《 Skip a Beat 》

S is for Seers

Weeks passed.

Contrary to Theseus' statement, they had yet to discuss whether to tell the ministry that they'd figured out the prophecy. Perhaps nobody wanted to bring it up.

On the other hand, Newt was making steady progress with the crutches. Frequently, he accompanied his friends down to the cafe on the ground level or milled aimlessly through the corridors, often with Charlotte for company.

To his absolute joy, the cast on his leg had recently been swapped for a much more flexible (not to mention comfortable) black splint.

Later on that month, celebrating more good news, Jacob had declared that he was going to try and open a second bakery. There was a nice piece of land available just on the outskirts of the city, and he'd claimed with a wink that he'd saved a few occamy eggshells from the previous year.

Nearing the end of November, the first snowfall arrived early, drifting lazily outside the windows, sometimes melting before coming in contact with the ground.

Unlike most things at that point in time, though, there was still no advance on J.D.V, which was quickly becoming the mystery of the century. Nearly all the books had been inspected, and they were beginning to reach a point of desperation- Jacob had suggested at least twice that they find Dumbledore and confront him about it.

Of course, that was easier said than done.

When Tina arrived in that morning- the 29th, as she'd informed Newt- they got right down to work.

She still hadn't bought a new wand. Newt debated bringing it up, but decided against it- it was clear that she had a reason. Unbeknownst to him, the previous couple of days when Theseus felt no hesitation in asking her why she was waiting so long to get a new wand, she'd meekly defended that she'd wanted to wait until Newt was well enough to go with them.

"Ready?" she asked, snapping him back to the present.

"Yes."

Newt stood opposite her, leaning lightly on the crutches, bracing himself...

"Legilimens."

And he was swept out of the room.

"Mum? Mum, can I pet Elsa?" A weedy young boy, about four or five, craned his neck up at his mother, and more importantly, the elegant female Hippogriff preening her feathers before him.

"Of course you can, my little bowtruckle!" She lifted the boy into her arms, ruffling up his auburn hair until it was even messier than before.

"Come on, Newt. Shut me out," came a wisp of a voice through the memory. Newt heard her.

Yes, he heard, but he couldn't move. Didn't want to. He stood, staring down at his four-year-old self and his mother- so much younger than the last time he saw her. She picked him up, holding him against her chest with one arm as he reached out a clumsy hand and brushed his fingers along Elsa's beak.

"Newt."

"Yeah, I'm trying. I'm trying."

It was then when he finally began attempting to block Tina out. Conceal all emotion, close off his mind, push her out...

"Does Leta Lestrange like to read?"

No... you aren't watching that...

Tina's image swam into refinement, his appearing oppose her a moment later, like ink in water. The rest of the New York docks faded into view behind them as he spoke.