Nemesis
1914
1 In the early afternoon, Alastair finally woke up. It was a slow, sluggish process. He started squirming, his breathing quickened, and his pale cheeks flushed with the subtlest hint of colour. His eyelids started fluttering. He coughed dryly.
Quickly, Celestia got up from her chair and poured him a glass of water.
He opened his eyes, blinked, found Celestia, and smiled. Typical. Only hours after almost dying, still bed-ridden and weak, the first thing he thought of doing was giving her a smile. “Hello, beautiful.”
She couldn’t help but return the expression. The cold that had spread throughout her body started to fade. As she’d done a dozen times over the last few hours, she reached out to brush a strand of his hair from his forehead. “Welcome back, darling.”
Again, he coughed a bit. “Ow.” Laboriously, he sat up, as she propped up the pillow behind his back. When she handed him the glass of water, he smiled again. “Thank you.”
“Just sip it. You’re rather dehydrated and don’t want to make yourself sick again.”
“Good that I have you to tell me what I want. Can you even imagine what my life was like before we met? What hellish suffering I went through on a daily basis? The sheer tragedy of it threatens to rob me of my senses even to this very day.” His voice was raspy and kept breaking, but higher powers were needed to stop Alastair Fawley from making stupid jokes in the most cringe-worthy, flowery prose possible. It wasn’t exactly easy to ruin his good humour, either.
“If I were to imagine, I might end up fainting out of pure and utter shock,” she said.
He blinked at her. “You’re playing along? My, oh my. My brush with the Grim Reaper must’ve been more dire than I first believed.”
“First believed during the thirty seconds you’ve been awake.”
“Exactly!” A small silence ensued, during which he sipped the tiniest amount of water, not taking his eyes off her. A few minutes later, he shakily placed the glass back on the nightstand. “Miss Prewett, you look like you could use a very long holiday. Would you mind telling me what exactly happened?” He pressed his lips together and cleared his throat. Judging by his expression, this caused him a considerable amount of discomfort. “Because it seems to me like I really did almost die.”
She looked down at her hands in her lap before facing him again. “You did. But we found you in time. You’ll be fine.”
A small silence ensued.
He reached out to place his right hand atop both of hers. “Now is the part where you tell me if this was a horrible, bordering on ridiculous accident or if someone paid Ronny to kill me. Because there’s no way in hell this was his idea.”
After taking a deep, soothing breath, she said, “Both. But before you get mad at Ronny: he had no idea that you’d get sick. It was a one-in-a-thousand chance that that disgusting pest would cause such a violent allergic reaction.”
A small frown creased his forehead. “Pest? Was a pest causing that weird smell in the dormitory?”
“Something called a bundimun.” When she saw the look of pure confusion on his face, she shrugged. “I didn’t know what it was before today, either. It’s a weird little animal that lives inside the Forbidden Forest.”
His eyes grew wide. “Scamander, then? No, no, don’t tell me. Leta Lestrange. Scamander doesn’t care about me, but little Leta? She hates me. She probably tricked him into giving her access to something disgusting like that.”
“Can you blame her? What you and the Malfoys did to her at the Yule Ball was a really low blow.”
“Your sense of justice is to be applauded. That fiendish shrew almost murders me-”
“Accidentally, and she hasn’t admitted to anything yet.”
“- and you defend her.”
She gave him an unhappy look. “Please don’t be angry with me. I just don’t want you to jump to the wrong conclusions and get all worked up. You need to stay calm and recover from your ordeal.” In a small voice, she added, “The last thing I want is for you to get sick again.”
The frown melted off his face. He gently caressed the side of her face. “I’m not angry with you. I’m never angry with you. I don’t even think I can.”
Again, she smiled. “Thank you.”
“I’m happy to oblige. After all, how else could I lord my moral superiority over all of my peers?”
“Good question.”
He leaned his head back and closed his bloodshot eyes. “So the esteemed Miss Lestrange actually exacted revenge for our juvenile expression of light-hearted Yule fun? Impressive. I seriously did not think she had it in her to accomplish such a feat.”
“I didn’t, either. To be fair, I don’t think she had anything quite this destructive in mind. I’ve been told that almost no-one is this allergic to these bundimun.”
“I’m just that special.” He looked at her again, but kept leaned back. “What do we reckon, Miss Prewett?”
“Apollo says he’ll be able to convince Ronny to snitch on Leta.”
A minute or so went by as he mulled it all over. Then, he said, “No.”
“No? What do you mean, no?”
Alastair had, for all his verbosity, always had a rather exasperating habit of making leaps in logic in his mind and assuming that everybody else could follow him. “Leave Ronny alone. Tell him I bear him no ill will.”
