Learning the Game
1914
1 “…so I do believe that the book is quite mistaken. The text is over fifty years old, mind you. In my opinion, if the Hibernus Horridus does go so far as to project its frozen heart, it probably won’t live for more than a year. Of course, I can’t prove anything at this point, but one day, I will. I just hope they haven't become extinct, yet, but I don’t believe so. There’s been a reported sighting at-” Newt interrupted himself when he saw that Leta was frowning, seemingly rather consternated, and scanning the Great Hall – more specifically, the Slytherin table. He leaned back a little and scrutinised her closely.
She was a bit fidgety, wasn’t she? Her shoulders were visibly tense, she was chewing on the inside of her lower lip, and she was drumming on the table-top with the fingertips of her left hand. Also, she hadn't been listening to a word he’d been telling her.
Trying not to be too disappointed and reminding himself that she was only not listening because she was obviously upset about something, he reached out and gingerly touched her shoulder. “Leta?”
“Hm?” She barely looked at him.
“Why are you staring at the Slytherins?” He glanced at the table in question, too, but found nothing out of the ordinary. It seemed a bit on the empty side for this time of morning. However, that wasn’t anything to be alarmed about, especially on a Friday. Less than a third of the students had classes this early on Fridays. Sometimes, people simply did not want to eat breakfast, either. It happened. “Leta, why are you staring at the Slytherins?”
This time, she snapped out of it. Blinking, she half-turned to face him. “I…what? I wasn’t staring at anybody.”
He didn’t even try to hide his consternation this time. “Remember when I told you that I can tell when you’re lying? I wasn’t joking.”
Her slight confusion made way for irritation. “I’m not lying, Newt. Your go-to assumption shouldn’t be that I’m hiding something from you.” Well, wasn’t that an odd reply? Usually, she only got defensive like this when there actually was something going on.
The overreaction to his calm remark didn’t exactly help assuage his doubts, either. “So I was just boring you? Is that why you didn’t hear a word of what I said?” he said, instead.
She looked confused again for a second. Then, she shook her head and took his hand. “What? No! Of course not. I just didn’t sleep very well. I’m having some trouble concentrating. My head hurts, too. It’s got nothing to do with you – honestly.”
It wasn’t something he could pinpoint, but for some reason, her answer was too glib to be honest. They hadn't exactly met yesterday. However, if she didn’t want to talk about it, she didn’t want to talk about it. He certainly would not insist on something that went against her will.
He said, “All right. I’m sorry. Maybe you should go to the nurse and get something for the headache?”
Leta, who was sitting straight again and eyeing the Slytherins with unmistaken apprehension written all over her face, said, “Mm? No, no, I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry.”
This was getting too weird for his taste. Not that he cared a lick about anything being labelled as such, being who he was, but she was hiding something from him. That couldn’t be good. He had to admit to himself that he didn’t like being left out of the loop, no, but this wasn’t like Leta at all. She shared everything she deemed important with him. When she lied, it was because she believed that he wouldn’t approve of whatever she was up to. If it were simply something she didn’t want to talk about, she’d tell him that in no uncertain terms. This, however, was highly suspicious. He just hoped she didn’t have anything in mind that could get her into trouble.
When he was about to speak up again, she relaxed visibly, even smiling a little. What had changed? One glance at the Slytherin table told her that fellow fifth-year Petronius Flint had arrived. He and Leta exchanged a little look. Did Petronius nod at Leta? Really? What on Earth for? They weren't even friendly with each other, let alone friends. Now, they were sharing a secret nod? What the blazes was even going on anymore?
This made no sense to Newt. His stomach churned. He felt cold and only just managed to supress the urge to jump up and march outside. Why was Leta nervous about a Slytherin boy who almost failed to show up for breakfast on some random Friday morning? What did she have to do with him? Why was she evading questions? What did any of it mean?
That was when he realised that he was being paranoid. No, he and Leta hadn't really talked about…well, how to call the change in their relationship, but it was something other than friendship now. She’d never hurt him by starting to see another boy. She wouldn’t. Never would she do such an ugly thing. No, if she started liking someone else, she’d tell him. Of course she would. Of course.
