Ties That Bind
1913
1 Most people found Potions class dreadfully boring and dull, not to mention horribly complicated, but Newt had to admit to himself that he rather enjoyed it. It could get a little repetitive and tricky, yes, but the uses of potions were manifold, often bordering on miraculous. He remembered watching his mother brew a healing potion once when two of the hippogriffs caught a fungal infection that had, up until that point, been considered lethal to the poor beasts. She’d refused to give up, though, and after much trial and error, she, edging ever closer to her breaking point, had managed to succeed. It had been glorious, watching the hippogriffs shake off their lethargy, and he’d never forget the smile on his mother’s face. She’d slept for fifteen hours straight right after that.
So, no, Potions class was not a waste of time, nor was it boring. He’d seen how the right one could save a life. Truth be told, he enjoyed Transfigurations class quite a bit more, if only because Professor Dumbledore was so good at teaching, but then again, everyone loved Transfigurations class.
Now, however, was the time to head down to the Dungeons and spend the next forty-five minutes sweating over a cauldron, trying not to pass out from breathing in toxic fumes. The prospect of that sounded much more entertaining than it really was, as his fellow Hufflepuff Vera Diggory could testify; she’d just keeled over one fine afternoon, breaking her nose in the process. Some of the other students had laughed at this, which Leta had found quite distasteful, but Newt had reminded her that when folks were confronted with something unexpected, laughter was often an automatic response to deal with it. He was sure nobody meant poor Vera any harm.
Leta caught up with him as the rather large group of students were trudging down the stone stairs into the bowels of the castle, the sound of their steps echoing and bouncing off the walls and arched ceiling. The air was perpetually humid down there, chilly, and it smelled a bit of moss. It was not unpleasant, though. “Missed you at lunch,” she told him, cracking a broad and lovely smile as she wiggled and elbowed and shouldered her way to his side.
He couldn’t help but smile right back. His face got a little warm. “Well, I had some detention work to do for Professor Prewett and wanted to get it out of the way as soon as possible.”
Her thin eyebrows wandered up. “Tried to smuggle anti-coagulant herbs to those wild thestrals again?”
Looking down at his shoes and shrugging, he said, “Someone’s got to.”
“One day, you’re going to get into some serious trouble,” she said, briefly touching his elbow.
Oh, lovely, his face got even warmer. Chalky as his complexion was, he was probably looking pretty red by now. Discreetly, he cleared his throat. They were down their last flight of stairs, heading down the cramped corridor that led to the Potion Master’s classroom. Calling it a dungeon just seemed weirdly macabre to Newt, but then again, he didn’t know what this place had been used for in past centuries. Maybe the name was appropriate. Maybe it was an in-joke? This part of the castle certainly was rather confining. “I’d rather get in trouble than let something bad happen to anyone I care about,” he said, briefly glancing at her.
“And it’s just so sweet that you refer to thestrals as ‘someone’ who you care about.”
They filed into the classroom slowly, reluctantly, taking up their usual positions at the big, heavy, wooden tables. It always smelled a little of sulphur in here, didn’t it? It also took the eyes a moment to adjust to the different lighting. If the Dungeons had one thing going for them, it was atmosphere.
Professor Calandra Veridian, descendant of the Vindictus Veridian, was already standing behind her desk, watching the students lazily amble to their cauldrons with little interest. She wasn’t much of a pedagogue, but she really loved her craft with a vengeance, which was to be admired. It was always inspiring to be around people who were passionate about their work. Once everyone had finally got to where they were supposed to be, she said, “Good afternoon, class. Today, we’ll finally try our hands at that calming draught. Now, I want you to work in teams of four.” Murmurs erupted throughout the classroom. Veridian raised her long-fingered, pale hands to make the students go quiet, to limited success. “Team up with the pair sharing your table. It’s a rather complex process, and I’m told that complicated processes lend themselves well to team-building exercises.”
Oh, great. Perfect. Newt exchanged a meaningful look with Leta, who didn’t look happy in the slightest. Their direct neighbours were Slytherins Celestia Prewett – Professor Prewett’s daughter – and Alastair Fawley. These two weren't terrible people, per se, but they weren't the nicest ones around, either. The fact that they were Slytherins didn’t help much, since members of that House shared a rather unpleasant habit of looking down on Hufflepuffs. What sold Newt on their unpleasantness, however, was that they obviously didn’t like Leta just because she hadn't been sorted into their House as Lestranges usually were. It wasn’t anything they did, precisely, but the way they looked at her and whispered with their Black and Malfoy and Rosier and Nott and whoever else friends when Leta was close. It was hard to watch, because Leta already had a hard time fitting in with her own housemates, even almost five years into her Hogwarts career. Hufflepuffs were wary of her because of her family name, and Slytherins were disdainful of her because of her renegade status. It wasn’t fair. One should never simply sit in judgment over a person. Actions could be judged, but dismissing someone due to their relatives or their social status was just mean-spirited and petty.
