A snippet from a future To N, From G chapter since I'm yet to write the next chapter fully. Does this count as spoilers???
After spending hours in his basement, Newt was down to the last creature on the list for his afternoon rounds. Everyone else had been doing wonderfully, improving their conditions and happy, and with each day the female niffler seemed more inclined to lounge around instead of destroy his house. The niffler pups were due any day now.
He ended up spending a while in the new enclosure he had built the kelpie because even though the last one was a decent size, he felt bad that the poor creature couldn't swim around in a large body of water. At least she seemed to appreciate her new enclosure, taking Newt along for the ride as she got out most of her restless energy.
It would only be after that that she would let Newt treat her.
Newt stood on the stone on the edge of her enclosure — cheking her teeth and putting drops in her eye — barefoot, in naught but trousers, still dripping with water. He had noticed she responded more positively to him working when he left himself soaked — and he hated the feeling of a wet shirt sticking to his skin.
He was still tending to her when the basement door slid open, followed by two very different trills of delight. One from Lucy, and ther other from Antonio — the chupacabra pup that the Dark Lord had been given the honor of naming.
A shiver ran up Newt's entire body as fingers softly glided over the skin on his back, like the hands were mapping out the freckles as if they were as fascinating and beautiful as the stars.
Finally done with his work, Newt dried himself and in the very next breath he felt the person behind step closer.
Gallery hummed as he did, hands flattening against the red heads back as he placed a soft kiss on the back of Newt's neck. "Schatzi," he murmured against the skin in greeting.
"Gellert," Newt said. He let his magic pack away his things, content to stand there for a little while longer.
One hand had settled on his hip, lips never quite pulling away, while the other hand continued to glide across his skin. Well, there were a few places that the blonde repeatedly went over, fingers filled with upmost care.
"I still cannot fathom these are here," Gellert said quietly. "A creature of all things, doing this to you."
Interrupting the smooth skin of Newt's back was a scar, or more accurately three. Three lines of faint white and pink despite how old the scars now were. They were clean lines, then jagged, as the creature had changed course, deepest at his shoulder before continuing all the way to his lower back.
It had been a scar caused by unbridled anger that had been so quickly snuffed when the creature realised just who it had managed to sink its claws into.
"They hadn't meant to hurt me," Newt said quietly.
Another quick kiss to skin. "I don't doubt that."
"They were trying to protect me, because I was protecting them. It's not my first injury from a creature, nor likely the last."
Though it was the biggest.
Gellert hummed, pressing one last kiss to Newt's neck before stepping closer. Chest to back, chin comfortably hooked over shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around Newt's middle.
"I'm hopeful I'll hear the whole story one day, when you're ready, of course."
Newt adjusted his bowtie for the nth time, walking far slower than necessary down a long, empty hallway and towards a function room. He was enjoying the presence of the man walking beside him, letting the magic and body warmth calm some of his nerves. He had asked the other man to attend the event with him in hopes of deterring partygoers, and his brother, from trying to chat with him all night out of politeness. Also, he needed someone he could actually hold a conversation with so that he didn’t jump off the balcony in an attempt to flee boredom.
He glanced to his side.
The blonde man wasn’t recognisable in any way really, having generic and forgettable looks. But those who knew the man well would be able to find the slight resemblance to how he normally appeared. Thankfully, a room full of Ministry workers were not included in that small group of people.
“They’ve settled into the mountains wonderfully,” Grindelwald finished his spiel on dragons – a herd now under his care that was rescued by none other than the amazing magizoologist. The story had been just enough of a distraction as the pair came to a stop before a heavy door. “Are you certain you want to go in?” he asked, a phantom of a touch ghosting over Newt’s lower back, wishing to touch yet scared to overstep.
Newt readjusted his bowtie one last time before nodding.
Grindelwald fixed the sleeves of his (very obviously stupidly expensive) suit – both men opting out of wearing heavy wizarding formal robes – before opening the door with a flourish. He let the red head enter the room before him but he followed closely behind.
Their eyes were immediately assaulted by the room’s décor – which was surely put together by someone who hated their job. There were multiple chandeliers, which were bright enough on their own, but they were accompanied by floating candles and glass spheres. Normal Christmas decorations were everywhere, but the worse thing was the tacky tinsel floating around and blinding any poor sod who accidently looked at it. Clumps of cocktail tables were scattered about, a buffet on either side on the hall as well as four bars. Open bars.
At least the Ministry knew people would need a drink (or five) to get through the function.
The partygoers’ outfits clashed as badly as the decorations. Some had on clothes that were essentially what they wore to their office jobs on a daily basis, others had opted for the latest muggle fashion that had already crept into the wizarding world, while some donned their most ridiculous lavish wizard robes for the occasion.
Newt’s breath got stuck in his chest at the sight of everything.
A hand pressed softly onto his lower back and air flooded back through his lungs.
“Shall we find a quiet corner?” Grindelwald asked, his hand already gone from Newt’s body, not leaving even a small trace of warmth.
Newt nodded, peering out at the crowd. He led them to an unpopular cluster of tables, the people who were loitering disappearing and never coming back. They were also near the balconies. Not that they were open to the public per say, but the doors were cracked open a fraction to let in a little bit of winter air.
The night progressed rather smoothly, which surprised Newt.
Grindelwald had offered to fetch all of their food and drinks, venturing into the thick crowd with ease and a natural grace that had people moving out of his way. Although this certainly wasn’t where the blonde would normally be, he fit right in. The only people who dared approach their table were non-Auror Ministry workers, or their spouses, that had met Newt once upon a time. All of them wanted to keep up appearances by greeting all of their acquaintances. Although none of them truly cared, some queried about Newt’s dashing friend.
To anyone who asked, the blonde was a lord whose family wealth paid for itself. Bored of wandering his estate, he set to travelling, which was how he met Newt. He indulged in strictly creative hobbies but favoured reading and cooking. His suit, posture, and choice of words did wonders to help sell the story.
Newt nursed his drink as he stared out into the crowd that was still at full capacity despite the many hours that had passed. His eyes would always drift back to Grindelwald, who had gone to fetch them another plate of snacks and new drinks.
A glass of fire whisky rushed into Newt’s vision, shortly followed by the tipsy man attached to it.
He had been wondering how long it’d take Theseus to find him. It wasn’t like he was hiding from him.
“Newt! There you are,” Theseus exclaimed like he had been on the hunt for his brother since the party started, but if that was true then his breath wouldn’t reek of alcohol. Nor would he have been chatting up multiple Ministry ladies in, assumedly, hushed tones. (Newt could see a lot of things from his spot in the room). “Where have you been?”
“Here,” Newt replied. He glanced at his brother but decided to keep his eyes on the mass of people. When he spotted Grindelwald at the bar, he downed the small amount of his drink he had left before turning to face his brother head on.
Theseus was frowning at him like he was figuring out a really hard puzzle. “For how long?” Honestly, this man was supposedly a brilliant Auror who picked up on things quickly. At least people would know if he ever drank on the job.
“The whole night, actually.”
Theseus waved his hand, dismissing the idea and the conversation. Unfortunately, he used the hand that held his glass, causing the dark liquid to spill over the rim. Not that he noticed it. “You stay right here! I have someone I want to, have to introduce you to.”
“I told you, I’m not interested.”
“You’ll love her,” Theseus said, ignoring the words coming out of his brother’s mouth. “Send your friend away – he’ll just get in the way of you getting to know her. And we want you to know her well.” He did a funny thing with his eyebrows – it was uncomfortable to watch.
Newt’s eyes flicked across the room and, without searching, found Grindelwald on his way back to the table. “I can’t just leave him,” Newt protested.
“He’s not your date, for Merlin’s sake, ditch the man.”
With extraordinary timing, a voice boomed out from across the hall in search of the one and only Auror Scamander and Theseus’ head swivelled dangerously fast in order to spot the person. Newt took this moment of distraction to slip towards the balcony doors. They were ajar just enough for him to sneak outside without opening them and risking any noise or someone noticing.
The crisp air of outside immediately made him feel better. He leant his lower back against the stone railing and sighed, watching as his breath came out in white puffs. Like a dragon, he thought, amused. He kept one eye on the doors just in case someone had in fact noticed him slipping away into the darkness. Thankfully, nobody annoying followed him.
A shadow appeared from one of the doorways at the other end of the balcony.
A drink floated in his direction, followed by Grindelwald. “Do you share any similarities?” he asked, sounding genuinely at a loss.
Newt smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes – a common occurrence lately when dealing with his brother. “Doing what we want.” Gripping his drink in both hands, he turned and leant his arms against the railing. He felt the blonde copy him, standing close (but never quite enough to touch). “Seems my plan failed.”
“How so?” Grindelwald asked with a hum. He stared out at the city lights, but his eyes were always drawn back to the red head like a moth to a flame.
“He still wants to set me up with someone,” Newt said. “I’m starting to think that even a date wouldn’t stop him.”
“Shall we try?”
Newt almost dropped his glass.
“His reaction may be amusing considering he is certifiably plastered.”
Newt swore he could have shattered his glass from how hard he was gripping it as he turned to look at the man next to him. “No need to go that far. I don’t want you to do something bothersome.” And it would be. Theseus would most likely throw a fit that he hadn’t met Newt’s date before such a public event. He certainly wouldn’t approve either, interrogating the blonde so harsh that he’d leave burn marks on fair skin. It would continue after the party as well, whether they kept up the ruse or claimed to have broken it off not long after. Either way, it would be an insufferable hell.
Grindelwald’s lips ticked upwards, his expression sincere and open. “It wouldn’t be a bother – I did suggest it.”
Newt wished he was staring at the blonde’s real face.
“You don’t have to do something you don’t want to just to keep my brother off my back,” Newt ended up saying.
“I want to.”
Newt tapped his glass in thought as he glanced out at the cityscape. Lights from house clusters were slowly dwindling but he could point out where every secret bar and restaurant hid beneath the streetlight in the depths of the city’s underbelly. A smile grew on his own lips as he turned back to the man beside him. “Are we still talking about the same thing?” he asked.
“One glorious night where we showcase our soul-binding love for each other to the cream of the crop of Britain’s political world, receiving a few scathing looks and comments but none of it matters because our passion burns too bright to be put out by jealousy of others.” Gellert grinned as he finished, earning a laugh from Newt.
