The Scarf - Newt x Reader - Part 2
Holy shit. here it is, yall. part two. finally. the original was posted almost a FULL YEAR AGO and oh man i cannot believe that. i cant believe my account is over a year old. what in the Heck. I love you guys all so much and consider this fic an apology for the unannounced hiatus I took.
Without further ado!!!!! Here is the much-awaited part two!! A lot of people asked me to tag them, so I made a separate post where I tagged them and linked here. I hope you enjoy!!
Warnings: adult themes but nothing explicit. angst, followed by so much fluff you might suffocate! Part one can be found here.
You had never laid eyes on an article of clothing so beautiful before in your life. It wasn’t glitzy or overly extravagant, but it was beautiful in its purity and simplicity. The fabric fell like waves, a soft eggshell color. The plain base part of the dress was made of satin that gleamed in the thin light filtering in through the curtains that obscured the window, and the delicate overlay of Georgette fabric complimented it perfectly. It was simply incredible and incredibly simple at the same time.
You were dreading having to don the gorgeous thing, and your throat tightened at the very thought of it. Your hair was done, your makeup had been painted, your neck perfumed and your hands manicured all in preparation for the dreaded marriage, but finally slipping the dress on was the last thing you had left to do. It felt as though it the one thing that stood between you and the sealing of your fate, so final, your last admittance to yourself that yes, you were going through with this after all; it would make the whole situation seem real to you, once you physically felt that fabric in your hands and secured the suffocating corset to your body. It would solidify it all, shifting everything into place (your poor, unsuspecting organs included, if you knew anything about the nature of corsets), and you were planning to delay the finality of that as long as you possibly could. You had done so many things in preparation, but that all might as well have been a long, bizarre nightmare that you had been floating through with no real attachment. Seeing yourself in the dress would make it real, and you were in no way prepared for that.
You had been gifted with rose petals the night before by your aunt, who was now your step-mother-in-law-to-be (what a mouthful), so you smelled very faintly of rose water from your bath the night before. The wedding was to be indoors, in the ballroom of Duncan’s expansive family home, and you could hear the muffled sounds of violinists rehearsing from where you sat on the bed of the guest bedroom. Your favorite flowers were everywhere, and the air smelled vaguely of your favorite desert, which had been mass-prepared for the afterparty. Everything about the setting was lovely and perfect in the most traditional of ways, and that was precisely what twisted the whole thing into your own personal hell. Each lovely thing seemed to mock you, and you could almost hear irony’s delighted and sinister whispering of isn’t this what you wanted? Isn’t it beautiful? Isn’t it perfect?
It was. It was beautiful. It should have been a dream, like what you had oft imagined as a small girl, but it now served as the setting for a hellish nightmare. It was like one big, cruel plot to ruin every last bit of your comfort and happiness. You felt sure that after this day, you would never be able to eat your favorite dessert again without getting physically sick. It would all be ruined for you. Even the nature of the situation was dreamlike, and you floated through it as if in a stupor, a serene sense of denial enveloping you and keeping you calm. The way time was seeming to slow down, to creep on, the smiling faces you couldn’t really bring into focus or recognize, the garbled way all the voices fell on your ears, the way each movement you made seemed to require conscious effort. Your heart was thundering in your ears and every part of your speech seemed automatic and unconscious. It was like you were asleep.
You got slowly to your feet and made your way over to your suitcases. They held all of the things you would need for your honeymoon in France, but there was only one thing in there that really mattered to you, and you kneeled to open your suitcase and find it.
There it lay, among a pile of your socks, pajamas, and underwear, folded and placed with such care. Your shaky hands gripped it, pulling it to your face. It was slightly scratchy and pilled, but it still brought you comfort and soft happiness. It grounded you, and made the events seem somehow both more real and less overwhelming. It still smelled like him. Like leather and earth and pine trees, like sawdust and dew, and like that one specific scent you couldn’t quite identify that was unique to him. It made you sad, but at the same time it gave you comfort by association. You got to your feet, still grasping the scarf in your hands, and went back to the bed. You laid it carefully on the soft and pricey sheets, smoothing over it with your fingers and taking a deep breath. The contrast of the cheap, slightly scratchy material of the scarf and the expensive and smooth liquid silk of the sheets against your fingers was amusing to you in some strange way; the former was your final haven and the latter, though it logically should have been more pleasant, made you feel almost physically ill. “I need you with me for this, Newt,” you murmured. “and this is the closest thing to you I’m going to have,”
You turned slowly to the dress, dread almost rooting you to the spot, but in a suddenly forceful and swift movement you pulled it off the hanger and let it pool at your feet. You stepped carefully into it and pulled it up over your slip, tugging the fabric over your hips. You felt the soft brush of the silk against the bare skin of your legs, and the Georgette fabric was almost ticklish on your shoulders. You tied the corset loosely at your back with a slight struggle, resolving to have someone else fix it later, and drew a shaky breath before turning to look in the full length mirror, but before you got a chance to look, there was a small rapping at the door. “Come in,” you called, the sickly sweet tone of your voice foreign to you. Your father swung the door open, a gentle smile on his face. He held a small box in his hands and his expression imitated happiness, but his eyes betrayed the fact that he was sad.