He pressed his knuckles to his lips and discreetly cleared his throat.
Thankfully unaware of his disconcerting train of thought, Leta turned to him, smiling warmly. “Want to go outside into the sunshine with me for a bit? History of Magic’s still fifteen minutes away.”
Everything was confusing. He blinked at her, feeling as if he’d wandered into a parallel dimension of sorts. “I, er…yes. All right.” It was better to just go along with it for the moment. It was better to simply hope for the best. He and Leta were more than just best friends, after all.
She wouldn’t lie to him about anything important.
2 After a particularly exasperating and exhausting reading session that lasted four hours, Celestia and the rest of her little study group decided to call it a day and end their Thursday evening by just sitting in the Slytherin Common Room, chatting about trivialities. There was, after all, only so much information a person could absorb before their mind was saturated. At about nine in the evening, Celestia noticed that Alastair was losing his fight against his weariness: he kept dozing off, despite the ambient noise level being rather impressive. Many of the students didn’t have any classes on Friday morning, meaning they could stay up and be useless for longer on Thursdays.
When Alastair’s chin dropped to his collarbone for the fifth time, Celestia had enough. She gently shook his shoulder.
He jolted awake, drew in a sharp breath through his nostrils, rubbed at his bloodshot eyes, and yawned. “Sorry about that. Did someone say something important?”
“You are going straight to bed,” Celestia said, whilst Apollo and Aceso just snickered. Alastair made a face, but she wouldn’t have it. “I’m serious. You’re dead on your feet. Please, do yourself a favour before you start snoring and drooling.”
“I do neither, of which you, dearest Miss Prewett, are perfectly aware.”
Aceso and Apollo just exchanged a meaningful look.
Celestia, feeling a little warm in the face, slapped Alastair’s arm. “I know no such thing. Don’t be so cheeky and don’t deflect. You need to go to sleep.”
“And I shall obey this order, lest I provoke your unending ire, oh cruel yet breathtakingly lovely mistress of my heart,” Alastair replied, and pushed himself up to his feet.
“That was terrible!” Aceso cried out, laughing.
Apollo just chuckled, shaking his head.
“Even for you, that was atrocious, dear,” Celestia said warmly, and gave his hand a squeeze before slapping his calf. “Go to bed.” She enunciated every word with extra care.
“Aye, aye, Captain.” He pressed his hands to the small of his back, stretched, and yawned. “I think you might be onto something, here, my love.” After giving Celestia’s jawline a little pinch, he sauntered off in direction of the boys’ dormitory.
Something weird happened, then. From the far side of the Common Room, Petronius Flint, the Quidditch Captain, nearly toppled over his chair as he got up in a flash and hurried after Alastair. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, muscular fellow of white but sun-tanned skin, short-cropped brown hair, and he was considerably faster than Alastair even at a walking pace. In no time, he’d skidded past Alastair, blocking his way.
“What does Ronny Flint want with your beau?” Aceso whispered, leaning forward and toward Celestia, who only shrugged.
“Whatever it is, it won’t be about Quidditch,” Apollo said.
Well, that was most certainly true.
Petronius started talking to Alastair in a quiet voice – quiet enough that nobody in the vicinity could hear him. Alastair replied something, to which Petronius gave him a look that could only be described as apologetic. He patted the just as tall, but much skinnier Alastair so hard on the shoulder, the latter’s knees buckled. Little later, Petronius went back to his seat. Alastair shrugged, turned back to Celestia, raised his hands in a typical no-idea-either gesture, and proceeded into the appropriate dormitory.
Celestia pondered getting up and following him, or merely asking Petronius what he’d wanted, but decided against it. Whatever it was, it could wait until tomorrow. It had been a long day.
3 Since they wanted to spend as much time together as possible, Celestia and Alastair had all the same classes. Other than most of their fifth-year classmates, they’d chosen to take Ancient Runes on Friday morning for extra credit. Another option would have been Muggle Studies in the afternoon, but neither of them cared much for the subject. Besides, they liked to have the late afternoon to themselves; it was when the Quidditch Team practiced and when the Slytherin Common Room was mostly deserted.