Also, this was about Leta, and Newt would do almost anything to keep her from harm.
“All right, then,” Alastair Fawley said, that dishonest politician’s smile he liked wearing so much plastered all over his sharp-angled, pointy, bony, pale face. He looked like he didn’t even know what sunshine was supposed to be, what with his eerily pasty complexion that contrasted oddly with his pitch-black, short, neatly side-combed hair. He grabbed his textbook, circumvented the table, and planted himself in front of Leta, who was eyeing him with a healthy degree of caution. “Let’s get started. Hufflepuffs, you’re about to witness the miracle of competent potion-making. Please observe and be appropriately awed.”
“You do realise that Newt is a lot better at potions than you are, don’t you, Fawley?” Leta replied icily, opening her own textbook and paging through it slowly.
Newt could see that her hands were trembling a bit. It was a habit of hers, fussing with something when she got upset or nervous, to keep other people from noticing.
“He was just trying to be funny, Lestrange; calm yourself,” Celestia said, placing herself so close to Alastair that their arms were touching. They exchanged a smiling, knowing little look. Her cheeks were flushed red, and she started twirling a strand of her messily pinned up, ruddy-brown hair around her left index finger. She and Alastair should just drop the masquerade. Everyone knew that they were a couple, and nobody really cared much. “So, how do we start?”
“Perhaps your boyfriend could conjure some water – you know, actually make himself useful for once,” Leta snapped at her. This was atypical. All right, she did snap at people from time to time, but not without being provoked, first. Something was going on with her that didn’t have anything to do with either Alastair Fawley or Celestia Prewett.
“Boyfriend?” Alastair said, and whistled lowly. “My, aren’t we modern in our vernacular? Though I must admit, I rather like the term. You Yanks really do have things to contribute.” He frowned a little. “It is a Yank term, isn't it? I don’t really keep up with fads.”
“American, please, darling. Don’t be rude,” Celestia chided playfully, and nudged him with her bony elbow. That had to hurt. He was only skin and bones, after all. He didn’t seem to mind, thought. “Also, she’s only half American, so be fair.”
“I’m always fair. Now, if you’d excuse me, I must impress you mere mortals with my astonishing spell-casting abilities. Prepare to be dazzled. Autograph signing hours to be announced.” Without waiting for a reply, he produced his wand out of his robes and pointed it at the cauldron. “Aguamenti.” It filled with water. “Incendio.” Under the cauldron, a small fire erupted. Alastair cracked a toothy smile at Leta. “Does this meet with your approval, distant cousin of mine?”
Leta briefly glared at him before picking up her book and stomping away to get the ingredients for the potion.
Celestia exchanged another meaningful look with Alastair before saying, “I better go help her. She only has one free hand, after all,” and hurried after Leta.
Newt watched them go in silence. Oh yes, something was definitely wrong, and he was determined to find out what. After all, what kind of a friend would he be if he didn’t do everything in his power to help one of the most important people in his life?
2 They were sitting side by side at the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall, Leta and Newt, and she had been listlessly poking her shepherd’s pie with her fork for a good fifteen minutes now, staring gloomily at nothing in particular. The look on her face wasn’t particularly inviting, either. It was a thin line to tread, knowing when to ask questions and when to just give a person some space.
Still, if he didn’t ask, he’d never know. “What’s going on with you?”
“Hm?” She blinked, sat up straight, gave him a strained little smile. “With me? Nothing.”
He briefly looked away, considered his next words carefully, and braced himself for opposition, before saying, “If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t talk about it, but you should know that I can tell when you’re lying.”
A few second ticked by before anything happened, but then, she dropped her fork, rubbed at her eyes, and exhaled deeply. She then leaned back, crossed her arms, and glowered at the Slytherin table. “My father is making me attend a…well, certain social function at Malfoy Manor this Christmas, and it’ll be even worse than I first thought. Some of the clowns over there will attend, too, and I just know it’s going to be hellish. Fawley and Malfoy have been dropping hints every time they pass me in the corridors or a classroom or wherever.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “They just don’t understand why I don’t want to be part of their elite little club, and that makes them angry.”
Never mind that she was obviously skittish about whatever this event was supposed to be – a Yule Ball, perhaps? It didn’t really matter. What mattered was that she was obviously being harassed, and that no-one was doing a thing to stop it. He half-turned to be able to look at her better. “What have they been saying to you?”
The hall was positively crowded. The sound of people talking and plates clattering and cutlery and glasses clanking filled the cavernous space, and no-one was paying attention to Leta and Newt anyway, but she still leaned in closer and lowered her voice when she said, “It’s nothing I can’t deal with – really.” The last bit she added when she clearly saw the disbelief on his face. “It just makes me so uncomfortable, being forced to spend time with the likes of them.” She pressed her full lips together and broke off eye-contact. “The worst thing is, you won’t be there for moral support. I’ll be on my own in the snake pit, with no chance of escape.”
