This stone dome might be beautiful, but it was a tomb all the same. And it might soon be theirs, too. Blue flames licked at their heels, weighed them down, threatened to push them into the cold stone. They would burn.
For a moment, Newt and Theseus were certain they would. There was no way outfor them, not out of this. No one would come for them. Those aurors that had come with his brother had either chosen flight, or they had chosen Grindelwald instead.
Their shoulders pushed against each other as the brothers lay side by side, wands raised, fighting off the spell the most powerful dark wizard of their time had cast.
Protego Diabolica, to cast down one's enemies.
Suddenly, however, Grindelwald's focus shifted, away from the one remaining auror fighting the flames, fighting him, away from the man who had him revealed in New York. The flames succumbed, and the weight they had cast down on them vanished.
Theseus turned his head to look at his brother, and Newt nodded. They sat up and scanned their surroundings briefly. Something must have grabbed Grindelwald's attention, something more important than the two of them. What they found made both of their hearts stop.
It was Leta who stood against him, and it was Grindelwald approaching her slowly, almost carefully. He was talking. His lips were moving. His voice echoed off the walls all around them. But his words didn't reach them, not as worry–blank fear–had overtaken both of them.
As one they rose to their feet. Theseus was moving in an instant. He was the one fighting the flames, trying to push to his fiancée, to Grindelwald himself if he had to, while Newt remained glued to the spot.
He could feel the panic grow within, could feel his heart race and his hands grow slick with sweat. His breaths came short and heavy, and not a sound reached his ears. Not even the sound of his own brother's screams as he fought the flames.
Newt's knuckles turned white as he gripped his wand with the one, his dear suitcase with the other hand. All he saw was her. Leta. Standing straight, standing proud. Against a man who would kill her without remorse, without remembrance and would forget her name as soon as he turned his back.
Newt's heart broke then, as he realized that she would die. That he would have to watch the light seep from her eyes, would feel her body grow cold. Leta would die.
He knew why he had come here, knew he had convinced Tina how he had let go of Leta long ago, how she was but an old friend. And so he had truly convinced himself. But he realized then that he had lied to her, to himself.
He didn't know why or how, but he swore he could see every moment they had shared flash before his eyes. Reality seemed to fade away as the past took its place. And he realized he hadn't let go of Leta Lestrange like he thought he'd had.
Students were returning to Hogwarts, all those who had a home and a family to go back to during their break. Leta hadn't, so she had stayed, just like she always did. She had spent her time alone. It brought her peace, in away. There had been no girls around to push her around, no one to test her patience, no one to get herself into trouble. But it was so lonely, too.
It was over now, however. They had all come back, and so had Newt, the incredibly kind boy who had taken to her one day, who hadn't cared what the others called her, what they said about her.
He had grown, she noticed, even as he stood before her with his head bowed, looking down at the suitcase he held in one hand. She smiled at him all the same. She was happy to have him back. "Hello, Newt," she smiled at him.
He looked at her then, and he smiled back, just like he always did, in that one way only he could. "Hello, Leta."
There was nothing else said, not for a long while. They had chosen a quiet corner for themselves, just like they always did. It was their thing, really, to spend as much time away from the crowds, from most people as they could.
He looked down again, and Leta folded her hands before her body, swallowed and looked down herself. He wouldn't talk much, he rarely did, and neither did she.
So she took a small step toward him instead, watched his suitcase for a moment and wondered what kinds of magical creatures he might have brought with him this time. And suddenly she remembered.
Remembered the hippogriff calf she had found at the edge of the Forbidden Forest one evening when she had taken to a lone walk. She had offered it dead ferrets she had stolen, and it had taken a liking to her, had let her bow, had let her approach. And even after they had parted ways that day, when she kept coming back, so did the calf. She had made a friend, and she wanted to show him.
So she looked up at him and smiled. When he looked back at her, he could see the mischief dance in her eyes, the happiness, the anticipation.
She slowly reached out and wrapped one hand around his suitcase. He let her take it from him, even when she had to hold it with both hands. She began to walk backwards slowly, never once looking away from him. When he remained where he was, she urged him along. "Come on," she said, "I want to show you something."