This morning, though, Alastair failed to show up in the Common Room at the usual time. It was, to put it mildly, rather unusual: he was one of the most punctual people that she had ever met. When the few others who had to get up early had already left for the Great Hall, Celestia was still waiting, tapping her foot and growing more antsy by the minute. In fifteen minutes, their class would start. Had he overslept? It’d be the first time since she’d ever met him. Had-
Her stomach panged.
Was something wrong with him?
She needed to make sure he was all right. Trying not to let her anxiety get out of control (he’d mock her mercilessly), she hurried down the hall and to the door that led to his dormitory. Outside the closed door, she hesitated. No sound came out from the inside of the room. Well, she’d seen the other boys Alastair shared the room with leave for breakfast. He’d probably just overslept. Yes, it would be the first time ever this happened to him, but there was always a first time, wasn’t there?
Telling herself to stop being silly, she rapped her knuckles against the door. “Alley? Are you awake?” No reply came. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath. Then, she tried again. “Alley? Alley!” Nothing. Gingerly, she opened it a little. “Alastair.”
“What are you doing?”
Apollo’s voice right behind her made her flinch. She spun around to him, her heart thundering. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
He gave her a mildly surprised look. “You’re the one hovering at my dormitory. I just forgot my textbook on my nightstand.”
“No. I mean, yes.” She waved off, irritated at herself. “We’re going to be late for class, and we’re never late for class. I was just wondering if…well, if something might be wrong.”
“With Alastair?” Apollo frowned a little. “Come to think about it, he got up in the middle of the night at least twice to get a glass of water. He was coughing. Ronny said he spilt some potion or other on Alastair’s sheet, but that he changed it immediately afterward. Maybe Alastair reacted badly to that?”
There was a pang in her stomach. She stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Could you…could you please look?” For a couple of seconds, she feared he might make fun of her.
To her relief, he nodded, unsmiling. “Wait here.”
Interminable seconds ticked by. She just stood there, telling herself that she was being an idiot, that Alastair would have every reason to make fun of her, that-
“Celestia, come in here.” Apollo’s tone was serious, tense – alarmed.
Alarmed. Oh, God. Something had happened.
She pushed the door open and hurried to where Apollo was standing, by Alastair’s bedside. “What is it?” What she saw made her breath hitch in her throat.
Alastair was lying on his back, unconscious. He was bathed in sweat; his dark hair was plastered to his skull. He was wheezing. His face was flushed read, covered in ugly pustules that leaked pus. Heat radiated off of him. Blood was running out his nose and the corners of his eyes. His lips were cracked.
“Alley,” she said softly, and wiped a strand of his hair from his clammy forehead. Seeing him like this was a nightmare. This was a nightmare. Her whole body felt as heavy as lead. “I’ll go get the nurse.”
“What’s that smell?” Apollo made a face. “Sewage? It’s ghastly. Ronny must have not managed to clean up all the potion he spilled.”
“I don’t…” She trailed off when she did catch a whiff of something strange, like rotten leaves. Not that it mattered at the moment. “I’ll go get the nurse. Please stay with him, Apollo.”
“Maybe I should call Professor-”
“Apollo. Stay with him, please.” She briefly touched his arm and then ran off.
4 Ancient Rules class was conspicuously empty that morning, as none of the Slytherin fifth-years showed up: not Apollo Malfoy, not Celestia Prewett, not Alastair Fawley. This was more than just a little strange, as none of them ever missed class – ever. They all had their families exerting pressure on them to succeed academically, and the O.W.L.s were just around the corner.
As Newt sat at his desk, trying to translate the text they were supposed to translate and failing, he couldn’t help but notice Leta’s oddly chipper demeanour. That was the strangest aspect of it all, wasn’t it? At breakfast, she had been absent-minded and fidgety right up until Petronius Flint had shown up and given her a conspiratorial nod. After that, her mood had taken a 180° turn. She was sunny now, smiling to herself, translating away merrily. Usually, at this point during class, she would have complained at least twice about how boring and useless it all was. Today, though? None of that. It even looked as if she were having fun.