“You look lovely,” he said.
You smiled faintly, walking over to him. “Thank you, papa,”
You stood in silence for a moment, both unsure what to say next, shuffling uncomfortably. At last, he looked up at you and held the box out with trembling hands. His eyes were glassy, filled with affection and melancholy. “Your mother… this is one of the only things I have left from her. She purchased it for your sister’s first birthday, saying that it was for her to wear to her wedding someday, but that day hasn’t come for her yet,” he said.
You took the box, lifting the lid off carefully, and your eyes grew wide. It was pure silver, and absolutely breathtaking. The design was ornate, vinelike with leaf patterns and twists and turns, and diamonds were sprinkled strategically across it. It had a high choker collar, and the front expanded down to your chest and collarbones when you slipped it on and snapped it closed in the back. It made it somewhat hard to move your neck, but it was nothing short of stunning. You turned to look in the mirror at last, tears of both intense sadness and awe in your eyes as you regarded yourself properly for the first time.
“She would have been proud of you,” he said softly, placing his hand on your arm lightly. “For being so brave through all of this. This necklace was for your sister, but she would have wanted you to have it,”
“It’s beautiful,” you managed to croak out at last, emotion heavy in your voice. “Are these… are they real?” you murmured, brushing your fingers against the diamonds that now dotted your throat and chest.
He chuckled slightly. “Of course they are,” he said, looking somewhat nostalgic for a moment. “Your mother had…expensive tastes. She always wanted the best and most beautiful, no matter how much money she spent to get that,” he said fondly, shaking his head fondly at your mother’s habits as though spending ludicrous amounts of money had been just another endearing quirk of hers.
You tapped your fingernail against the silver, heart racing with sudden anticipation. Your mind whirled to keep up with the information he was presenting to you, and for the first time in four months you felt the genuine warmth of hope blooming in your chest. “Expensive…expensive tastes?” you spluttered out, eyes wide in something like disbelief. As though you had to see as much of this as you could to properly believe what was unfolding before you. “How expensive?”
He clearly wasn’t catching on to your implications, as he looked thoughtful for a moment. “She purchased it at an auction, I believe, for around, nine, ten thousand? It seems like so much now, but back then, it wasn’t quite so-”
You whirled around to grip his shoulders, digging your fingers in unintentionally in your excitement. “Papa. How much would this necklace sell for?” you asked wildly, startling him. He blinked at you quizzically.
“Probably about the same,”
You dropped your hands to your side, eyes glowing. “Thank you, Papa! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you cried, throwing your arms around his shoulders for a moment. Tears prickled in your eyes and your lip trembled, relief coursing through you in waves. You pulled away to look at his bewildered face for a moment. “This is just… the best gift I’ve ever received,”
He smiled a little bit, overwhelmed and confused. “Your mother did have wonderful taste,” he replied. “you apparently take after her more than I had thought,” he said with a thoughtful quirk of his mouth, clearly under the impression that your excitement was due to the fine quality of the necklace. It was due to the fine quality of the necklace, but not for the reason that he seemed to think.
You ushered him out the door swiftly. “Listen, Papa, I really need to finish getting ready, so please come get me again when it’s time for you to escort me down the aisle!” you chirped, moving to swing the door closed behind him, but pausing to look at him for a moment. “I love you, Papa. Thank you for everything you have done to support me through this,” you murmured, fondness and guilt filling you at the idea of leaving your father behind to face the wrath of his ex-future-inlaws-who-are-still-technically-his-inlaws-just-not-through-his-daughter (another mouthful, my goodness).
You whirled around. The wedding was soon, and you had no time to change into proper clothes, so you slid across the floor and grabbed one of your suitcases, flinging it open and pulling everything out with little care for tidiness. You followed suit with each of your other suitcases, sorting through the pile of your belongings to grab only the essentials and shove them into one case. You snapped that closed and threw the curtains open, undoing the latch to your window and letting the warm summer breeze in. Freedom. The wind smelled of grass, flowers and freedom.
