(12th January, 5th Year)

"She what?!" Malvin gasped, hand to his mouth.

The Christmas holidays had been and gone, and the term had begun once again. The Hogwarts corridors were still filled with nasty draughts and the snow still clung thickly to the grounds outside – but this all meant nothing compared to the nasty storm raging inside of Sylvia.

She had stuck to her dormitory for most of the holidays, so filled with turmoil and confusion she was. When Malvin and the rest of the students who went home for the holiday had returned, she quickly collared him and drew him aside.

"You should have seen the look in her eyes, Malvin. I thought she would strike me dead but she... didn't." Sylvia explained, keeping her voice low as they chatted in the corner of the busy Gryffindor common room.

"You have to tell a professor!" He whispered with exclamation.

"And say what? She didn't cast a single spell, Malvin! I did!"

The blonde boy hummed and Sylvia hugged her legs to her chest. It was an awful predicament. To Sylvia, Leta was clearly, in a word, nuts. She didn't feel safe in her own dormitory, let alone anywhere else in the castle. Sylvia had already told a professor nothing had happened in a stupid moment of bravery. Leta had played the game into her own hands – and there was little Sylvia could do.

"Well, did she make any threats? Like 'I'll get my revenge if it's the last thing I do' kind of threats?" Malvin asked, with a poor imitation of Leta herself.

"Not exactly," Sylvia said. "She has this ability to do it just with her eyes."

Malvin nodded. "Yeah, I can see that." He toyed with the sleeve of his jumper – which was grotesquely over-chewed. "Maybe... she'll move on to someone else? I mean, she knows you don't dabble in the dark arts, now, and she certainly knows what you really think of her."

It felt as if something crashed to the bottom of Sylvia's stomach. What if she moved onto Newt?

"She better not," Sylvia said fiercely.

Malvin may have been an annoying gossip and had some questionable habits, but he was certainly not slow. He eyed Sylvia.

"I don't think she'll target Newt, Sylvia. She seems the type to go after competition. A challenge, if you will." He said.

"He's not incapable, Malvin," Sylvia said, with a warning look.

"Oh, I know that!" He responded quickly. "I was just saying..."

"I get it. We should probably head off, the start of year dinner begins soon." Sylvia stood up and straightened her back with a small click. The amount of tension that had begun to grow there was almost insufferable.

"Fantastic!" He clapped Sylvia on the back. "And nothing will cheer you up quite like a nice dinner!"

It didn't.

(2nd March, 5th Year)

Rumours and stories of Sylvia's family had begun to calm down after the Christmas break, and she couldn't have been more grateful. Most students moved onto more exciting and relevant gossip of the time – mainly of the end of year O.W.L's and upcoming quidditch matches.

Sylvia had caught up with Newt soon enough and she made sure any discussion of Leta Lestrange was quickly diverted to anything else. Thankfully, she didn't have to do this too often, as Newt was far too caught up in talking about how Polly had recently given birth – and Sylvia was happy to discuss something much more cheerful than her own recent events.

Malvin had told her to write to her mother for advice, who had until not long ago had been an Auror. He was sure that she would have something constructive to say about the whole affair, having been an expert on unsavoury characters for a fairly long time. So Sylvia had sent a letter to her mother at home, explaining everything that had happened between herself and the dark-haired menace. She anxiously waited for her reply – and when it did come, it was nothing like she expected.

Child,

Stay away.

Do not – and I mean do not – converse with her any longer. Do not so much as breathe in her direction. I have had enough difficulties with the Lestrange's in the past and they hold far too much power in our world for you to be picking silly fights with them! Her father was the reason I lost my job at the Ministry – and that was only because I caught his lot trying to smuggle magical artifacts out of the country without a permit. Keep your distance and focus on your O.W.L's, Sylvia. I will see you in the Easter holidays.

Your father sends his well-wishes and thanks you for the magical snow-globe.

Mother xoxo

Sylvia scrunched up the note and threw it out of the open window. It proved no help at all. What if Leta came for her? Was she meant to duck in fear, hide away? Adalard squawked impatiently.

"I have no note for you, Adalard. Go away."

The owl nipped at Sylvia's arm meanly before beginning it's long journey home.

Sylvia descended the dark steps of the owlery sullen. She had hoped for some words of wisdom, or even better, a useful spell. Not words of fear.

Night had almost fallen, but Sylvia was in no mood to rush back to the dormitory – even if Dippet himself found her outside after the curfew. The crisp night air helped clear her head until the crisp night air carried hints of smoke.