The reading bit of his fake persona was true – the lord actually read more literature and poetry than he did of politics and magical theory.
Newt wished he was staring into mismatched eyes as he asked, “And if it was for longer than one night?”
“I’d be a fool to reject any chance at being yours.”
“Are you a fool tonight?”
As he set his glass aside, Gellert’s gaze fell to Newt’s lips and stayed there. “May I?”
Newt carelessly placed his glass on the railing before taking a step towards the other man, almost but not quite closing the already small gap. A hand grabbed his waist before slipping around to his lower back as their lips slotted together softly. Neither of them ever wanted to pull away from the pure bliss or the warmth of their bodies pressed so closely together. Attempting to ask for something without using his words, Newt nipped lightly at the lips against his. Gellert retaliated with a bite of his own, one of his canines catching on Newt’s lips. He took the noise the red head made as an opportunity to deepen to kiss.
Eventually, after a period of time neither of them counted, they pulled back, but only far enough that they could rest their foreheads together.
Newt sighed, a mixture of happiness and tiredness. He wanted to just leave the party and enjoy the rest of his night, but he knew that his brother would hunt him down and would ruin a nice moment, or potentially catch them in a compromising position.
As if sensing his thoughts, Gellert stepped further back with a small nod. “Let’s ruin your brother’s annoying plan,” he said. This time, as they made their way back inside and to the cocktail table they had claimed, he let his hand rest comfortably on Newt’s lower back.
It was honestly a little funny how the only difference with how they acted was where Gellert let his hand rest. For the entire night they had been standing extremely close to each other, talking quietly and ignoring majority of the people in the room. Anyone with eyes could have told you from the start that they would have preferred to be left alone with each other.
It didn’t take long for Theseus to come bounding over, a lady in tow.
The elder Scamander was visibly unhappy at the sight of Grindelwald there. “Newt, this is Penelope. Penelope, my brother,” Theseus introduced the lady, pointedly ignoring the man at Newt’s side.
The lady held out a hand to shake (in terms of the man politely gripping the woman’s fingers) but Newt made no move to reach out across the small table. “Hello.”
“Hi.” Penelope made a ‘what the hell’ face at the elder Scamander, clearly thrown off her game. Clearly, whatever information she had been fed, had been skewered (or just plain wrong). “And you are?” she asked, turning to Grindelwald who bent his head slightly in greeting.
“Nikolai.”
Penelope smiled tightly. “So,” she said, feeling like someone was stabbing her with an ice-cold blade while under the blonde’s gaze. “You like animals, yes?” she asked Newt.
Newt raised a brow at his brother before smiling politely at the woman. “Yes, I do like creatures.”
“So, do you just collect them? Or find them so rich people can have them?” She nodded towards Grindelwald as she asked the last question, more a genuine question than joking.
Gellert and Newt frowned at the same time.
“Most here would actually call me an annoying activist. I try to rehabilitate and release the creatures, stop them from being poached and senselessly killed,” Newt explained.
“How much does that earn you?”
“I don’t do it for money,” Newt said, tone harsher than normal.
Penelope took an unimpressed sip of her drink before tilting her heard towards the crowd. She claimed she heard someone calling her name, excusing herself as she disappeared into the mass of people with useless flourish.
That was far easier than expected.
Well, almost. Theseus was fuming.
“I told you to get rid of him,” he hissed, ignoring the fact that the man standing right next to his brother could hear him.
Gellert inserted himself into the conversation when he felt Newt begin to tense. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said to the elder Scamander, effectively distracting him from whatever scolding he was surely about to give Newt. It filled Gellert with rage every time he heard about all the ‘talks’ Newt had gotten.
“No.” Theseus was clearly displeased, brows furrowed, lips threatening a snarl. He held out a hand but was shunned as Grindelwald kept his visible hand wrapped around his glass (the other still on Newt’s waist, out of sight). “Senior Auror Theseus Scamander.”
Gellert barely stopped himself from scoffing. What an obvious attempt at intimidation, whipping out his job title like that. Oh so scary. “Lord Nikolai.”
Theseus wasn’t as good as keeping control over his emotions, nor his facial expressions. Honestly, the man was far too blatant in his dislike of the blonde. “And what do you do?”
“A bit of everything, really.”
“I meant for work.”
“Oh, I have no need,” Gellert said as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. He managed to encapsulate the persona of a nobleman born with a silver spoon up his ass far too easily. “You know how things are.” He could see a vein being to protrude in the Auror’s neck.
“How did you meet?”
“Travelling.”
“Why are you here?” Theseus demanded, becoming more frustrated with each second.
Gellert smirked. “The invitation said a plus one was allowed. A date.”
Theseus scoffed. Determined, he rounded the small table. “He’s not your date.” One of his hands wrapped around Newt’s arm roughly, heavily, and went to tug him away from the blonde. He tried again, more aggressively this time, but still fell short of his goal of physically ripping his brother away from the other man.
The thing stopping him was Gellert’s arm around Newt’s waist; and the fact that Newt would rather stab his own hand than let his brother manhandle him like he was a toddler or some filthy criminal.
“I think it’s time we left.” Newt spoke to Gellert only, shaking the hand off his arm.
The pair snaked through the crowd as they headed for the exit, ignoring those who were starting to stare as well as the annoying Auror following them. The elder Scamander was stubborn and loud and was most definitely causing a scene that would be the main focus of the Ministry rumour mill for the next week or two. They made it so close to the doors before a hand yanked on Newt’s arm, forcing him to either stop or dislocate his shoulder.
“You are not dating him,” Theseus yelled, scowling.
A hush fell over the entire function hall as everyone turned to listen and watch the disruption.
Great, Newt thought. He breathed deeply and evenly. He was never going to one of these stupid parties ever again. “Yes, I am.”
“No,” Theseus exclaimed like his opinion mattered. “You’re not dating this stranger!”
“He’s not a stranger,” Newt said, exasperated.
“I said no!”
“I don’t need your approval.” Newt’s voice was steely. A few of the partygoers stepped back, having never seen or heard of the magizoologist becoming this mad before. It was unnerving.
“Yes you do. I’m the head of the family!”
“What family? There’s nothing to be the head of.”
Newt felt Gellert move closer to him as well as slightly in front of him as if he suspected that the elder Scamander would get so mad he’d try to lay hands on Newt again. Given he had done it twice in a short time frame, it wasn’t that far stretched of an idea.
They really needed to get out of there.
“Just wait until he sees all your beasts!”
Gellert took a full step forward, amused when the Auror stumbled back a step to stay away. “I’ve met all of the creatures Newton cares for.”
“And you’re fine with them all?” Theseus asked. He looked beyond rumpled and frantic; it was pathetic.
“Yes. I support and believe in what he does entirely.”
“I’m onto you,” Theseus declared, poking the blonde in the chest with a finger, forgetting the fear he had a second ago. “You’re manipulating him somehow.”
“I would never.” Gellert was deathly serious.
“You must want something from him!”
“He’s my partner–” That rolled off his tongue quite pleasantly. “–and that’s enough, but I doubt you understand that concept. Senior Auror with a drinking problem who’s sleeping with over half of the secretaries in this room.”
For a man that didn’t have a useful or reasonable response, Theseus sure knew how to keep his yelling going. He went on about how he should be respected because he was the head of the family, the older brother, and also a damn good Auror – his words – in a high position. He insisted that he had a say in Newt’s love life because of those reason and that this ‘Lord Nikolai’ was certainly not a fit match, rambling that Newt could not make such an important decision without including him. He kept insinuating that the blonde wanted something from Newt – more than likely his creatures – and that that was the only reason he was with him. He then took to saying that he would forcefully separate them and threatening the blonde to stay away.
Newt placed a hand on Gellert’s arm, silently urging him to turn and leave. But the abundance of comments, especially the last few ones, had angered the blonde to the point that his altered appearance started to fade away. He was so angry that he was prepared to start a riot on the spot.
Gellert took a step back, silently agreeing with Newt that they needed to leave. He laughed as he did so though, something dark and manic. “Do your worst.”
Theseus scrambled to find his wand, prepared to do his worst right there.
“Gellert,” Newt whispered, but with how quiet the room was, every single soul heard him.
Gellert’s head snapped to look at Newt, the anger immediately being shoved to the side to be used for another day. “Apologies, I should have wrapped this up sooner.” At least Newt didn’t appear particularly annoyed with him.
Not wanting to waste any more time or energy on the elder Scamander, and not wanting to cause a bigger scene considering his disguise had disappeared, Gellert wrapped his arm around Newt’s waist and apparated from the spot.
There were hundreds of wards and charms that should have prevented him from apparating, but what in the world would be able to stop him from taking Newt – who melted into his touches so pleasantly – home?
Small warning: mentions of decapitation and murder
Newt let out a satisfied huff as he rolled the last piece into place, finally finishing constructing his bonfire. He rolled his sleeves back down as he stood up fully and dusted himself off as he stepped back. He admired his own work for a moment before tsking as an icy breeze whipped around, snow trailing behind it.
He’d be damned if he let the oncoming storm ruin his plan.
The bonfire had a large circle of dirt cleared around it, and with a snap of Newt’s fingers, it sparked to life.
Newt stood near the tree line of the small clearing, pulling his scarf from his pocket and wrapping it around his neck. He let the flames warmth reach him for a few seconds before placing a barrier around the fire which prevented the fresh snowfall from dampening the raging flames. It also stopped the smell from wafting through the forest.
Newt didn’t want to breath in the pungent odor.
The storm crept closer and closer, snow falling quicker, and the temperatures continued to drop. Newt stayed put until every single thing in the fire had burnt entirely – courtesy of his charmed beyond comprehension scarf that stopped him from freezing to death.
Confident that the snowstorm would cover his tracks, he apparated away.
His feet landed on a plush rug that covered ancient stone floors. He smiled to himself as he unwounded his scarf, letting it hang on his shoulders as he eyed the very inviting looking lounge nearby. Alas, he wasn’t done yet. He had finished all of his preparation. Now, the only thing left to do was the presentation, and it was going to gain a spectacular reaction…he hoped.
Heading to a different room, he barely made it down the long hall before his name was called from the other end.
Gellert walked quickly to get to him. “Are you alright?” Was the first thing he asked, eyes searching every inch of the magizoologist for any kind of injury.
