(20th August, 3rd Year - 4th Year)

The summer holidays had been uneventful, as they always had been. Europe's tensions in the muggle world had begun to rise now and, under Sylvia's mother's instance, they had opted to stay in England for the six weeks. They had not returned to Germany since Sylvia was very small, and she was keen to return, but her mother would not be persuaded.

The first ten days were solitary bliss for the young witch, enjoying her own company for a while and catching up with the mountainous amount of homework her classes had set her for the new term.

But as every only child did, Sylvia began to grow bored and restless after a couple of weeks and had begged her mother (formally known as Hanna Segovstein) day and night to take her on a tour of the Ministry. Her mother who was an Auror, and a rather skilled one at that, had shaken her head and looked at Sylvia as if the very thought was disgusting. Her father had peaked his eyes above the newspaper (a traditional muggle paper, as usual) and shared a dark look with his wife. "Goodness, no, child." She said, putting down her coffee mug with an unusually uncertain grip. "Not with everything as it is." It was her mother's word, and that was that.

So Sylvia had spent the rest of her time off reading her books and writing essays, more out of boredom than care for her education. It was times like those, that she detested being an only child.

There was, she remembered, a rather weird conversation that Sylvia had with her mother one day after the young red-head had asked for help with the pronunciation of a particularly tricky charm. Hanna had demonstrated the spell with ease, after commenting how long it had been since she had last cast it (which Sylvia thought was a little boastful), before staring at Sylvia with a hard look.

"Who was that boy you were with - at the train station?" (She rarely called it Kings Cross Station, her German pronunciation had trouble with the syllables.)

The question took Sylvia by surprise, as she hadn't mentioned him at all, and that instance was several weeks ago by then.

"Newton Scamander?"

"Ah, his brother is Theseus, yes? I had a brief conversation with his mother once at the Ministry, whilst she was buying another breeding permit. A peculiar family." Hanna laid her wand on Sylvia's bed gently, almost as if it might break.

Sylvia briefly wondered why she thought they were 'peculiar', but then she remembered that her mother still thought the idea of Briton's using so much sugar in their tea was 'peculiar'.

"You think of him often." Her mother simply stated, and this caught Sylvia by such surprise that she was sure if Headmaster Dippet came flying through the window wearing nothing but suspenders she would greet it with more clarity.

"What?" Hanna gave her a knowing look, one that Sylvia was sure meant that her mother was trying to read her thoughts. She rarely blushed, but she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

"He seems nice enough, though. A bit-"

"He's not peculiar, mother." The girl cut in before she could finish. This was normally a big taboo, but her mother apparently seemed in a playful mood. Temporarily.

Her mother gave a quaint smile. "Enough of this, hm? Show me how you would deter a..." She thought for a second. "Hinkypunk?"

Sylvia wondered if the owner of Flourish and Blott's would sell a book on Occlumency to a fourth-year.

(30th August, 4th Year)

"I hate apparating." Sylvia groaned, clinging onto her mother's arm weakly as they arrived outside the Leaky Cauldron. Her stomach was still doing flips, and her limbs felt as if they had been wrapped around her body several times and twisted. It was two days before Sylvia returned to school, and they had come to Diagon Alley for some last minute shopping and 'business' as Hanna had put it. No doubt Ministry work, but Sylvia didn't mind knowing she would be able to buy her own things without her mother fussing over anything.

They entered the pub, her mother first with Sylvia following close behind. The bartender greeted Hanna with a nod before she turned to her daughter.

"Head on without me, child." Sylvia detested her mother calling her that in public, but the coin purse that was put in her hand lightened the blow. "I'll find you when I'm finished." Sylvia gave no complaint and headed out the back and into Diagon Alley on her own, feeling very much an adult (she had the height).

She headed into her required stores and was even more thankful as she walked into Slug and Jiggers Apothecary that her mother wasn't with her. For three years running her mother had stopped and talked to the owner for twenty minutes. That still didn't stop him from asking the young witch about her. She muttered something trivial about her mother being in good health, collected her ingredients and quickly left the shop. Her arms were now full with four new books and a bag of something that smelt absolutely putrid - but needed nonetheless.

Half an hour had passed, and Sylvia was beginning to wonder what her mother was doing. Deciding to walk back to the entrance and wait for her there, Sylvia weaved between the crowd of wizards lost in her own mind. So deep in trivial thoughts, she almost collided into a tall witch striding along the cobblestone and had to dive out of the way, nearly throwing her books into the air.

"Oh, I'm so sorry dear!" She placed a hand on the girl's shoulder and checked if she was alright. Sylvia nodded and mumbled an apology before she went to briskly walk away, flushing slightly at her absent-mindedness - but was stopped by a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"You must forgive my abruptness, dear, but I can't help but wonder... are you Sylvia?" She asked nicely. The woman had a warm presence and a smile that looked as if it could open locks.