You didn’t need to marry Duncan to get all that money. You could just sell your mother’s necklace.
You were on the first floor, and you dropped your suitcase out the window and made a move to follow it, but hesitated for a moment. You turned back quickly, snatching your wand from the dresser and waving it hastily to summon a bit of parchment and a quill. You scrawled a half-hearted explanation note with haste, the ink blotchy and smudged, and laid it on the bed before turning back to the window. You hesitated again, wand in your teeth, before slipping back to your bed to grab the scarf and toss the gawdy and awful engagement ring beside the note for good measure. You could have sold it as well, but you were much more keen on the idea of owing Duncan absolutely nothing. Without so much as a glance over your shoulder, you hastily tied the scarf around your waist and leapt back toward the window.
You swung your leg over the windowsill, not caring whether you ripped the dress, and the instant your feet were planted in the grass, you took off running as fast as you possibly could. Your feet protested due to your fancy wedding shoes that had most certainly not been designed for such exercise, but you paid it no mind. The pain was nothing bothersome, simply a complimenting factor to the exhilaration of your sudden liberation and the heartbeat thundering in your ears. The necklace was safe in its box your suitcase, and you wasted no time high-tailing it toward the woods. You couldn’t take the main road for fear of running into a bewildered guest who was still arriving (what a story they would have had to tell) and you couldn’t leave the property through the front gate, so you figured that taking a long hike through the forest was your best bet to get out of there as fast as you possibly could. Running through the forest in your fancy clothing and painful shoes was evoking some serious nostalgia, and you felt your heart tugging painfully at the thought of your best friend.
You would not go to Newt for assistance, no matter how much you longed to. Some deep romantic part of you wanted desperately to run right out of the arms of one man and into the arms of another, which your logical side told you was absolutely ridiculous. This was not for him. This was for you and for your sister. Part of you was afraid to ask anything of Newt ever again, fearing that you had caused him an irreparable amount of pain, and you figured with a pang of sadness that you would have to learn to live with that. You had never expected him to do anything about your situation because he owed you absolutely nothing in exchange for loving him. What a ridiculous notion that was. You had known him and loved him and hurt him and thoughts of him were only a very small part of your motivation for running as far from Duncan as you possibly could.
Once you were past the tree line and the house was out of sight, you slowed down some. The most dangerous part was over. You were so close to freedom. You knew for a fact that walking about two miles in these woods would lead you to a road, and you could either hitchhike with some muggle or follow the road to the town where the train station lay. You had to go. You had to get out of there, and it didn’t matter where you went to, but you had to get out and there were too many muggles around to apparate safely. Besides, you would not risk splinching or accidentally leaving your suitcase behind near that house. You didn’t want to have to set foot in Duncan’s wretched mansion ever again.
An idea sprang into your head, and you grinned as you gripped the dress in your fists and lifted it up a little so you wouldn’t trip on it as you stepped over a log. Your sister was hospitalized, which meant that her home was empty. She had been sick for a while, but only very recently had she been admitted to full-time care at a magical medical facility, so her teeny house was still just as she’d left it. The key was under the doormat! You could go there to get yourself together and change into proper clothes before finding a jeweler or someone to sell the necklace to, and you were suddenly ecstatic. Your hair caught briefly in a branch, and you untangled yourself impatiently, your carefully pinned hairdo falling out bit by bit. It was lopsided now, and you cast a bobby pin distastefully aside. You would sell the necklace, have your father collect your things from Duncan’s home, and be freed of the responsibility of marrying him. Your sister would get the treatment she needed, and you would have a shot at being happy again.
A shot at being free.
You emerged from the woods about an hour and a half later, your feet aching and your beautiful wedding dress torn and smudged with mud from dragging along the earth behind you. Twigs were caught in your hair and your makeup was smeared in a clownlike fashion as a result of your hands wiping away at the sheen of sweat that covered your face. You had never been happier in your whole life, and you found yourself giggling reflexively as you started along the road.
It wasn’t a long walk to town, and you beamed the whole way there, taking no notice to the bewildered looks you were getting from passerby. You must have been quite the spectacle, especially to muggles, with your wand clenched in one carefully manicured hand and a suitcase in the other. You were a grinning mess, dirt and sweat and makeup smudged on your cheeks and once-pristine dress, your bare arms crisscrossed with scrapes from trees and brambles and twigs and a well-loved Hufflepuff scarf tied securely around your waist. You walked into town with a slight limp, your feet still aching terribly even with your shoes off and dangling from your hand, and smiled politely at anyone you walked past. You disregarded at all looks because frankly, you didn’t give a shit what they thought of you right now. You were where you needed to be and you had done what you needed to do to get there.