Newt smiled at him as he said, “I’m fine.” He said nothing else, letting the man inspect him some more. He didn’t mind – he got the chance to stare as the blonde looked almost ethereal with the afternoon sun that shone through the window.
Oh, Newt thought, brows creasing slightly. He had planned to return before lunch, but it seemed the miserable weather had allowed him to lose track of time. The fact that his pocket watch was getting fixed didn’t do him any favors either.
“You have blood on your cheek, love,” Gellert said with a raised brow. He was immensely curious – had been for about a month, yet he didn’t ask what his partner had been doing. He had tried multiple times but had only received a vague answer, so he kept the burning question to himself. Though he would eventually ask who he would have to kill. He thought it was a known fact in the criminal world by now that if anyone dared to touch a hair on Newt’s head it would be an immediate death sentence.
Feeling both his cheeks, newt frowned when a red flake drifted off. He scrubbed one hand over his entire face, vanishing the dried blood from his skin. Gross. “Not mine,” he said with a mischievous smirk. He stepped closer, loosely wrapping his arms around Gellert’s neck in order to place a soft kiss on the man’s lips. He felt the other man relax slightly. “Sorry things took longer than expected.” With another quick peck of the lips, Newt started to slip away, beaming as he walked down the hall backwards. “Your office, thirty minutes? I have something to show you.”
Gellert let him go without complaint, enjoying the view he got of his partner walking away once he had turned to watch where he was going. The way Newt was carrying himself was, well, enticing.
Half an hour later, Gellert waltzed into his office. And found it empty.
It must have been even more of an intimate thing than he thought.
Even more curious, he headed for his private quarters which consisted of multiple rooms of multiple uses – such as a personal office and library – with an endless number of wards placed upon it.
If anyone else, anyone with less wealth, had to describe it, they would probably not say it was his private quarters, but rather an entire wing of the castle dedicated solely to him.
He found Newt waiting outside his office door, leaning against the wall in a fresh pair of clothes.
Gellert didn’t even think about opening the door, instead reaching out for the red head, his hands resting on Newt’s hips. He rubbed his thumbs over the soft sweater. “What are you up to?” Gellert asked.
“Well, I was thinking that it’s a busy month,” newt started, his arms coming to rest on Gellert’s shoulders, fingers toying with the blonde curls of the man’s natural appearance. “Christmas. Your birthday. And I know you can’t celebrate Yule in town this year because of the security risk, so, I thought that maybe I’d do something nice for you. One idea led to another…”
“Which somehow included blood being alongside your freckles?”
Newt huffed out a laugh, looking at Gellert fondly. “Go see your gift,” he said as he pulled back, motioning to the door.
Gellert did as he was told.
He faltered briefly when he saw that his desk was full of new things. With quick steps, he moved further into the room, eyes scanning the abundance of objects spread out for him to see, neatly stacked and organized. A pile of books on one corner; a stack of deeds; a box of maps; location sites and the entry keys for them; statements from multiple banks concerning different accounts; a skull with a long hookah smoking pipe attached; a long list of other items and riches that were currently elsewhere but now in his possession, ready for his use. In the middle of it all was a silver conche.
Mismatched eyes widened when he saw what was underneath.
In a pretty little line on the silver tray were five heads that had been shrunk to the size of a dolls head. And they were all extremely familiar.
They were five nuisances that Gellert had not had the chance to deal with yet – and it seemed like he wouldn’t have to.
“Rafael Ladrón gave me some trouble – his brother, not so much,” Newt said from where he stood on the other side of the desk.
“Trouble?” Gellert finally looked away from the multitude of gifts to stare at his partner, who seemed quite pleased with his own handywork and like he didn’t know that this was all a very big deal.
“He hired a bodyguard and was quite upset when I got rid of him. Didn’t seem very eager to depart with his head, either.”
Gellert swooned, gripping the edge of his desk.
It was known that he had done, and would continue to do, unspeakable things for the magizoologist. He had stolen, bribed, tortured, killed, and fed some wizards to the more dangerous carnivorous creatures in their care. And he had so willingly, and half the time entirely unprompted by the magizoologist. He had done things in honor of Newt. He had done tamer things too, of course, but the point was that he was the one to get his hands sullied with the blood of others.
He had never suspected that Newt would one day present his enemies’ prized possessions and heads on a silver platter to him.
It was unexpected. Morbid. Wonderful.
Without a further thought, Gellert summoned a pile of gifts in one of the armchairs in the corner behind Newt. It was stuff that he had gotten for Newt. Half was supposed to be for the holiday season, the rest of it simply so he could spoil his partner on random days with things he liked or needed.
The noise of things landing caught Newt’s attention. He turned, watching the objects continue to appear, smiling so wide that his cheeks dimpled. “Gellert,” he started.
“For you,” the blonde interrupted, motioning for the other man to take a closer look.
Listening as Gellert moved about in the background, Newt carefully sifted through the stack.
A collection of beautiful notebooks, sketchpads, quills, and precisely one quill charmed to write for you; three matching pieces of silver jewelry (a necklace, a signet ring, and an earring); a new charmed scarf that was grey and green; an ancient book about dragons he had been researching; and Newt’s plain pocket watch that was supposedly getting fixed, but now it had a snake and fox engraved into the metal on the back.
“Thank you, Schatzi.”
“Thank you.” Gellert’s voice was raw, overrun with emotion because, by Circe, did he love his gift. He loved his partner.
It was dangerous how much he felt for the other man.
Determined, Gellert closed the short distance to stand behind Newt, gripping another small ring box in his hands. His fingers trembled as he opened it, waiting for the other to turn around so he could look into beautiful green eyes as he asked, “Be my husband?”
Somehow, Newt’s smile grew larger and brighter despite beginning to wobble at the edge. “If you’ll be mine,” he whispered.
After the ring was slid onto his finger, the couple spent the rest of the day locked away in their private wing, celebrating.
When Newt first met the other man, it was at a less-than-legal market where they bumped into each other, literally. Newt had been checking his list and Grindelwald had zeroed in on the stall he was heading towards. Funnily enough, they were going to the same vendor that sold hard to come by and exotic flowers. Newt needed one of them for a potion he was planning on brewing.
The blonde was there to have a less than pleasant business meeting with the stall owner who was trying to cheat him.
Despite the inconvenience of someone running into him, Grindelwald had instantly taken to Newt. The younger man was a sight to behold, absolutely captivating when he smiled, and his laugh made Grindelwald feel like he was floating. He couldn’t have cared less that the red head had laughed when he introduced himself as the ‘Dark Lord’, as long as he laughed again.
“You’re not even a master of shadows or darkness,” Newt had said, the laugh skill clear in his words.
Well, Grindelwald wasn’t the master of shadows, at least not literally.
By the time Newt got to mentioning his new friend to his brother, months had passed and the two were enamoured with each other, always trying to meet at least once a week. That was when Newt realised why Grindelwald was called the Dark Lord and why his brother tensed when he heard the name. The next day, Newt asked the blonde himself what it was he did, and the man answered with complete honesty.
Newt let it go, saying it didn’t have to change their friendship. He had never felt even remotely threatened and the vampire didn’t want to leave him alone. (Newt didn’t want him to).
More months flew past as their bond strengthened, surprising each other in good ways.
Newt introduced Gellert to some of the creatures that wandered onto or lived on his property, ones he looked after that had a softer temperament. He let the other man into his home, showed him his collection of books and herbs and other things. He let the man help him in his precious garden that was large and full of fruit, vegetables, herbs, flowers – anything he could eat or use for his potions.
He was constantly receiving gifts from the Dark Lord – an array of pretty or useful things. More often than not, Grindelwald would accompany Newt to markets (both legal and shady) just so that the pretty red head wouldn’t have to pay for any of the things he needed.
Grindelwald soaked in everything about Newt. From his smile and laugh, to his ability to lie and scheme, his love for nature and his large following of creatures. The red head was like a beacon for all creatures. Gellert all but melted on the spot when he watched a jaguar turn into a kitten in Newt’s presence. He needed to do something, but his mouth felt like cotton whenever he tried.
Things kept progressing with them – and Gellert wasn’t the only one paying attention.
Newt wasn’t surprised when the blonde showed up at his doorstep before noon on the last day of the year. He was, however, surprised to see that the other man was nervous.
“Newton!” Gellert beamed. Per normal, he was dressed up far fancier than the occasion would call for. He had a grey scarf hanging on his shoulders that reached down to his knees, small darker patches evenly placed along it. Newt had made it for him, knitting runes into the fabric in hopes of helping the Dark Lord regulate the temperature.
Newt smiled bright as he stepped aside to let the other man in. “Gellert,” he greeted warmly. His curiosity spiked when he was offered a small bundle of dried flowers – exceptionally expensive and hard to find flowers to be exact. And these ones always needed to be completely dried out for any kind of potion. Newt accepted them, of course, moving to hang them with the rest of his large collection of dried flora.
“Do you have plans for today?” Gellert asked from the living room, still standing.
“No.”
Gellert’s eyes shone. “Would you like to join me in the mountains for a picnic then?”
“Sure,” Newt said. “Just us?” he asked as he started searching for his own rune decorated scarf. It may not be snowing, but the mountains would be cold, and he had never been a fan of donning layers upon layers of clothes to stay warm.
“Abernathy will bring us food, but yes.” Gellert’s ears twitched, making his singular earring jingle. “Is that alright?”
“Of course,” Newt said, his smile morphing into something fonder as he draped his own scarf around his shoulders. The blonde’s ear twitched again – Newt thought it was cute.
They left shortly after that. As per normal when the two of them hang out, it was easy to let the hours of the day be lost. The sun hid behind the horizon, and the stars came out to shine down on the mountain range. Every now and again a creature would fly above them, looking down at the pair. Considering they weren’t far from Newt’s property, the creatures were friendly and left them alone.
Sure enough, Abernathy had brought the pair food for lunch, and then dinner, and then enough snacks to last them until the sun had long risen.
Taking a moment to appreciate the full moon, Newt realised it was far later than he thought. But he made no move to leave. He had nowhere to be the next day, and he was very comfortable on the blanket they had spread out on top of the soft grass. He was having a wonderful time.