Despite the seriousness of her complaint, he couldn’t help but smile a little at her last remark. He briefly pondered taking her hand, but decided against it. “I know it can be tough, being who you are, but the world would be a much greyer place without you in it. Don’t let them drag you down.” Had that been too much? Had he just embarrassed himself? It was often difficult to tell what words were appropriate and what words were not.
She looked at him again, though, and smiled warmly. “Thank you.” Then, before he knew it, she covered his hand with her own. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and her big brown eyes were shining in the light of the floating candles.
He didn’t think he’d ever felt so in tune with another person before. Returning her expression, he slowly intertwined his fingers with hers, feeling warmth creeping up his face when she didn’t recoil. “Anytime.”
3 The next afternoon, he was in the library doing research for a Herbology project by himself. It was nice and quiet in there, and he’d always loved the smell of old books. It reminded him of his earliest childhood, and brought about a myriad of warm, pleasant, blurry but highly nostalgic memories. It wasn’t as if small children didn’t have fears and worries of problems of their own, but at sixteen years old, he had to admit that the world was becoming more complex by the day. That was one of the reasons he didn’t mix with people much, and why he felt so much more comfortable interacting with magical creatures. They were a lot less complicated, not to mention devoid of any ambiguous agendas.
It was different with Leta, though. She was one of the most complex individuals he’d ever met, and she could be very complicated, but just being in the same room as her made everything easier to deal with.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and told himself to focus. Now was not the time for that. Now was the time to study. Professor Prewett was cross with him already – no need to make a tense situation even worse.
That was when he heard steps approaching his desk and looked up, blinking in the slanted rays of pale winter sunshine that was coming in through the tinted glass of the thick windows. Dust motes were dancing merrily in the air. It was a pretty, calming sight. He watched Celestia Prewett, of all people, walk right up to him and give him a pained little smile. Was that supposed to be reassuring? Friendly? It was impossible to tell.
“May I sit down?” she said lowly, and pointed at the free chair opposite him. He only nodded, and she took a seat, adjusting her skirt and long sleeves of her robes. “So…are you all right?”
For a few seconds, he just stared back at her, dumbfounded. What was happening? “Er…yes. Thank you.”
She nodded slowly, chewing on her lower lip, not quite looking him in the eye. “Look, erm, Scamander. Newt.” She folded her hands on the table-top and leaned in a little. “You seem like a pretty decent chap. I know we’re not exactly friends, but I don’t have anything against you or any of you Hufflepuffs. You never did anything to me. Most of you are nice people.”
“That…that is good to know.” What was he supposed to say to that? What was she even doing? This was so strange.
Again, she nodded. “Right. So, I just wanted to let you know that I really don’t think it’s all right what the boys are planning. I’m not, er…” She trailed off, scratched her neck, and snickered awkwardly. “I’m not on very good terms with Leta, and she clearly hates me, which…well, isn't exactly for no reason. I get that. Anyway, would you tell her to watch her back at the Yule Ball? You know, at Malfoy Manor.”
He straightened up. His throat constricted. Acid sloshed in his stomach. “What does that mean?”
She squinted at him as if she were expecting to be spat on. “I’m not entirely sure, myself. Let’s just say that the boys adhere to a strict ‘if you’re not with us, you’re our enemy’ mentality. Leta hasn’t exactly shown any inclination that she wants to belong, so…yes. I don’t think she’ll have a very good time in Wiltshire.”
‘The boys’. Hm. ‘The hell-spawn’ would probably be a more appropriate moniker. “Why don’t you put a stop to it, whatever it is, if you don’t approve?”
“I can’t. I’ll try, but I’m in the minority.”
Was he supposed to feel sympathy? “You should be talking to your friends, to their parents, and to Leta, too – not me.”
“She won’t listen to me, but you? If she listens to anyone, it’s you; that’s obvious to anyone with half a brain,” she said, pushed her chair back, and got to her feet. The look on her face was pretty wretched. “Just…maybe tell her that it would be better if she just gave up trying to be a rebel. It never does anyone any good.” She just spun around on her heels and marched away, leaving Newt to watch her leave, in mute astonishment.
Whatever those Slytherin boys were planning, it had to be bad. Celestia had never lifted a finger to defend Leta against all the prejudice before. If she was willing to walk up to Newt and actively insist that he warn Leta, then it must be serious. Well, they wouldn’t be able to hurt his friend if he had any say in it. Of course, he had no idea how to stop whatever scheme (was that too melodramatic? He had no idea. A bit more information from Celestia would have been appreciated!) was being planned, but he’d stop it somehow.