He put aside his quill and looked at her sideways. Despite how stuffy the air was in the classroom, he felt a little cold, a little uncomfortable in his own skin. His head was aching. She’d done something bad, hadn't she? She’d lied to him and taken some sort of revenge on the three Slytherins that had humiliated her at the Yule Ball. His thoughts were racing. What could she have done that would keep all three of them away from class?
Come to think about it, he hadn't seen seventh-year Ares Malfoy, the best student in all of Hogwarts, at the Slytherin table, either.
That was when it occurred to him, and his blood turned to ice: the bundimun. Two days ago, during their trek into the Forbidden Forest, she’d got angry when he’d asked her if she’d dropped one of the creatures. She’d been very interested on what they were and why people thought of them as pests. Had she…
…no. No. Oh, no. He needed to perish the thought. She wouldn’t do something mean-spirited like that. She wouldn’t lie to him and use him to find an opportunity to get back at the Slytherins. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
Well, even if she had, she’d probably only had a harmless prank in mind, something mildly unpleasant for the intended victims. There were two problems, though: first, there were people who were severely allergic to the little creatures; two, this would mean she’d used an innocent living thing as an instrument of revenge. That was…
…no! She hadn't. This was ridiculous.
There was, however, only one way to get rid of this unsettling suspicion. Bracing himself for a scolding, he leaned slightly in her direction, and whispered, “Leta, please tell me you didn’t pay off Petronius Flint to plant a bundimun in the Slytherin Common Room.”
She tensed up visibly and stopped writing. Not taking her eyes off the page, she whispered back, “If I had done such a thing, I’d pay Flint to place it in the dormitory – much more effective.”
Suddenly, he felt tired – tired enough to want to just lie down and sleep for a week. He scratched his forehead. “This was a terrible idea. You should’ve told me. If you get caught, they’ll-“
“Newt, relax. I won’t get caught. Let me work in peace, before the professor takes away House Points from Hufflepuff.”
He pressed his lips together and did his best to keep his cool. “This won’t go away. You-”
A booming announcement interrupted him: “All fifth-year students are to gather in the Great Hall immediately. Cease your current activities at once. I repeat: all fifth-year students are to gather in the Great Hall immediately.”
This was bad. Something serious had happened. The ten or so people in the classroom gathered their things and rose to their feet, questioning looks on their faces. Newt stared at Leta, who ignored him completely and marched out of the room, her own face faintly flushed.
5 The tables had been pushed to the sides, so that the students had room to stand right in front of the podium at the far end of the Great Hall. From above shone an almost white light: the ceiling was mimicking the pale winter sunshine. Most of the teachers were there, grave looks on the faces. Behind the podium stand stood Headmaster Black, his sharp-angled yet jowly face pale and solemn. He scanned the faces of the students before him intently, squinting, as if he were trying to read their minds. To Newt’s knowledge, though, he wasn’t a Legilimens.
Half an eternity ticked by as the students just stood there, confused and uneasy, and the teachers either glowered at them or looked highly concerned. Leta was standing to Newt’s right. One glance at her revealed to him that she was trying hard not to let her anxiety show. Her jaw was set, she was staring blankly ahead, her hands balled into fists.
At length, Phineas Nigellus Black cleared his throat, grasped the edges of the podium stand with his gnarly hands, and said, “Students, something very serious has happened – very serious. One of your classmates, Alastair Fawley, almost died this morning.” He paused to wait for the inevitable murmurs to die down.
Newt looked around. Neither Celestia Prewett, nor Apollo Malfoy were there.
The Headmaster continued: “He fell victim to a severe allergic reaction caused by a type of vermin called bundimun. This was not an accident. The creature was placed near Mister Fawley’s bed on purpose.” Again, he waited until the murmurs died down. “One of you is responsible this; we know that much. If you step forward now and confess your guilt, this will work in your favour.”
Naturally, no-one volunteered information. Leta just stood there, paralysed, whilst Newt felt as if caught in a nightmare.
To Black’s right, Transfigurations Professor Albus Dumbledore said, “Headmaster, if I may?”
Black only nodded.