"Wh-" She saw a gangly frame running towards her, and feared for a moment that it was a teacher until the tall shadow grew closer – shouting her name.

"Sylvia!" Newt shouted.

"Newt?"

Newt finally came in full view, his hair charred and his clothes even more so. He was panting wildly and doubled over for a second before exclaiming himself.

"Malvin... said you were here. You've got to come – quickly... there's a fire in... the tower... Pickett... Pickett's in trouble!"

"A fire?" Sylvia repeated. "In the tower?"

She hadn't been to the tower in the while. Had Newt tried to set a fire to keep Pickett warm and it accidentally lost control?

"Yes... just – come on! I'll explain later, we need to put it out before a teacher finds out about Pickett!"

Sylvia nodded and they both sprinted through the corridors – Newt in the lead. The jogged up the stairs – trying their very hardest not to trip up them.

Sylvia smelt the damage before she saw it – the higher they descended the more thickly it hung to the air. She covered her mouth with her sleeve.

Opening the door, the small room was practically set ablaze. Sylvia could just about spot the fake-sapling sitting in the far corner – untouched – but the fire was slowly working its way towards it.

Without preamble, Sylvia cast a water spell, Auguamenti, but the water that expelled from her wand evaporated on contact with the blaze.

"What?"

"I tried that too – it's like the fire's alive," Newt shouted over the roar of the flames.

If they let it get any bigger, someone would be sure to notice it from one of the windows. The fire appeared to dance around the room, climbing up and down the walls with grace – and seemed to toy with the idea of Pickett's tree.

Sylvia tried to think – and quickly. Newt practically danced in his spot he was that distressed.

"I'll try and make a break in it, run and grab Pickett!" Sylvia commanded, raising her wand and pointing.

Controlling a regular flame was simple, but flame with its own will was proving almost impossible. Sylvia's brow began to perspire under the strain of both the magic she was trying to control and the heat of the flame. Newt eyed her anxiously as the flame began to almost shudder.

"I've... almost... got... it..." Sylvia wheezed and sure enough, a very slim crack in the wall of fire began to appear. Instantaneously Newt burst through it, covering his face with his long arms. He ran towards the sapling and searched it frankly.

"Hurry, Newt!" Sylvia shouted. The veins in her forehead were ready to pop.

Newt quickly cooed to Pickett, who seemed quite reluctant to leave his perch – fire or no fire. Sylvia was quickly losing her grip on the fire.

"Newt!" Sylvia repeated, as her magical hold on the small gap in the fire was beginning to loosen.

Newt finally gave up with trying to coerce the small, green creature and grabbed him. He sprinted across the room and managed to make it through the small gap just before Sylvia let go of her spell. It was by the very small hairs on his chin.

Sylvia fell to her knees in a puff, and Newt had to nearly drag her out of the room with Pickett safely tucked in his pocket. He shut the door loudly behind him as Sylvia sagged to the floor.

"We... have to tell... a teacher...Newt..."

He knelt by her side. "Not before we get you to the hospital wing, first."

"I'm just... tired... What on earth was that?" Sylvia huffed as he snaked his arm under hers and around her back before lifting her to her feet.

"I think... that may have been Fiendfyre. My mother told me about it once." They descended the stairs carefully.

Sylvia had never exhausted herself using magic before. "What?"

"You know how to make a magical umbrella but know nothing about Fiendfyre?" Newt questioned.

Sylvia shrugged, too tired to argue.

They had almost made it to the bottom when Sylvia's eyelids began to sag. Noticing this, Newt gave her a little shake.

"We're almost there, Sylvia," She opened her eyes a little more. "And you are far too heavy for me to carry."

"Pfft," Sylvia puffed. "What happened to all that Hippogriff fitness, hm?"

Her legs began to feel much too weak to support herself any longer and asked Newt to sit them on one of the benches in the courtyard they had just begun to pass. He sat Sylvia down gently before joining her. They sat in silence for a moment, and Sylvia heard Pickett's muffled chattering coming from Newt's top pocket. He didn't sound pleased.

She spied Newt's arm, the sleeve badly charred and the freckled skin underneath wasn't fairing any better.

"Here." She said, gently grasping his left arm and pulling it towards her.

Newt hissed as Sylvia examined the damage. "You don't h-have to, I can get it healed in the-"

"Shh." Sylvia hushed as she wielded her wand again.

