The Witch That Time Forgave | Newtmione (2)

Chapter 9 | The Jarvey Incident and a Family Matter

¡THIS IS NOT MY STORY! The story was make by nyxblack on fanfiction.net.

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"...Newt."

Someone's calling his name. It sounds distant and as if, it isn't truly his own thought. The surrounding darkness muffles the noise of the world around. His mind feels sluggish as if it's being dragged through a puddle of tar.

"Newt." There it is again. A feminine and achingly familiar voice that latches onto him like a lifeline, attempting to lead him out and into the light. That familiar voice, sounding so close, yet so very far away.

"Newt!" His eyes shoot open. Startled, a curse falls from his lips as a sharp slap violently tears him away from his momentary reverie. He pins the woman in question with a stupefied look, his mouth dropping open, the stinging in his cheek — a painful reminder of his less than stellar wake-up call.

Hermione has the decency to look, at least, somewhat apologetic. A rosy blush covering her freckled cheeks as she kneels beside him with her dark brown eyes flickering, rapidly over his person.

Newt responds in kind; blue eyes darting over her frame, taking stock of her appearance as he searches for any sign of injury.

It was a hallucination then. He breathes out a relieved sigh, taking note of the lack of raw magical energy dancing and weaving across her tanned skin.

Not even a hair out of place.

A small smile stretches across his lips. A sudden rush of relief racing across his senses before slamming into a wall of confusion. He quirks a brow, the corners of his lips quirk down as he examines her fabric clad knees.

"Hermione—" He begins hesitantly with a questioning lilt to his voice. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but were we not in the drawing room of Potter Manor, only moments before and not a forest... Is-is this another hallucination?" He pauses as their eyes meet. "Are you really... well - you?"

The howling winds cause Newt to turn to the sky, watching with wide eyes as the canopy of trees above their heads sway in the breeze.

The trees are real. Or so they seem...

Something is wrong. Something is missing. Newt's brows furrow, eyes focusing on the world around them, until finally, it hits him. He realizes just what is missing... it's silent. There's not a noise, not even the sounds of creatures that are normally found in any forest. The absence of smell, not a single scent lingers in the air, not even the smell of the moist dirt, that clings to his skin and covers his clothes. Most interestingly is the sky. The sky looks clear and bright and yet the sun is nowhere to be seen. There is no way to tell what time of day it is, or how much sunlight they may yet have left.

Fascinating. Newt muses, lifting a dirty hand to the sky, squinting his eyes as though attempting to riddle it out until a rustle of fabric pulls him back to reality.

"Or, whatever this may be." He mumbles quietly under his breath as he looks to Hermione, standing before him now, hand outstretched with a guarded look in her whisky-coloured eyes.

Without a thought, Newt reaches out, calloused fingers finding purchase upon her lightly scarred skin. He relaxes a little as he feels the heat radiating off of her palm, laying a few of his unspoken doubts to rest. Yet, there is a sliver of doubt that continues to dwell within as she pulls him to his feet. He parts his lips, a question dancing on the tip of his tongue.

"Are you real— Are you really... you?" Hermione asks; her words mimicking Newt's own. A touch of mistrust and fear filtering through her eyes.

"Are any of us really?" Newt asks with a small, playful smile dancing across his lips as he holds her gaze.