“Is there a reason you asked me here?” Newt asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. He had noticed the other man nerves hadn’t disappeared at all that night, and he had purposefully avoided mention what day it was. He was tried to avoid mentioning or thinking too hard about common New Year’s Eve traditions as he didn’t want to insinuate anything. But the other man was never this nervous, and Newt desperately needed to know why.
“Yes, well, actually…” Gellert trailed off. By Circe, his words were failing him. His words never failed him! He was basically a poet; a well-known silver-tongue in the criminal underworld – he should not be having difficulties getting words out. But then again, the red head made bats clear away the cobwebs in his stomach. He turned to face the red head more directly and was met with another blunder of words because he was ethereal. Whether it be with the moon and stars shining soft light onto him and making his eyes sparkle, or the sun kissing his freckled skin, Newt was beyond gorgeous. And Gellert could no longer not have him.
He almost forgot what he was going to say when Newt also turned to face, expression open and encouraging as if he knew what Gellert was thinking.
"I was hoping for a New Year's kiss, Newton."
Newt hummed, eyes trailing up and down the blonde intensely, cataloguing all his features. “Mm, that can be arranged,” he said, somewhere in between sweet and lustful. A grin slowly took over his features. He wondered if Gellert knew that his ears twitched when he was nervous.
Gellert smiled in return, but his eyes did narrow slightly. “You knew I was going to ask that.” It wasn’t a question whatsoever.
Newt shrugged, his shoulders barely raising. “I had my suspicions.” He leant in slightly, tilting his head to one side as his grin lessened into more of a smile – something pleasant, happy. “So?” he urged.
They leant in at the same time, closing the gap between them to share a slow, chaste kiss. It was sweet and wonderful and – in those mismatched positions – a little bit uncomfortable and awkward. Knowing they could do better, and wanting to do better, Newt moved to stand on his knees, hands reaching out to grip the dark grey scarf that still hung around the blonde’s shoulders. He used the soft fabric to pull them closer together. Newt smiled into the next kiss when he felt a hand land on the side of his thigh as the blonde steadied himself. A laugh bubbled in his chest, muffled by their still connected lips, as Newt let himself be manhandled to a different position. He ended up with each of his legs on either side of Gellert in a pseudo straddle as he was still on his knees.
When they pulled apart again, they took a moment to just stare at each other, processing that yes, that did in fact just happen and they wanted to do it again.
“Will you allow me to court you?”
Newt looked down at the other man, confused. “Were you not already doing so?”
Gellert grimaced, looking a bit lost for words. Again. He tried, and failed, to explain how if he was officially courting Newt, things would be different – but everything he said sounded exactly like their current situation. Even the new things he said he was wanting to plan simply sounded like an extension of what they already do when they spend time together.
Deciding to put the man out of his flustered misery, Newt cupped Gellert’s face softly, effectively silencing the other man. Slowly, he lowered himself so that he was properly straddling the blonde’s legs, his smile sweet as he did so. “I would like that very much,” he mumbled as he brought them together again for another kiss. Honestly, it was kind of addictive.
And Gellert agreed.
Even though he pulled back to speak, attempting to discuss certain semantics about their relationship.
Newt dropped his head to Gellert’s shoulder. “Gellert,” he called, only partially catching the man’s attention. Newt ran one of his hands from the base of Gellert’s neck to the tip of his pointy ears while also nipping at the pale skin at the vampire’s throat, delighted by the reaction that he got from both. He straightened up, looking the blonde directly in the eyes as he slung his arms around his shoulders, one of his hands hanging there while the other toyed with soft blonde hair. “Can we please talk about this later?”
How could Gellert refuse Newt of all people?
They moved with urgency. Hands sank into hair completely, gripping and tugging. Cold hands disappeared through gaps in clothing, snaking around hips and waists. The kisses were deeper, longer, more energetic. Gellert’s canines caught on Newt’s lips, making the delicate skin break and bleed.
Newt let out a muffled moan.
The blonde pulled back, face guilty as if he had just committed a heinous act. “Sorry,” he started to say.
“It’s fine,” Newt interrupted – because he liked it for Circe’s sake. He let the vampire keep them at a distance just so that he could get a good look at Newt, who was sitting there, pupils blown wide with lust and his own blood coating his kiss-raw lips. Newt knew the blonde couldn’t concentrate because he was looking at him like he wanted to devour him. Slowly, Newt worried his bleeding lip between his teeth before licking them. He leant back in close, voice quiet as he said, “In fact, it’s much more than fine.”
He shifted his hips downwards.
The remnants of Gellert’s resolve and trepidation blew away with the wind.
Despite the biting winds, the windows and doors that led from one of the living areas to the terrace were wide open, frost creeping along the old wood. Each strong gust would blow snow into the house, the brick and scarce furniture coated with a light layer of powder.
But Newt wasn’t concerned. The rest of the house was sealed shut and charmed against the weather. Well, the rest of his little villa, which was tucked away neatly into the French mountains where no one would think to look for him.
Tucked against the stone wall between windows and doors, safe from the snow, was a gramophone. Its music carried through the openings and into the yard where Newt was standing, completely ignoring the cold weather.
He was content to watch his newly rescued creatures frolic about in the slow falling snow.
He had saved five fox-like creatures. They had the appearance of a regular, muggle snow fox – an extremely fluffy winter coat, white fur to blend into their surroundings, an adorable face, and perfectly shaped tails. They had gray colouring on the tips of their tails and ears, as well as a patch on their face and all four paws. The main difference between them and a regular fox was that these were roughly the size of hyenas.
And that they could influence the snowy weather.
These energetic creatures could use the coldness in the air to create their own snowflakes that allowed them to walk in the air. The snowflake would dissolve after, leaving behind a trail of sparkles when the sun hit the falling specks.
All five of them were running about in the air, playing.
Newt hummed in question when the arms that rested around his middle tightened and a chin came to rest on his shoulder.
“Care for a dance, my love?” Gellert asked quietly, his breath coming out in hot puffs against the skin under Newt’s ear.
Over the years, Newt had never refused him a dance.
They started off just swaying to the music, turning to face each other with smiles reserved for moments like that – moments where it was just them and all the affection they had for each other.
Newt grinned before using the blonde’s scarf to pull him into a kiss.
The gramophone reset itself, and although the record was blank, it started to play the likes of Chopin and Strauss, the songs bleeding into the next. The pair stepped closer, taking on a more proper dancing stance as they moved about.
They spotted movement out the corner of their eyes.
The Snow Foxes had started to move around them as if mimicking their dancing. They left paw prints in the snow next to footprints and took to the air, making the space around the couple glimmer.
A laugh bubbled its way from Newt’s chest which was returned by the foxes’ own trills of delight. The magizoologist beamed.
And Gellert was beyond smitten.
“We should do this more,” Gellert suggested, voice quiet as if to not disturb their bubble of peace. In fact, he had been speaking like that all week, having spent those stays staying with the magizoologist in the mountains. He didn’t elaborate on what he said, leaving Newt to ponder if he was referring to the dancing or the wonderfully secluded week they had spent together.
“Should we now?”
“Yes,” Gellert said. Despite the layers of clothes, he knew that there was a necklace hidden underneath where it rested against freckled skin as it swirled. His heart and head swam with overwhelming affection at the thought that the red head had accepted the jewellery despite the significance, the danger, of it. Gellert was enamoured as he watched snow land on Newt’s hair and eyelashes. He leant in, softly capturing those perfect lips with his in a sweet kiss. “You’re more beautiful than the nature around us.”
Newt’s eyes crinkled with his smile.
They lost track of time as they danced, hushed conversations and whispered affections.
And then an extremely loud, “What the bloody hell!” finally broke their fantastical peace.
One of the foxes fell from the air at the shock of the intrusion.
The gramophone suddenly stopped playing.
Stepping away from his partner, Newt turned to find his brother standing – fuming – in the doorway. If the steaming cup of coffee was anything to go by, the man had let himself into the kitchen, more than likely leaving behind a mess in search of the coffee.
Theseus took a step onto the veranda, a deep scowl on his face. “What the bloody hell?” he repeated as he patted himself down with his free hand. Eventually, he found his wand.
Newt crossed his arms as he said, “You’re early. And put that away.”
“What? I have the criminal of all criminals in front of me, and you’re telling me to put my wand away?” Theseus yelled. His feet thumped against the brick as he stepped further outside.
The foxes ran to the other side of the yard, staring at him with trepidation.
Newt frowned. “I don’t care,” he said. With how angry his brother was getting, Newt feared that his poor mug might be dopped, and broken.
The mug may not have broken, but hot coffee spilled from it as Theseus waved both his arms in frustration. He held his wand with a new conviction, pointing it more aggressively at his target.
“Now, Theseus.”
The Auror faltered for a brief moment. He sprung back quick enough, always so certain that he was smarter and in the right when it came to his baby brother. He went on about safety, danger, and whatever nonsense that was going on in Newt’s mind that made him think it was okay to stand directly in front of the Dark Lord so that Theseus couldn’t get a good shot without taking him out too.
Newt waved him off. “He’s a house guest.”
“One with manners,” Gellert said as he stepped closer to Newt, still standing behind the red head. He stared down the Auror, grinning when he spluttered at the remark. Really, the elder Scamander was severely uncouth in Gellert’s opinion.
Theseus looked ready to charge.
“You’ll just end up hurting yourself,” Newt said in hopes of reminding his brother of his house rule. One that he had implemented as soon as he left Britain. A rule that prohibited fighting on any land he owned or lived on lest they be banned from the property and fed back whatever spell it was they has cast – minus the killing curse.
Theseus huffed and puffed but eventually tucked his wand into his sleeve. He demanded to know why the criminal was there, choosing to ignore the fact that he caught them dancing for the sake of his own sanity.
Slowly, Gellert snaked his arms around Newt’s waist and hips, pulling the younger man flush against his chest with no resistance. “I’m visiting Newton.”
Theseus saw red. He gripped the mug like a lifeline as he tossed that arm out to the side, the rest of his coffee spilling out. He didn’t move forward, but he did begin to slip his wand out of his sleeve.
As if there was anything he’d be able to do.
Newt pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a sharp breath and trying his hardest to not roll his eyes or simply stun his brother to sleep. “You need to calm down.”
