way. He had finally stopped in Equatorial Guinea to rescue a clutch of occamy eggs that were instants away from being melted down into a necklace by an unsuspecting muggle. A quick Memory Charm, and he had caught the boat from Cape Town not long after, beginning the long journey back to London.
The suitcase rattles slightly at his feet.
He smiles softly and nudges it gently with his toe, calming whoever it was making a fuss in there.
He glances at his watch.
He may as well ask for a room at this rate – he had planned to go home and visit his mother, but for some reason, he couldn't quite bring himself to leave the pub and venture back to his family home, filled with judging looks and discontent with his entire lifestyle.
No, a room, a good night's sleep, and then another boat to catch in the morning.
As Newt folds up his newspaper, and throws it down on the table, his eyes catch another fervent pair, watching him from the other side of the bar.
He swallows in disbelief, and finds himself sitting back down.
The pair of dark eyes blink twice and before he knows it, their owner is walking slowly over to his table, chest rising and falling almost hypnotically. She sits before him, long, thick curls strewn across her back, held back haphazardly from her eyes with a vivid emerald feather clasp.
Leta Lestrange raises a brow in disbelief.
"I told you I would know if you didn't come visit me."
Newt is lost for words for a moment, shifting uncomfortably in his chair under her serious gaze. He glances up at her quickly, shaking his head in some form of apology. He tugs at the sleeves of his blue overcoat, and takes another swig of his tea. It is the perfect temperature now. Leta looks at him incredulously.
"What? You have absolutely nothing to say? You don't come and see me before you leave, you don't reply to my letter and then you attempt to ignore me when you return to London? I don't understand what I've done to deserve this!"
She is all but hissing the words, keeping her voice low and forcibly under control, like she is being watched, like she must constrain her once boisterous personality.
Newt meets her eyes then, slight confusion in his eyes, before taking a deep breath and swallowing any nervousness he felt around Leta.
He wasn't the same fragile child from Hogwarts. He had seen things now, he was the parent of countless breeds of fantastic beast. He didn't need to be afraid of her.
"I can't possibly think either Leta. How is your scar? The one inflicted by the hippogriff?"
He nods his head towards her smooth neck, the tip of her pale shoulder just exposed, and blissfully free of any form of magical scar. She shrugs her dress up a bit higher, her bottom lip jutting out. Newt raises a brow and nods in understanding. He fiddles with a loose thread on his cuff for a moment before tilting his head to the side, the long curls of his hair falling down slightly so he has to brush them back from his eyes.
"Did I ever tell you Leta, that no matter how you attempt to cure a bite or a scar from a magical beast, some tiny inclination of it will always remain? For instance," he props his hand out for her to observe, which she does, albeit with a curled lip. He points at the web of skin where his thumb meets his forefinger. "There, Pickett, my bowtruckle companion, bit me when he first met me. I tried to shave some wood from his tree, and he didn't like it one bit. We're great friends now, but try as I might, that little scar will never go away."
He can feel Pickett quivering with happiness at the mention of his name in Newt's breast pocket, but he reaches over absently and pushes the little creature's head down so Leta will not see him. He then settles back in his chair, glancing at Leta for an instant and then looking away.
Despite his new found semi-confidence, he still will never escape his skittishness around other people, his fear of human contact or his social anxiety. Still, he copes better with it now. He would almost grin, if the moment allowed for it.
Instead he shrugs a shoulder.
"So I imagine your hippogriff scar must be quite something."
Leta is eyeing him with some strange venom, a darkness he hasn't seen in a long time, and it causes his shoulders to slump slightly as he waits for her venomous retort to match. It doesn't come. Instead, she sighs and folds her hands beneath her chin, watching him with the intent of a chimera before it snaps the neck of its prey.
"I'm getting married, you know."
He isn't surprised, but he glances at her with raised brows as though he is. His eyes flicker for the first time to her left hand, where sure enough, he sees a large diamond engagement ring, flanked by two emeralds. They are held in the mouths of two tiny silver serpents.
His heart twangs in pain, ever so slightly.
He expects her to capitalize on this slight display of weakness, but instead she blinks impassively, and waits for him to speak. He watches her carefully, noting the change in her.
She is quieter than before – she seems folded in on herself, like someone has admonished her for speaking or laughing.
They are the last people left in the Leaky Cauldron – the barman has gone into the kitchens to wash the last of the evenings dishes, and the chairs have begun to stack themselves upon the tables. Leta glances around her, before returning her gaze to him.
"Do you have a room?"
He shakes his head dumbly.
"I was just going to request one when you appeared."
She nods her head in understanding, before glancing at him from under her thick lashes.
"Are you going to ask for one? We could talk some more."
He winces slightly. He doesn't want to speak with her any longer – he knows if he allows her to come to his room, she will use her every cunning ability to make him remember the old Leta; or perhaps she will pretend to be the old Leta when they are alone.
Or perhaps this was just what Leta was like all along when she was in his company, and he was too blindsided with obsession to notice.
Instead of refusing her, he stands, picks up his case and crosses to the bar where he speaks lowly with the barman to obtain a room. He picks the cheapest one, with a single bed and wash basin, before turning to Leta and gesturing his head towards the stairs.