"Y-yes..." Sylvia said awkwardly, still not sure how to talk to adults who weren't professors. "Are... you a friend of my mothers?" This wasn't the first instance she had been stopped, many commented on how she and her mother looked alike.

"Well, I've talked to her once, but the reason I'm asking is... you're friends with my son – Newton?"

It clicked as soon as Mrs. Scamander had finished talking. From this distance, she could see the similarities. Auburn hair, kind green eyes and a dash of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

"Yes." Sylvia went to add 'I suppose', but thought better of it when she saw the worried expression in the lady's eyes. "Yes, I am."

"Is he... he's doing alright in school, isn't he?" Sylvia stood doe-eyed for a minute, not sure how to respond, but his mother continued. "I know I must seem like a mother hen," She laughed heartily. "But I've been a little worried that he's not making many friends. He hasn't really spoken of many people, apart from you of course, and I just wanted to make sure he was getting on alright."

"I supp-" She cut herself short quickly. Be polite, Sylvia, she thought. "Yes." She said simply. "He's very... enthusiastic in our Care of Magical creatures class, everyone constantly turns to him for advice," Sylvia added with a small smile. It wasn't a complete lie, but it was certainly better than saying her son was a complete loner who was currently living in his brother's shadow.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Mrs. Scamander squawked. "See? I've been worrying for nothing! Thank you, dear. You've put a mother's mind at rest!" She gave a hearty slap on Sylvia's shoulder. Her warm, welcoming presence was much different from her mother's somewhat standoffish one.

Sylvia tried her hardest to smile through her grimace. Luckily, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her own mother approaching from the brick wall. It was hard not to notice her really, her height made her impossible not to spot.

"Ah, there you are!" Her mother called, her thick accent sticking out amongst the crowd. She walked over, heels clicking loudly against the cobblestone before placing an arm on her daughters back. Hanna noticed the woman standing next to her, and it took her a moment to recognise her. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Scamander!" Her mother greeted cheerily. This was her work voice, Sylvia noticed.

"Mrs. Segovstein, may I say you have a wonderful daughter! So polite!" She cooed.

"I do?" Hanna said, with a sharp rise of a heavily plucked eyebrow. She stared at the woman for a moment before correcting herself. "I mean, yes, of course." She straightened her back and looked like a farmer showing off a prized cow. "I'm afraid we must be off, anyway. It was lovely seeing you again."

"Of course, and anytime you want to visit us, Sylvia, don't you hesitate! It'll do Newt some good to spend some time away from the Hippogriffs and with actual witches and wizards. Goodbye, Mrs. Segovstein!"

With a firm pressure her mother guided Sylvia back towards the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and when Newt's mother was out of earshot, muttered to Sylvia.

"You can't tell me you don't find her peculiar."

"I don't know," Sylvia thought out loud. "I thought she was quite nice."

(1st September, 4th Year)

The train ride back to Hogwarts was, in one word, painful. Sylvia had hoped to find Newt and maybe catch up about the holidays. She also wanted to tell him about his mother (leaving out the part where his mother had told her of Newt talking about her a lot), and she was sure they'd share a laugh about it – but she was collared by Malvin before she could look in all the compartments. Before she had even sat down, he had told her all about his trip to Wales, his dinner fiasco with his family (and a raccoon), his sister's new boyfriend and premature breakup and then rounded everything up with a riveting tale about his father's missing loafer. Sylvia sighed and resorted to staring out of the window, but found she couldn't even have that luxury since it was raining outside and the windows had fogged up – no doubt from the hot air Malvin was currently exhuming.

When they had finally arrived, Sylvia spent the rest of her energy unpacking before dinner, thanking the heavens for the girls-only dormitory and some reprieve from Malvin. She checked her pocket watch (an odd gift from her mother for a young girl on her twelfth birthday) and realised she had a little time before the start of year dinner.

She needed to send her mother the letter she requested every term - just a note saying she had arrived all right. Looking outside of the small alcove window, she noticed the still-dismal weather. There was no possible way around it, so she made sure she had her wand and began to make her way down the castle and across the grounds to the owlery – quickly. Her mother had taught how to make an umbrella with her wand, and Sylvia was never more thankful that magic existed up until that point.

Reaching the tower, she pulled her robes tighter around herself, finding the draught in the owlery to be more severe than it usually was. Climbing to the top, where she knew her mother's owl would be angrily waiting, she withdrew the note she had scrawled back in the Gryffindor dormitory. She attached it carefully to the owl's foot, dodging its harsh nips.

"Ow! For goodness sake, Adalard, I'm going as fast as I can." Her slowly-numbing fingers fumbled with the clasp around the dark- feathered bird's foot, and unfortunately, her mother's owl was a notoriously impatient one. Finally attaching the note, she sent the bird on its way.