Confused, she squinted at him. “But Leta has to be punished for what she did, and if Ronny isn't convinced to tell Headmaster Black that he should tell on her…” She trailed off and threw up her hands, exasperated.
“I have a theory, you see,” he said, again smiling a little. “Maybe we misjudged her. Maybe she’s slier than she seems.”
She felt a little like grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Well,” he said, scratching the bridge of his nose, where his skin was still a little reddened from the allergic reaction, “I’ll explain it to you, sweet Celestia. I’m going to make her an offer that’ll test her character. Based on her reaction, I will be either able to welcome her into the illustrious circle of the well-to-do and glamorous, or declare war on her – the whole Pureblood community backing me.”
A little uneasy, she scrutinised him and came to a single conclusion. “You are angry.”
“Of course I’m angry, but fear not! My sense of justice may not be as finely honed as yours, but I am, in my entirely warranted rage, not without reason.” He pressed his fist to his lips and coughed dryly, before sucking in a shaky breath. “If you’d get her to come here and talk to me – not apologise, mind; just talk – then I’ll make her a proposition that’ll get her out of this pickle she manoeuvred herself into.”
This wasn’t good. She said, “Alley, if you’re planning something shady, please remember that pranking Leta almost resulted in your death.”
“Nothing shady, love. No. I just want to talk to her. I do believe she owes me that much. If she comes in her to listen to what I have to say, I’ll help her come out of this mess unharmed.”
“As long as she chooses to cooperate.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. His eyes were feverish, making them look like they were shining. “As long as she chooses to cooperate.” A few seconds later, he took her hand again. “Don’t worry. Nobody will be harmed. I promise you that. I just want to get this feud resolved before it can become an outright war.”
Somehow, that was hard to believe. As far as she could tell, he was hiding something, or twisting it in order to later be able to claim plausible deniability or something of that ilk. Frowning, she said, “Please just promise me you’ll not make it worse.”
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Never.”
“What? You’ll never make it worse or you’ll never promise?”
“I’ll leave that open to interpretation.”
2 Leta and Newt were in the library, pretending to be doing their homework for Monday. In reality, neither of them managed to focus on their studies at all and just kept staring at the same pages in their textbooks for who knew how long. Small wonder, really: with Petronius Flint’s upcoming probable confession looming on the horizon, there was no relaxing, no getting distracted.
Finally, Newt could take it no longer. He sat up straight and looked at her, across the desk, not even trying to hide the fact that he was feeling completely miserable about the whole situation. “Leta, this is getting ridiculous.” He kept his voice low, which was to be expected inside the library, anyway. “You need to tell Professor Black the truth before Flint does.”
“I’m still thinking about what to do next,” she whispered back, not raising her face. “Stop pressuring me, Newt. I need to do what’s best for me. That’s what matters the most, and don’t even try to convince me otherwise. It won’t work.”
He couldn’t precisely say why, but for some reason, those words struck a chord. Recoiling a little, he replied, “That’s what I’m trying to do here, too: find the best solution – a peaceful, honest one.”
Still not facing him, she said, “Implying that I’m not honest? Lovely.”
That was too much. He felt his face get hot. “I don’t have to imply anything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he said, shut his book, gathered his things, and got up to his feet so hastily, he nearly tripped all over himself, “exactly what you think. You lied to me. You used me. You got an innocent creature killed. The groundskeeper will most likely find the others in the Forbidden Forest now and kill them, too. If that weren't bad enough, you told me you were letting go of the whole Yule episode. You lied to my face just so I’d unwittingly help you get your petty revenge. How could you do that?”
Finally, she raised her head. “Keep your voice down!”
Some other students were glancing in their direction.
He brushed some of his unruly, ruddy hair from his forehead, clasped his things tightly to his chest, and gave her a miserable look. “If you could, for one second, just step away from yourself, then…”
“Then what?”
That little outburst was all he had in himself right now. Deflated, he said, “Never mind,” turned around, and walked out, with no idea where he was heading. All he knew was that for the first time in years, he needed to get away from her.
3 Celestia saw Scamander and Leta arguing, right before he grabbed his things and hastily made his escape. Well, that was new. With a faintly sour taste in her mouth and an aching head, she made her body move toward the desk where Leta was sitting – no, where Leta was pretending to study. Ignoring her own apprehension, Celestia said, “Leta? Can I talk to you for a moment?”
Slowly, Leta raised her head. The expression on her face was wary, maybe even hostile. She tensed up. “What about?”
“Nothing bad.” Now, why did that feel like a lie? “Really. Just…come out and let me talk to you for a minute. Please?”
Half an eternity ticked by, until Leta nodded curtly, said, “Fine,” and stiffly rose to her feet. She gathered her things and followed Celestia outside, into the arched hallway.
