Fantastic Beasts Stories

Newt & Tina: Nightmares

6 December, 1927, 10:17PM

She was sitting at a desk in the room Newt had created and lent her in his house in London, reading through notes she had taken on the events at Perè Lachaise. A modest little lamp shined its meager rays throughout the modest room, leaving the far side of in deep darkness. Tina had a small notebook out, the thumb and pinkie of her left hand holding it open. She chewed her bottom lip vigorously as she twiddled a pen between the thumb and index finger of her right hand.

Someone knocked on the door, and Tina turned her head towards the wooden contruction slightly: "Come in!"

The door slowly creaked open; Newt. Of course it was Newt, only he would open a door like that.

"You don't have to open it so slowly," Tina remarked, a smirk almost sliding onto her lips--almost. But that was still improvement from a constant frown.

Queenie's past advice echoed in her head: 'That takes more muscles than a smile, Teen!'

Tina sighed, her fingers slipping from her notebook to tuck some hair behind her ear, its pages slowly unfurling after being suppressed underneath her gentle fingertips for so long. She uncrossed her legs, set the pen on the desk, and looked up from her diligent notes, folding her legs onto the chair as she turned to face the Brit. He had mugs of steaming cocoa in his hands--how many mugs had they shared by now?

Too many to count, Tina thought as he walked closer.

"I thought you'd like some," Newt explained softly, observing the auror through his messy fringe.

He didn't stutter; his words were standard, calculated, rehearsed; he would always offer her hot chocolate at night when she stayed up late working. Sometimes it was an actual assignment, other times it was for her own personal investigation, but the pattern remained the same. He would help Tina with her work late into the night, and they usually didn't stop until the contagious yawning started around one in the morning.

"Thanks," Tina murmured per usual, their hands grazing slightly, sending their nerves alight.

Maybe, she thought pensively, staring into the finite depths of the cocoa, the beauty of these moments lies in the comfortable silences between us.

"I recieved a letter from MACUSA today," she stated simply, taking a sip of her cocoa and letting its warmth trickle down her throat. "I'll have to leave soon. Most likely by the end of the month, to testify about everything."

"Everything," being Perè Lachaise. Tina could practically hear something break inside of Newt; she could see it in the way his facial expression changed ever so slightly. His eyes glazed over as his mind sprinted through all sorts of nightmarish situations he would most certainly face when she left.

"I've been putting it off," she told the freckled man sadly, as if ashamed, drawing him back to reality. As if she... prefered to stay there. She couldn't meet Newt's eyes with her own.

"Have you booked a ship back yet?" Newt asked quietly, unsure of what he was expecting her answer to be. He attempted to drain his woes in cocoa, pressing the rim of the intricately designed mug to his lips.

"No." Her throat tightened, and she took another sip of cocoa, tears pricking her eyes. Her lips trembled, a clear sign that somehow puncuated the eerily still silence.

There was no point in lying; she didn't want to leave. In fact, that was the last thing she wanted to do. She forced herself to swallow, and there was an audible sound from her throat as she did so.

Newt almost asked--begged, really--if she had to leave; they had bonded so strongly it seemed absurd for them to part ways. But he didn't. He restrained himself, the same way he had on the docks in New York a year ago.