"Good riddance." Sylvia sighed, sucking on her finger.

"Not a fan of owls?" A voice spoke from behind her.

Sylvia nearly jumped a foot in the air and spun around, finding no other than a thoroughly drenched Newt standing next to what she presumed was his owl. She quickly removed her finger from her mouth with a small pop.

"Oh my – how long have you been there?" She asked quickly, hoping he didn't see her cursing at an owl.

"Since you came running in." He said, a little shyly. "I wondered who that owl belonged to – quite nasty isn't he?"

"Yes." Sylvia breathed out, absent-mindedly rubbing her finger. "He's as good as gold to my mother, though."

A silence descended upon, as Newt stroked his owl, cooing at it quietly.

"I take it you forgot your umbrella?" She gestured at his clothes, not a hundred-percent sure he knew what an umbrella was. It was a muggle contraption, after all, and she had not forgotten his pure-blood roots.

His cheeks were already red from the cold wind, but they seemed to deepen even more as he took in his own appearance. Sylvia chuckled quietly, and this seemed to comfort him slightly as a small smile spread across his face.

"We should probably be heading back, dinner starts soon, and you should probably... change." Newt nodded in agreement and they began to head back down the tower and to the entrance.

The rain had not let up since her arrival, and Sylvia groaned as they stood in the entrance. The heavens had apparently decided to empty themselves in the five minutes it had taken to send a message by owl. Newt went to walk straight out, and Sylvia admired his bravery for stepping out into torrential rain unprotected – but she wouldn't accept it. She quickly grasped his arm as he went to leave and he stared at her wide-eyed.

"Here." She cast the spell her mother had taught her, and an invisible umbrella appeared from the tip of her wand. It was relatively big, more than enough cover for herself, but just enough for herself and Newt. "No use catching a cold."

He stared wondrously at the magic. "I'll have to learn that." He said under his breath.

"My mother taught it me, it getting on for autumn and all." They stepped out together and began to walk back to the main building. "I'll teach you if you want."

"I think that would be wise." He chuckled.

(October 12th, 4th Year)

The Great Hall.

Fast approaching to be Sylvia's least favourite place. It was relatively quiet in the morning, she noted and was pleased to find barely twenty students down early enough – mostly those keen to catch up with school work. With her books grasped under her right arm, she sat down at the Gryffindor table, a seat or two away from the nearest group – who were currently chatting excitedly about the upcoming quidditch team try-outs. Quidditch didn't appeal to Sylvia, who without a doubt was the worst rider she knew. She blamed it on her gangly frame which she had yet to grow properly into, though it was mainly because she preferred her two feet to be on the ground at all times.

Opening her potions book whilst spooning some scrambled eggs onto her plate, her eyes flicked up and noticed a small commotion by the Hufflepuff table. The others on her table did too, apparently, and quickly hushed in hopes for some more gossip to talk about at lunch. There were two Slytherin's there, recognising them from her Care of Magical Creatures class, standing in front of someone who she couldn't see. A glass was knocked on the floor with a clatter, and Sylvia craned her head to see what poor soul they were clearly tormenting. Her mouth hung agape when she saw the tall, freckled boy whom she had begun to know quite well, sitting anxiously. She couldn't hear what he was saying in return, but she could see his lips form into what looked like some sheepish apologies. A strange feeling welled up in Sylvia's stomach, something she could only put close to anger, and she quickly closed her book and went to stand. Her hands were shaking. Her standing, though, was abruptly halted by a firm hand, and she turned around to bark at whoever it was – feeling very much brave with a rush of adrenaline.

It was Professor Dumbledore, a fairly young, kind teacher with intense, pale blue eyes. Sylvia could never much stand his stare in her Tranfisugration classes, it was soft yet piercing, and quickly averted her eyes and sat back down. He gave one, soft pat on her shoulder before walking over to the group, placing his hands on each of the Slytherin's shoulders as if they were all great friends. The two boys froze instantaneously, not from magic but fear, and mumbled something to both Dumbledore and Newt -eyes fixated on their shoes. They quickly departed from the Great Hall, cheeks red and rubbing their shoulders as if they had been burnt. The rest of the hall returned to their breakfast, a group of Slytherin's behind her huffed in annoyance, cursing the Transfiguration teachers name.

Dumbledore had a brief chat with the boy, and Newt cast a quick glance at Sylvia. For the first time, she averted her eyes first, as she stacked her books neatly together. She found she wasn't as hungry anymore, and her hands still shook slightly. She tucked her work materials back under her arms, and left the Great Hall - but she did not carry on walking to her first class. Waiting by a column some distance away from the entrance, but where she had a clear view of it, she held her books close to her chest. Classes were due to start soon, and sure enough, the Great Hall began to empty itself as students walked past barely acknowledging Sylvia's tall presence. For a tall girl, she found she could blend into the background fairly well. Newt walked past, on his own as always, and Sylvia quickly caught up to him, walking in his stride. He did a double-take when he saw her walking next to him.