The train station was nearer than you had been expecting, and you marched up to the small stand where a man was selling tickets. “Where to…” he looked up from whatever he was writing, and looked bewildered for a moment. “…Miss? Mrs?”
You replied with the name of your sister’s town, and he looked surprised. “That’s a few hours away, ma’am,” he said as he got you a ticket. “Why are you headed there, and in such a hurry?” he inquired, gaze lingering pointedly on your wedding dress.
“Cold feet,” you said with a cheeky grin, and he raised his eyebrows but didn’t question you any further. He opened his mouth to give you the price, but you were suddenly completely disinterested in anything he had to say. You gripped your wand tight and turned away, wide eyed, to look at the thin stream of people trickling out of the train station doors with disbelief written all over your features.
“Miss…us? Missus?” he called after you, but you had swept up your suitcase and were off, pain disregarded as your bare feet flew against the rough pavement. A familiar figure had caught your eye, and you broke immediately into a sprint. He was walking rapidly, anxiously, with purpose, his signature case in hand.
“Newt!” you cried, surprised and delighted as you realized that the artificial honey that had been dripping from your words for the last few months had dissolved into raw and real joy; you found yourself wondering for a fleeting moment if you were having some bizarre dream and you were about to wake up and put on your incredibly simple dress and marry Duncan for the money, but all notions of that dissolved as he turned and his eyes met yours and his face lit up in a way that you had never seen before. You were crashing into his arms in an instant, and he was real, this was real and not a dream and he didn’t smell anything like that horrid house, of rosewater or your favorite dessert or like sickly sweet and perfect flowers, he smelled like train smoke and pine and sawdust and earth and sweat and you were crying, voice raw, all of a sudden, tears coursing down your cheeks and dripping onto his coat as he gripped you, lifting you into his arms for a moment as though he, too, needed reassurance that you were real.
You said nothing for a moment, just holding each other as tight as you could, until you pulled away and gripped his face in your hands. His familiar stubble scratched against your fingers and you grinned. “Merlin’s Beard, Newt, what on Earth are you doing here?” you cried, and he grinned back at you.
“Nice scarf,” he commented, eyes flicking to your waist, where the Hufflepuff scarf he had given you only weeks before was tied securely. “and I could ask you the same question,” he teased. “Don’t you have somewhere you’re supposed to be? A wedding, perhaps?” he chuckled a little, his eyes bright and his lips fixed in an instinctive grin.
You smoothed your thumb over his cheek, laughing breathlessly. “I don’t have to marry him. I have an old necklace of my mother’s that I can sell and I’ll still have money to spare but I didn’t know until today so I had to sneak out the window of the guest bedroom in my wedding dress and hike here through the woods,” you spoke rapidly, barely pausing to breathe, let alone articulate properly.
He started laughing even harder, eyes aglow as he gripped your hips and pulled you in to steal a swift kiss. “The Occamies hatched. They finally hatched a few days ago and I sold the shells,” he said in between little fits of laughter. “I sold the silver so that maybe I could… ah,” he paused for a moment, looking exhausted and infatuated and ecstatic all at once as he studied your face.
You looked at him with unrestrained adoration in your tearful eyes. “Why?” you found yourself murmuring in awestruck disbelief.
“Perhaps so that I could take Duncan’s place as the rich suitor who would fund your sister’s treatment,” he said, chuckling some more with both relief and amusement. “Or perhaps just as an old friend who would sacrifice anything necessary to see that you are happy,” He smiled in the way that he always did, a sort of sober honesty in his eyes as he finished his statements. “Either way…I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I could have done something but chose not to,”
At this, you pulled him in hastily for another kiss. This time, it was sloppy and desperate and your teeth clacked clumsily and you smiled into it as he leaned forward. It was, without a doubt, the best kiss you had ever had. His lips were chapped and his face was unshaven. It scratched against your skin and you grinned, tugging at his hair with a giggle as he pulled away to look at you.
You gripped Newt’s hands in yours, looking at him with happiness written plainly all over your features, and tugged him up and toward the ticket man. You hadn’t noticed, but he had been watching this emotional exchange incredulously and he eyed the pair of you with a judgmental but amused expression as you approached him.
“So I assume that will be two tickets, then,”
omg it’s done??? im so ????? it’s been almost a year since I posted the first one and here we are!! the scarf: part 2!!! holy heck i hope u guys like it i had so much fun with it