Though the aged wooden sign above the cottage door was so faded that Newt could only make out the word Apothecary, he didn't need to read the proper title to know exactly where he was—he'd spent several weeks in this very place throughout his years at Hogwarts. The work order assigned to him from the Ministry early that morning had only an address, so to say that he was stunned when his travels took him to the door of the very person his thoughts had been preoccupied with for the past nine years would've been a gross understatement.

He stared at the front of the house from where he stood, approximately four yards away, and scratched his head. Both the logical and emotional parts within him implored him to move forward, to knock on that door and face his destiny, if you will. His feet, however, were not on the reciprocating end of that message. They forced him to stay put and continue fiddling with the hem of his vest.

"Well," he said to himself as he looked around, unable to deny the swelling of anticipation in his chest. "Come on then."

After wiping his palms on his jacket, he picked up his case and, as casually as he could manage, strode toward the door. When he caught his reflection in the panes of glass, he quickly pulled his hand back from the knob and smoothed out his hair. Once he could be sure there were no remains of the sandwich he'd eaten on the train left his in his teeth and he no longer had the appearance of someone who'd slept in his office the night before, he knocked.

Simultaneously, he felt disappointed and relieved when it went unanswered. He paused a beat before rapping his knuckles against the door once more. It was met with the same response.

So he resigned to wait. As the seconds ticked on, however, Newt's mind raced. Had she known he was coming? She surely could've expected him—where else would he be working? Or maybe she truly hadn't known. Perhaps she spotted him through the window and decided that whatever her creature problem was, she could solve it on her own?

Realistically, though, the Ministry could be incredibly vague on the timing of house calls. He had made the trip as fast as possible, and she may have been expecting someone later that afternoon. Likewise, she could've been out of earshot when he knocked.

Well, whatever the reason, he was becoming increasingly overwhelmed at the prospect of seeing her again. Flustered, he shoved his watch back into his pocket with enough force that it fell right back out. Thank goodness for the chain.

If his third knock went unanswered, he decided indignantly, he would leave right then and there.

But as soon as he turned to walk away, he thought better of it and took a detour into the backyard.

It was just as he remembered, if not more beautiful. The garden, which may have been better described as an overgrown jungle, was in full bloom. It made him happy to know that she was well enough to tend to it.

Newt regarded everything in awe as he slowly followed the winding pathway, from the most basic muggle daisies to Venomous Tentacula. Upon further inspection, he saw several smallish greenhouses several hundred yards from the back of the house. If he recalled correctly, of which there was a high probability, each contained a separate habitat for various plant species.

True to form, Newt became distracted as he took in the magnificent garden and the view of the surrounding countryside. His thoughts began to shift to all the creatures one could possibly find roaming these meadows and stretch of forest off to the north.

And the property reminded him so much of home. He'd grown up in a quaint house where his mother had enough space on their property to breed Hippogriffs. This location was quite comparable and he found it positively charming.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a Wiggentree. The creatures that generally accompanied such trees happened to be some of his favorites, so it would be downright silly not to have a look. He knelt down to inspect the tree, careful not to frighten any of its inhabitants.

"Excuse me." A feminine voice, muffled by the foliage, called out from somewhere behind Newt. "Can I help you, sir?"

Newt whirled around, his heart slamming into his ribcage. This was it.

However, where he expected to a see a petite young woman, he only a large Irish Wolfhound the color of charcoal staring at him. Still on his knees, he scooted back immediately. Newt could tell he was being assessed and the verdict was yet to be determined.

"Er." He glanced around, confused. The dog sniffed the air. "Hello."

Lowering his gaze, Newt limply held out his hand, palm down. The dog's wet nose pressed against his skin.

A woman suddenly rounded the corner, smiling softly.

"She won't hurt y—" With a sharp gasp, she froze. The dog looked up at its mistress before casting a wary glance at Newt.

"Merlin's beard."