Her body was screaming at her to not use any more magic, but seeing her friend evidently in pain and doing a poor job of hiding it was something she couldn't ignore.

She pulled the charred sleeve up. "Ferula."

Bandages appeared out of the tip of her wand and wound themselves around his thin forearm. They tucked in tightly at the end, covering the worst of the damage.

Newt observed the magic the same way he observed any spell Sylvia cast, with awe and admiration.

"I think I'm going to definitely use that one." He whispered, admiring the magical bandages.

"Hm." Sylvia hummed as she leaned her head against the cold stone wall behind them, feeling oddly content even though they were very late for their curfew. She craned her head to the tower where they just come from. The fire had either not spread, or was starting to diminish because she couldn't see anything through the little windows at the top. "Is Pickett okay?"

Newt peeked into his pocket and sure enough, the leafy-creature poked his head out hesitantly. "A little annoyed, perhaps, but fine. I would have been quite upset had anything happened to him."

"And I would have been quite upset if you were upset," Sylvia said, her body too tired to filter the things she would not usually say.

Newt looked up wide-eyed, as he always did when he was caught off guard, and although Sylvia wasn't looking at him, she could feel his gaze upon her.

At that time, she could have never realised the impact those simple words would have on her life from then on.

If she was aware who was watching from the shadows, she might have kept her mouth shut.

(5th April, 5th Year)

The fire had luckily burned out and attracted no attention from anyone, but for both Pickett's, Newt's and her own safety – they chose not to use the tower any longer. Newt had no idea who had cast the spell, and he didn't really care as long as Pickett was safe, though Sylvia had a few speculations. Pickett, though, now permanently resided in Newt's pocket, much to Pickett's annoyance.

Luck had apparently had shone on them that night, the situation could have turned grave very quickly, but luck was very fickle – as Sylvia would soon find out.

"And then Peter said that he had no interest in her what-so-ever, but his shoes said differently. He has these disgustingly ugly loafer's that he only ever wears when he's interested in someone! He thinks they're enchanted by his father or something... because his mother is so much prettier than his father – but I personally think that's a matter for debate-"

Malvin's lips were moving so quick that Sylvia wouldn't have been able to hear him even if they sat in the silence of the library let alone in a busy corridor. Sylvia, in a stupid moment of kindness, had asked Malvin if they wanted to study in the warm weather outside out near the lake. She had forgotten, though, that when you invite Malvin anywhere it has the unfortunate clause that his vocal chords must accompany him. So Sylvia walked alongside him, cursing whatever divine being that Newt was at quidditch practice.

They walked out onto the castle grounds, inhaling the soft afternoon air and feeling the light spring sun upon their skin. Had it not been for Malvin's continuous rabble, they would have been able to hear the spring songbirds out in full force too. Picking a spot near an old tree with a clear view over the lake, they sat down in the shade and Sylvia withdrew her textbooks from her bag. Malvin, however, withdrew a child's weight worth's of muffins and pastries from lunch.

"How on earth-"

"Did I smuggle these out? Interesting question, Sylvia, allow me to explain."

Sylvia zoned out immediately and picked up her Herbology book. It was the main lesson she was struggling with at the time, and decided to start with the worst of her studying – and hopefully, Malvin would get the hint (he never did) and shut up.

Minutes of idle rattling swam by Sylvia's ears, as she was still trying to figure out what exactly a Mandrake was for. First-year work it may have been, but Sylvia had been way too distressed at the time after the teacher had informed her that the little wriggling roots could actually scream. Too deep into one-part studying, two-parts reverie, she hadn't realised Malvin had stopped talking – and not because he noticed Sylvia had stopped listening.

"Hey... Sylvia? Isn't that..."

"Wha-?"

Sylvia followed Malvin's eyeline to just outside of the quidditch stadium, squinting hard. She briefly wondered how on earth his eyesight was so good until her eyes focused on a tall, gangly presence in the distance – once again she mistook him for a teacher.

"Newt? Yeah, he had quidditch practice this afternoon." She rolled her eyes and turned back to her book when Malvin spoke again.

"No... that's not who I was pointing at."

Sylvia huffed and shut up her book a little more aggressively than was necessary, rightly giving up on ever studying in Malvin's presence.

Sylvia craned her neck and focused again, and sure enough, she saw a smaller figure standing next to her friend. She used her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, as they sun cast over them.

"Oh..." Sylvia said as the two figure began to draw closer.

