dear god I finally re-wrote it for the third time.
She looks up at the source of her stumble forward. A tall figure seizes the blame of bumping into her shoulder with a quick “Sorry”. The clipped British accent catches her off guard. She doesn’t hear it all that often. At least...not as much as she used to.
A mop of unruly rust colored hair draws her gaze, partnered with the peacock blue of his coat. Amidst the crowd of grey clad New Yorkers he is standing out like a rose among dandelions. It’s only when he turns his head and she catches his profile that she’s
Sixteen with her chin in her hand, watching the international students walk through their sorting ceremony. It’s always cute: the aged wizards and witches among the nervous little first years. A taller freckled face wizard with the Hogwarts crest on his chest steps up. Queenie catches her sister’s gaze across the Great Hall and winks. Tina realizes her sister is reading her thoughts and blushes.
“Hey - !” Tina’s voice isn’t loud enough to carry past the people separating them. She takes a few steps forward but halts as a newsie runs in front of her. The Second Salamer pamphlet flutters to the ground. “Hey - wait - !”
“Hey, wait!” she’s sixteen and a quarter, laughing as she calls after a freckled faced wizard as they run down to one of the two ponds on the grounds. “If you think I’m eating Gillyweed you are sorely mistaken!”
Tina closes the space between them in a few quick strides. He looks so much older. Did she look that way too? What did she expect, she wouldn’t always look
Sixteen and a half, standing next to him in her heels at the Yule Ball, wondering if he is going to kiss her. They weren’t under any mistletoe, but he’s standing so close she can smell the mint and lavender from the greenhouse still lingering on his skin from Herbology class.
Finely boned hands reach out for his arm. What is she even going to say? The last time she had seen him she was
Seventeen and crying at the train he’s leaving on. We’ll write. I promise.
Her hand catches lightly on his forearm, suddenly terrified at her decision. Would he want to talk to her? Would he even remember who she was? He had talked so much about Leta - maybe he’d returned to England and put her straight out of his mind. Maybe she was still foolishly
Nineteen. When the letters stopped coming.
“Newt - what are you doing here?”