Newt rose to his feet, unsteady. He felt a sudden loss of the ability to breathe and his heart fluttered to a brief stop. Despite having enough time to prepare for this moment, he stood there staring blanking at his school sweetheart, who was just as breathtaking as ever.

Bloody hell.

When she met his bewildered gaze, he quickly dropped his eyes down to the pathway, hesitating for several moments before bringing them back to her face.

"Molly." He fought the smile tugging at his lips until he could properly assess the situation.

"Newt?"

Her surprised expression told him that she certainly had not been expecting to see him that afternoon.

"I, uh, I'm sorry for intruding. I knocked, um, several times, but there was, ah, no answer. Figured you may not have heard me."

"Wha—did the Ministry send you?" Molly's voice was breathy. She felt her limbs twitching anxiously, desperate to embrace him, but she stayed resolute.

He'd grown a few inches since she'd seen him last, and of course he had aged, but he was still that handsome, awkwardly charming young man she'd fallen in love with.

"Yes." He nodded sharply and began studying the mortar between the stones of the pathway. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"No," she said absently, following his gaze. Then she straightened up. "No, don't apologize. I, uh, I just didn't realize they were sending you out on these types of jobs."

"Oh—"

"I had hoped, but I didn't think…" she laughed nervously.

"Oh?" He smiled now, cheeks flushed, and his shoulders relaxed upon seeing that Molly didn't appear to harbor any ill feelings toward him.

In fact, she'd wanted to see him.

"It's been a long time."

"I know." Newt felt his heart break twice over with every word. Not wanting to see any hurt in her eyes, he looked down at his shoes again.

Molly left school before the first semester of her fifth year ended. They'd corresponded through owl post quite regularly up until the month before his expulsion later that year. After that, he couldn't bare to tell her what had happened, so he simply stopped writing. He'd been a confused teenaged boy and he made a mistake—several mistakes. By the time he figured out what he wanted to say to her, it was too late.

Had he known the consequences of that action…just thinking about it now made his chest ache.

"You're looking very well, Newt."

Her voice drew him back to the present, and once he found her eyes again, he couldn't look away. It felt as if not a single moment had passed between them since they last saw one another. She glanced down quickly at her own shoes—an old pair of wellies. Loose hair fell in front of her face again, and Newt's fingers fought their trained reflex to brush it back.

She was the only human he'd ever had even the slightest inkling of how to care for, even after Leta Lestrange had come and gone from his life.

When he struggled to find a response, Molly just shook her head and chuckled. She was misinterpreting his speechlessness. Newt found himself reaching toward her, wanting to take her hand in his and explain.

"It's alright, Newt. I realize how I must look."

Newt raised his head instantly and met her eyes. Yes, he saw the sallowness of her skin and the dark circles underneath her eyes. Regardless, though, her smile was just as striking as it always had been and her eyes sparkled.

He shook his head firmly.

"Beautiful."

Newt's fondness for Molly began immediately upon spotting her in the Great Hall. He didn't have to think hard to remember her sorting ceremony, and he was sure the reason he remembered it so well was because it was the very first time Newt felt like he might possibly have a chance of connecting with another person.

She was such a little thing then, with large, round eyes, that Newt had to wonder if she was even eleven. Judging from the snickers, others at the table were wondering the same thing.

When the small group of unsorted First Years passed by, Molly beamed at her older brother and jovially waved in the way that only unblemished young children can. He, a thirteen-year-old and one of the more "well adjusted" students, waved back stiffly, looking irritated that his little sister dare address him in public.

"Oy, Marcus," someone sniggered. "Is your sister part house elf?"

Marcus shushed them a little, but couldn't hide his own laughter. The little girl's cheeks flushed pink as she looked away, but she kept walking.

No longer interested in eavesdropping on the Third Years' conversation, especially when they were teasing a little girl, Newt uncovered the small leather-bound book he'd been hiding up his sleeve and continued to read until the ceremony began.

