Newt Scamander's Beasts (Completed)

Thirty Eight • Camping

The morning came with a displeasing shower of rain. You were now not only cold, but soaked as well. Your body shook involuntarily as you curled up to try to keep warm.

"I'm not going to last three days like this." You muttered to yourself, as your teeth chattered and your fingers moved of there own accord.

"You will, girl." The massive opal scaled dragon said, that sat before you.

"I've never liked camping. I'm not going to be much help to you. Just let me go home." You groveled.

"Go home then. I'm not holding you here." The reptile said with a huff, as he turned away from you.

"How am I supposed to get back to London? I'm probably closer to Hogwarts from here." You said unhappily.

"Use that fancy twig of your's. Isn't that what you witches are burnt at the stake for?" He hissed, as he stood and began to move away slowly.

In a slight adrenaline induced rushed, you tore your wand out of your pocket. As your hand wrapped around the wand your heart stopped for a second.

It was broken. Your hand ran over it and you could feel the fracture of the wood. Split in half. A two peice wand. You were doomed.

Bolting up from your bed of moist leaves, you drew the wand out in a careful shock. It was in fact not in two but had a large crack that would break the wand completely if not handled carefully.

"Accio broomstick!" You shouted as you held the wand gingerly in your still working hand. Now there was really no way to mend your arm by yourself now. You could very well be dammed.

"Bloody hell, I know it won't work, but still! I have to do something, I can't stay in Ireland." You whinned as a small spurt of blue magic spat out the end of your wand.

"Learn to survive, girl. It's all you can do." The dragon said, as he dropped down once again. Now in a sunny patch of grass farther away; where the other mountain didn't shade the ground.

"I need my magic to survive. I'm a witch after all." You said, as you placed your wand to the back of your forearm and took the sash off of your jacket. Wrapping the sash around your arm and the wand along with another stick. It would have to do as a split for now.

Newt's creatures were all spread around you, as you hissed in pain as you tied up your broken limb. The demiguise sat and hissed as well when you did.

Pickett sat on your shoulder, and a half a dozen other Bowtruckles moved about in your jacket. Pickett simply moved down to your bandaged arm, and leaned his plant like head towards your wrist.

"Trying to kiss it better are you? Newt didn't teach you that, did he?" You joked.

Even now you saw that Newt was even more of the same boy from back in your school years. He always got hurt during quidditch, he was the Hufflepuff chaser for two years and always got banged up pretty bad. The lanky and awkward boy he was.

You remembered he used to ask you to kiss his broken bones better back so long ago. You had only laughed it off at the time. He was such a clumsy, yet cute, sod back then. His hair was so much worse back then too, you barely ever saw his eyes it was so long and far down his face. Whenever you did, you were met by a freckle covered face with a giant grin. His smile was one of the things you liked most about him, well, along with the freckles.

He had been a good friend for a long time. Well until he met Leta. Leta Lestrange, a conniving and rude, Slytherin who dragged Newt along by a metaphorical leash.

That was partly your fault, you had introduced them. Leta had seemed nice to you. It wasn't until after that you realized that you were wrong in so many ways. She hurt Newt, and by doing so hurt you.

The reminiscences to your past didn't help to calm you as you thought of having to camp out for three days. It just made you regret and worry more about things you had no control over.

Camping was never an easy thing for your family, even though you did it quite often. You moved too much to live in anything more than a tent for most of your younger years with your adopted family. Bad memories came along with camping, ones of eating bugs and having to hunt for food in remote areas with your father.

Your mother's work took you far from England most of the time. She worked to treat rare creatures medically and your father saved them from trappers and hunters.

You had quite the odd childhood, you learned plenty. Yet it didn't do much to know how to build a perfect fire when you lived in a metropolis like London, as you did now.

Book smarts came from all the late hours spent learning about plants with your mother, and your spirit came from your father's determination to help people.

Neither were purebloods so you figured you would just have to make do without magic as you imagined they had at some point. Privilege was only truly appreciated when taken away, as your mother had said.

Another quote came to mind only a beat later. Wit beyond measure is a man's greatest treasure, as the Ravenclaw saying went. You would have to use your head to make do without one hand. It was only a few days after all.

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