Newt was smiling, and not one of his reserved half-smiles, Sylvia observed. She grimaced, as the tale Leta Lestrange was telling must have been a truly knee-slapping classic to make Newt laugh so care-free.

"Should we-"

"They're coming this way." Sylvia gasped. Malvin shared in her anxiety.

Sylvia and Leta had not talked since their tête-à-tête in the Gryffindor dormitory. Sylvia hadn't so much as shared a second glance with the girl, even in the few classes they shared, and yet here they were. Newt waved to Sylvia. Sylvia awkwardly held up her hand. "Oh, dear," Malvin whispered under his breath. He went to stand up but was promptly halted by Sylvia's stiff grab at his robes.

"Don't you dare, Malvin Mallory." She growled, "If I have to suffer through this so do you – Hi, Newt!" Sylvia greeted, quickly returning her hand to her lap. Malvin slowly sat back down.

"Yeah... Hello, Newt." Malvin smiled. "And... Leta."

Leta returned the smile. "Hello... you." She turned her head slowly to Sylvia. "Hello, Sylvia!" She said, ever sickly sweet as she always had.

"We thought we might join you," Newt said cheerfully, his cheeks still pink from practice and his hair pointing every direction on the compass.

Sylvia couldn't hide her frown at the word 'we'. Since when were they such good friends? Sylvia thought.

Leta, apparently, didn't need an invitation and sat almost knee-to-knee next to Sylvia. "It being a lovely afternoon and all." She finished. Peering over, she spied the Herbology book in Sylvia's lap. "Isn't that a first-year Herbology book?"

Sylvia tucked it closer to herself. "Maybe." She said stiffly.

Newt sat next to Malvin and turned down an awkward offer of a muffin from him.

"I suppose we can't all be good at everything," Leta said casually, before turning to Newt. "I didn't know that Newt was so talented with creatures!"

"I'm aware..." Sylvia said as she shared a small glance with Malvin.

"Why didn't you tell me, Sylvia?" Leta grinned, with a playful swat on Sylvia's arm. She felt the muscles in her bicep flinch.

"I... was under the impression that everyone already knew..." Sylvia mumbled, trying to shuffle closer to Malvin without it looking obvious. It did.

"He has the most riveting trivia about Hippogriffs. Some of which I never knew!" Leta smiled in his direction, straight white teeth in clear view. Sylvia very much wanted to knock them out.

"She knows quite a lot too." Newt chimed in.

Sylvia tried her hardest to smile, she really did, but between Leta and Newt's grins and Malvin's awkward glances, it was much closer to a snarl.

"Just like you know a lot about offensive spells!"

And there it was, the atom bomb had not been invented yet, but Sylvia felt its fallout all the same. Malvin visibly tensed, Newt frowned and Leta continued to smile. A bird cawed in the background.

"Yes," Sylvia said. "I do." She hoped Leta could hear the warning in her voice. She either didn't - or didn't care.

"I mean the way I flew up against that dresser," She giggled. "I really wasn't prepared!"

"What?" Newt said, the frown on his forehead deepening.

"And the way you goaded me into it... It was almost as if you really wanted it." Sylvia growled, finally understanding what Leta was doing.

"You... attacked Leta?" Newt muttered, staring at Sylvia as if they had never met.

"Oh, I wouldn't say attacked, per se." Leta waved Newt off, but he didn't look comforted.

Sylvia stared at Newt helplessly. "N-no-"

"The hospital wing sorted me straight out, Newt, don't you worry!" She laughed heartily, even though no one else looked the slightest bit amused. "My back certainly turned out better than that poor box of yours, though, didn't it Sylvia?"

Newt reacted almost as if he had been shot. Sylvia glanced helplessly at Malvin and found the most talkative person she had ever met (and ever would meet) had absolutely nothing to say.

"You better watch yourself with this one, Newt!" Leta was laying it on so thick that every retort or defense that Sylvia could think of suddenly wasn't enough.

Newt tore his eyes from Sylvia, his face not hiding a single emotion. It morphed from sadness to confusion and finally landed on something Sylvia could only describe as slight betrayal.

"Oh, is that the time? I'd better be off. See you later, Sylvia." Her work clearly done, she stood up (with a nicely added rub of her back), and departed from the group whistling.

"I... b-better be off too..." Newt trailed off, mumbling something about awaiting his mother's letter.

Words failed her, events had transpired so quickly. A small 'ok' was all she could manage. Malvin lifted his hand and muttered a half-hearted goodbye. Newt disappeared into the distance.

