Yes, Molly had problem. Many problems.

The first problem was that the slugs had taken over the facility that housed her most profitable plants; therefore, her small business was beginning to suffer. The second problem was that the Ministry had sent Newt to solve her first problem. The third problem was that her second problem wouldn't have been that much of a problem had she not been dealing with several other problems that related to Newt Scamander.

Quite frankly, the most problematic of those problems was the fact that Molly was quite sure she was still in love with him. Either that, or the absolute need to see him once more consumed her entire being.

His cessation of their correspondence had been quite unexpected at the time, but she couldn't necessarily blame him. Though he'd spent his entire Christmas break reading to her as he stretched across her bed, something changed once he'd returned to school. He'd made a new friend, she new that much. Someone that wasn't [most likely] dying. As Molly's health fluctuated rapidly, her letters became less consistent, as did Newt's.

The more she considered it, the more surprised she was that it hadn't happened sooner.

It had taken far too long for their reunion and Molly knew her clock was ticking. This was an additional problem. When she had placed the request with the Ministry, she could only hope they would send Newt.

"They've taken over everything," Molly sighed.

As she stepped back to close the door, Molly misjudged the distance and bumped squarely into Newt's chest. Startled, Newt jumped and tripped over his case, nearly dragging them both to the ground.

Of all things, Newt thought as he struggled to keep his feet firmly on the ground.

Desperate to keep her upright, Newt quickly encircled Molly in his arms. He'd already ruined their friendship—he didn't need to cause her physical harm as well.

The ordeal was over quickly, and though Newt had managed to maintain their balance, Molly remained tightly in his grasp as he stared into her wide eyes. They were the most beautiful brown he ever recalled seeing—flecked with tiniest bits of gold, like the feathers of a Thunderbird.

"Thank you," she said, softly snapping him out of his daze. He released her immediately upon realizing they were no longer in danger of toppling over.

"Sorry," he murmured, watching as she relinquished her own frenzied grip on the lapels of his overcoat and smoothed them down. "So sorry."

Before Molly could say anything else—and more importantly, before his hands wove themselves into her thick hair, which had inconveniently (for him) come loose from its braid—Newt cleared his throat and, after shucking off his jacket, knelt down to examine the battered suitcase beside him.

As Molly stood there, casually pressing her hand to her cheeks and hoping they were not as visibly flushed as she felt they ought to be, she craned her neck over Newt's shoulder to get a peek as he unlatched the case. She only saw darkness and the top rungs of a ladder. It was not enough to distract her from worrying whether or not her sudden change in temperature was a result of Newt's attention or yet another fever. The beads of sweat forming above her brow and the familiar wave of nausea hinted it was the latter of the two.

"I spent some time studying slugs in the wild." Newt spoke suddenly. "Interesting, but dangerous if the right precautions aren't taken."

He rolled up his sleeve to expose an odd-looking divot in his forearm surrounded by scar tissue.

Molly's thoughts flashed quickly from her own mortality back to the very first time they showed off their scars to one another in the library.

Where has the time gone?

She wondered if Newt remembered the plans they went on to make later that school year. By this age, they had decided, he would've already written several bestselling books and she would've been tucked away inside The Ministry of Herbology using both the practical and magical properties of plants to possibly save lives. They were supposed to be traveling the world together—presumably married, though this detail was not worked out until their mid-teens—discovering new species of plants and animals alike.

It had all been a dream that was now ironic to Molly in the bitterest way.

"While I really dislike the idea of exterminating them," Newt continued, his soothing voice bringing Molly back to the task at hand. "There doesn't appear to be another option in this situation. I found this brilliant compound…well, I believe the muggles may have actually discovered it first...but they refer to it as diatomaceous earth…how odd."

As he stepped into the case, he held out a hand for Molly. She accepted without hesitation, knowing that following him could lead to the adventure. Possibly her one and only.

"And they reproduce like rabbits so we needn't worry about threating their species."

"Oh, yes." Molly added, smiling to herself as she climbed down the ladder. Scamander and his creatures. "Of course not."

