"Salamander Lips." Newtina Fanfiction.

Hey guys!

Sorry I've been a bit AWOL this week; I've just been so busy! I will have LOTS to say next week though, as I'm going to London to do all the Potter things on Sunday, so be sure to check back!

Will any of you be at Kings Cross to see of the Hogwarts express? If you see me say hi! I'm planning on wearing a top that says "I write fanfiction" and EMP's Forbidden Forest shirt.

Even though I've had a busy week, I managed to finish a fic I've been working on for a while.

I remember way back when we got the first songs from the soundtrack for Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald. One of them was called "Salamander Eyes" and I listened to it over and over and over and over again! I was SURE that it would be the moment when we would finally get our Newtina kiss. Of course, that didn't quite happen, but I loved the scene nonetheless! I kept meaning to write a fic where the scene ends in a kiss, and finally this week I got around to it!

I did realise while writing that somehow this is the first kiss scene I've ever written (I know, right? ūüė≤), so please go easy on me, but any constructive criticism is very welcome!

I hope you enjoy it, and happy almost back to Hogwarts day! ⚡

Newt and Tina step purposefully into the atrium, desperately trying to look like they belong. Everything depends on them discovering Credence’s true identity and protecting him from Grindelwald. They cannot let him become a weapon.
They have reached the entryway to the records room: a desk manned by a wizened witch stands before doors carved to look like trees. Newt doesn’t think he has ever seen anything so beautiful; art imitating nature. He turns to Tina to tell her, but she does not look in the mood for conversation. He feels Pickett move restlessly in his pocket and hopes he doesn't peek his head out – those trees would be too much for the little Bowtruckle, and he doesn’t have time for chasing him around the Minist√®re des Affaires Magiques de la France.
“Puis-je vous aider?” Melusine asks, eyeing them suspiciously.
“Er – yes, this is Leta Lestrange.” Newt stumbles over the words, not exactly giving an Oscar-worthy performance. He tries to telepathically communicate with Tina, who looks a little too surprised. “And – I’m her – ”
“Fianc√©.” Tina interrupts, clearing her throat as an increased awkwardness falls between them. Newt knows he needs to clear things up, needs to explain, but now is hardly the time.
Melusine lifts a book onto the desk that looks even older than she is (although that hardly seems possible) and runs a finger slowly down the page. Seeming to find what she’s looking for, she pushes a button to open the doors for them.
“Allez-y.” She says, pointing them on.
“Merci,” whispers Tina, as she walks around the desk and through the doors, stunned at having fooled their way inside. It was almost too easy. It doesn't quite sit right with her: something deep in her stomach tells her that all is not as it seems. They need to be on their guard. 
“Thank you,” copies Newt, falling into step behind Tina as they enter the records room.
The stilted atmosphere seems to have followed them: Tina stands as far away from him as the shelves allow, and Newt realises that he needs to have the conversation he's been avoiding as the door close with an ominous thunk.
“Tina, about that fianc√© business…” Newt starts.
“Sorry, yeah. I should have congratulated you.” Tina interrupts, her voice brittle and every aspect of her body language radiating how uncomfortable she is.
“No, that’s –” Newt tries again.
“Lumos.” Tina steps away from him, clearly signifying that the conversation is at an end, as she sends the light from the end of her wand searching amongst the shelves.
The shelves are, of course, also carved to look like trees in gorgeous Art Nouveau style. They seem to go on forever, and Newt is reminded of the Forbidden Forest. He used to loiter on the edge, not wanting to break the rules and go inside, but constantly drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. Some of his favourite memories of Hogwarts are of just standing there, listening to the rustle of the leaves and haunting cries and longing to investigate it's depths, study it's creatures.
“Lestrange,” Tina says, continuing to weave in an out of the trees, Newt hot on her heels.
They make their way past prophecy orbs, rolls of parchment, and boxes of all shapes and sizes as Newt works up the courage to try again.
“Tina – about Leta.” Newt repeats, determined to fix things between them.
“Yes, I’ve just said I’m happy for you!” Her voice rises, belying her true feelings
