Preface - The Aftermath
My dearest Leta,
Newt frowned at the parchment and scratched out the introduction, writing underneath:
Mlle. LeStrange,
I hope this letter finds you in good health—
No, no that wouldn’t do either.
It was now or never. Newt had been putting this off for months, trying through sheer force of will and stubborn refusal of reality to keep the world that he had gotten used to calm and unchanging, but time was running short. They would be moving soon. This was his last chance to reach out and, if he didn’t do this now, he would only come to regret it later. If he didn’t write this letter, he would be hurting the two people he cared for the most in the world.
Leta LeStrange.
Slytherin, daring, and loyal.
She was his oldest companion. The person that Newt told everything because they’d been through everything together. The world had always been their battlefield. And yet, now it felt like the world knew more about his business than she did.
But how does one go about telling their closest friend that they had found their long-lost brother, much less that they were in love with them?
Newt set aside his quill and buried his face behind his hands. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t good at doing things like this. He barely knew how basic relationships worked let alone how to fix a broken one. This task was better suited for someone more sociable like Theseus or blunt like Hortencia.
Not Newt, whose only skills involved wrangling Nifflers and getting into trouble.
Something fluttered against his hands. Newt jumped and cautiously lifted his head.
It was just a butterfly.
A pretty, ivory-colored butterfly crawling across his fingertips.
“Hello, you,” Newt smiled at Prudence and flipped over his palms, “What are you doing here?”
Prudence nestled inside, antennae wriggling, and rubbed her tiny paper legs soothingly across his scars. Newt flinched, the smooth lines shining silver in the light.
Newt was used to the eccentricities of his body. He collected scars and blemishes in a similar manner to how normal wizards collected chocolate frog cards or stamps. Every mark told a story and he normally wore them with the utmost pride. But these ones…
They told of horrors that he’d much rather forget.
Placing the paper butterfly upon his shoulder, Newt took back his quill and wrote.
Leta,
I’m scared.
I feel it more and more with each passing day. The last thing you said to me echoes in my mind. They are a constant from which I cannot escape. There’s never a moment where I don’t remember the anger in your eyes, the shaking of your hands, the tears running down your face. Will I ever have the chance to apologize? Can we ever fix what’s broken between us?
Do you remember when were kids? We wouldn’t go a week without writing each other over summer break. Mum swore that if she saw your owl pecking at the window one more time, she’d have a fit. So you started sending frogs instead. Mum still can’t look at a toad the same.
It’s been two years since I last heard from you.
I miss you.
I’ve been on so many adventures since then. I wish you could’ve joined me in New York. Remember that Chinese restaurant you talked about all the time during fourth-year? I visited it. It’s still there. They remembered you the instant I mentioned your name. They still have your drawings hanging up in their kitchen, you know. I never knew you liked yellow so much.
Madame Huang sends her love, and her dumpling recipe.
I was in America to return a Thunderbird. To think, that is where this all began. At the time, I was more concerned with my Niffler getting loose in a bank than I was with the capture of Grindelwald. And yet, here we are…
I’ve made so many wonderful friends this past year. Me, of all people. There’s the Muggle named Jacob that makes the most fantastic pastries. Yes, better than the ones at Fournier’s. I met a pair of American witches too. I think you’d get along well with Tina. I became friends with a Kraken named Hope and a gentle lariosauro. And I… I fell in love.
Newt paused.
I want you to meet him, Leta. For more reasons than one.
I want to hear your opinion. I want you to approve of him. Credence—his name is Credence—is my best friend and, because he’s my best friend, I want him to meet my other best friend.
And that’s you, Leta. Always have been, always will be.
Oh, there’s so much that I want to tell you! My hand is shaking with all that remains unspoken, desiring to spill every secret with a single brushstroke. But, I must exhibit restraint. Everything that I want to say—everything that must be said—cannot be expressed within a single letter, and nor should it be.
We need to talk.
Face-to-face. No more hiding, no more avoiding. I’ll be in Paris soon and I hope to see you there.
I miss having you in my life. I miss being a part of yours. I don’t want to leave this realm regretting that I never fixed this bridge between us. The thought of losing you scares me more than dying ever could.
Newt’s quill hovered over the paper, his hand frozen.
Tha-thump.
His throat ran dry.
Tha-thump.
Newt loosened his bowtie, letting the ribbon fall to the floor. He could barely hear the sound of rushing footsteps over his own heartbeat as he quickly unbuttoned his collar.
Tha-thump tha-thump tha-thump tha-thump.
The room was closing in. His chair was too soft, too comfortable. Newt wanted nothing more than to throw out every cushion and pillow here than to endure this torture for one more agonizing second—
“Newt, I’m here.”
Credence.
Oh Merlin, he wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not again.
“You’re at home in your bedroom, sunshine. Your Mother and Theseus are right outside. I can get them if you need them,” that beautiful voice was so soft, so soothing, “You’re safe and alive. There’s nothing here that’s going to hurt you.”
“Credence—” he croaked.
“I’m here, Newt.”
Newt blindly reached for his hand. Rough yet gentle fingers entwined with his.
“Bathroom,” he gasped, “I need—I need—”
One room quickly dissolved into another. Newt ripped himself from Credence and lurched towards the bathroom sink, gripping the marble counter with such urgent desperation that his knuckles turned bone white. His stomach heaved, emptying his lunch into the basin.
Everything was too softtoo soft too soft—
“Credence, can you—” Newt swallowed down a wave of nausea, “Can you get my shoes?”
“Already on it.”
Newt rested his forehead against the cool mirror, lifting each foot as Credence slipped off his boots.
“You’re wearing the socks I got you for Christmas.”
Newt almost smiled.
“They’re comfortable.”
“They’re also on the wrong feet.”
“Funny how that happens.”
Credence quietly laughed and slipped off the offending apparel, stuffing them inside his empty boots. Newt wriggled his toes, now freed, against the tile floor. It was cold, hard, and smooth. The complete opposite of soft and the place where comfort was synonymous with Hell.
He was here. He was alive. He was okay.
So why did it still feel like everything was falling apart?
He gripped the marble counter and felt another wave of nausea threatening to wash over him. He was just about to empty the contents of his stomach for a second time when he felt a fluttering against his fingers.
Newt looked down.
And the paper butterfly flew back up to his shoulder, allowing his undivided attention to rest on Credence hovering worriedly nearby.
Newt gazed into those haunting black eyes of his and reached forward. Their scarred hands folded together, fingers entwining with practiced familiarity as if they’d done this a hundred times before.
Because they had.
Credence smiled, gentle and understanding, and squeezed.
Reminding him that he was not alone.