"Are you alright?" She asked quietly, casting a sideways glance at him. He nodded a little too enthusiastically to be believable. "What did they want?" She asked again. A fist in the mouth is what she thought straight after.

"Oh, just some help with our assignment on the origins of Unicorns." He said, trying to pass off Sylvia's concern with a wave of his hand. It didn't work. "Well, t-they more wanted me to write it for them, and I said I was quite busy to which they became a little... angry."

"I'm glad Dumbledore stepped in." She said as they began to descend down to their potions class in the dungeons. More so, she thought, because she wasn't quite sure what she would have done had she walked over to them. Something rash and stupid, probably.

"He's a good teacher," Newt commented.

Sylvia hummed her agreement as they walked into their class and began to set up their cauldrons. But a teacher isn't always around, she thought, as they spied the same one of the two boys walking in. He cast a sneer at Newt, which he didn't notice because he was far too busy trying to get his fire started, but Sylvia did. Hers and the boy's eyes briefly met, and Sylvia tried her hardest to emulate the look her mother would give her when she misbehaved. It was an intense stare from under her lashes, and it still worked on Sylvia to that day. The boy, a small chubby thing with sunken eyes and a slight overbite, joined his partner in crime over at their table. He muttered something under his breath and they all laughed before they glanced at Sylvia and Newt. She straightened her posture and stuck out her chin, her mother would never see her bend to the will of a bully, and continued to talk to her friend casually.

She kept her eye on them throughout the class, though, whilst Newt helped prevent her from blowing up the classroom (potions was still not her strong suit), and she also watched them throughout the year.

(November 23rd, 4th Year)

Classes seemed to move by without any further hitches, and the Slytherin boys kept to themselves whenever Sylvia was around Newt – which was frequently now. They had mostly been classroom friends, never exchanging more than a few words and an odd encounter here and there, but as Christmas and the holidays were fast approaching, she found herself in his company often. One such instance, was as they were walking through Hogsmeade. She had invited him, and he hesitantly accepted, saying how he had never been to the wizarding village except to ride the carriages up to Hogwarts at the start of the year.

"Really?" She said, her voice rising with surprise. Fourth-years were allowed in Hogsmeade at certain weekends then, and most students gravitated towards the village whenever they had the chance. "Why?"

"No reason to, really." He said meekly, with a shrug of the shoulder. She gave him a quizzical look but pressed no more. They trudged through the thick snow towards the place, scarves wrapped high up their necks and coats pulled closely against themselves. They narrowly dodged two students' snowball fight who were covered head to toe in snow, laughing loudly through chattering teeth.

Newt looked at them in shock, even after they had passed them he continued to glance behind him with wide eyes.

"Were they... throwing snow at each other?" He said as if the idea was the oddest thing in the world.
Sylvia stared at him stunned. She was aware of pure-bloods and their lack of understanding in muggle affairs, but surely, she thought, he had heard of a snowball fight?

"Y-yes, it's a game." She said strangely, but this didn't seem to satisfy his curiosity as he threw one last look over his shoulder. One of the students had managed to hit the other squarely in the face, and he cheered loudly, arms thrust in the air with a victory shout.

The witch stopped, and Newt almost crashed into her as his head was still looking behind them.

"You can't mean to tell me you've never been in a snowball fight?"

"N-no, I can't say I have, really." He looked to the two boys again. The boy who was wiping snow out of his face had clearly had enough of playing fair and using his wand he managed to lift about fifteen snowballs up in the air at once. The other stared on in fear before quickly running away shouting 'foul play'. "And if it looks anything like that I don't think I'd particularly want to, either."

Sylvia giggled. "That is a little extreme, I will admit." They began walking again.

"H-how... do you win?" He asked, after a little pause and hesitation.

"I-" She thought for a second, and found she wasn't really sure. She remembered playing with Malvin once, in their second year, and he had given up after Sylvia had managed to magically construct a snowball the size of a small cow. He had been very bitter about it for the rest of the year. "I suppose until the others have given up?" She said.

Newt nodded and sucked in his lips as he always did when he was deep in thought.

They made it to the village finally, it being quite an arduous journey in the snow, and they popped in and out of various shops. Sylvia bought a couple of gifts for her mother – sweets mainly, knowing her mother's sweet tooth and bought her father an enchanted bathrobe that adjusted its warmth based on the wearer's body temperature. She knew her father would most likely never use it, though. Newt had bought his family a few things as well, mainly creature-based things like a small wooden figurine of a Hippogriff that flapped its wings occasionally. Sylvia had joked that he should magically enlarge it to a life-size replica, and Newt had considered the idea for a moment before saying he couldn't afford the amount of wrapping paper it would take to wrap it.

