"Whoosh!" Within an instant, Leta and Theseus were transported to the Quidditch pitch.
"Y'know, we could've just walked…" Leta commented.
"No time to waste!" Theseus shouted, "How am I supposed to relax when I'm facing a deadly fire breathing dragon in 2 hours' time?!"
"I dunno, actually..." she half laughed. "Put a spell under it?" she suggested.
"Argh!" he shouted in frustration, "If only Newt was here…"
"You called?" A voice came from behind.
"Newt!" Theseus turned around, smiling. "We need you. Facts about dragons. Go!"
"What kind?" he stared back quizzically, "I can't just recall…" He shyly responded.
"C'mon, Newt! This is your forte in life!" He stressed, pacing back and forth on the luscious jade green grass.
"Ok…" he conceded, "Dragons are seemingly ferocious creatures, but are calm, even pleasant when surrounded by those they trust, aka, me. What else?" he inquired.
"Actual facts, not just gibberish."
"Don't be so hard on your brother!" Leta chided, smacking Theseus' shoulder.
"Ow!" he exclaimed, "Common Welsh Green." He spoke with a lack of charisma.
Newt flicked open his notebook, which was riddled with notes, annotations and sketches. "They have a distinctive roar in comparison to many other species, and are disadvantaged by their lack to withstand soothing lullabies. There's your go-to!" he smiled, teeth glinting in the fierce sunlight.
"Got it. Can we bring wands?"
"I reckon." Leta affirmed, "Anything's possible. Now go get 'em!" She pecked him on the cheek, making his entire face flourish pink.
"Leta!" he exclaimed, high pitched. Newt's eyes directed themselves away, supposedly to stop himself from gagging.
"Sorry…" she paced back a few steps, almost jerking forwards from the impact of bashing into the balustrade.
"Careful!" Newt shouted, extending his hand. Leta took it, adjusting quickly, hair frazzled.
Theseus disapparated out of sight, clearly having dealt with enough goofy, childlike behaviour and obtaining enough information to last a lifetime. He better make it count, too, for the Triwizard Tournament would make its mark. A survival of the fittest, and only the fittest.