The Witch That Time Forgot | Newtmione ✔️

Chapter 4 | Newt Scamander, and You Are?

¡THIS IS NOT MY STORY! The story was make by nyxblack on fanfiction.net.

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"-if you just stand there-this will be over in a-" A male's voice, clearly British reaches Hermione's ears.

Groaning in pain as light, smells and sound assault her battered senses. She feels as though she just went a round with a Hungarian Horntail and somehow managed to live to tell the tale. The feeling of warm, hard brick pressing into her back. Her stomach rolls, arms hugging her middle tight in the hopes of fighting off the nausea. The smell of burnt flesh and singed hair reaches her nose. She gags. The pain in her chest making it's presence known. The broken pieces of her time turner, what's left of it at least clutched in a single bleeding hand. The bare chain still hanging from her neck. She takes a deep breath in attempt to settle her stomach and rapidly beating heart.

It's no use. With a loud groan she bends at the waist emptying the contents of her stomach on the ground below. Tears gather in the corners of her eyes. The smell growing even stronger. Her legs shake as she begins to dry heave. Taking a breath she straightens herself up, leaning back against the brick wall for support. A thin sheen of sweat coats her skin, a chill rushes over her causing her to shake. With a frantic hand she wipes at her mouth and face. The bitter taste of sick filling her mouth, the smell surrounding her. Taking another deep breath she relaxes her arms dropping them to her side, the time turner still clutched tight in her hand. Metal and glass cutting further into her hand. Suddenly a heavy hand lands on her shoulder. Her breath catches, eyes flying open.

Brown eyes meet blue. An attractive man with reddish brown hair, pale skin with generous helping of freckles, and curious blue eyes stands before her his hand on her shoulder. He looks to be a couple years older than her and and has quite a few inches of height on her. Though most people do. Wiry and thin most of his frame hidden by an old blue overcoat. His style of dress is rather odd... He holds a smooth wand in his free hand.

Wizard. She reasons. Not one of mine... can't be one of the American's or Africans with an accent like that.

Coming to the realization that an unknown wizard stands before her wand at the ready, she rights herself sliding her body discreetly into a duelling position.

"Steady. That was quite the-" He begins cutting himself off startled.

Her vine wood wand is thrust against his throat. She watches as he swallows slowly his adam's apple prominent against the smooth skin of his pale throat.

"Who are you and what do you want with me?" Hermione challenges him in a mildly shaky voice.

This isn't the time to be losing your nerve! She chastises herself mentally.

"Who am I?!" He asks in an incredulous tone. "Who are you?! Appearing out of nowhere. Shoving a wand in my face before so much as a hello."

Her brow twitches in confusion and slight irritation but her wand remains steady. Spell ready on her lips waiting for the slightest hint of danger. As if suddenly remembering something very important the man jerks his head to the right looking down the alleyway. His eyes widen, mouth agape. The grip on his wand loosens.

"Bugger!" He curses stowing his wand away in the folds of his overcoat.

Frozen in shock Hermione stands still as stone. Her wand still at the ready, gritting her teeth. He steps away from her running a frenzied hand through his already messy hair before gathering himself, bending to pick up an old battered brown case at his feet. Their eyes meet once more and he motions her forward. Her arm drops, though her gaze and stance remain cautious and alert.

"Come on then." He says with the slightest of smiles. Hand outstretched.

Stowing her wand in the disillusioned holster she pushes off from the wall slowly as if on autopilot. With a single shaking hand she slips the broken time turner into her pocket, wiping her bloody hand on her black trousers. She approaches the man slowly completely out of her element when he suddenly grabs her wrist his large, freckled hand easily wrapping around it. Fingers pressed tight against her pulse point. With a soft tug he pulls her close to his side.

Neither party seems to take notice of the glowing gold tendril of raw magic reaching from Hermione's still bleeding hand towards the man. It snakes its way around each of their wrists. A beautiful, shimmering display of magic. Their skin tingling slightly where they touch, an unnoticed sensation as it seems to settle into their skin before disappearing completely.

Unnoticed by the pair, a woman walks down the side street with purpose the collar of her overcoat pulled up high against her neck.

The man straightens his back encouraging Hermione to do the same, attempting to be nonchalant, and if Hermione is being completely honest, failing. The two walk towards the woman, clearly suspicious.

As they begin to pass the she grabs each of their elbows in turn and disapparates them away.

Hermione groans once more as the three of them apparate into a cramped, bricked off alleyway. Stumbling back slightly her foot catching on the curb only to have her arm once again caught by the man in the overcoat. Opening her eyes, stomach doing flips she looks at the woman before them. She's about 3 inches taller than Hermione, short brown hair cut into a blunt bob, pale skin with a large overcoat engulfing her slender frame. Her incredulous brown stare the two down before she rounds on the man.

"Who are you?" She questions her voice tight.

"I'm sorry" the man almost seems to stutter out.

"Who are you? Who are both of you?" She tries again her voice raising an octave, eyes sliding to Hermione taking in her odd clothing a confused look on her face. Her lips pressed into a stern line.

Hermione feels her panic building as she stares at the woman in turn. Her odd style of dress so very out of place. For the early 2000's that is... Focusing on the police sirens sounding in the distance.

Something is very, very wrong. She thinks worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Her mind begins to connect the dots working fast even under the crushing amount of stress and panic she feels building within her. Before she's able to come to a solid conclusion the man clears his throat.

"Newt Scamander. And you are?" Hermione whips her head around to look at him stray pieces of hair smacking her face. With wide terrified eyes the final pieces of the current puzzle begin to slide into place as she once against studies his appearance.

He's so young. Late 20's to early 30's perhaps... Her mouth drops open a shaky sigh escaping her lips.

"Bloody hell" she exclaims in a shaking voice drawing their attention once more.