Theseus had no intention of doing so in the first place, but as his eyes caught sight of metal on his brother’s left hand, he certainly wasn’t going to calm down then. Hesitantly, as if he was terrified of his own thoughts, Theseus dared to glance at the Dark Lord’s hands, only to see a matching ring, on the matching finger, on the same hand. He stumbled back, almost tipping over. He forgot about his wand, the mug in his hands finally dropping to the ground and shattering.
“Breathe, Theseus. Take a breath,” Newt ordered. He watched his frozen-to-the-spot brother tiredly. “Go inside, make yourself another drink, and then we can talk about things. Calmly.”
Theseus violently jerked back. He was confused, concerned, horrified, and furious. He turned sharply, storming into the house and abusing its poor old doors.
Outside was cast into quietness once again as Newt took the moment to gather himself and his thoughts. He let out a heavy sigh at what had just happened and the subsequent conversation he had to have. He felt the tension that he didn’t know he had seep out of him when lips delicately kissed the back of his neck, right where a scar peeked out from under his scarf.
The foxes sneaked closer, one placing a curious paw on Newt’s leg.
“I assume our plans for tonight have to be rescheduled?”
“Unfortunately,” Newt said. Now that there was less yelling and threats of harm, he could feel himself growing more annoyed by the second at his brother’s sudden appearance and the ruin of his plans. He wasn’t due to visit Newt for another two days!
Gellert hummed in acknowledgement, placing one last kiss to the scar before stepping away from and around the red head. “You know where I’ll be. You and the foxes are more than welcome to stay.”
Newt was still yet to figure out if that was the blonde’s way of asking him to stay, or if it was a nice reminder that all the creatures he rescued were always welcome at the castle.
“Soon, mein Herz,” Gellert said as he kissed the back of Newt’s left hand before disappearing.
In the middle of Circe-knows-where, after a long day of research, Newt was sat outside of the tent he had made his temporary home. With his legs stretched out in front of him, Newt let his hands sink into the grass, resting his weight on his hands behind him. He tilted his head back, greedily taking in the sight of a night sky not burdened with pollution, the stars shining brighter than they had before, sparkling in anything that reflected. There was not a cloud in sight which brought a chill to the whole area, and while a stark contrast from the scorching day, it was welcomed with opened arms.
Newt had on an array of carefully selected jewellery, his trousers rolled up his calves, and his shirt completely unbuttoned. It was a strategic move, really. On his right hip and lower back, Newt had a large tattoo of a dragon. It was something he got after the war – something to remember the Ironbellies he had worked with that were so senselessly slaughtered. But, he also got it to try and camouflage at least some of the nasty scar that marred his fair, freckled skin.
As it turned out, momentarily losing your shit over the murder of dragons meant that you would be brought under control with force. Brute force.
Shaking the memory away, Newt focused on trying to find as many constellations as he could.
He made no movement when his expected unexpected guest finally made their appearance. In fact, he completely ignored the other man until he sat down next to Newt and spoke.
“Newton?” Gellert Grindelwald, the Dark Lord, spoke with a strange soft tone as if he was scared the red head would disappear with one wrong breath. He made it seem like Newt had all the power – it was a bit insane. Grindelwald had rightfully earned the title of Dark Lord. He was a Count who rebelled against all the nobles and royals in his country, managing to spark a revolution before branching out to the rest of the world. He was feared, and mighty… and had been wronged by someone he trusted at one point.
Newt let his eyes drop from the sky to land on the man beside him, head turning as he did so. “What is this visit for, supposedly?” he asked. He had not been convinced by the previous answers he had received in the nine months these visits had happened. "Gellert," he said, tone gentle but demanding.
Nine months Newt had been dealing with apparently random visits from the Lord, which he was certain was merely a front to check on him. All that time to slowly get to know the other man and figure out his own thoughts and feelings. Because Grindelwald rarely came empty handed - gifts, praise, treats, help. Newt had honestly lost count of how often he saw the blonde, but he knew it was more than he saw anyone else. Just like he knew that his feelings towards the blonde were more than he had for anyone else.
The day Newt figured out what he wanted, he wasn't quite sure what to do initially, but he quickly decided that he would act on it if given the chance. All that was left to do was understand what exactly it was Grindelwald wanted. And, oh, the first time Newt called the other man by his first name he swore he saw the blonde swoon. So, he kept doing it. Not too much, but just enough that it would catch the other off guard at the right moment.
Like that moment. For a second, Grindelwald's entire body seemed to relax. The man pushed a hand into his face, ever so slowly pushing his hair back, hiding what was certainly a look too goofy for a lord to have.
"I was in the area," Grindelwald mumbled.
It was quite unlike his usual demeanor - then again, Newt was often privy to things the general population were not.
A sigh passed Newt's lips as his head lolled backwards; eyes trained on the sky once more. He knew he wouldn't get the answer on the first try. "I'm afraid that's not the truth." He could feel those mismatched eyes roaming over him. And he knew exactly what the other man was looking at.
Adorning Newt's fingers were a litter of silver rings, all similar yet also different in their design to give the illusion of cohesion. A thin chain draped across his collar bones leading to a skeleton key pendant that rested in the middle of his chest. On his right ear was a cuff earing that started on the top and followed the curve of the lobe down to where a droplet of silver hung from a short chain. They were all things Grindelwald had given to Newt.
Plus, there was a pretty good view of his tattoo on display.
"I came to check that the British Ministry had not convinced you to join their side."
"We both know that wouldn’t happen," Newt replied, not turning away from the stars. That was always something the blonde asked about, even though he knew there was no way Newt would join them. In a strange way, it was sort of like an inside joke, as the first time the pair met, Newt had accidentally foiled the Dark Lord's plans in pursuit of creatures.
It was quiet for a moment until Grindelwald huffed, the sound not quite a laugh. "I came to check on you," he finally answered.
There it was. The truth.
“Check on me… compliment me… bring me gifts,” Newt said, finally turning back to look at the other man. The corners of his lips had ticked up, his eyes sparkling for a reason other than the stars. “Surely your time can be better spent, no?” Newt asked, green eyes locking with blue and brown.
“No,” Grindelwald replied immediately. Something sad clouded those pretty eyes.
It would seem he still needed just a little nudge to open up – as if he hadn’t already revealed far too much to the magizoologist already.
“People might start to think you like me.” Newt sat upright, turning his entire body towards the blonde. “Unless, that is why you spend your free time with me,” he mused.
Grindelwald’s eyes fell from Newt’s eyes to lips, then trailed down his chest to rest at his hip for a moment, before dragging back up to his lips. Instead of meeting Newt’s eyes again, he turned away, staring dead into the trees. One of his hands fiddled with the grass, ripping small pieces out of the ground. He let out a breathy laugh that held no humor. “Observant as ever, Newton.”
While the admission – no matter how roundabout it was – was what Newt wanted, he wasn’t happy. There was something that was still so obviously holding Grindelwald back. The blonde wanted, but there was a sadness and caution that attached itself to him.
“What’s stopping you from doing, taking, what you want?” Newt asked. He saw the blonde frown, but the man didn’t turn back to face him. “Gellert.” Their eyes met and Newt smiled, something soft, gentle. “You have not exactly been subtle – I’ve noticed things, but, I have not once made you stop, nor have I rejected you. So please, tell me what’s going on in that gorgeous head that is stopping you now?”
The cracks in Grindelwald’s walls reflected through his eyes.
“You know what he did. I can’t afford to let that happen again. But you, Newton, are so perfect that I want to let you in despite the risks. I thought that not having you entirely would be a less cruel fate than you destroying me, but I just can’t stay away.”
Newt reached out, lightly resting his hand on Grindelwald’s shoulder. Slowly, he moved himself atop the blonde’s lap, amused when hands came to sit on his hips instantly while Newt’s own hands linked behind Grindelwald’s head. “He certainly isn’t the saint people think he is. Maybe, together, we can knock that arse off his pedestal. Burn down his reputation, or maybe just his office.”
Grindelwald’s laugh was bubbly. “I could kiss you,” he said before he could stop himself.
Newt flushed. “I wouldn’t stop you,” he said. The other man didn’t move, so, Newt leant in closer – not enough for their lips to meet but close enough that their noses bumped. His next words were more of a whisper. “I know who you are, and what you do. I’m sitting in your lap, wearing the jewellery you got for me, and I am suggesting committing crimes against your ex. I promise you’re in good hands.”
Soft lips slotted together in a slow, chaste kiss, arms tightening around waists and shoulders.
When they pulled back, Newt held Gellert’s face in his hands with a bright smile.
They spent the rest of the night enjoying the nature around them and each other… and planning a few crimes.
Newt wasn’t surprised to walk into his own home – not the one he told the Ministry he lived in, nor Nurmengard castle, but his home – to find the Dark Lord bustling away in his kitchen. See, Newt knew the other man was planning something for two reasons. The first one being, that for as long as they had known each other, the blonde loved to do or buy things for Newt. Whenever there was a new bouquet or tea or a book – Newt knew it was the older man.
The second reason was that the Dark Lord was far too happy to send him off that morning.
That was always a telltale sign that the blonde was up to something – whether it be good or bad.
After dropping some papers on the dining table, Newt stood silently at the entrance to the kitchen.
Gellert was wearing an atrociously pink and frilly apron (that belonged to neither of them) proudly as he used a piping tube to add the finishing touches to a cake. Somehow, the man had managed to render the kitchen into a state of chaos. There were mixing utensils and empty bowls lining the counter, most of them still with food on them. There was even a patch of something on one of the lower cabinets. The only safe area was a small portion of counterspace where three different baked goods were displayed nicely.
The blonde had just set down the piping tube and put his hands on his hips to admire his work when Newt finally made his presence known.
“Gellert?” he called out.
Grindelwald jumped like a cat, spinning on the spot. “Newton!” he yelled with a hand to his chest. He quickly recomposed himself. “Surprise, Liebling.”
Newt finally wandered past the kitchen archway, eyes dancing around the kitchen. He only recognized two of the treats on the counter. “How long have you been in here?” he asked, smiling warmly. He softly wiped flour from the other man’s cheek, fondness pouring out of him.
“Since the morning,” was Gellert’s reply. The faintest of pinks painted his cheeks, threatening to take over if he wasn’t careful. “My specialty lies in a few dishes, not baking, my love.”
“And yet you did all this anyway.”
“I had some help,” Gellert admitted, eyes flicking over to a recipe book that was hovering away from the mess.
