Chapter 2
Chapter 2
29th August, 1925
Newt Scamander stretched in his seat. His neck had long grown stiff from sitting with his face against the window of the train. The journey felt never-ending, but he enjoyed watching the terrain flash by. Though he was physically tired, his mind hummed with excitement. He never truly grew tired of seeing new sights.
He’d previously spent three years abroad in Oceania, Africa, and Asia researching for his book. He was thinking of calling it “Fantastic Beasts: A Guide to the Magical Creatures that Inhabit Our World.” Perhaps it was too long a title? Well, he’d figure it out eventually.
In the meantime, he was ecstatic to be in the field, studying creatures in their natural habitats. He hoped to revolutionise the way the wizarding world perceived magical creatures. The past three years had been quite a challenge in many ways, but he’d never felt so alive in all his life.
It had been like being reborn after a life of so many difficulties. First his expulsion from Hogwarts, followed by his time in The War. He tried not to think about that - reflecting on The War always left him nauseous and itching to run. Then that soul-crushing office job...he cringed internally.
There was a reason why his boggart was always a monstrous desk of paperwork. He hated being caged in. He relished the freedom of being in the field. The creatures he studied never judged him...well, they did at first perhaps, but once they realised he wasn’t a threat, they didn’t care about his expulsion, his social status, or whether or not his socks matched. The creatures never ridiculed him or tried to control him.
It all had been going so well...then, he’d stopped home temporarily for a visit. He’d gone to see his mum for a few days. He loved his mum deeply, but a few hours in her presence and he felt himself reverting to the awkward teenager he had been, or worse, the broken soldier recently returned from war. Then, to make matters worse, there had been that awkward “celebratory luncheon” with Mum, his brother Theseus and his...well...Leta. She wasn’t anything of his any more really...except perhaps Future Sister-In-Law. He felt his heart sink to his stomach.
Leta Lestrange. Even 3,000 miles away, the mere thought of her made him want to weep. Or vomit. He couldn’t tell which, so he resolved to push those feelings down.
Newton Artemis Fido Scamander was not the sort of person to experience jealousy. No, sir. Newt firmly believed in following his heart. Having lived most of his life being shunned and teased by people who never understood him, he learned at a young age that trying to conform never helped. People have a tendency to hate those different from themselves, yes, but they absolutely despise others who try to be something they’re not. The way he saw it, people would judge and dislike him one way or another, so he might as well be happy in the process.
He was mocked and ridiculed for his sensitive and caring nature. He was judged for his expulsion from school, his difficulty in connecting to people, for electing to study and work with animals rather than following in his father’s and brother’s footsteps and becoming an Auror.
If he had followed people’s expectations, it wouldn’t have much mattered - they’d still have judged him for failing at those expectations. He knew he would never meet their standards, no matter how hard he tried - he could never be his brother, the perfect Theseus. He would always be compared to him but never able to live up to him. They were just too different. One cannot judge an apple by the same criteria one judges...something that’s not an apple...a pair of socks for example (mismatched or otherwise.) Yet that didn't stop others, even his own family, from constantly measuring Newt by Theseus’s rubric. Newt didn't bother even trying to fit that rubric. He would be considered a failure and a disappointment, and above all, he would be miserable.
Instead, Newt lived his life doing precisely what felt right, following his heart, his intuition and his mind (which despite what some people said, was actually quite brilliant.) As a result, jealousy wasn’t an emotion that entered into the realm of Newt Scamander, because Newt never had anything he envied in others. No, he never felt jealousy.
Heartbreak on the other hand was another matter entirely. Leta flashed in his mind’s eye again. Newt sighed. He didn’t blame her of course...he could never blame her. It wasn’t as if any promises had been made between them. He’d thought perhaps that she’d loved him, he knew that he’d loved her, and still did in some ways.