She was a troublemaker, Newt knew, but she was his friend, too. And he had rarely seen her this happy. It could be something good. And even if it wasn't, they knew where to hide by now.
So he began moving and followed her along, raced to her side as she turned and continued her way unbothered. He brought up one hand to scratch the back of his neck as he looked down, noted every little pebble on their way, let his mind relax.
The journey was ever so stressful for him. So many people cramped into one train, it made him feel uncomfortable. And, soon, a thousand thoughts began to run through his head, just like they always did. She knew, somehow, so she left them in quiet more often than not, let him think.
He needed to tend to his creatures. Before he had left, he had asked her to look after them, and she had promised him that she would. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, it was just–he missed them.
Leta was smiling to herself as she, too, remembered a friend she had made. She hadn't dared name the calf, though. It was not her strong suit, really. One evening, she had even debated asking Newt for a name, but then she had decided what a glorious surprise it would be to just show him.
She sighed and turned her head to look back up at him. His suitcase was a weight in her hands, noticeable, maybe even unpleasantly so, but now that she had taken it from him, she would refuse to give it back. Instead, she only smiled at him, and she told him, "I missed you Newt."
It broke him out of his thoughts, she could see it by the way his eyes flickered, his breath hitched for only a moment before he looked back at her.
The smile on her lips was special, genuine. To him it was. He liked to see her smile, and it often made him smile. So it did this time, too, and he gave her what she had grown to call his signature smile. It was a sheepish smile. She liked it, and he knew that she did.
They had taken to their own little refuge. It was the place where he hid new creatures he found, where he found try to figure out what was wrong with them, how to help them. She had stumbled across him here once, and the more he had shown her of his world, the more often she had come back.
It was a familiar sight by now, Leta sitting opposite of him, on the ground with her legs tucked beneath her. He himself sat on a crate with his forearms on his legs, leaned forward.
He was watching her, or more the little black bird she was so carefully holding in her hands. He had found it not long ago, and she had taken to the little chick. He had let her hold it, and now she refused to let it go again. It was a pretty little creature, and so fragile.
She could only watch with awe as if gently wiggled in her palms, listen as it squeaked quietly as it made itself comfortable, then hummed in pleasure. It had found itself a good spot.
A small huff left her lips as she smiled down at the little creature, and Newt smiled, too. This little guy had taken to her just as much as she had taken to him. He had grown over the past weeks, filled both of her palms by now, but he had grown so accustomed to them, he preferred Leta's hands over his box by now.
He had coped well, well enough for Newt to consider him strong enough to let him go back home. "The little guy will be going home soon," he told her. She looked at him, and he could watch her smile slowly fade before she hung her head again and watched the chick in her palms like a hawk.
She was gently caressing its wing with a thumb. Its feathers were so soft. She liked that little bird, and she would hate to watch it fly away, but as Newt had told her numerous times, he wouldn't make pets of them. He would take them in, and he would study them, and he would let them go again.
Leta sighed quietly, then tore her eyes from the black bird and looked back at Newt. Her smile was fake, he could see it. "You, too," she said. Her voice was bitter, too. He didn't like leaving. Leaving his creatures. Leaving her.
He leaned forward, closer to her, and he could feel his own smile leaving his lips. "Won't you be going home?," he asked. He had always assumed she would, too, like the rest of them. Then again, she wasn't like the rest of them.
Leta could only huff, and her smile turned bitter. Even as she looked back down at the gentle little creature in her hands, the smile didn't return to her. She never stopped petting it, but she shook her head. When she opened her mouth, her, "No," was a quiet one. There wasn't sadness in it, however. It was as if it was a thing she had made peace with a long time ago. And maybe she had.
Still, he asked, "Why not?" "I don't want to," she said. Leta could see him move from the corner of her eyes, she could feel his gaze shift from the little bird in her hands to herself. So she, too, looked at him.
She could see the honesty in his eyes, she could see him thinking. "Do you want to come with me?," he asked. It was an offer, an offer that shocked her.