"What on earth just happened?" Sylvia said breathlessly.

(19th May, 5th Year)

Newt and Sylvia had not talked since that day. Sylvia was too embarrassed to so much as look him in the eye, and no endless stream of excuses seemed adequate to cover up the giant mountain of trouble Leta had created for her. She had fired first, she had destroyed the jewellery box and she had sent Leta flying up against the dresser. Sylvia was racked with guilt, and spent the little time outside of the mountainous amount of school work and studying doing... nothing. Malvin had tried to console her and had even offered to talk to Newt on her behalf, but Sylvia dismissed the idea. What she hoped Newt needed was time, and Sylvia resigned herself to waiting for him to talk first. This was perhaps her biggest mistake.

The first class they had together since what Sylvia had named, 'the incident', was potions. She had walked to class by herself and walked over to her usual table. She spotted Newt in the ingredients pantry, and while he collected his things she mentally rehearsed something to say. Of course, that completely went out of the window when both he and Leta came out of the cupboard, smiling with arms full of jars.

"Hi, Sylvia." Leta greeted, placing her jars upon the table. "Newt was just telling me about the most exciting fact about Occamy's."

Sylvia, for once, found she really, really, didn't care. Any hopes of her apologising to her friend or trying to reignite their friendship would be completely useless in Leta's presence, Sylvia knew. The Lestrange was just too good with words and Sylvia would leave once again looking like a fool.

"Oh?" Sylvia said, hoping that would be the end of it.

"It's not that interesting..." Newt mumbled, not making eye-contact with Sylvia as he rolled up his sleeves.

Somehow, him not looking at her at all was more painful than anything Leta could have said at that time. How could he support her through the whole business with Grindelwald and not through some meaningless playground fight?

Sylvia, evidently, wasn't aware at that time quite the power that words could hold – and Leta was very good with them.

The potions class continued on, rather painfully slow for Sylvia – and she found it was her worst to date.

Her concoction, no matter how many time she re-read the instructions, wasn't turning out the way it was meant to. It was thick and gloopy when the mixture was meant to be smooth and watery, and Sylvia finally resigned herself to failure as she raided the pantry for the fifteenth time for something that could save it. There was nothing.

When the professor came walking around, he pinched his nose in disgust at Sylvia's cauldron. "Dear lord, girl! What in Merlin's name possessed you to use... is that Asphodel I smell?"

"What?" Sylvia said, staring at the professor oddly.

"The sour smell, dear. This smells more like a draught of Living Death!"

Sylvia wasn't even sure what Asphodel was and frantically checked the ingredients near her. There was horse hair, leeches, a griffin claw, moon-seed and some octopus powder, but nothing that resembled Asphodel.

"I would concentrate more, if I were you, Sylvia. Your potions exam is nearing and the examiners prefer to keep their nostril hairs, dear." The professor warned, before moving on to another table.

Sylvia wasn't so much mad as she was confused. She glanced at Leta at the other side of the table and noticed the briefest flicker of a smirk.

"You cursed, insufferable, little cow-" Sylvia began, before she saw Leta's face morph from smugness to surprise in the blink of an eye.

"I'm sorry?" She said, a picture of innocence.

"I have no idea what Asphodel looks like, and it just happens to fall into my cauldron?" Sylvia barked, her hands grasped tightly onto the sides of her table.

"I'm sorry, Sylvia, you must have confused it with the octopus powder," Leta said calmly.

"Confused? I'm not an idiot, Leta!" Sylvia said, anger bubbling in her chest stronger than the mixture in her cauldron. She had completely forgotten Newt was next to her until he spoke.

"I would have seen her, Sylvia. No-one's been near your potion except you." All friendliness in Newt's voice had gone, and Sylvia saw the same look on his face as that day sitting on the grass outside. It was the look you gave someone you didn't recognise.

"Really, Sylvia." She looked at the red-head tiredly. "I'm not brilliant at Arithmancy but I'm not going to blame my incorrect star-chart on someone else!" Leta laughed, glancing at Newt with 'oh, what is she like' look. Sylvia had to swallow the curse in her throat. Her hands had started to shake.

And like routine, there it had happened again. Sylvia had made herself look like the villain in front of the closest friend she had, and with every word that left Sylvia's mouth – she felt Newt distance himself.