Distracted by the sudden change of place and the growing haziness in her head, Molly didn't notice Newt had taken her by the waist until her feet softly touched the ground. A scarlet blush attempted its way into her face, but her pallor rarely changed all that much these days. For once, she was thankful for that.

Newt's cheeks, on the other hand, burned red as he swiftly preoccupied himself at the workbench. He hoped she hadn't seen him swiftly tuck the photograph he kept of her inside his drawer.

"What is this place?" she asked, looking around in wonderment.

"My…office…of sorts," he said, glancing up from the workbench in the corner of the shack. "Some odds and ends." His voice grew firmer the more excited he became about the topic. "I hope to eventually transform it into a multi-habitat for endangered creatures."

"Newt, that's brilliant."

"Isn't it?" For the first time that afternoon, Molly saw the broad smile that she'd loved so much as a teenager stretch across his freckled face.

"I'm proud of you."

Scarlet bloomed across his cheeks yet again as he offered her a close-lipped, but proud smile. He continued grinding white objects in the pedestal.

"T-thank you."

Comfortable silence took over as she sat on a nearby stool to watch him work, admiring the decent amount of plant samples she could see through the door of the shack. He occasionally glanced up over his shoulder, watching her discreetly. The few times she caught him looking, he glanced away and cleared his throat.

Molly circled the room, looking at the drawings and charts covering the walls. She wondered how many of the pictures represented creatures Newt had actually seen up close. She was about to ask when she spotted something hanging off to the side of his work area.

It was a sketch she'd made of a Fanged Geranium—something she'd sent him through owl post one summer. In the left-hand corner she'd scrawled a note.

I've started growing these gorgeous little monsters. One caught hold of my pinkie finger though. Nasty bugger.

Always,

Molly

Brushing her fingers over the parchment, she smiled.

"You've kept this all this time?"

"Hm?" Newt, hunched over a mound of white powder he'd been creating, looked up. When he saw the charcoal drawing she was looking at, he cleared his throat yet again. This time, though, it was a little too forceful and he began coughing.

"Of course," he stated after catching his breath. "H-how else would I be reminded of your wonky little finger?"

She smiled quietly and continued to look around. Molly barely made a sound. If Newt hadn't been watching her out of the corners of his eyes, he would not have known she was even present.

He worked, basking in her presence. He had truly missed her, and now, he feared, there wasn't much time.

Suddenly, Molly shrieked. Newt jumped up immediately; his first reflex was to crouch in the cautious position one used to approach a beast. But after a moment, when he saw that the end of Molly's braid was being held up away from her head, his heart stopped beating wildly. She was flinching under an invisible weight on her shoulder.

"Oy!" She shouted squeamishly, her pupils wide with uncertainty. "Newt!"

He began to chuckle as the tension in his shoulders eased. Molly did not look amused. But then she began to half-giggle, moving about the room as if trying to shake off a spider.

"Hey, th-that tickles!"

"Dougal…" he said firmly, slowly walking toward Molly. To her he said, "I think he just wanted to say hello. He's a bit mischievous, but he wouldn't dare hurt you—bit of a sweetheart really. If you stand still and let him inspect you, he may make himself visible again when he feels comfortable. Is he smelling you?"

Molly nodded, trying to keep herself as still as she could; though, she couldn't help but twitch several times. Newt suspected she was even holding in her breath. Then she whispered.

"What's a Dougal?"

"My demiguise," he answered. "Dougal…Dougal, I'd like to see you now please."

Molly's eyes widened as she slowly turned her head to the side. Nothing appeared. The weight on her shoulder was suddenly gone.

"Where is it?" she whispered.

Newt shrugged silently.

"Dougal…" He sounded as if he was scolding a young child, but really found whatever it was it had been doing positively hilarious. Then he dug around through one the buckets over in the corner. "I'll give you an apple. You'd love a nice, juicy apple as a treat, wouldn't you?"

The invisible demiguise leapt off the workbench, fully showing himself as he longingly reached for the apple in Newt's hand.

"That's a good boy, Dougal. Thank you."