An hour or so later, he watched the same young girl pop up from the table across the room once her name was called. Molly Cardaemon. She strode as confidently as she could manage toward the front of the hall. Cringing slightly as the hat was lowered onto her head, Molly squeezed her eyes shut. The hat barely brushed the top of her head before it bellowed:

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Molly looked positively relieved as she gently slipped off the stool and floated over to the house table. Newt remembered having that exact feeling the previous year; he recognized Molly as one of those people who, like him, might not have been built for the other houses and would've suffered greatly had she been sorted any differently.

Cheers erupted from the table, but Newt knew from experience that the noise level had nothing to do with their new housemate, but rather everything to do with the excitement of being back at school (for most) and the unspoken competition with the other houses to see who could cheer the loudest. It was evident when nobody dared give up a seat. Was it because of her size? Or was it because her dark brown eyes were quite large and round, reminding Newt of the mooncalves he'd read about over the summer?

He didn't know, but couldn't bare to see something so innocent suffer, so he scooted over as she made her way to his side of the table. She saw the open spot right away, which eliminated the need for him to speak up—this, he was thankful for. She looked at him, both grateful and so delicately elated that she, too, was a Hufflepuff like her brother, and probably their parents.

Molly soon discovered that Newt wasn't going to pull her braids, tease her for being so small, or really say much of anything at all. If she wanted to spend an entire afternoon drawing the pictures she saw in her junior edition of Magical Water Plants of the Highland Lochs, he wasn't going to throw her pencil across the room and laugh while she scrambled to get her things together.

The fact that he was a year ahead of her did nothing to deter her. So, whenever there was an open seat beside Newt, Molly would quietly fill it. Of course they didn't share classes, but both students had a penchant for spending the majority of their free time holed up in the library. Each developed distaste for the common room, as it was unmonitored and a much easier place to get picked on. Just because Hufflepuff was considered the "nice" house, didn't mean all the students were indeed nice.

At first, her silent attention made Newt a little uneasy. He was, after all, incredibly shy and most certainly felt more comfortable with animals then with people. But over a short period of time, he began to find her presence comforting. On several occasions, he actually found himself waiting for her.

The only she time really spoke to him in the first month was when she spotted him eyeing the biscuit she'd knicked from lunch a couple hours before. Why hadn't he thought to bring a snack? It felt like ages before dinner.

"Would you like half?" she asked, breaking it into two before he had a chance to answer. "I can't eat the entire thing."

As she held it out to him, he caught site of the thin, puckered scar running up her arm and into her robe.

"T-thank you." He grabbed the biscuit and ducked his head instinctually—looking people in the eye had a tendency to bring on great discomfort.

However, he really wanted to see more of that scar.

She followed his gaze and shook her arm so that it became fully exposed.

"Devil's Snare," she proudly stated, her cheeks flushing sweetly. "My mum has one in her greenhouse."

Newt's lips twitched into a little smile as he studied the scar. Then he held out his own arm and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a small pockmark.

"B-billywig sting," he said softly, though his chest swelled a little with pride. "Had an allergic r-reaction and levitated for three w-whole days!"

"Wicked," Molly murmured, smiling conspiratorially before looking back down at her book.

He later asked if she had any spare parchment he could borrow because he'd used up all of his on taking a rather copious amount of notes. She happily handed over some extra sheets and went back to reading.

Their quiet routine continued through the fall. When Molly received an owl from her mother asking whether or not she had made any new friends, she answered yes, but didn't go into too much detail regarding the gangly, freckled, ginger-haired Second Year who had so graciously let her sit next to him at the sorting ceremony and had continued to let her follow him around like a lost puppy since her older brother Marcus was having none of it. Doing so would have no doubt made her mother respond with false accusations that would make her blush. Newt was most certainly not her boyfriend.

Likewise, she omitted all details about how frequently she found herself being picked on by the other students. Except, of course, by the gangly, freckled, ginger-haired Second Year.

He was soft-spoken, which she didn't mind, and had a tendency to stammer, which she also didn't mind. Actually, she preferred it as such, since whatever he did take care to say was carefully considered. She, too, typically preferred not to say much at all, so the fact that she had made a friend with whom she had that trait in common was absolutely delightful. Finally.