"We could fly it back to London." She had joked further, as they made their way through a tree clearing on their way back to Hogwarts. "I can imagine my mother's face right now." She shuddered.

No response came, and Sylvia went to look at him but found he wasn't there.

Something thumped against the back of her legs.

"Oh!" She cried out in surprise, both at the hit and at the coldness of it. Craning her head to observe the damage, she noticed snow against her calves. Evidence of a snowball. Turning around wide-eyed, and ready to give a mouthful to the cheeky sod, she noticed Newt standing a good distance away, looking slightly sheepish, but he was smiling. She raised an eyebrow. Too busy talking about enchanted wooden figurines, she had not noticed Newt stop to scoop up some snow.

"Mr. Scamander..." She said playfully, never one to back down from a challenge. "I do believe this means war!" She shouted, quickly dropping her bags and diving behind a tree to create a snowball herself.

When she finally removed herself from cover, another snowball hit her perfectly in the chest. Sylvia stared in shock for a minute, as Newt's small, shy smile had exploded into a grin. She found it contagious, and with a smile from ear to ear, threw her projectile in return. It missed, and for a lanky boy, she found, he could be rather agile when he wanted. They spent an hour like this, laughing like first years. Sylvia's mother would have been mortified to find her spending her time in such 'childish, muggle frivolities', but she found herself tremendously enjoying such simple 'muggle frivolities' - and Newt apparently was too.

Evidently much fitter than her, Newt was still bounding around tree trumps and launching snowballs with as much energy and dexterity as he had begun with. Sylvia, much to her dismay, found herself surrendering, falling to her knees in a huff – her skin was numb and her cheeks the shade of crimson, but she found her heart content. Newt came out warily from his hiding place behind an old, dead oak, thinking Sylvia's plea of peace as a dupe. He walked over lazily to where Sylvia was kneeling, panting heavily, her breath fogging up in front of her.

"How... on earth... are you... so fit?" She gasped in between pants.

"Helping my mother look after her Hippogriffs, most likely." He looked insufferably proud at his victory.

"You win the battle... Mr. Scamander... but not the war..." Sylvia threatened, but her words didn't have much impact as she struggled to stand on wobbly legs.

It was beginning to grow dark through the grey clouds, and they collected their gifts and started to make their way back to the castle. There was a noticeable spring in her companions step, and the person standing next to her was almost unrecognisable compared to the shy, meek boy that had nearly poked his own eye out trying a Lumos Duo charm the previous year.

"Now I can see why muggles enjoy that so much." He said as they made the steep climb up to the entrance of the castle.

Sylvia let out a puff of annoyance. "Yeah, they have that same smug grin when they win too." Newt's smile faltered. She noticed straight away and sought to rectify it. "Next time, though, I won't make it as easy on you!" His lopsided grin returned when he saw the twinkle in her eyes.

"We'll see, Mrs. Segovstein."

(11th January, 4th Year)

"I was thinking of trying out for the Hufflepuff quidditch team." Newt blurted out one day after they returned from the Christmas break. They were sitting in the courtyard, and Sylvia was attempting to enchant a paper bird to fly. Upon Newt's sudden words, though, she lost concentration and accidentally incinerated it instead.

"Hm?" She said, thinking she must have misheard him.

"They're looking for a chaser, Simmon's broke his legs last match and doesn't want to return." He fiddled with his wand. "I've always been an adequate flyer... my mother says I should go for it but..."

Sylvia understood instantly the power she held. If she deterred him against the idea, no doubt he would forget the whole thing - and if she encouraged him she knew she was most likely shepherding him into a hospital bed. He had started to take Sylvia's advice quite seriously now, and she couldn't decide if she liked the pressure that came along with it.

"Is it something you really want?" She asked plainly, keeping her voice level to make sure he didn't misconstrue her words.

"I suppose... I do rather enjoy flying."

That was perhaps the biggest difference between the two. Sylvia's broomstick stood in her dormitory collecting dust, and that's where she planned it to stay.

She chewed on her bottom lip. "Then go for it." She left out the 'what's the worst that could happen?' for fear of tempting fate. "I think you'd be a great chaser."

In truth, Sylvia couldn't name a time where she had seen Newt on a broomstick, but as his friend, she supposed it was her duty to encourage him to do things he'll most likely regret. It's what Malvin did the time he goaded her into eating an entire pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Newt's face lit up, and he sat a little straighter, suddenly more confident.