“Yeah, well, don’t be.”
He has her attention now: she finally halts in her pursuit of the truth about Corvus Lestrange and turns to face him, the question evident on her face.
“Please don’t be happy.” Newt begins, before chastising himself. Why am I so bad at this? He can never think properly when he’s with her. She does strange things to him. It’s like his thoughts can’t make it to his brain. His tongue feels too big.
“Uh, no, no. I’m sorry. I don’t…uh, obviously, I – obviously.” Newt drops his wand, which lands with a clatter and he bends to retrieve it. This is not going well. “I want you to be. And I hear that you are now, uh, which is wonderful. Sorry.” He gestures hopelessly to himself, as if to apologise for everything that he is.
“What I’m trying to say is, I want you to be happy, but don’t be happy that I’m happy, because I’m not.” Tina looks bewildered. “Happy.” Newt clarifies. Her brows knit together in confusion. “Or engaged.”
“It was a mistake in a stupid magazine. My brother’s marrying Leta, June the sixth. I’m supposed to be best man, which is sort of mildly hilarious.” Newt shrugs and offers a small smile.
“Does he think you’re here to win her back?” Tina asks. Newt is surprised by the question and it takes his brain a little while to catch up. Tina steps forward, angry. Are you here to win her back?” She looks hurt, and a little bit like she wants to hit him.
“No!” Exclaims Newt, “I’m here to –” tell you I love you, he finishes in his head, but for some reason he can’t get the words past his lips. He stares at her, willing her to understand. Her eyes are all fire. “You know, your eyes really are –” Newt starts, unable to stop himself.
“Are what?” Tina asks softly. Something in her tone makes him want to reach for her; tuck her hair behind her ear like he did on that perfect day at the docks; when she said she'd like to see him again, and he wanted to kiss her. Oh how he wished he had kissed her.
“I’m not supposed to say.” Newt agonises for a few moments. He should take Jacob's advice: tell her that he's missed her, that he came to Paris to find her. Jacob is good at things like that. Newt really, really isn't. But something in him can’t bear to not tell her the truth.
“I still have a picture of you –” Newt blurts out, the words tumbling out of his mouth of their own accord.
At the same time, Tina says in a rush: Newt, I read your book.” 
“Wait, did you read –”   
An awkward silence falls. Newt realises that it’s now or never. He pulls the carefully folded picture of Tina from his breast pocket. He has been carrying it ever since he saw it in the paper  over his heart, where he feels she belongs. 
He looks from the picture to Tina, whose eyes have filled with tears as comprehension dawns on her face – he is carrying her picture now.
“I got this – I mean, it’s just a picture of you from the paper, but it’s interesting because your eyes in newsprint…see, in reality they have this effect in them Tina…it’s like fire in water, in dark water. I’ve only ever seen that in…” Newt trails off, unable to get his lips to form the word, afraid that Jacob is right, that telling her this will drive her away for good.
“Salamanders.” Tina finishes in a whisper. Newt’s eyes snap to hers. Not only has she read his book; really read it, but she understands. He should have known that from the start. He has wasted so much time trying to be someone he is not.
Tina takes a half-step towards him, giving him a shy smile. Newt mirrors her, meeting her in the middle. Their toes touch and it feels so right.
Without conscious thought, his hand has reached up to cup her face, and his calloused fingers stroke her soft cheek. Tina’s breath catches in her chest at his touch and her eyes flick to his lips.
Suddenly, for the first time in his life, Newt doesn’t feel awkward: he knows exactly what to do. His hand moves to the back of Tina’s head as he gently pulls her towards him.
The moment her lips meet his he knows he will do anything to stay in her arms forever. Sod Grindelwald and Dumbledore. World War II could break out right now and he wouldn’t notice; with the feel of her lips against his, and her hands tangled in his hair.
A sigh escapes her as his hands move to her waist and pull her flush against him; unable to be separated from her by a single milimetre any longer. If he believed in heaven, this would be it: right here, right now, with her. 
But then, just as quickly as it began it's over: someone clears their throat pointedly and they leap apart - drawing wands, hair ruffled, eyes hazy, lips swollen.


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