Had she told her mother this, she would have received a gentle coaxing to try to be a little more social, regardless of the fact that many kids often referred to her as a half-breed house elf. She brushed it off, because yes, she knew her eyes were very large and really, what could she do about it; however, just because she wasn't crying over their taunting didn't mean she was exactly clambering to sit with them during meals. Newt, on the other hand, was also kind. And while, yes, that quality could be found in loads of people at Hogwarts, nobody wore it quite the same way he did. So if he was quiet and wanted to sit silently in the library, so be it. She felt comfortable and safe, which was all that really mattered to a quiet little girl so far away from home.

One afternoon, she spotted several students circling a boy in the hallway. Upon closer—and careful—inspection, she realized it was Newt. Newt, with his mop of unruly hair and big feet, hugged an armful of library books close to his chest and braced himself.

"Hey!"

What Molly had intended to sound forceful came out as more of a squeak, which would be reflected later on in the year when they all moved on to calling her "pipsqueak".

Newt opened one eye to see where the sudden distraction had come from.

"How cute. This bumbling idiot needs a little half-breed to protect him," someone snickered.

His books were then abruptly knocked out of his arms before they descended on her. He jerked forward, fists clenched. He wasn't exactly sure what to do with them, but someone held him back before he could find out.

"Please," he pleaded. "L-leave her alone."

Just as they began to surround her, the potions master appeared from around the corner. He raised his eyebrows at the sight and the students reluctantly dispersed.

"Pathetic." One of them sneered into Molly's face as he walked away, giving her a light shove. She didn't flinch. Newt looked on in admiration.

After releasing the breath she'd been holding, Molly rushed to help Newt collect his things from the ground.

"Are you—" She inhaled and exhaled deeply once more. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes." He answered. "Thank you."

Newt looked up at his friend, wide-eyed, as his hands lingered over the pile of books. Then he smiled broadly, releasing a nervous chuckle.

"That was close."

He stood up, timidly offering Molly his hand. She was equally as timid in accepting it, but as she did, she smiled.

"Bloody Slytherins."

And just like that, the deal was sealed. Newt Scamander and Molly Caedmon became inseparable.

Molly's eyes welled slightly as she stared at him, trying to gauge his sincerity. She must've known he'd meant it, but instead of responding she just shook her head and blinked rapidly.

"Well, Mr. Scamander," she began, placing her hands on her hips. Newt could hear the tears stuck in her throat. "It appears that I have a flesh-eating slug infestation."

"Oh?" He swallowed thickly, shifting gears to match her pace. "I don't see anything…"

"Just over here." Molly marched forward down the path toward one of the greenhouses.

As he followed behind, he couldn't help but think that if she turned sideways, nobody would see her. Molly had always been a thin girl, but this troubled him. He could clearly see that her illness had taken a physical toll over the years, and he wanted—needed—to know everything.

He shook the thoughts out of his head. For now, the important matter at hand was the getting rid of the slugs.

"Have you tried the repellent?"

As the words left his mouth, he braced himself. Molly was not daft and she would most certainly let him know it.

"Repellent, you say? Is there such a thing?" She playfully narrowed her eyes as she glanced back over her shoulder at him. He smiled. "Any gardener worth her salt knows how to get rid of a few pests, but it seemed to have had the reverse effect."

As she spoke, she swung open the door, carefully avoiding stepping too far into the space. "And to be honest, it takes up quite a bit of energy to deal with them and I have none to spare."

As Newt stood close behind her, peering through the doorway into the greenhouse, he wasn't quite sure what to say. Whether it was the effect of their close proximity or the fifty or so child-sized flesh-eating slugs hanging about, he couldn't be sure. Since he'd been in much closer proximity to much more dangerous beasts, he wagered it had to be the loose hairs from her braid tickling his chin and the way she smelled of rosemary.

"Well," he began, shaking his head. "You most certainly have a problem."