He knows he will regret this in the morning when he has to catch the boat, but he decides he will allow himself this.
This last encounter with her, to say goodbye.
When they reach the room, he sets his suitcase down delicately at the bottom of his bed and removes his blue woollen coat. He sits down on the bed and begins unlacing his boots as Leta drapes herself over the chair at the vanity table in the corner.
She looks older, he observes as he pulls one shoe off. Then again, so does he.
It's been a good few years since they ran the halls of Hogwarts together, and he can see it in the tiredness behind her dark eyes. When he has finished removing his shoes, he undoes his neck tie and feels hot redness creeping up his face.
Leta is staring at him.
He clears his throat in embarrassment before taking his wand from the strap he has at his side and setting it on the bedside table. He meets her dark eyes again. They are raking their way across his body. Finally, she leans forward, elbows on her knees, her smooth bust visible to his eye just down the crease in her dark robes. She raises a brow.
"Did you hear me when I said I'm getting married?"
Newt frowns for a moment before nodding. She quirks her head to the side for a moment, before sitting back up.
"Don't you care? Don't you wish you were marrying me? Don't you want to try and stop me? I love you!"
Her last three frantic words ring out in the emptiness of the room, against the cold wooden floors and whitewashed walls. Newt eyes her for a moment, his expression sad. He feels his heart pang in terrible sadness, for every emotion that ever used to rage through his veins when he so much as thought of this girl. His chest feels heavy with some strange forgotten love he still feels for her – not true love, as he knows it, like that he feels for his creatures. This is a child's love – besotted and lonely and desperate for any kind of affection, be it damaging or cruel.
"You don't love me, Leta. You never have loved me. You think that you know what it is, but honestly…" he pauses searching for the right words. He takes a deep breath, before meeting her eyes as best he can and attempting to squash the last bit of something that he feels towards her. "I don't believe you know how to love."
Before the final words have left his mouth, Newt knows he has said the right thing. It is strange, that he realises this, because he sees a large, hot tear well up in the corner of Leta's eye and run down her face. They begin to come thick and fast, silent, salty tears.
Leta has never once cried in all the years he has known her.
He watches her for a moment, before he licks his dry lips.
"I did love you, once. I think. Misplaced as it was, you made me happy when all I thought I was capable of feeling was sadness. No matter what's changed, Leta – I will always be thankful to you for that."
Her eyes are wide, still spilling tears, and almost mad. She makes a large choking sound, clutching her hand over her mouth and doubling over.
Newt panics for a moment, wondering if he has indeed pushed her too far. When she sits back up, her hands are trembling and her continually flowing tears have made her dark cheeks pale and damp. She looks him dead in the eye, a strange little smile on her face.
"No one has ever said that to me before," she whispers thickly. "In my whole life. No one has ever told me that they loved me."
Newt lowers his head in desperate sadness for Leta Lestrange, beautiful and lonely and broken. She is like one of the few beasts he has encountered on his travels, who have been tortured and brutalised and never shown love – still utterly awe-inspiring in looks and ability - but irreparably damaged beyond his repair.
Leta is still weeping bitter tears, not making any attempt to wipe them away as they drip from her proud chin to her lap in a salty river down her cheeks. She sniffs, those sparkling eyes alight with something he has never seen in her before. This broken girl is the true Leta, hidden behind layers of bubbling happiness and maddening curiosity and ferocious temper.
Newt is unsure how long passes before she sniffs with finality and glances at him.
"And you leave for New York tomorrow – on another adventure. You'll probably find the love of your life in America. You'll be happy for the rest of your life, surrounded by beasts and a family. It's strange," her voice is quiet and trembling, her smile bitter. Another tear falls from her face into her lap. "But I want you to have that happiness. Even if I can't. I want you to be happy Newt Scamander."
She sits in silent tears for a moment more, before rising from the chair and moving towards the door.
Newt, not quite knowing what to say or do, stands to open the door for her, grasping the handle just as she does. Their hands touch for an instant, and Leta clutches her middle as though in physical pain, a wracking sob making her tremble under his hand. He squeezes her knuckles gently before letting go.
She is close to him now, closer than she has been in years, her curly head a good foot shorter than his own, her eyes wide and dark and empty.
"I want you to be happy," she repeats, her voice choked. She sniffs again and just as he goes to insist she leave, she reaches out to hold his cheek in the palm of her hand. She leans into his body, resting her tear strewn eyes on his shoulder and allowing the last remnants of them fade into the cotton of his shirt.
"Tell me, little badger. Is this what love feels like?"
Newt feels himself reach up and stroke the back of her head, once, twice, like she is a wounded beast he has rescued. He goes to answer her, tell her that perhaps he was wrong about her inability to feel love, that he was too harsh. Before he can however, she has pulled her head away from him, her eyes devoid of all emotion. Her mask has been reapplied, no trace of her tears or sadness or grief. He meets her cold eyes once more, and she smiles, a slow, haunting smile. She opens the door.
"Because if it is – I never want to feel it ever again."
He keeps her picture in his suitcase.
And stay tuned for the epilogue~