They faced each other: Celestia fidgety, Leta still as stone and with her arms crossed and jaw set, her book bag slung over her shoulder.
“First things first,” Celestia said, wanting nothing more than to get this over with quickly. She couldn’t help but wonder what Alastair had in mind. He was shrewd and surely not willing to simply let his near-death go – regardless of how accidental it had been. “Alastair knows it was you; we all do.”
“I didn’t-”
“He won’t tell anyone. None of us will tell. You’ll be fine. More than that, the feud you’ve got going with the Slytherin boys? It’ll be over and done with.”
Leta eyed her with unmasked suspicion. “What’s the catch, Prewett?”
Celestia shrugged. She only just refrained from fidgeting again. “You have to go talk to Alastair – not grovel or anything. Just listen quietly to what he has to say. Can you do that?” All of this made her feel as if she were doing something highly illegal. It was a silly notion, of course, but she couldn’t help but feel a tad infected by participating. It didn’t take a genius to come to the conclusion that this ugly incident wasn’t simply going to evaporate.
At first, it didn’t seem as if Leta would budge. After a very uncomfortable, very heavy silence had ensued, she finally said, “All right. But I’m not admitting to anything.”
“I’m not surprised.” Celestia couldn’t and wouldn’t help herself. This girl had almost killed the boy she loved – accidentally, but still. Leta was in no position to be snooty. Briskly, Celestia spun around and marched off toward the Hospital Wing.
4 She led Leta to Alastair without saying a single word. Why should she bother with pleasantries? Leta didn’t, nor did she seem to give a damn about social protocols and etiquette. Well, this was fine by Celestia. She didn’t think that they’d ever be close friends, anyway. It did give her some cause to wonder how Leta could be friends with a thoroughly nice guy like Newt Scamander. Maybe Leta was only nasty toward the Slytherins. Maybe the Slytherins had started it. At this point, it was really impossible to keep track of who had mistreated whom at what point anymore.
Alastair was looking even better than he had when she’d left only a moment ago, but he was still pale, his skin waxy and visibly irritated. When he saw the new arrivals, he gave them his glibbest politician’s smile. “Ah, there she is, the wayward daughter of a great family! How are you feeling, Miss Lestrange? Less homicidal than yesterday, I hope.” His voice was still raspy, but firmer. That was a good sign.
Leta stopped a few feet away from the bed and crossed her arms again. She jutted her chin out and glared at Alastair. “What do you want?”
“You could at least show some sympathy,” Celestia said, her voice a little shaky. “Or if you’re incapable of caring about someone you almost got killed, how about gratitude that he didn’t actually die? Because that would’ve been on your hands, you know.”
Alastair raised a hand. “It’s okay, Tia. I don’t mind.” He smiled at the clearly cagey Leta again. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t see this imaginative act of revenge coming at all. I feel I must congratulate you on your creativity. That was quite something.”
“I’m not admitting to anything, Fawley. If you’re trying to trick me-”
“No trick,” he cut in, the picture of calmness. “Don’t admit it. It’s better this way.”
Leta watched him with unmitigated suspicion. “What do you want?” She enunciated every word slowly, carefully, as if speaking to a person who had trouble hearing, or maybe a child.
“Two things: first, I want to express my satisfaction at discovering that you’re not a tepid little doormat who thinks she’s better than I am for no good reason at all.”
“I think I’m better than you?” Leta stared at him, wide-eyed. “You’ve got your facts all topsy-turvy, it seems.”
“Well, you are a bit of a snob,” Celestia murmured, again unwilling to keep her annoyance to herself, even though she realised that she wasn’t being fair.
“Go jump into a pit, Celestia.”
Again, Alastair raised a hand. “Please, ladies, let’s be civil with each other.”
Leta snorted derisively. “It’s a little bit late for that, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t. You see, when we pulled that little trick on you, we wanted to get you off your high horse. Yesterday, you knocked me off mine. I’d say that makes us even.”
Celestia opened her mouth to say that it was not even close, but obviously anticipating this, he cast her a rather significant glance and very subtly shook his head. She pressed her lips together and swallowed the reply down. It tasted bitter.
“You said you wanted two things,” Leta said, a little less belligerent.
“Indeed, I did. You see, I recognise some potential in you, and I now realise that my mates and I have not been entirely fair in our treatment of you.”
“You think? How magnanimous.”
He smirked. It looked a lot more honest than that glib public expression he was so fond of. “I want you to know that all hostilities will cease from our side…under two conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“First, that you stop being so horrid toward any of us: me, Celestia, the Malfoy brothers – all the Slytherins, basically. You’re one of us, Hogwarts House notwithstanding, and I want you to acknowledge that. If you’re willing to be our friend, we’ll be yours.” He waited, but so did Leta. “Second, we can get you cleared from almost killing me. You don’t have to admit to anything, of course, but if Ronny Flint talks, you’ll be expelled. But you can keep that from happening.”