(2nd February, 4th Year)

It turned out, that Newt was more than an adequate flyer. Sylvia had quietly turned up to the Hufflepuff's try-outs and sat on one of the benches towards the top. She had no trouble spotting Newt out of the group since he stood a near head taller than the rest trying out for the position of chaser. But when he was in the air, Sylvia's small smile was replaced with a look of amazement, as he had no problem weaving past the opposing members with grace. He seemed to have a little trouble actually catching the quaffle to begin with, and there were a couple of times when Sylvia sucked in her breath when it looked as if he would drop it.

She, like her mother, had always found quidditch boring and neither had attended any of their school's games thus far, but Sylvia couldn't deny the slight rush of excitement she felt each time she watched Newt grow close to the hoops – or the shout of approval when he threw the quaffle through it. She quickly caught herself and sat back down, drawing a strange look from a group of Hufflepuff girls to her right.

The wizard did seem to have some competition from another girl (Alice? Alison? Alex?), a swift blonde girl who seemed to have no morals on the field. She had no problem knocking a few of the other players off of their brooms, or shouldering them out of her way and to the goals. This girl, was in a few words, growing on Sylvia's last nerve. She had gone for Newt a few times, but he had managed to weave safely out of the way, yet she was going for him again. He had the quaffle tucked safely under his arm, but she was driving him slowly towards the stands.

"Oh, no," Sylvia said, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. She suddenly remembered the reason she hated quidditch.

They were fast approaching the hoops, (and Sylvia's heart fast approaching her throat) but Newt was almost pressed up against the stands, the bristles on his broom scraping loudly against them.

"Stop it you infernal witch!" She hissed under her breath. She cast a quick look at the group of Hufflepuff's to her right, but they didn't seem as invested in the match as Sylvia was. Looking both ways, the very picture of suspicion, she reached gingerly into her pocket and reached for her wand. Holding it down by her legs, but still pointed at her target.

"Arresto Momentum." She whispered, and sure enough, the girl's broomstick stopped suddenly, and the momentum promptly sent her flying off of her broom and onto the floor below.

Newt, now with little to no obstacles left in his way, proceeded towards the goal and threw the quaffle past the keeper and through the hoop. Sylvia allowed herself a silent cheer, her fist clenched as she punched the air.

The whistle blew and the group landed and came together on the ground. They conferred for a moment before the vast majority of them left. Sylvia was pleased to note that Newt was left behind, talking with the team captain. She couldn't see his facial expression from her seat, but his body language looked relaxed.

Quickly tucking her wand back in her pocket, she descended the stairs back down to the ground and waited outside the quidditch pitch for Newt to leave. She saw the same girl she had just cast a spell on, cursing profusely as she left, ranting about her broom and how it was rubbish. They briefly made eye contact, but the girl didn't appear to have any idea that her chances of being chaser were just diminished by a simple spell.

Soon enough, though, Newt left the stadium with his own broom in tow, practically glowing from head to toe. He saw Sylvia standing there and his expression lightened more.

"Sylvia!" He jogged over. "I did it! The first game is next week!"

Newt was practically beaming he looked so ecstatic. It was infectious, and Sylvia found herself sharing his enthusiasm.

"Brilliant!" She cheered, briefly wondering whether a hug would be appropriate. Deciding against it, she gave him a small slap on the shoulder. "Will you remember me when you're famous?" She said jokingly. Newt laughed and looked to the ground.

"Were... were you watching?" He asked.

"Of course," Sylvia said, fully confident. "Why wouldn't I want to see my friend kick some arse?"

Her mother would have had her throat, hair and her rear for cursing so casually, but Newt just chuckled.

"Will you come watch the game then? I know quidditch isn't your... cup of tea but..."

"Without a doubt, I'll be there, Newt."

He smiled fully at his friend and they turned to walk back to the castle.

"Strange what happened to Jeanie's broom. I hope it doesn't happen to mine." He examined his broom carefully.

"Oh, I doubt it."

(26th April, 4th Year)

As the school year drew towards its inevitable end, Sylvia and Newt were almost joined at the hip. There were now very few tentative looks and smiles, and instead loud, unafraid laughter. Where the pair walked, chuckles followed. They had begun to write to each other often outside of school (much to Mrs. Scamander's glee and Mrs. Segovstein's curiosity), and they had arranged a visit to Newt's mother's Hippogriff ranch in the summer. Sylvia's mother had made the arrangements, and Sylvia had filled her head with thoughts of sunflowers to dispel her mother's intrusions. A mother has a special branch of intuition, though, and it didn't take a Legilimens to notice Sylvia's palpable excitement once the date had been set.