An awfully familiar and very muggle baking recipe book.
Newt’s heart swelled.
“You called Jacob?”
Gellert’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at his partner’s excitement. “Yes – he and Queenie stayed until they were certain I wouldn’t burn the house down. How they doubted my capabilities so much when I have cooked for them is beyond me.”
Newt chuckled. He loved when his friends were cheeky and when his partner was dramatic – made things all the more entertaining. “They’re lovely for that,” he said. His smile did begin to dwindle as he realized that his friends had, in fact, left. “Have they gone back already?”
“They’re at a nearby hotel,” Gellert answered with a small head shake. He wiped his hands on his apron before removing the pink atrocity that Queenie had managed to force him to wear. Tossing the thing aside, his hands instantly reached out for the red head’s waist, bringing them closer together so that that their noses almost touched.
Newt’s own hands slid up and over Gellert’s shoulders, resting close to the base of his neck and playing with some of the hair that reached his nape. Newt loved his partner. He adored and cherished every time he got to see the big bad Dark Lord be domestic, sweet, caring. Loved that he could watch him affectionately tease the people he cared for. He would never get tired of Gellert Grindelwald.
Glancing back at the baked goods, Newt’s eyes sparkled with a familiar curiosity. “Is there a reason you made these?”
“For one,” Gellert started. He placed a delicate kiss on Newt’s left cheek before he continued. “I wanted to make you something new for you to have with your tea. Two,” he paused to kiss Newt’s right cheek. “Today is the date that your dragon sanctuary was up and running, successfully. I thought you might like to celebrate such an occasion. And three,” this time he stopped to place a chaste kiss to Newt’s lips – something delicate and loving. “It is only right that mein Schatz has his favorite festive treat for the festive season.”
Newt brought the man in for another kiss, this one longer but still sweet and soft and full of emotion that words simply couldn’t express any longer. “Thank you,” he whispered against the blonde’s lips. He couldn’t stop the smile and blush combo that took over his face, but he didn’t want to either when he saw Gellert’s eyes crinkle as the blonde smiled as well. “I’ll help you clean up.”
They shared one last kiss before separating to conquer the cleaning of their kitchen. Newt honestly didn’t mind the mess that much, because in the end, he had a wonderful partner that managed to make him fall in love even further every day.
Newt wanted to bang to his head against a wall. His day had not gone at all the way he hoped it would.
He had managed to organize a meeting with a group of wixen who were currently holding onto a litter of young chupacabras. He had thought that since they agreed to meet with him, that they would be at least somewhat reasonable people. But as soon as they realized who he was, they grew smug. They looked down on him because he was known as the weird magizoologist that never wanted to cause any harm or damage.
That was only the first issue.
His next issue was that Grindelwald had decided to tag along with him. He had tried to convince the attractive idiot that he did not need or want his help, and he had to double down on his efforts when the blonde realized chupacabras were involved.
Grindelwald showed up anyway. And the idiot was sick for Circe’s sake. Newt wanted to shake some sense into him.
Since his unwanted backup was oh so clearly incapacitated, the wixen turned to mockery and threats. When it was obvious that Newt wasn’t feeling all that threatened, they resorted to violence, slinging spells at Newt, Grindelwald, and the young chupacabras.
Grindelwald dropped to the ground beside him, blood starting to seep into the sleeve of his white shirt. The chupacabras cried out before silence.
Newt had had enough – enough of the, enough of everyone.
He let the curse slip past his lips without a second thought. The wixen it was aimed for collapsed to the ground, letting out a horrific screech of pain that turned to silent cries after a few seconds. The man was left twitching on the floor, entire body thrumming with pain that worsened with each passing second. His wand had rolled away, though it wasn’t like he would be able to pick it up with numb fingers and whole-body trembles.
Newt glared at the rest of the wixen in the room, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his wand harder.
They all seemed to shake themselves out of their stupor fast enough, going back to slinging spells. Though they hurt, none of them seemed deadly or even ferocious.
It seemed the uncouth scum wanted a fight.
Newt was not going to give it to them.
Firing off another wordless spell, the corner of Newt’s lips ticked upwards. One of the wixen’s clothes and hair caught on fire, causing them to drop to the ground in an attempt to extinguish it. Except, the only way to put out the raging fire was with a specific rarely known counter incantation.
A few of the wixen stepped forward in panic, but Newt was quicker. A pair of fiendfyre’s came hurling out from the tip of his wand, their flames a devilish purple colour that struck fear into the wixen. Red fire was bad, blue was terrible, but they had never heard about purple flames before. It didn’t really matter though, seeing as the fiends made quick work of their targets.
In the end, Newt let three injured wixen limp away, certain that they would run and tell all their annoying friends about what had happened.
Turning his attention behind him to the fever-stricken man that he cared about for some reason, his expression softened. The Lord stared up at him dreamily, not seeing properly and apparently oblivious to the three large cuts on his arm.
Newt sighed.
A few hours later, Grindelwald awoke with a start. He wasn’t in his own home which should have been a bigger concern, but he had been comfortably placed on a couch, with a blanket draped over his legs. He was now wearing a soft sweater that wasn’t his. He could feel a thin layer of ointment underneath some bandages on his left arm. His body felt heavy and achy, both hot and cold at the same time. All the soft cushions were a welcome comfort, the blanket on his legs thick while the sweater was light. He heard the crackling of wood in the hearth of the fireplace and was entertained by the way the flames danced.
“Feeling better?” Newt asked as he rounded the corner, one cup in his hand and another floating behind him.
Gellert smiled as he sat upright. “Yes. Thank you very much,” he said. He vaguely remembered the events of earlier. To a small degree. Honestly, he mainly remembered that the red head looked extremely attractive and purple lights appearing out of nowhere. Then again, he had a fever, so who knew if his memory was right or not.
His mismatched eyes fell to the low collar of Newt’s clean sweater that let freckled collar bones peak out from the fabric. There was the tip of dark ink on the fair skin and in that moment Gellert decided that it was his favorite sweater.
“I told you I would be fine alone,” Newt scolded fondly.
“I am a feared and respected noble, they should have fallen at my feet and given you exactly what you wanted.”
Newt rolled his eyes. “They weren’t the type to do that. Besides, you were very clearly out of it. You got injured, and I may or may not have largely decreased that specific organisation’s numbers.”
Gellert’s eyebrows rose as the red head plopped down next to him, waving over the second cup. He grabbed it absentmindedly.
“I can tell you when you don’t have a fever. Tea, drink.”
Gellert dutifully took a sup, assuming it was a specialty blend just for him to help with his sickness and injury. He smiled into the cup as he sunk into the warmth of the room. His eyes flittered from watching the fire to the man beside him, who was concerned with checking the cut on his arm. From that angle, Gellert could see more of the ink on the younger man’s skin.
He hoped that one day he would be allowed to see all of it – would be allowed to touch it.
Eventually, the crackling of the fire lulled him into a sleep, his body slouching against Newt’s without knowing.
Instead of moving away, Newt let both their cups float to the coffee table before settling into the couch more, falling fast asleep in front of the fire next to the Lord who had somehow grown attached to him.
Well, he had also gotten attached.
(The next morning, they would finally replace the word attached with romantic feelings.)
After dealing with – and accidentally dismantling – a creature trafficking organization, Newt retreated to the safety of a nearby town. It was a small town, home to both wizards and muggles, though it was protected by some form of magic. It was more of a repellent than anything. Something to keep annoying travellers away. A requirement Newt did not fulfill.
Newt stuck to the outskirts as he observed the town celebrate. He didn’t wish to be dragged into anything by the townsfolks, even though their festivities looked delightful. Shop windows had been magically decorated with ice patterns, lights strung from house to house and onwards to the sparse streetlights. There were fires lit in the square where the people gathered, all of them enjoying themselves, laughing, chatting, drinking, dancing.
It was somehow fresher than Christmas – something more in tuned with nature, something older, something more versatile but wonderful all the same.
Newt drifted off to the small house he had somehow managed to stay in. A few too many people had waved him closer to the square, hoping he would join. He didn’t want to be rude, but his little escapade earlier had left him a bit drained. Maybe, he would join them the next day – at least once before he took his leave.
Though his wish to be left alone wasn’t granted as a man was waiting outside his door.
It was a good thing the blonde wasn’t terrible company.
"Grindelwald," he greeted. He should have been shocked, or concerned, or frightened - anything except unfazed by the sudden appearance of the up-and-coming Dark Lord. The blonde was supposed to be deadly and feared, but he had been nothing but nice and pleasant towards Newt. And Newt often found himself spending time with the blonde considering these sudden appearances happened quite regularly. He tried to not think about it too hard most days.
"My dear Newton," Grindelwald said softly but full of excitement. "Did everything go well?"
Getting the door open, Newt nodded as he stepped to the side, inviting the other man inside. "Not a single complication." In fact, he already had the creatures safely in his case, resting.
"Wonderful. Are you returning to Britain then?"
"Not yet," Newt said. He glanced out the windows in the direction of the town square. He didn't need to go back home immediately, and quite frankly, he didn't want to, either. "It's less suffocating here."
Newt blinked. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.
His shoulders tensed as he waited to hear what the other man would say to that – what mockery was to come.
Yet all Grindelwald did was hum and make himself comfortable at the dining table. He must have seen something in the magizoologist’s expression when he sat across from him. “I don’t live hidden away just because I’m a wanted man, Newton. I do enjoy the serenity of nature and only surround myself with tolerable people.”
Britain, his brother, the Ministry, the people – all of it was why Newt liked to stay a few days if he could when rescuing creatures.
“So, I’m tolerable?” Newt teased. Anyone else may have been too worried about upsetting the Dark Lord, but Newt had found that the other man was more entertained than offended. He would even dare to say the man liked it.
Which was evident when the blonde’s lips ticked upwards. “More than tolerable.” There was a moment of hesitation, not noticeable to anyone who did not know the man. (When did Newt get to know him so well?) “I do not seek others out like I do with you.”
“You make it sound as if you like me.”
“It is not a crime,” Grindelwald said. When Newt gave him a look he added, “It shouldn’t be a crime – and there are lots of people who agree with me.”
