Chapter Text
Tina tosses back and forth in her sheets hopelessly. Tiredness has sunk into her bones, making everything ache. The only release is for her to shut her eyes. But every time she does, blue flames explode behind her eyeballs. Queenie grabs a monster’s hand, she loses Credence in the fray, and Leta explodes into dust.
Tina rips her eyelids open, a cold sweat dribbling over her skin, her pulse racing. Rubbing her palms over her clammy forehead, she sighs wetly. Tina had thought she’d cried out all her emotions last night, on the steps of the graveyard. But apparently not. Her gloom is not only a cloud hanging over her, but a waking nightmare, ready to jump out at her in the quiet moments.
Tears prick at her eyes. All Tina is certain of is; that she’s not giving up. She’s not going to stop fighting. Not for a single second. She’s fighting for Credence, for Queenie, for Leta, for everyone. Tina’s going to do everything in her power to stop Grindlewald. Nothing is more important.
Her fists fall with soft thuds on the musty sheets. Moonlight shines dimly through the open window, casting shadows over her blankets. If she tilts her to just the right angle, Tina can catch a glimpse of a magnificent castle. Hogwarts. She gives an incredulous silent giggle. The stories she picked up about it from her classmates were all; dirty stones, freezing corridors and bats that slept in the rafters. A disgusting, cold abode for children to learn in. It was Ilvermony or nothing; with its marble floors and wide green lawns. Tina was loyal to a fault, and the American school was definitely the best in the world.
But Hogwarts… There was something about it. Even just stepping onto its bridge this morning had caused a tingle to sizzle down her spine. It was an old magic, one of danger and adventure and Tina liked it. Liked it more than she’d ever admit.
She carefully swings her legs over the side of the bed- not wanting to wake the slumbering snake sleeping in the matching bed beside her- and pads over to the window. Clear, crisp Scotland air enters her lungs and Tina breathes it in deeply. Tina had never thought she’d leave America, leave New York. She thought she’d be content with the hustle and bustle of the down town streets, and soaring sky-scrapers. But being in Paris- walking down the elegant cobblestoned streets, all drenched in romantic candlelight. And now Scotland, wild moors to explore, cold wind to pinken her cheeks…Thunderbirds needed to stretch their wings, right? Perhaps even land somewhere. That is, if someone wanted her to.
Tina leans her elbows against the window frame, staring wistfully up at the stars. From what Dumbledore suggested this morning, it would seem as though she is going to be able to stretch her wings a new land sooner than she thought. A thread of excitement rushes through her. South America! Newt would love South America. There are probably hundreds of creatures, lying in wait under ferns, hidden in tree tops… A silly grin works its way onto her face.
Newt Scamander. Three nights ago, Tina was cursing herself for ever falling for him. Tonight he’d wished her goodnight with a sweet smile and a clumsy hand press. She can still feel his touch on her skin, like it’s a watermark on a table. It makes her giddy, being in his presence. ‘And,’ Tina feels her face heat up, ‘she thinks everyone else knows that as well,’ By Jacob’s smirk, Yusuf’s eyebrow raise. Even Dumbledore’s eyes had twinkled her way as their mismatched little group finally left his office this afternoon.
But she can’t help it. An alarm in her brain goes off when he enters the room, and Tina’s eyes unconditionally follow his every movement. It’s like Newt’s a candle, and she’s a moth, constantly drawn in to his heat. It’s a feeling she stubbornly tried to resist back in Paris. Her broken heart was too delicate for his shy looks and crooked smile. But now…now Tina is a salamander, and she’s captivated by Newt’s flame.
Tina breaths out silent laugh, running a weary hand over her face. Mercy Lewis she’s hopeless. Completely and utterly…What is that?
She dangles herself out on the window ledge, her feet hanging perilously off the ground. Music. Someone is playing music, downstairs, in the depth of the night. Tina cocks her head in confusion. If it was just the familiar sound of a record, she wouldn’t be surprised. Something old and crackly, perfect for the lovelorn to drown in their sorrows to. She’d seen the depths of the grief in both Jacob and Theseus’ eyes and knows that neither one is getting any sleep tonight. But it’s not a record. It’s not even a radio. Some is playing an actual piano downstairs. Tina can tell by the way the person occasionally fumbles, a wrong key or sharp mixing obtusely with an otherwise pleasant melody.
“What on earth?” Tina exclaims quietly, reaching for her wand and sneaking quietly out of her bedroom.