She could swear it made her heart stop for a moment. Leta could only stare back at him wide-eyed, her lips slightly ajar. It took a moment for reality to sink in, for her quick mind to come up with a witty response.
When her voice returned to her, she tore her eyes from his, and she shook her head as a quiet, bitter chuckle left her mouth. Her thumb's gentle and slow movements didn't stop, not even as the bird fell asleep in her palms. It was a comfort for her, too. "You don't want me in your home, Newt," she told him.
He watched her, now shell shocked himself. He could only stare at her, could only swallow the lump in her throat as he did. He felt sorry for her. She had told him not to once, but he couldn't help it. He liked her, and he wanted to see her happy, loved to see her smile, to her hear laugh.
His voice was quiet and usually deep as he said, "Yes, Leta, I do."
Her heart stopped again, and she didn't know what to feel as she looked up at him. He was looking at her, watching her, waiting for how she might react, for what she would say.
Leta wet her dry lips, then shut her mouth and swallowed the lump that had formed in her dry throat. But a smile soon stretched across her lips, a smile of pure joy. Her eyebrows drew up, and she swore she could feel tears spring to her eyes. So she looked away again, down at little, black chick in her hands. He was good, she knew. Her smile only grew.
He could never know just how much such a simple suggestion meant to her. Friends would offer friends such things, but she hadn't experienced friendship before. Not before Newt.
They would all mock her, tease her. None had been nice to her. Then he had come along, and now he offered her to come with him, to his house, to his family over Christmas. She knew she would grow nervous once the day came, but for now, she was happy. Happy to have him.
She looked at him again, and again she saw the honesty in his eyes. He would take her with him, she just knew. He wasn't one to make empty promises. "Thank you, Newt," she breathed. His lips pulled up into a gentle, an honest smile.
He liked to see her happy, liked to make her happy. He would gladly invite her to his home if it made her happy, every year, for every break, if only it made her happy.
Snow was falling, and Christmas was drawing near. She stood on the porch of his home beside Newt. Both were carrying heavy baggage, but he had made sure to search for his key while still on the train, so he only had to rummage through his coat's pockets now.
When he found it, he took a quick step forward and unlocked the door with one hand, his suitcase in his other. Leta stood with both hands on the handle of her own case.
She, contrary to many others, had left most of her things at Hogwarts. It had grown to become her home, more so than her true home had ever been.
He pushed the door open, and held it open with one palm, but remained where he stood as he nodded toward the now exposed entry hall of his home. She turned her head and looked at him briefly, then smiled sheepishly and lowered her head in a nod as she walked past him, squeezed through the doorway and stopped merely seven feet into his home.
She could tell immediately that this was a home, not just a house. It was so unlike the manse she had grown up in. The old house of her family had always been a cold place, huge but never truly inhabited.
It hadn't been made a home.
Steps followed behind her, but even Newt's presence didn't move her. He let the door fall shut behind him, left his baggage by the door and took a few steps into the hall. "Mom, I'm home," he called, "I brought company."
Leta stepped further into the home, suitcase still in her hands as she turned to her left and to her right. His words might as well have struck her.
She couldn't remember saying those words. Not to her mother whom she could barely remember, not to her father whom she often wished she wouldn't remember. Manners had been drilled into her from an early age. She was to always carefully word whatever she was to say. As a small child, she rarely ever dared to speak in the looming presence of her father.
Hogwarts had changed her. There was no one as demanding as her father, no one as cold, as distanced as her father. Even those who pushed her around and mocked her weren't cold.
A quiet sigh left her lips, and she let her shoulders slump, forced herself to release her train of thoughts. The more she looked around, the more personal items, the more warmth she found in this place.
She liked it here, she decided as a small smile came to her lips.
Newt appeared beside her then, and she realized he had been watching her. He was smiling. Leta could only lower her head briefly to hide the blush she knew was creeping onto her cheeks. But she smiled all the same, chuckled quietly even. And when she felt the warmth leave her face, she turned her face and looked up at him.
His smile was contagious. This home was contagious. She was glad she had accepted his request, but he may have been even gladder. It meant a lot to him to see her so happy.