The next day, in the early evening before the stores closed, Newt walked down every lane in the village with Gellert at his side. They window shopped as the lights shone brighter and brighter against the darkening sky. They ventured to the town square when the stores finally closed, all of the townspeople gathering for yet another night of celebration – a celebration that would last for a whole week.
The townspeople smiled when they saw Newt had finally joined him after a few days, and that he had brought a guest along.
With Gellert by his side, Newt drifted between the strung lights and the warm fires the whole night. He let the welcoming and homey feeling of the townsfolks surround him, sticking around for longer than he would for any event at home.
It was hard to not think about the man he was with, the thoughts he normally brushed under the rug and tried to ignore, when the man stuck so close to him.
Even more so when the next day, after he returned from grabbing a few groceries and chatting with the locals, he found a neatly wrapped present sitting on his doorstep alongside some purple flowers. Inside was a notebook he had been subtly eyeing while window shopping. He didn’t think the blonde had noticed as he was busy staring at the stars and the lights.
Newt loved the outdoors in winter. How fresh and crisp the air was, the sharp and icy breezes slicing into everything. How the snow could be both soft like the clouds they fell from as well as tiny hard pellets. How crystal patterns would decorate the flora and everything else was coated in a layer of snow. More recently, he also loved the faint feeling of magic settling over the nature, knowing it meant nothing but protection - having a sweet spot for the caster also helped.
(Theseus would die thrice over if he knew about anything.)
Newt was sat on a small but thick blanket on the snow, miles and miles away from civilization. Sometimes he felt that he had somehow stumbled into fairy tale land; trees and wildflowers that spanned even further than the eye could see, merging with the vast mountain scapes, everything covered in a fresh layer of snow, and a stone castle that shimmered when the sun hit it just right.
The inside of the castle was amazing too, but there were people running about it that day – and Newt had his own things to deal with.
He dug his heels into the snow, pulling the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands further before crossing his arms and leaning them against his legs, holding up his head. Half of his face was burrowed into a recently gifted scarf – its gray and yellow much more vibrant than his old one. The cold air nipped at his ears, threatening to turn them pink.
A smile was stuck on his lips as he watched a dragon hatchling play in the snow. He had rescued it in the last month, found it chained and injured in South America, separated from its family. Considering its breed normally followed the colder seasons, he was glad he could let it experience a winter wonderland. The hatchling was content enough to amuse itself, but every now and again Newt would send a flicker of magic out, making the snow dance, and the dragon would follow it.
His smile widened when the hatchling managed to roll a snowball. It got bigger the closer the dragon pushed it in his direction. It yipped at him playfully before pushing the now mound of snow onto the blanket with him.
As Newt’s eyes crinkled, the snow redirected itself, raising into the air before it landed on top of the hatchling who trilled in delight. It scampered off further into the field, diving nose first into the snow like a fox.
Newt kept watching it, even as he heard footsteps approaching.
He knew the body that dropped down beside him very well.
“That was fast,” Newt mused. “Cover everything?”
Gellert cleared his throat, pulling his own scarf tighter around him. He had an extremely long meeting planned for that day, as well as a few shorter ones. However, he had only lasted about an hour and a half before escaping, preferring to be with the magizoologist instead.
“We overestimated the time it would take to discuss everything.”
Lies. Vinda had planned ahead, knowing that the magizoologist and dragon hatchling would consume the Dark Lord’s mind. So, she made sure that all of the extremely important topics were discussed first – the things that needed Grindelwald’s input – and then told him he could go. In reality, the rest of those at the meeting and the ones due for the later ones stayed around while Vinda and the not-quite other second in command took charge of everything.
And, of course, Vinda told Newt about her plan – she always tried to keep the second lord of the castle informed about his husband’s schedule.
“Mmh, right," Newt said. He turned his head to look at the other man, smile fond.
Gellert snaked a gloved hand around the younger man, bringing them closer together. He kissed Newt's nose, earning a blush that peaked out from under his scarf. "How is the little one doing?"
"Better than expected," Newt answered. He let his magic dance in the air again, distracting the dragon with snow and drawing it back closer to where he was. He had multiple snowballs float around the hatching before bursting them all at the same time. Most of it was powder, but a few snowflakes ended up drifting in the wind, his eyes catching sight of one in particular. "I assume the cold climate has sped up her healing, though I have been able to slip a few potions into her food - she eats so skittishly I can only image what they did to her."
He lost track of the pretty snowflake as his eyes moved back to the hatchling as it trilled before using its tail to throw snow at the humans. It didn't reach them, but the creature wasn't disappointed because the snow landed on top of it instead.
"I enjoy feeling your magic in the air like this," Gellert said softly. He raised a small glass container to the sky, letting the light shine through it before handing it to the magizoologist.
Newt almost chuckled when he realised it was the pretty snowflake now preserved in the glass. He tucked it into the safety of his pocket. "Thank you, Herzchen."
Gellert most likely would have melted into a puddle on the spot if it weren't for the dragon hatchling pouncing on them.
Harry managed to drag himself to the great hall before breakfast ended. He made himself comfortable at the end of the table, back facing all the other houses. He was quite happy to let the conversation simply happen around him as he quietly ate his eggs and toast.
"And we thought you were going to skip," Zabini said.
Harry shrugged. "Honestly? I thought about it."
The first week back had been super awkward. Since his friends were acting the way they were, everyone else in Gryffindor was trying to avoid them during class time and Neville was somehow always not available. Now though? Now he had to deal with them in a different house. The only highlight was that half of Slytherin's classes were with the Ravenclaws.
"What would happen if I just stopped going to classes? Would she just expel me?" Harry thought out loud.
Zabini pointed his fork at him. "And have everyone think we killed you in your sleep? No way in hell, Harry."
Harry groaned but the other man had a point. That didn't mean he had to be happy at all about going to class.
He glanced at Malfoy when the blonde sounded like he choked on his food.
"Since when do you two use first names?"
Harry shrugged. "Does it matter? You can call me Harry too if you want..." He wasn't quite sure if he had been heard or not. Or, if the other two Slytherins just really liked to bicker with each other that much. He watched on slightly amused while Parkinson turned away from them, over their dramatics.
Blaise smirked. "Aw, jealous?"
"Why would I be jealous?" Malfoy asked, sounding incredulous.
"You've wanted to use his name for years." Blaise sounded so confident in himself even as the blonde scoffed in response.
"What an absolutely stupid answer." Malfoy quirked a brow, looking down on his friend.
"Really?" Blaise said and it was in that moment Malfoy's face started to fall as he knew his friend was about to say something incriminating. "I remember you saying something like you'd love to —"
Harry grinned as he watched a reddening Malfoy lunge at his friend in order to slap a hand over his mouth. Threats were being sprouted by his now tomato of a roommate while Zabini sat there, very obviously not sorry for his actions in the slightest.
Harry snorted and suddenly gray eyes turned on him, narrowed menacingly.
Before him and Malfoy could cause a scene at breakfast, the new head of Slytherin glided past.
"Do settle down before class boys." And with that she was gone.
Reminding Harry about his lack of enthusiasm about class.
"I don't exactly have a good track record with teachers," Harry complained as he, Zabini and Malfoy made their way to the potions classroom. (Pansy had abandoned them when they started bickering). Thankfully they had left before most of the Gryffindors, letting Harry relax a little bit as they made their way through the halls.
"Professor Wisterianon won't kill you," Blaise said. The look he got in return had him adding, "Well, I'm like 80% sure she won't. And besides, he'll be your partner so you don't fail and get on her radar."
Malfoy's head snapped towards them. Harry was concerned he had hurt himself. "I did not agree to that."
Harry's lips ticked up before he leant against the wall beside Malfoy. "C'mon Draco. Be my potions partner," he said in a sing song voice with a little pout on his lips. "Otherwise, you might end up with a Gryffindor," he mock whispered. The blondes’ lips twitched in response as he silently eyed Harry up and down. "Promise we'll be top of the class," Harry said with a growing smirk. He knew he had won. The blonde would never pass on a chance of being able to gloat about his 'geniusness' in potions.
"You better keep that promise, Potter," Malfoy said right as the other students started showing up.
Immediately murmurs started down the hall, and Harry rolled his eyes, pushing off the wall as the classroom door was opened.
He spotted Ginny down the hall giving him a dark look which was mimicked on Ron's face. Hermione seemed concerned and contemplative. Thankfully, Neville was there, and he smiled and waved. Harry gladly returned it before he felt someone flick his ear.
Parkinson cackled when he jumped.
Harry followed her in, trying his very best to ignore the looks he got for being friendly with the girl.
Harry settled down into the furthest seat in the corner. Malfoy sat beside him without a word while Zabini and Parkinson sat in front of them.
Harry swore he tried to pay attention to the class content. To whatever the so far nice professor was talking about.
However, he was staring at her hair. He had never seen things like that before. All of her hair was parted into little sections, all twisted together to stay. Each section had what he thought was random bits of plastic or silver, but the more he stared at them, the more familiar they felt.
He was suddenly brought out of his thoughts when he saw a flame flicker.
The class had moved on to partner work.
And Malfoy was staring at him with clear annoyance. "Did you not write anything down?"
"Uh..."
The rooms volume increased as each pair started chatting away. Which meant everyone would be distracted and wouldn't see if Malfoy hit Harry. Because the blonde looked a second away hurting him.
"Just – just prepare the feather," Malfoy ordered. A second later he glanced over to Harry's board to check on the feather. His eyes and hands twitched. "The fuck is that?"
"The feather prepared? Obviously?"
"Do you even know the basics, Potter?"
Harry sighed, pushing up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He looked apologetic as he said, "Snape skipped it and no one else bothered to teach me."
"How do you plan to keep your promise if you are a complete and utter lost cause?"
"You could tutor me!" Harry kept speaking before the other could object. "We can also talk about other stuff. Y'know, mutually beneficial or whatever."
Malfoy opened his mouth, a deep scowl set on his face, before he stopped. His mouth clicked shut and an evil smile took over his features. That was definitely going to mean trouble for Harry.
(And the blonde in no way looked good. Not at all).
"Fine. Cut the barbs off by sliding the scissors down the feather. Then chop the rachis into tiny pieces. Make sure to keep them separate on the board."
"Only if you say please."
Malfoy almost throttled him, all consequences be damned. He did, however, send a jinx at Pansy and Blaise when the pair started snickering from the table in front of them. The blonde closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and refused to look at the idiot that was currently the bane of his existence as he said a simple, “Please.”