Hufflepuff had lost their first match against Ravenclaw by a landslide but had won another against Gryffindor not long after. Sylvia found herself attending more and more quidditch games (noticeably the Hufflepuff's ones), and was perhaps, to her own surprise, Newt's biggest fan – to which he had a few now. He no longer sat alone or walked the corridors like a ghost unseen, quite the opposite. If it weren't Sylvia walking beside him, it was the other members of the Hufflepuff's team or an enthusiastic quidditch fan with a few helpful tips. Sylvia sat and watched with a smile at breakfast, lunch, and dinner - at the excited, chattering group that now often surrounded the wizard. No-one seemed to question the peculiarity at a male sitting in the position of chaser (and if they did in Sylvia's presence she made sure it wasn't repeated again) because his tall, light frame made him perfect.

This was one such instance, the red-head (who's once bright, ginger hair was now noticeably darkening) was absent-mindedly pushing the chicken around her plate with a distant smile on her face.

"You know, you've been doing that more and more lately," Malvin said with a rather rude point of his fork.

Sylvia quickly descended back down to earth with a shake of the head. "What?"

"Smiling." He said plainly, with a small note of suspicion in his voice. "You know, the others have been talking."

She quickly homed in on Malvin's tone. Normally, a line like that would be laced with fervour and excitement, but he sounded dark and worried.

"Talking?" She repeated.

Malvin hummed, pushing his plate away from him. Another red flag. He swallowed the food he was chewing and looked at Sylvia intently.

"What-" He coughed and lowered his voice, leaning in across the table towards the girl. Sylvia found herself doing the same. "What are you two?" He nudged his head behind him, but she didn't have to guess who he was referring to.

"Friends, of course." Sylvia barked, a little too quickly. "For goodness sake, Malvin, can't a boy and girl be friends without anything else?" It was a clearly rhetorical question, and the witch wouldn't have had any second thoughts with hitting him if he chose to answer it. Luckily for him, he didn't.

"No, no, I understand..." He cleared his throat again. "It's just... well, we're friends." Sylvia thought that was still up for debate. "But you're fiercely protective of him... I mean all Bettie was saying was that he was a little weird-"

"She deserved it," Sylvia said with a defensive point of the finger. Bettie was also a chaser, but for the Gryffindor team, and Sylvia had overheard her slating Newt with reckless abandon after Hufflepuff's first win. It was the only time she had lost control of her powers in her short life, and the bottom of Bettie's cloak had promptly caught fire. She ended up in the hospital wing with 1st-degree burns.

Malvin held up his hands in surrender. "I'm not saying she didn't, but you're not like this with anyone else, Sylvia. You're actually smiling for a change, you're more interested in magical creatures (she was) and he," He shot a thumb over his shoulder. "Can actually point his wand without blowing something up. And that's not even counting the long, lingering looks he sends you when he thinks you aren't looking. You can't deny this seems like a little more than friendship."

Sylvia, for the first time in a long time, found herself flustered and angry – feeling akin to a cornered animal. More so because what he was saying was true. She dropped her fork on her plate with a clatter and shot Malvin a dangerously dark look.

"My affairs are none of your business, Malvin." She sent the same look towards a pair of girls to their left who were currently trying the best to appear incognito but were without a doubt listening intently to their conversation. "Or anyone else's for that matter. And I suggest you keep your nose out of it before you lose it." She growled, before quickly leaving the Great Hall.

Never in her life can Sylvia remember being so angry and she felt the heat rise in her pale face. She paced the girl's dormitory, fanning her face frantically, not fully understanding why Malvin's words had gotten to her so much.

Never let them see you sweat, Sylvia. Her mother's favourite saying rung loudly in her ears and she sat heavily on her bed. She let out a sigh and hoped that Newt was too preoccupied to have noticed her small outburst.

In truth, she had heard everything people were saying about herself. She had ignored the vile comments about Newt 'batting above his weight' or the spiteful comments about herself only being interested in him 'since he became chaser' and over time her shy blushes had turned to angry ones. And she wasn't sure why.

Did she want more? She was fifteen and had never given a second thought to romantic feelings, thinking working on her own power and knowledge was more important – under her mother's somewhat strict insistence. But she didn't see why she couldn't have both. Her mother was both an extremely powerful Auror and a (happily?) married woman.

"I'm thinking about this too much." She exhaled, sitting alone in their warm chambers. She straightened her back and stuck out her chin, flattening her ruffled skirt. I refuse to let this get to me, she thought harshly. You are Sylvia Segovstein, and the silly words of a few school children are not going to shake your confidence.

She made a plan mentally, she was going to apologise to Malvin in the morning and walk with her head held high. If she and Newt were to become something more, she refused to let herself linger on the thought, then so be it.

But it's a luxury, not the goal.

Sylvia certainly wouldn't let her reputation as a talented duellist be dulled because of her interest in a boy.

Looking back, had she kept this confidence, perhaps things wouldn't have turned out quite the way they did.