The One Broomstick (soon to be two, Mr Rosmerta had told them proudly while they were booking in), only had a few rooms upstairs. So there was only one staircase for Tina to steal down, her footsteps made silent by the roaring music. And even when the last step rudely creaks, the sonata doesn’t falter. In fact, it gets even more tremendous.
Tina creeps into the bar, the music casting a spell on her, drawing her in to thrall. She blinks blearily, as the piano comes into view, then a flickering candle. And then Newt, who is playing so furiously he doesn’t even look up from the keys. His eyes are closed, and he’s swaying softly, to and fro to the beat, completely transported by the music. Tina’s mouth runs dry as she watches him, completely enraptured, the notes coming as easy to him as taming the Zouwu was. Will this man ever stop surprising her? Ever stop being so extraordinary?
Beads of sweat form on his brow, as Newt moves faster and faster, fingers flying almost becoming a blur. It’s hard, passionate, classical music; full of drama and danger. She’s never been a fan of dark tunes; music, she believes, should always be a joy. Like the sound of her mother’s sweet voice. But Tina can appreciate it; the way it trembles like thunder, and grasps at her heart.
But the piece has to come to an end. It slows, the notes get lower and deeper, until Newt finally presses down on the final cord, with a practiced ease. Although Tina can’t help up notice the strained line in his back, and the way he winces when he cracks his fingers.
“That was beautiful,” she tells him softly, and Newt jumps, banging his knees on the piano’s belly.
“Tina,” he gasps in pain, as she draws closer, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,”
“Don’t worry, you didn’t,” Tina sighs tiredly. Newt nods, solemn knowledge written all over his face and she gives him a sad smile. They stare at each other for a moment, but then he pats the seat beside him and Tina sits down, running a shaky finger over the keys.
“I didn’t know you could play,” Tina says, pressing down on a key, listening to the bright sound bounce around the room.
“Yes, well, mother insisted,” Newt says wryly, absently playing a simple scale.
His fingers are so long that they easily spread across the keys. Watching the muscles in his hands stretch causes something hot to tug in her belly. Tina nibbles on her bottom lip. They’re covered in freckles, and are few fingers are scattered with bites and scars. But they’re gentle, kind hands. One that would hold her, have held her. Tina would dearly love to take one now, interlace their fingers their fingers, bath in the warmth of his touch. But she doesn’t. Instead she clasps them in her lap, tightly as if they’re going to escape and start making decisions of their own.
“There was plenty of time to practice at Hogwarts,” Newt says wistfully, and Tina smiles. She can tell, even in his disdain at being forced to do something, he clearly loved this instrument, “that was Leta’s favourite piece,” he gestures vaguely at the complicated sheets of music lying on the stand, becoming subdued.
Tina clenches her teeth together sympathetically. Of course. The mournful, erratic music must have called to Leta, a woman who held a secret far too long to be sane. A secret no child should have to carry, and a clear burden she held for the rest of her life. Tina can’t even imagine the pain she must have gone through. Especially as she knew, if she was put her place, she would’ve gripped onto Queenie's bundle so tight she would’ve left marks on her skin. But for Leta to watch her younger sibling die, leaving her to slowly drown in guilt, unable to speak a word to anyone…
The piece somehow encapsulated that. The steady beat, that never faltered, as if everything was perfectly fine. But underneath the apparent steadiness, the music was a tidal wave of emotion.
She looks over to Newt. He’s staring off into the distance to an empty booth, his eyes glazed over. Tina can easily imagine two children curled up there, giggling over glasses of bubbling butter-beer.
Leta Lestrange. The woman who was part of her nightmares for months. Who wore a sparkly ring, who had free reign to squeeze Newt’s arm, the woman who she thought Newt still carried in his heart. Tina wasn’t sure what she expected the her to be like. Not a bad person. Newt had loved her after all, Leta wouldn’t have been mean. But Tina did expect her to be completely different from her; a British Queenie almost, fashionable, bubbly, easy to flirt and smile. However what Tina found was a woman, unlike her yes, but also someone she connected with. Someone if given time, she could’ve become friends with. Would’ve liked to become friends with.
Tina presses her knee gently into Newts and her leans back, their Pyjama pants rubbing together.
“I liked her,” Tina says quietly, settling her fingers delicately on the keys, “I know I only knew her for a moment, but I liked her,”
Newt pauses his rubbing, for a moment. Then his knee slowly lifts as he slides his foot down her thigh, causing Tina’s heart to jump to her throat, as his nails graze her skin through the cotton.
“Thank you,” Newt says softly, “thank you for saying that,”
He shuffles in his seat, and she watches out of the corner of her eye as his gaze keeps flitting towards her. Newt finally turns to face her ever so slightly, a rosy red flush along his nose.
