Lost and Found [Newt Scamander]

Interlude

The battle for the Quidditch Cup that year was between Hufflepuff (who was known to have Hogwarts' best seeker) and Ravenclaw (who had only made it to the finals after a narrow scraping win against a rather sour Gryffindor team).

Newt himself sat toward the outer edge of the Hufflepuff stands though he wore neither anything Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Instead, he suited a simple maroon jumper he bunched up at the elbows and simple trousers. Spring had made its mark and the wind didn't nip at his collar so cold anymore. If anything, Newt felt himself growing hot, heart beating wildly in his chest. The match hadn't even started yet and the audience was buzzing with energy, caught between the support of two different houses and placing bets of coin gold and silver alike.

Newt folded his hands, propped his elbows up on drawn up knees, and balanced his head on open palms as he watched the Hufflepuff team exit their tent. Cheers went up yet Newt didn't move to clap. He just watched, light glinting in his eye as he took the whole thing in.

Never before had he watched the Quidditch Cup finals. He had always preferred to stay indoors and study for that year's respective exams where he could sit in silence without needing to worry about random strangers invading his space and disrupting his thoughts.

He wasn't here for his house. And he wasn't here for Ravenclaw either. He wasn't here for Quidditch at all. He flushed and smiled when the Ravenclaw team emerged, eyes landing on a certain tall ravenette. He was here for Kel. But if the boy asked, he would lie and say he was supporting his team and secretly hoping for Ravenclaw's downfall.

He was never a good liar.

Kell, even from across the pitch, let his gaze wander into the stand decorated with the yellow badger and smiled when he caught sight of Newt.

And Newt, finding it incredibly hard to repress it, grinned right back. He would have offered a small wave, in fact, his hand was already half up when he suddenly became conscious of some glaring eyes that were carefully watching Newt interact with the 'enemy'. He slumped back in his seat and wished the floor would open and swallow him whole.

He found it easier to control the rising feeling that he had somehow betrayed his own house by studying the players on the pitch, trying to sort out in his kind what position he thought everyone played. He faltered after the second player, realizing he knew next to nothing about Quidditch. Eventually, they all just became what Kel had told him were 'chasers' in his mind, and eventually, inevitably, his gaze landed back on Kel.

Kel who was afraid of heights.

Kel who had gone sheet white against the spring sun.

Kel who gripped his broom with white knuckles.

Kel who looked like he was going to topple over at any minute.

Kel who looked like he hadn't slept at all last night.

Kel who mounted his broom with such a surety that Newt himself felt invigorated.

Kel who kicked up off into the air, features set in determination.

Fearful Kel.

Fearless Kel.

The whistle blew.

Newt watched the moment it happened. The moment the rest of the world faded away as soon as the Quaffle and Snitch and Bludgers were released.

Everyone took off so fast that Newt immediately lost track of the ball Kel told him was used to score the points in increments of ten. And before he knew it, the people around him were all standing, shouting and hollering and clapping so Newt assumed their house had scored. The announcer called the score. They were up ten.