They’d been inseparable in school; she had been his only friend. It had seemed so much simpler then. He remembered the time she’d set off a dungbomb in class just so she could join him in detention. He remembered the long hours they'd spent just talking about everything and anything or sneaking out to the Forbidden Forest just to explore. He remembered her smile, which she only seemed to smile for him. He remembered the kiss they’d shared behind the owlery their 7th year, just before the winter holidays...the suggestion of more to come...the hope and excitement that had filled his heart…
Then his life went totally off the rails.
He remembered that fateful day she’d come running to him, her tear-stained cheeks red, her expressive brown eyes sorrowful, filled with fear and regret. He thought of the shame he felt at his expulsion; not being able to look into his mother’s eyes and face her disappointment and disapproval, not when he knew she already carried the pain of his father’s death close to her heart.
He thought of his deployment, and of Leta’s face when she visited him the night before he left for war. She’d hugged him and cried, begging forgiveness. He failed to put into words then, that there was nothing to forgive, that he loved her and would do it again, give anything for her if he had to. He just hugged her back in silence, allowing their tears to fall slowly till the sun rose and he left for the Eastern Front.
Perhaps that was when their relationship had changed. Perhaps their connection had been coloured by guilt: Leta’s fear that Newt resented her, his life ruined to save hers, or his guilt at never being able to communicate how he felt in words...though he thought his actions had been clear.
Perhaps it was the three long years of hell that robbed him of his very will to live. The Newt that returned home at the war’s end in 1918, just two months shy of his 22nd birthday, was a phantom, a pale echo of the exuberant young man he’d been.
While the war had made Theseus even more brilliant-a superhuman hero- for Newt it had very nearly killed him. Perhaps it would have succeeded in doing so, even long after the boom of artillery fire and roar of dragon flames overhead faded to memory, if not for Dumbledore. Even after he returned home safe from the violence and horrors, he continued to fade away into himself, pulling away from the people he loved. "Shell-shocked" the nicer ones had called it quietly. "Weak & broken" were the harsher diagnoses.
Looking back he saw the chain of events as an inevitable march. Leta was a lonely soul; her young heart was filled with sadness, her life devoid of happiness and love. She had been like a moth drawn to Newt’s light. She’d waited three long, anxious years for his return, and when he finally did, he was not the same he’d been.
Newt’s light had gone out.
Still, she waited three more years. All that while, Newt lost himself in the depths of his depression and listlessness, and still Leta waited. She had visited from time to time, more often that first year, where she ended up conversing with Theseus and Mum as Newt locked himself away, present, yet simultaneously absent. After he moved to London, their visits became less and less frequent. Perhaps that was when Leta & Newt truly ended and when Leta & Theseus began?
Perhaps it was because he could not voice how he felt; how he couldn't find the words to ask for help, or didn't realise he could be helped. Perhaps he thought he was broken beyond repair.
Perhaps she thought he resented her or blamed her for his time at the war. He would never speak of it; he hardly spoke at all, especially not to her, he thought back to the handful of awkwardly silent visits they’d had in his tiny, shabby flat in Lambeth once he’d begun his awful office job at the Ministry. Perhaps she misunderstood...perhaps she believed he no longer loved her, and didn't know how to tell her. He had hoped his actions were clear enough...he’d held on to her hand like a lifeline in those long silent hours. Inside he was screaming, for her, for anyone to see. Perhaps he believed she no longer loved him and was merely being kind. Those niggling doubts were reinforced as their visits became more sporadic and then stopped all together.
Then Newt left. He left with Dumbledore’s help...left England, his job, his flat, his mum, his brother, his life...her.
He just had to get away, to escape, to live.
Three years in the field passed, with Newt slowly healing his shattered psyche as he followed his passion...it was unfair, he thought, to expect her to put her life on hold indefinitely for him. It was unfair to expect her to wait nine years. He’d left her. Not really, not permanently...he’s hoped she’d understand. And perhaps Leta understood better than most what it was to carry a heart filled with pain, hurt, and disappointment. She understood his need to be free, unfortunately, she didn’t have the liberty or luxury of the same.