The little white, furry creature made a sound of appreciation as he took the fruit, cradling it in his arms before jumping onto Newt's shoulder. He nuzzled into Newt's neck, keeping his large eyes on Molly.

"I know." Newt nodded, turning his head to look at him. He stroked the top of Dougal's head. "She does has very pretty hair, but it's not nice to pet people when they cannot see you."

Dougal studied her for a few seconds more before deciding he was tired of the conversation and would pet whatever he wanted to pet. He looked away and began munching on his apple.

Molly stood there, bewildered. She'd seen Newt with various creatures before, but never like this. His affection for the demiguise made her heart swell.

"May I?" she asked, gesturing that she'd like to step closer. She didn't want to frighten the little guy.

Newt nodded as he watched Dougal eat his apple.

"Have you collected many creatures yet?"

"Just a him. They can be quite difficult to catch," he answered, brushing some fur from his shirt. "Which makes the fact that I was able to catch Dougal here especially odd. Demiguise's have precognitive sight, so to catch them one must do something unpredictable."

"I will admit," he said. "I may have done something unpredictable inadvertently and caught him by accident."

Unexpectedly, Dougal reached out for Molly's hand. She froze, lips parted slightly in awe and hand stilled in mid air. In her palm he placed the apple core, before he jumped from Newt's shoulder and scampered out the door.

"He's precious," Molly murmured, lingering by the doorway as she watched Dougal explore.

Newt beamed, happy to hear someone else admire the demiguise.

By now the powder was ready to be dispersed around the greenhouse. Newt hoped it was enough.

"We'll have a look once those slugs are taken care of." He gestured for her to climb the latter ahead of him. "Ladies first."

"N-now," Newt explained as he stepped into his safety suit, "I'll be sprinkling this powder around the greenhouse. Once the slugs come in contact with it, the powder works to extract the lipids from the pest, causing them to become dehydrated."

Molly bit her lip in an attempt to hide her amusement. This was Newt Scamander, Magizoologist of the Beast Division, Ministry of Magic.

"Molly." He was just about to attach his goggles. "I would prefer that you wait outside. Only one suit."

"As you wish, Mr. Scamander."

Blush crept into his cheeks. He nodded brusquely and turned around.

After a half hour or so, he hastily emerged from the greenhouse, breathing raggedly as he slammed the door and pressed his back against it. Portions of his suit were beginning to melt.

He stripped it off and threw down the goggles. Once he was satisfied with the swift inspection of his arms, legs, and torso, he tilted his head up and looked at her.

"They are," he smiled softly as caught his breath. "Quite angry."

"Well I suppose I would be too if you were tossing around powder that was going to make me shrivel up and die."

"Yes," he agreed with a hearty chuckle. "I imagine that would be quite upsetting."

"So what do we do now?"

"We wait." He glanced over his shoulder at the greenhouse. "Several hours should be sufficient."

When Molly offered him tea, Newt happily obliged. He followed her through the back door, feeling as if this was the most natural thing in the world. And for Newt, that was saying a lot.

She put the kettle on as he moved around the kitchen looking for teacups. Molly nodded at the cupboard near the refrigerator as rifled through her pockets for her wand.

"Blasted thing is upstairs," she muttered when she came up empty handed.

"I've got them." He flicked his wand and the teacups floated to the countertop beside the stove.

Something about having company, someone to do something as simple as grab the teacups, made Molly feel—for once—completely at ease. For the first time in years, she wasn't alone. Wasn't left to fend for herself.

Molly caught the muggle flu when she was fourteen years old. Her father, bless his heart, had tried to heal her. Instead, his charm backfired and she'd been chronically ill ever since. After several years, he died rather suddenly, unable to live with himself for causing her daily suffering. Her mother, a whip-smart herbologist, had never been able to find a cure. She'd searched up until her death several years prior. Marcus, her brother, blamed their early passings on Molly. They hadn't spoken since their mother's funeral.

Newt's hand brushed against Molly's, and it was impossible to tell which of the two became more flustered. Newt felt fourteen again, which only reminded him of their first kiss down by the Black Lake.