(19th July, 4th Year)

They year had dwindled down to its end. Sylvia had kept true to her word and focused more so on her academic studies rather than her emotional ones and they had flourished. Her Defence Against The Dark Art's classes had shown even more of an improvement and had scored her many a point for Gryffindor. Her professor had asked her to stay behind one afternoon, and they had discussed Sylvia's future prospects lightly. The young witch had beamed when it was suggested that she pursue something akin to her mother's profession, knowing no doubt this would please Hanna greatly. Dumbledore had been more than impressed with her talent for Transfiguration, but his deep stares and odd questions still made Sylvia uneasy. Her potions and Arithmancy classes were another matter, and she still struggled with them, but with a little persistence, she managed to keep her head consistently above water (she had even managed to brew a potion without poisoning half of the class!).

Her relationship with Newt had its strains. They were still friends by every means of the word, but she found herself distancing from him. Not entirely on purpose, though, with the amount of extra work she was taking on in preparations for her O.W.L.'s the next year, she found herself in the library or her common room more often than not, and Newt was often busy with quidditch practice in the afternoons and evenings. They still had their arrangement to meet in the holidays, but Sylvia found herself more apprehensive about it than excited as the date began to draw nearer.

She had seated herself with Newt on the train back to London with two of his friends from quidditch. They had chatted casually about their games, their triumphs and defeats but Sylvia found herself zoning out on many occasions, too busy worrying about her essay that her DATDA's professor had set her. Halfway through their journey, the other two boys dismissed themselves from the compartment in a hunt for the lunch trolley. It had been a long time since an uncomfortable silence fell on the two of them, and Sylvia found she hadn't missed it.

"Are you alright?" Newt had asked in a small whisper, even though they were alone, concern visible on his soft features.

"I'm fine, just a little tired from all the work." It wasn't a lie. "And from my hatred of potions and alchemy." That wasn't a lie either.

Newt nodded and the compartment grew quiet once more.

"Are... you still coming?" He asked after another minutes silence. "To my mother's ranch, I mean."

Sylvia tried her hardest to smile excitedly. "Of course! I hear your mother's... very pleased about it all."

Newt blushed a little. "Yes... she's very pleased." He said awkwardly. "She enjoys any chance to show off her 'children'."

She hummed in reply. It felt awkward, she noted. It hadn't felt like this since the first year they met.

Why does it feel like this now? Sylvia found herself praying for the two other boys to return so they could discuss some trivial quidditch technique and the conversation would turn away from her. She adjusted her skirt slightly, pretending to be interested in a small, menial tear in the hem. When she glanced up, she saw he was staring out of the window, a distant look in his eyes and a slight hurt look on his face. Her heart ached at the sight and she cursed herself for acting the way she was.

"I hope I don't offend them," Sylvia said, and it was more a cluster of words than an actual sentence, but it drew Newt's attention back all the same. "The Hippogriffs. I don't seem to have much luck with them."

This was a throw-back to their third-year lesson. She had made an off-hand comment about a Hippogriff looking strange - thinking there was no possible way a bird-horse could understand her words. It had. The creature had hit her with its wing and sent her flying across the ground. No damage was done apart from a large bruise across her stomach and a few scrapes. They had laughed about it many times since then.

His smile returned and Sylvia let out an internal sigh of relief.

"They're quite friendly, my mother raised them so... but I don't think any creature quite likes being called 'strange-looking'."

They shared a small laugh before the two boys returned with a copious amount of sugary sweets. After spending the rest of the train ride hunting for a chocolate frog that had jumped out of the compartment, and laughing loudly after it had jumped down one of the boy's shirt, they finally arrived in London.

Sylvia was just saying goodbye to Newt when he gestured over her shoulder. "Is that your father?" He said curiously. They had many a goodbye like this and had joked many times about her mother's presence, but her father never came to collect her.

"What?" Sylvia said turning behind her to see none other than her father standing next to a pillar, looking very uncomfortable in the presence of so many magical people. He also looked grave, shadows under his eyes and his mouth set in a thin line as he spotted Sylvia in the crowd. Giving an awkward wave to signal his position, Sylvia turned back to Newt. "It is. He never comes." She whispered.

She didn't sound pleased. Her father never came to Kings Cross, as he preferred to keep his distance away from all magical things – still not trusting it all even after sixteen years of marriage to a witch.

"Is everything alright?" Newt asked, concerned with Sylvia's tone. He had heard her angry, heard her laugh, heard her surprised but never worried. The wizard, up until that point, didn't think she was capable of worry.

"I'm about to find out," Sylvia said, gripping her cart slowly. "I'll write to you." She said over her shoulder as she began to head towards her father.

"Sylvia." The broad-shouldered man greeted, but there wasn't any warmth in it. Fredrik wasn't a warm man. He placed a large hand on Sylvia's shoulders and she quivered with anticipation. Looking at her solemnly, he guided her out of the station.

Her mother had been taken to the Ministry for investigation under suspicion of assisting one Gellert Grindelwald.