She could see he hadn’t been anticipating her question - could see that perhaps he’d expected her to be angry with him and scream at him. Well, she was angry, but even after his explanation she couldn’t ignore the fact that from the beginning it all began with the Amortentia letters.

Perhaps in a different world Tilda would have lashed out in anger, but his answer saw the tension in her shoulders release, and she did her best to retain her composure. It wasn’t like her to be so affected by a mere possibility, but perhaps she would have a different reaction had she also not been worried sick about her family back at that ballroom and not in a cottage breaking all kinds of codes of propriety with a man who - she now realized - made her heart jump to her throat.

It was then that she suddenly - or perhaps not so suddenly - thought of her parents, and their promise that they would see her after the ball, and she found herself tense again. Their promise had seemed such a simple one to keep, but she was now faced with the possibility of never seeing them again. With another horrid realization, Tilda remembered she had promised the chaperone they wouldn’t be too long before returning back to the ballroom. And yet here they were, the chaperone lost to sea and having to stay overnight in the cottage.

”I…” she started, not knowing where her words would lead. ”I don’t know if you can promise me that, Mr. Scamander…”

She’d moved closer to him now, her voice quiet. Relief had flooded her at his confession of wanting to be with her but what she hadn’t expected was the following sense of dread. That somehow he would lose interest or his wife would come back and declare she had been out of her mind to leave such a wonderful husband and family.

”And I can’t make you promise that. I won’t.” Another step closer, towards him, towards the warmth of the fireplace. ”It wouldn’t be fair to you or to Theseus if she came back and you felt a sense of duty to be with me, when you should be with your family.”

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