Dumbledore let his gaze wander over the group of rattled fifth-years. “None of us believe that there was any malice involved in the act. However, some pranks have a way of getting out of hand. If whoever is responsible could-”
“One of my students almost died, Dumbledore!” Black cut in sharply. He turned to the fifth-years again. “Whoever did this will be found, and I promise you that punishment will be severe unless you confess to your crime at this very moment.”
Newt almost gave into the temptation of nudging Leta. What was she thinking? They’d find out for sure! This had been an accident. She hadn't intended to actually risk Alastair Fawley’s life! Two days ago, she hadn't even known that the creatures existed. But if she didn’t talk, the Headmaster would without a doubt expel her. It wasn’t as if Petronius Flint could be counted on keeping silent – that was, if he hadn't already talked. He’d most definitely save his own neck, and Newt wouldn’t even be able to blame him.
Headmaster Black’s expression darkened even further. “Very well. If you won’t come forward, we will find out the truth by ourselves. You are dismissed.”
Slowly, the group of students disbanded. Newt turned to Leta to say something, but she marched off so quickly, it was only just short of a run.
6 Celestia sat by Alastair’s bed in the Hospital Wing, holding his hand, feeling strangely removed from herself. His heart had given out at some point. Apollo had pulled her away from the bed as Alastair had been revived. She’d wept. It had been the most peculiar sensation: she’d known exactly what had been happening, what she’d been doing, but none of it had registered with her – not really.
Now, she was sitting there in silence, holding his hand in her left, caressing it with her right. Her eyes and throat were sore and she felt a bit queasy, but otherwise fine. Alastair’s fever had gone down; the pustules on his face had all but disappeared, but he was still unconscious, still having trouble breathing. He’d almost died. It was difficult for her to wrap her mind around this: Alastair had almost died. He’d been an inch away from death. She’d almost lost him forever. If she and Apollo had decided to investigate any later, he might not have pulled through.
He almost didn’t. His heart had stopped. He’d ceased breathing. Alastair. Her Alastair. By the skin of his teeth, he had survived; he almost hadn't. He almost hadn't.
She couldn’t even begin contemplate the possibility of losing him. A life without Alastair? Inconceivable. What would she do? How could she ever hope to cope with such a loss? It was better not to think about it. Tenderly, she wiped a strand of his nearly black hair from his pale forehead and traced the sharp, aquiline line of his nose with her fingertips.
He moved a little, breathed deeper.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” she said lowly, bent down, and placed a kiss on his prominent cheekbone. “You’re going to be all right. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” She heard firm steps approaching.
“His condition is improving, the nurse tells me.” It was Apollo.
Celestia didn’t look up. “It is, thank God.” Her voice was raspy, her throat and eyes sore.
“The Headmaster spoke to his parents. They’re on their way here.”
“Good.” Sluggishly, she half-turned in order to be able to look up at Apollo. “Thank you for being here for me. I know we have our differences, but don’t think that I don’t appreciate your friendship.”
Apollo smiled a little. “Don’t even mention it. Of course I’m here for you. Of course I’m your friend. We’re all Slytherins. We stick together.” He turned serious. “Ronny won’t say who asked him to place the bundimun under Alastair’s mattress, yet, but you and I both know who must be responsible.”
Pain was radiating from her back up to her head. With her free hand, she massaged her neck. “Ronny doesn’t want to be a snitch. It’s bad manners. I don’t blame him.”
“He talked to Ares after you called the nurse. They went to see the Headmaster together. Poor Ronny was completely beside himself. He insisted on coming here immediately, but we thought it was better if everyone calmed down, first. It seems as if he was lied to and told that this was to be a harmless little joke.”
“By whom?”
Arching an eyebrow, he said, “Do you really need to ask?”
She turned to look down at Alastair again, who was sleeping, now – sleeping uneasily after nearly dying. Her throat turned dry. Her face felt hot. Her hands were trembling. She felt like breaking something. “Leta Lestrange.”
“With Scamander’s help, no doubt.”
“No. If he helped her, he did so unwittingly. He’s not the type for this kind of thing.”
“If you say so. In any case, the truth will out, and the culprits will be punished. Professor Black asked us to persuade Ronny to tell the truth and not cling to his ill-conceived notion of chivalry. I’m sure he’ll understand that it’s for the best. Everything will be well.”