Sylvia scoffed and packed up her ingredients quickly. She wanted to be anywhere, absolutely anywhere, other than that room. At that moment in time, she never wanted to look at those dark, smooth curls or that sweet smile ever again.

(12th July, 5th Year)

And like a ghost, Sylvia disappeared into the background of her own life.

She spoke to no-one other than Malvin, who was the only person in the entirety of the school (or so she thought) who saw things from her side and never spoke one more word than was necessary to anyone. Deciding it was for the better, she moved tables in her potions class, kept her distance in her Care of Magical Creatures class and asked to switch seats in her Defence Against the Dark Art's classes. The way Newt had started to look at her proved too much for her to bear, and with her O.W.L's fast approaching, she decided something had to give, and so with an impossibly heavy heart - she cut herself out of his life.

Newt himself was rarely seen without Leta at his side, whether he wanted it or not. He apparently did. Leta cast jokes, tucked her hair behind her ear and batted her eyelashes in a way Sylvia never could, and as the school year began to close, Newt had lost one friend and gained another. The two of them grew closer than ever.

As the weeks passed by, Sylvia had spent so much time in the library, people were sure she was a permanent fixture there, but when her O.W.L's had finally arrived - her hard work paid off. They passed without a hitch. Sylvia entered every one of her exams with a clear mind and focused eyes. She didn't dare scan the hall for a sight of Newt or 'her' as Sylvia had begun to refer to Leta Lestrange as, for fear her mind would be too full of sour memories to recall the charm to deter a Dementor. She was pleased to find this worked, and that anger could be a fantastic stimulant too when it came to casting a stunning spell.

After all of her exams had finished, Sylvia felt a lot cheerier overall. School ended in a week, and she was looking forward to seeing Hogwart's disappear into the distance. Looking at her badly-repaired jewellery box on her bedside table still hurt, but she was glad her exams were at least one problem that had been dealt with.

"You know, we're throwing a little end of year party on Thursday, are you coming? Katie was sure she could smuggle some Firewhiskey from her father." Malvin said as the pair walked up to the Gryffindor dormitory.

"Probably not," Sylvia said, rubbing her still-sore fingers from the exams. "I think I just want to sleep for the rest of the week."

"Pfft, it's a time for celebration!" They stood outside the portrait. "Peaches." The piece of art swung open, and they entered.

"And for rest, Malvin. We can't all have your energy."

The common room was empty, but it came to no surprise, as nearly the entirety of the school was outside enjoying the warm sunshine of summer.

Sylvia sat down heavily in one of the plush armchairs with a sigh. Climbing a thousand steps still proved exhausting, even in her fifth year, especially in the more humid air.

"Hey, there's a note here for you." Sylvia craned her head around the sides of her chair and saw Malvin fiddling with a piece of parchment.

"Oh, that's probably Carson again. Ever since I stopped hanging around with... people, he presumes I'm single."

"Oooo," Malvin cooed. "An admirer? Can I read it?"

"You're actually asking for my permission?" Sylvia laughed. "Go for it, but you've got to do it in a Scottish accent."

Malvin chuckled and cleared his throat, opening the letter as if it was a scroll. "Dear, Sylvia." He said with a very thick accent.

A few seconds of silence passed by and Sylvia looked past her armchair to see what the hold up was. Malvin looked surprised.

"If it's something sexual, Malvin, don't bother-"

"No, it's from Newt."

Sylvia leaped out of her chair. "What?!" She gasped, striding over to where Malvin was standing. "What does it say?" She didn't think she had the nerves to read it herself.

"He wants you to meet him in... the Forbidden Forest? Next Thursday. He says he wants to talk." Malvin muttered as he scanned the note.

"If this is some kind of joke, Malvin..." Sylvia said gravely.

"No, no. Look," He turned the note towards Sylvia, and sure enough the note said exactly what he had said.

"It certainly is his writing..." Sylvia muttered. "And he even signed it again."

"Well, are you going to go?" Malvin asked.

She thought about it for a short moment. It was odd, being as Newt hadn't spoken a single word to her since Leta attached herself to his side. But the letter contained something she couldn't possibly resist – hope.

"Yes." She decided after a moment's deliberation. "Did he say a time?"

"After curfew. That can't be him, surely?" Sylvia forgot that most thought Newt was some kind of goody-two-shoes. He could be quite the rogue when he wanted to be.

"You'd be surprised." Sylvia smiled reminiscently. She slept restlessly that night.

Of course, like many things in her short life so far - it was too good to be true.