It seemed inevitable in hindsight that she would fall in love with Theseus who shone brighter and more fervently than Newt and his post-war darkness. Theseus whose brilliant reputation could save Leta from her family’s past. Theseus who perhaps did not fully understand her, but who made her better by his mere presence. Theseus who always was his handsome, wonderful self; uncomplicated, steadfast, a hugger...who made her laugh when Newt could barely keep himself from sobbing. Theseus who was *there.*
Newt didn’t blame his brother...he was just being himself, nor could he ever blame Leta.
Everyone saw Theseus was the superior Scamander brother. Wasn’t it inevitable that Leta would as well? Newt knew he was different. Softer. Odder. From his earliest moments he seemed destined to be alone and misunderstood. He felt like a different species most of the time; as if he were broken somehow, and the world often treated him as such.
Newt never imagined he would ever meet someone who could love and accept him exactly as he was...he’d come closest with Leta, but even at their best, Leta had always been a Slytherin: ambitious and driven. She never could have been content with the life Newt could give her. He could not imagine her trudging through a swamp for days, searching for Streelers, or upon finding the Streelers, collecting their poisonous slime for scientific analysis. Newt would be perfectly content to spend his life writing obscure papers that none but perhaps three magizoology academics in the world would appreciate. Leta always wanted him to be famous.
She wanted to be respected and admired. Respect and admiration were words never spoken in the context of Newt Scamander.
Newt had resigned himself to a lonely life. At first it depressed him immensely, but Newt sought joy and purpose in his work instead. He discovered true friendship and unconditional love from the creatures he encountered and saved, and somewhere along the way in his past three years of solitary travel, Newt found himself in the freedom of the wild. He discovered his strengths, his ingenuity, fearlessness, kindness and quirky sense of humour. He rediscovered his excitement and joy in the face of discovering the unknown and being surrounded by the wonders of creation. He felt his heart soar as he watched phoenixes fly into the sunset in the peaks of the Himalayas. He felt his soul heal as he awkwardly frolicked with Mooncalfs as they danced under the full moon in Australia.
Newt was healing.
Still, in his weakest moments, the sadness wallowed up inside him like a hinkypunk emerging from a bog. It had been particularly bad being home again. He felt the sadness weighing in his chest.
He forced himself to stop.
He focused instead on the other emotions warring inside: the adrenaline and excitement of a new adventure at odds with restlessness at having been cooped up with so many people for so long. He felt the sheer exhaustion in every cell of his body - he’d slept maybe three hours the night before. He had spent the majority of the evening feeding and caring for the creatures to prepare them for his disembarkation. He knew they would be alone for a bit longer than usual, and wanted to make sure they would be wanting for nothing.
He reflected on his voyage. It had been one incredibly long journey. First, the train from London to Liverpool, then the seemingly endless days on the RMS Alaunia. The ship had sailed from Liverpool to Cobh on August 21st, and they’d overnighted offshore of the bustling port city as mail, baggage and passengers were transferred to the mighty ocean liner by boat. Newt didn’t mind travelling by sea - he always had an affinity for the water, if his Patronus was anything to go by. Spending days and nights in close-quarters on the ship with hundreds of humans...er...strangers, however, was almost too much for Newt to bear. He felt awkward at mealtimes in the great dining hall where he had to make small talk with the other passengers.
The only peace he’d felt was when he’d locked himself in his case to care for the creatures he was rehabilitating. The Re’em in particular needed his attention. He’d *rescued* her from a smuggler he’d encountered in Greece on his way home to England. The poor thing had been beaten and starved, her golden mane patchy and matted, and her blood nearly drained dry. Re’em blood was incredibly valuable - it gave immense strength to the drinker for a short while. Human greed and lack of empathy lead to countless poor creatures suffering similar fates.
