#honestly - one of the many gifs of Newt passed out may have been more appropriate than that one but I wanted the action shown too 😆

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Fantastic Beasts One-shot: Far Away from Temple After Sunset

SUMMARY While often a requirement when working against a Seer, under-explained missions still don't always end well... The evening of December 24, 1940 sees Newt and Tina reunited on a bloody battlefield in southern France, and if Newt were properly religious, he'd have attributed their miraculous survival to the day of the year...

OPENING SCENE

December 24, 1940 / Christmas Eve and 1st Night of Hanukkah / Limousin Region, Southwest France

Newt had come onto this particular mission off the tail of another, only stopping at home long enough to drop off his case per instructions before apparating to a bombed theatre in the West End to retrieve the portkey and coordinates Dumbledore had had hidden for him there. He’d worked hard to get back from his last trip in time for the holidays, but once he’d learned Tina was already in France, he decided it didn’t much matter anyway, and thus threw himself into the broken flower-pot portkey on a wing and a prayer.

Consequently, just under three hours ago, he had arrived (already exhausted) into what was—but probably should not yet have been— utter chaos, after which it became quickly apparent that this was either not one of Dumbledore’s more thoroughly strategised plans or, alternatively, someone had regrettably betrayed them...

In the end, they’d taken rather more damage than they’d dealt, and though it had been at least ten minutes now since the ambush had finally petered out in a series of popping disapparitions and poorly timed enemy portkeys, the air was still heavy with the scent of noxious potion bombs and Muggle explosives.

It would be an utter lie to say they were not having trouble locating one another in the aftermath and, to make matters worse, both night and the temperature were quickly falling.

Newt had lost sight of Tina just a handful of minutes before—no more than a quarter hour, he was sure of it. But distracted by a landmine someone’s identification spell had apparently failed to highlight during reconnaissance and that had therefore been triggered by a fleeing acolyte, he’d spent the better part of that time making sure Yusuf didn’t lose an eye from the blast; while simultaneously stymieing the steady flow of blood from his own wounds, tending mainly to the careful removal of the shrapnel lodged far too close to his tibial artery for comfort... He’d frantically woven a bandage out of the Horned Slug mucus packed in the pouch on his belt, before testing Kama’s left-side vision and manoeuvring them both clumsily to their feet.

He shifted under the weight as the man shuffled along beside him, a hand clutching his bandaged face. It was all Newt could do to drag his foot along, too—(something he couldn’t repair on his own was injured, something had clipped a nerve, perhaps – well, definitely - from the mechanics of it)—and he squinted about for his brother, or Tina. Miller or Ramos, or Macmillan.

Anyone.

There was a minute sound from behind an abandoned woodshed at the closest edge of the pockmarked field and Newt froze like a creature under threat, casting a heavy disillusionment charm on him and Kama, before shoving the man behind him to clutch his shoulder for a guide as they continued their wary approach.

A half second later and the woosh of an identification spell shot over him, and Newt’s heart could have stopped then and there, so when Theseus’ head appeared from around the corner of the shack just moments later, he choked on a cry of relief. His brother’s face broke with a tired smile—though tear tracks had cut the dirt on his cheeks from squinting too long through the smoke—upon visually confirming what the spell had already assured him: the Scamanders had made it out alive.

(Or, at least �� so far — the original two of them had…)

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