Leta’s frown deepened. Quieter than before, she said, “How?”
“Keep silent. We’ll all keep silent.”
When Leta raised a hand to scratch her forehead, Celestia saw that she was trembling. “It’s not that easy, Fawley. Someone will have to take the fall. The Headmaster won’t accept anything less. Your parents won’t, either. So what if I don’t say anything? They’ll find out the truth, anyway.”
“Without proof, it won’t matter. Ronny will get a month’s worth of detention, which I know he’ll accept gladly as penance. I’m alive. No bigger harm’s been done. If we all keep quiet, nothing bad will happen.”
“Why are you being so nice? If this is some sort of trick, I swear to God that I’ll-”
“It’s no trick, Leta. I messed with you; you messed with me. We’re even. The question now is whether we can leave our animosity behind and do the smart thing: team up. If your answer is yes, then great; you’re saved. So what do you say? Do we have a deal?” He held out his hand.
It clearly cost her a lot of effort, but at length, Leta stepped closer to him, took the offered hand, and shook it once. “Deal.”
This was a good thing, wasn’t it? At least it was supposed to be. Still, Celestia couldn’t quite rid herself of the suspicion that something awful was going to happen. She briefly deliberated objecting, demanding that he tell her everything that he was thinking, but she decided against it. It made her feel a little cowardly, sure, but it was almost possible for her to convince herself that this was all for the best. The silly feud between Alastair, his friends, and Leta was at an end. No-one would get expelled. Everything would be fine. Despite what logic dictated, this sorry affair would, it seemed, pass without causing anyone lasting misery. They’d leave it behind themselves and forget that Alastair had almost been killed. No-one would be the wiser. They’d keep the secret. It was better this way. It was what was best for everyone.
Everything would be fine.
Celestia tried unsuccessfully to swallow down the knot that had formed in her throat.
5 Leta found Newt outside, of course, in the cold, by the lake. When he heard her calling his name, he briefly considered ignoring her, but of course, his good manners got the better of him. He stopped, turned, and squinted against the cold, pale sunlight as he watched her jog up to him. There was something different about her. She seemed…light-stepped. Unburdened. Relieved. Had she, in the end, decided to heed his advice and come clean to the Headmaster? That would be such great news. Only complete candour could save her Hogwarts career at this point.
The truth always outed, after all – especially when the damaged party was the offspring of one of the most influential wizarding families in Britain.
“Newt.” She skidded to a halt right in front of him, her face flushed from the exertion and the cold. The happy expression turned pained. “Are you still mad at me? You had every right to be angry, of course. I wanted to apologise.”
Tension melted from his shoulders. “I’m not mad.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t a lie, either – not really. The truth lay somewhere in between. “It’s quite all right.”
She beamed at him. It was a carefree, lovely, welcome sight. “That’s good to hear. Listen, you don’t have to worry about the Fawley incident anymore. It’s been resolved.”
“So you’ve come clean?”
She made a face. “Are you insane? Of course not. They’d kick me out for sure. Neither the Headmaster, nor the Fawleys would accept anything less.”
He blinked at her in confusion. “Then how can it possibly be resolved?”
Waving off dismissively, she said, “don’t worry about that. It’s all right. I’ve taken care of it. You don’t have to know the details. Just…don’t talk to anyone about what you know, all right? Keep it to yourself, and everything will be fine.”
“If you say so.” He couldn’t muster the enthusiasm necessary to feign conviction.
“Trust me,” she said, and took his hands into hers. “Everything will be just fine.”
Loud and angry voices coming from the direction of the castle distracted them. They let go of each other and turned toward the source. Headmaster Black was there, as well as Professors Dumbledore and Prewett, talking to a man and a woman who were obviously very agitated.
Newt’s heart sank. “Could those be Alastair Fawley’s parents?”
Leta looked toward the castle, squinting, then nodded. “Yes, that’s them. Boy, do they look angry.”
“Of course they look angry. Their son almost died. Why do you look so unworried? Those are influential people. They’ll want justice for Alastair.”
“It’s all good, Newt. Calm down. Crikey.”
“I’ll try,” he said, unable to rid himself of a weird sensation of ominous foreboding.
It couldn’t be that easy. It just couldn’t. Something had to give, and it would not be pretty. Actions had consequences. They always did. This was not going to go away, no matter what Leta thought. He just hoped that he was wrong. The last thing he wanted was for Leta to get hurt – for Leta to be expelled for her ill-begotten, nearly fatal prank. In fact, he’d do almost anything to keep that from happening.
Justice or no justice, he was her friend, and loyalty towards one’s friends counted so much more than following the rules.