“Alley will be fine. That’s what matters most to me.” She felt his hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll come back once I know more.”
“Thank you, Apollo – really,” she said, closing her sore eyes for a moment. “I’ll just sit here until he wakes up.”
7 Newt found Leta outside, by the lake, just standing in stony silence by the shore, staring out at the dark-blue water. Her usually light-brown complexion was uncharacteristically ashen. She was having some trouble keeping her breathing calm.
“Leta.”
She didn’t even glance at him. “I’ve got nothing to say.”
He recoiled as if slapped. “To me or to the Headmaster? Because you and I both know that you’re responsible for what happened to Alastair Fawley.”
“It was Petronius Flint who actually did it,” she replied, obstinate.
The strongest urge to just spin around on his heels and march away from her overcame him. Thankfully, he was stronger than his impulses. He briefly covered his face with his hands. Then, the moment had passed. He let his arms drop loosely to his sides. “Don’t be a child, please. Flint will tell on you to avoid expulsion. If you don’t go back inside this very moment to tell the Headma-”
“You’ve got to help me, Newt.” She turned around to him, and he saw that her eyes were brimming with tears. “Please. I…I made a spur-of-the-moment decision when we were in the Forbidden Forest! I didn’t know Fawley would react the way he did! I…” She trailed off, mopped at her eyes, then gave him the most miserable look he’d ever seen her sport. “This can’t be happening. They’ll kick me out of Hogwarts! My parents will kill me! What am I gonna do?”
“Calm down,” he said, and gently placed his hands on her slim shoulders. “It was an accident. No-one is getting kicked out. We’ll go back in, explain what happened, and then-”
“No! I can’t do that! I almost killed Alastair Fawley, Newt! Everyone’s gonna hate me!” She really was as close to a panic attack as he’d ever seen her.
“Leta,” he said, locking eyes with her, “you need to calm down and think about this. The teachers will find out the truth. The Headmaster is a Black. He was a Slytherin and is exceedingly partial to that House. He is also relatively closely related to Celestia Prewett, Alastair Fawley’s sweetheart. Needless to say, he will not be inclined to show you any mercy if you don’t confess before you get caught.”
She stared up at him as if he’d lost his mind. “You don’t understand. I cannot be caught doing anything untoward – I just can’t. I went into the Forbidden Forest. I poisoned Fawley. I looked a complete fool at the Yule Ball. They hate me, Newt – all of them. You don’t know.” She shook her head. Her face was a mask of pure wretchedness. “You don’t know. You cannot know what it’s like! I’ll be an even worse pariah than I’m now! This could ruin me.”
As this was his go-to response to awkward situations, he smiled a little. “Aren’t you being a tad dramatic?”
“No. Believe me, I wish I were, but I’m not. If they catch me, those people will ruin me: the Fawleys, the Blacks, the Malfoys – all those Pureblood morons. They’re all related to each other and they all stick together. Why do you think they’ve been treating me like vermin all along? What do you think is gonna happen once this comes out? I can’t. I just can’t.” Her eyes filled with tears again. In a small, trembling voice, she added, “What do I do?”
It hurt him to see her like this. What he wanted the most was to just turn back time and insist that they find the missing bundimun, insist that she drop her ill-conceived revenge plans. That wasn’t possible, though. Unless he broke into the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic, he couldn’t exactly get his hands on a time turner. “Whatever happens, I’ll be there for you.” Again, he made himself smile, even though he realised how awkward it must look. “You won’t have to go through this alone. I’m by your side – always.”
Through her tears, she smiled back at him. It was a small, timid thing, but all the more beautiful to him. “Thank you, Newt.” She hugged him closely around his skinny waist and rested her head on his shoulder. “You don’t know what that means to me.”
He hugged her back. His heart was heavy. This wasn’t going to go away. He still believed that it would be best if she just confessed her sins and apologised to Fawley, but she was right about one thing: he really didn’t know what it was like to live in the midst of the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight Families. Maybe her fears were justified; Newt would never contribute to her misery willingly. But what to do? This was such a mess – such a terrible, complicated mess.
It wasn’t going to go away. That was the only thing he was absolutely sure of.