This particular creature - Orlaith, he’d called her because of her brilliant golden hide, which was growing back luxuriously under Newt’s care, was the primary reason for Newt’s new adventure. Newt was excited to begin the “Americas” leg of his research.
Re’ems were native to the wild prairies and forests of north-central Canada. Now that Orlaith was returning to health (Newt estimated she’d be fully recovered physically in another week or so) he was determined to reintroduce her to the wild. He hoped to find a pack of Re’ems in Saskatchewan or Alberta that would welcome her into their fold.
Apart from the time he spent with his creatures, Newt whiled away many solitary hours writing and revising his drafts, and alternately staring at the endless expanse of blue of sea and sky.
The ship had next landed in Montreal, where all the passengers had to be evaluated by a health inspector. Half the passengers then disembarked. It was a lengthy process. Newt amused himself by watching the goings about on the dock - the steady hum of human activity reminded Newt of bees in a hive.
He was relieved when the ship set sail again for the last stop on its journey - Quebec City. There he’d finally finally disembarked with the remaining passengers, mostly immigrants all staring at the city with hope, wonder, and perhaps some trepidation in their travel-weary eyes.
Newt took his time meandering the streets of the city the short distance from the port to the Gare du Palais. He had stopped for a quick breakfast, a cup of tea and a croissant in a small café across from the station, relishing the feel of firm ground beneath his feet for a short while before having to board the train to Toronto. The station’s castle-like exterior had reminded Newt slightly of Hogwarts, and he allowed himself a wistful smile into his tea cup.
After several hours on the train, however, he was quite spent. There were faster routes - a transatlantic portkey from London to Ottawa for example, and another from Ottawa to Regina or Calgary followed by a good long hike into the wild - but the last thing Newt needed was an over-excited wizarding customs agent rifling through his case. The handy “muggle” setting on his lock allowed him to pass muggle border inspections without so much as a “hang on there, young man!” He’d travelled mostly by muggle means since he began his fieldwork. It was slower, yes, but he’d seen more of the world than he’d ever have imagined possible. It wasn’t as startling for the creatures, it gave him time to write and revise, and it allowed him to travel relatively incognito.
Still, he could have begun his trans-Canadian journey from Quebec or Montreal directly if not for Albus Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore had always been adamant about Newt taking muggle means of transport. He had suggested the route, informing Newt that Toronto was lovely this time of year. Newt got the message.
As much as he hated being controlled or told what to do, Newt had a soft-spot for his old professor. He’d been the only one to encourage Newt to follow his passions. He'd always been a mentor and advocate. It was Dumbledore who had argued against Newt’s expulsion; Dumbledore who somehow managed for Newt to be allowed to complete his studies at home. He was the one to regularly check in on Newt by post while he was at war, and when he returned, shell-shocked and miserable, it was Dumbledore who’d steadfastly spent many an afternoon with Newt as Newt sat staring listlessly into his tea in a silent stupor. He was the one who supported his fledgling dream to quit his thankless desk job; he who helped Newt to negotiate his book deal with the publisher and get an advance so he could fund his fieldwork without relying on financial support from his disapproving mother. He even helped Newt gain some extra pocket money by putting him in contact with a friend, the editor for the travel journal, The Wandering Wizard, who’d agreed to publish the occasional essay Newt wrote about the cities he visited and the natural wonders he encountered.
Newt was a Hufflepuff at heart and loyal to a fault. If Dumbledore advised Newt to go to Toronto, he would go, no questions asked. Still he couldn’t help but wonder what Toronto the Good had in store for him. What could he possibly expect to find there? Newt would have to wait and see.
He hugged his case to his chest and rested his chin on it, whispering soothing words to the creatures inside. He knew they couldn’t hear him, but he hoped the sentiment would get through. With renewed excitement, he watched as the train sped along the shore of Lake Ontario toward his next adventure.
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