“Thank you for you,” Tina hears him breath, as his knee presses against hers again, and she takes a deep breath, trying to keep her nerves under check.
There’s a small circle of heat radiating from where they touch, and Tina leans into it sleepily, causing their shoulders to brush together. They touched a lot in Paris. All accidental (on her side anyway, Tina blushes in realization). And each time a current tumbled up her arm causing her to jump away from the almost elemental effect Newt seems to have on her. But now the bursts of electricity have turned into a deep burn from their constant contact. Newt sighs and Tina shifts closer pressing their thighs together. His hand slowly slithers up between them, and she watches, waiting with bated breath for what he’ll do next.
Newt makes a show of placing his hand next to hers, his fingers spreading out like a spider’s over the keys, and Tina determinedly resists the shy urge to pull her hand away. Every few seconds he creeps along the keys, giving her plenty of time to flit away. She stays still, or as still as she can, feeling as if a box of fireworks has just been set off inside her stomach.
Finally, Newt gingerly places his thumb over hers, and squeezes lightly. Tina lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She turns towards him. Newt’s nose is drooping towards her collar and his mouth is soft and open.
“Newt,” Tina mumbles, and he looks up. Newt’s eyes are wide and bright.
Tina had forgotten what he looked like, during their months apart, as what happens when you’re separated from someone from a long time. His body went first, then the exact constellations of his freckles. And slowly, but surely, Newt disappeared in her mind’s eye, leaving only his words from his letters for Tina to hang on to. (That is until she saw that photo of him in that magazine, and she all but tried to rip his image from her memory). But what Tina could never seem to shift, was the colour of Newt’s eyes. Green, blue, gold, all melted together in two beautiful pools. She’s never seen eyes as complicated as his before. They gave her an escape of wilderness in the jungle of concrete that is New York city’s streets. And not matter how much Tina tried, she couldn’t help yearning to see them again. Yearning to see him again.
Newt’s thumb is rubbing hers shakily. He’s taking deep, breathes, seemingly controlling himself. Tina’s heart jumps as he wets his lips.
“Tina,” Newt whispers, his voice merely more than a breath, as he leans in.
Her eyes close nervously as she readies herself, her backs as straight as a board. Tina’s determined to make no sudden movements; both to prevent possibly spooking him and prevent herself from chickening out. Tina’s lips tremble in anticipation.
This is something she’s wanted, daydreamed about for so long. It’s almost like she’s watching herself on a moving-picture screen, on the edge of her seat, knowing what’s coming, but exhilarated all the same. Newt’s nose brushes hers.
Clang!
They jump apart, blushing profusely. One of them had accidentally pressed down on a flat, causing a rude note to ruin their moment.
Newt’s stuttering inaudible apologies. Tina reels on the edge of her piano stool, the warmth of his lips ghosting hers lightly. Mercy Lewis.
“I’m so sorry Tina,” Newt finally blathers out audible words. She can practically see his heart jumping out of his chest, “You’re tired, I’m tired,”
Tina leans her head up against the piano’s music stand, just (only just) preventing herself from hitting her head against the hard wood. She shuts her eyes, wincing in regret. They were so close. They are they only ever close? Why can’t they just be together?
“Caught up in the moment…” Newt trails off despondently. Tina feels his weight shift next to he, like he’s readying himself to flee.
“We’re not very good at this,” she blurts out, and he halts, “are we?”
Newt huffs out a laugh. It has no humour in it.
“No, I don’t think we are,” he admits drily.
Tina opens her eyes. Newt’s running a cautious finger over the piano keys. Each tiny dip between the ivory, makes a little clicking sound as his nail passes of it. She imagines each ‘click’ as if it’s a step she has to take; to a door she has to open. Gathering her courage to her chest, Tina takes a deep breath.
“You can kiss me, if you want,” Tina says tremendously. Newt’s finger pauses mid click, his mouth falling open in a soft ‘o’. She can’t tell what he’s feeling besides shock, and shifts nervily in her seat.
“I mean I wanted you too,” Tina shrugs hopelessly, looking down at her lap timidly, “I’ll always want you to,” she admits softly, already half hoping he didn’t hear her, an embarrassed blush filling her cheeks.
She sits quietly, studying her legs. The pants are too short at the ankle. Tina borrowed them off one of Dumbledore’s teacher friends, as she left her few possessions at a random boarding house in Paris. Professor McGonagall, she thinks.
Someone takes her hand. Tina looks up. Newt is cradling her palm like it’s a baby bird. Her heart stutters, as he runs soft circles around her skin with a gentle finger. A shiver runs through her and he hums, fanning out her fingers studiously.
“You’ve got long fingers,” Newt says solemnly, as though she’s a new organism he’s just discovered, “but small feet,”
‘How does he know I have small feet?’ Tina crosses her ankles self-consciously. Newt flicks his eyes up, and his expression shifts from serious to loving, his eyelids softening.
Slowly he leans down and presses a kiss to her skin. Tina shudders, her blood dancing where his lips are touch her. A lightness fills her chest, and swims into her brain, a love found fog making her almost dizzy. A volcano could’ve erupted outside and she doesn’t think she would’ve noticed. All that matters, is the back of Newt’s head bending over her hand, and the soft indentation of his lips that are being burnt into her skin.
Eventually, unfortunately, he pulls away. Tina watches adoringly as Newt rubs his lips together, as if trying to determine what she tastes like. The sentence, ‘I hope I taste good,’ almost falls off her tongue, but luckily for her pride, gets caught in her throat as a gasp.
“Noted,” Newt says smiling, giving her hand a final squeeze before letting go.
“What?” Tina asks stupidly, still slightly light headed.
“I can kiss you whenever I want,” he replies cheekily, bumping his hip into hers lovingly. Tina smiles, nodding bashfully and lightly tracing the tingling spot on her palm.
“There was actually an important reason I came down here to practice,” Newt says abruptly, he carefully gathers up the music sheets, and tucks them under the piano stool safety, before dragging out some others.
“Yes?” Tina says absently, her nail still raking down her skin.
“Well, you know how we were talking about music in our letters,” she nods, remembering his passionate lines about Mozart and Chopin and wondering again, why he never told her about his musical skill.
“And you said you liked jazz?” Newt sounds rather hesitant now, carefully spreading out the new piece in front of him with shaky hands.
All the dots and squiggles are incomprehensible to Tina, but the English title is simple to read. It’s one of her favourite songs: one that makes her tap her foot and swing her hips every time she hears it. ‘Let’s Misbehave’. She blinks, her heart happily filling incredulously.
“Newt,” she moans, leaning her head on his shoulder, “you didn’t have to do that,”
Tina feels him shake his head, and place a feather light kiss to her head. Newt’s nimble fingers spread lovingly out on the piano keys, smoothly playing a bright prelude. She lifts herself off him, to give him full access to his right arm and settles back in her seat letting the sweet music wash over her. Slowly his bouncing flourishes turn into a melody she recognises. Unable to stop herself, Tina begins to softly sing.
“We’re all alone, no chaperone, to get our number. The world’s in slumber, let’s misbehave,” she breathes, only a smidge out of tune. Tina blushes, as a blissful grin spreads across Newt’s face.
“There something wild about you child, that’s so contagious. Let’s be outrageous, let’s misbehave,” his voice is deeper than Tina would’ve thought, and much more controlled and powerful than her own. She bites her lip, shuffling closer to him.
“You know my heart is true, and you say you, for me care… somebody’s sure to tell, but what the heck do we care?” They sing in unison, Tina’s voice slowly melting into the correct melody, thanks to her partner’s dulcet tones.
Her eyes don’t leave his, and every now and then Newt’s flick over to hers. Swift, loving bursts of green that seem to smile at her, before turning back to the unfortunately necessary job of reading the music.
“They say that bears have love affairs, and even camels, we’re merely mammals, let’s misbehave,” A giggle almost bursts through her lips, and Tina ponders the thought that he probably picked this song to learn because of its animalistic undertones.
She hopes desperately he has a piano hidden somewhere in his case, so all his creatures can listen to him play. Or perhaps there’s one in his basement, that she’s been enthusiastically written to about.
“We’re merely mammals” Newt sings heartily, turning towards her and smiling widely. And Tina unable to stop herself, cups his cheek, letting his light stubble graze his hand. His fingers don’t still on the piano, but his strong voice fades into a stutter.
“Let’s misbehave,” Tina whispers, feeling his cheeks wobbly as he swallows.
The echo of their song lingers in the air, as they lean in and kiss sweetly. Newt’s hand pulls at shirt, tugging her closer and Tina blissfully complies. It’s warm, and right and perfect, and she can’t help but grin as they break apart, her happiness pooling out of her like a waterfall.
“Newt,” Tina mumbles into his neck, as he wraps his arms around her in a hug.
“Tina,” Newt breathes, the sides of his lips brushing her cheek, and she snuggles into him, feeling for the first time in ages, that she could peacefully fall asleep.