His annoying friends – though he was currently debating that status – started laughing louder. He sent another jinx their way but that only set them off further, their cackles being heard by the entire class. He sent a stinging hex to the smug bastard sitting next to him, pleased by the ‘ow’ the git let out.
Their teacher glanced at them but let them be.
The next day in their potions class, Harry started nodding off. They were making the same potion from the day before and he had been up late, Malfoy trying to drill the basics of potioneering into his brain. It didn’t work. Which was fine for now. All Harry had to do was prepare the feather and clean things for Malfoy.
At the end of the lesson, when the professor dismissed everyone, she asked the four Slytherin’s in the back corner to stay seated.
The professor glided over to them, not quite smiling but certainly not angry with her students.
“Everything alright, professor?” Blaise asked.
The woman nodded. “Yes, everything’s fine. I just had a few questions for you all. I noticed Mr Potter staring at my hair yesterday.”
Harry felt his face go hot. “Sorry, I haven’t seen the style before…” he mumbled out.
“It’s quite alright,” Professor Wisterianon said, waving him off. She took out one of her hair accessories, holding it out so that the students could see it better. When Parkinson reached for it, she encouraged the girl to pick it up. She caught the instant recognition from the teen. “You all know what it is, correct?”
Malfoy answered for all of them.
“And you are all aware of the implications and fundamentals of the Dark Arts?”
“Yes, we are,” Malfoy said.
The professor hummed. “Are you practicing safely?”
“Yes.”
“I assume none of you are part of a coven then.”
“We don’t know anyone that’s in a coven. I thought all of them disbanded years ago when things got really, well, rough,” Zabini said. His mamma used to be a member of a coven, but like he said, it had disbanded before he was born. She never talked about it much but he knew she missed it and the people in it as most of them went their separate ways afterwards.
Professor Wisterianon sighed, reminiscing over something. “Most, yes. My coven only dissolved last year. One of the reasons I accepted this job, actually. I was hoping to find some bright young minds that are interested in the Arts.”
“Really?” Harry asked. He was hopeful that this lady was as nice as she seemed to be, but his brain was telling him that it was too much of a coincidence.
As if sensing his trepidation, Professor Wisterianon smiled warmly at them. “Yes. I don’t need to be involved entirely, but if you have any questions or requests, I would be happy to help.” Her eyes flittered over both Harry and Malfoy. “If you have any hesitations, know I am an open book. I know at least one of you know how to test the intentions of someone with a Dark spell.”
And with that she dismissed them.
Confused, Harry followed his housemates out of the room and all the way back to their dorm room. (They had a spare period before lunch). He slumped into one of the chairs by the fireplace, jolting himself out of his daze when he sat on the wood frame once again.
“Ow,” he complained, immediately standing back up to rub his tailbone.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. With a huff, the blonde wordlessly transfigured all three of their sad little chairs. Now their room had two expensive looking armchairs as well as a matching chaise-loveseat, somehow looking old and brand new at the same time. Something that one would definitely find in a fancy house like the Malfoy Manor. And, of course, they were green.
Harry sat down on the chaise and was surprised by how comfortable it was. It was almost as soft as his bed.
Parkinson and Zabini immediately claimed an armchair each, leaving Malfoy to begrudgingly sit next to Harry who rolled his eyes.
“Do we trust her?”
“I’m not sure,” Malfoy said.
Zabini looked smug for some reason. “I think she’s alright.”
Harry and Pansy rolled their eyes. The boys were about to start bickering again.
“You know the bloody spell, don’t you?”
Zabini gasped mockingly. “Why, don’t you?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Wow, I’m surprised you don’t know such a simple spell.”
Malfoy narrowed his eyes.
But, thankfully, Pansy was not up for dealing with their nonsense. “Focus!”
Harry made it almost his entire first week of being a Slytherin without being confronted. With his luck, that made him suspicious.
True enough to the mess that was his life, something happened on Friday night before dinner. Harry had wanted just a little moment of quiet completely to himself, so, he found a nice alcove to hide out in. He spent almost two hours in there reading and making his own notes about the Arts in a little, spell-locked notebook. He had just shrunk both down into his pocket to head to dinner when a head popped into the alcove.
“Found him!” Ron yelled down the hall.
Sighing, Harry stepped into the hallway. He had probably put off this conversation for too long, but that didn’t mean he wanted to have it.
In a matter of seconds, he was stood with his back against the cold, stone wall while Ron, Ginny, and Hermione stood in front of him, each with a different expression of anger.
“Finally. Harry, have you been avoiding us?” Hermione asked, tone both hurt and angry.
Harry pulled on the curls that sat at the base of his neck. There was no point lying to them at this point. Telling them what they wanted to hear wouldn’t help either. They would either get past his interest in the Arts, or they wouldn’t. Simple as that. “Yeah, I have actually.”
“Mate! Have you completely lost your mind!” Ron yelled.
Harry wondered if he was going to say anything instead of screaming it at him.
Ginny crossed her arms, fuming as much as her brother. “That’s just not right! And being all friendly with Slytherins, too. I think you have lost it. How could you?”
“Oh, don’t get me started on those bloody snakes. What have they done, huh? Slipped something into your food to get you to like them? Huh? Is that it? Because it sure makes more sense than you actually liking those prats!” It seemed that no, Ron was not going to stop screaming at him.
Harry bristled. He looked at each of his so-called friends faces, not hearing a single word that was coming out of Hermione’s mouth. All he could see was anger, annoyance, pain. All looking at him like he was the course of it.
He felt all these unwanted emotions rise to the surface, but he shut them down. He went blank. As cold as the wall against his back. It was almost comical when the others realised.
“I’m not exactly in the mood to be yelled at or lectured,” Harry said, pushing off the wall. All three of them took a step back. “So, unless you want to have a civil conversation, I’d like to get to dinner.”
“Harry,” Hermione called after him when he walked away. “We’re sorry, we’re just concerned.”
“I’m fine though. I’m doing better than I was for the entire past two years.” And with that, Harry picked up the speed and rounded the corner. He paused for a second before shaking it off and heading to the Great Hall.
He tried to relax when he sat down, but it was a bit hard. It was tiring getting into a debate or being berated every time he saw his oldest friends. The rest of the school might be giving him a break from hell, but his friends weren’t.
He stabbed at his mashed potatoes.
Thankfully, his housemates kept quiet and didn’t try to include him in their conversations.
Eventually he cooled down. Which meant he was tired – oh so tired – and if one thing went wrong there was an extremely high chance he would cry.
A treacle tart was silently passed onto his plate by spindly fingers. Glancing to his side, he caught Malfoy sliding a second one in his direction. The blonde simply set the tart on Harry’s plate and ate the crumbs that were stuck to his fingers.
Harry smiled.
Malfoy gave him a hesitant smile back. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Everyone in the great hall then turned to the Gryffindor table to watch Weasley storm out of the room with Neville calling after him, “Ronald, you kiss your mother with that disgraceful mouth!?”
Neville smiled at Harry, looking satisfied even though he got 20 house points deducted.
Harry was thrilled that it was the weekend. He couldn’t deal with anymore classes, already dreading homework that hadn’t been assigned yet. His professors were already giving him looks because it was obvious he was not one hundred percent there.
He was also glad he didn’t have to immediately deal with all the whispers. Because there were always whispers about him.
He hated it.
So, he slept in. His bed was suspiciously comfortable in the new dorm – it made him curious about Slytherin house rules on charms.
He skipped breakfast altogether, not even sneaking into the kitchen to badger the elves for a small snack. He simply lounged about his new, temporary, home.
Things weren’t bad down in the dungeons. The room was spacious enough that three grown boys wouldn’t trip over each other. The beds were heaven to sleep in and the curtains were a pretty pattern – something nice to look at when he couldn’t sleep. The eighth years even had their own attached bathrooms. Hell, they had a fireplace in their room, plus it had a working floo-call point. And Harry was pretty sure he saw a note saying they were allowed to transfigure the three sad armchairs that were in front of the fireplace.
His dorm in Gryffindor was the same as it had always been. It hadn’t been working for him.
The private shower, on the other hand, most certainly was.
Which is how he ended up shirtless, rummaging through his trunk for a shirt, when his roommates strolled through the door.
A collection of books, scrolls and quills went clattering to the floor. They laid abandoned as both Malfoy and Zabini stared at Harry’s exposed chest.
“Those are runes,” Malfoy said to no one in particular. He stepped over the pile of stuff, arm twitching in an aborted movement. “And so many of them too...”
“Uh...” Harry hastily found a shirt, the tag scratching his chest. But that feeling was nothing compared to the nerves rattling his entire body because Malfoy was still staring at his chest.
Zabini hummed. “You’ve been dabbling in the Dark Arts.”
“Dabbling. Honestly Blaise. He has clearly done more than that.”
“Well, we don’t know if those hurt or not.”
Malfoy scoffed, not even turning his head to look at his friend. “Don’t be daft. Those were perfectly done. Perfectly healed.”
Zabini crossed his arms, scowling at the back of his friend’s head. “You’re the expert,” he said snarkily.
“Between our families someone has to.”
Before the pair could continue their bickering, Harry interrupted. “Are you going to include me in this conversation at all?” He asked, and after a moment he added, “Are you going to tell someone?”
Malfoy blinked once, twice, thrice. “You’re an idiot,” he said, finally tearing his eyes away from the other man’s chest. Levitating the clutter on the floor, Malfoy moved towards the fireplace, muttering under his breathe.
Zabini suddenly let out a laugh, followed immediately with a sigh. “This is going to be a long year.” He paused on Harry’s face. “We won’t tell anyone. Slytherins are great secret keepers,” he said with an eyeroll. He turned to the door, calling out as he did so. “I’m getting Pansy!”
“So…” Harry said, drawing out the ‘o’ as he put his shirt on the right way.
“If you ask me another stupid question, I will hex you,” Malfoy replied immediately, not even looking up from what he was doing.
Harry rolled his eyes, ungraciously flopping into the armchair next to Malfoy. He winced when he landed on a piece of wood, the cushioning non-existent. “You know a lot about the Dark Arts then?” he asked. Almost immediately he let out a yelp, rubbing his now sore and stinging thigh. “What the hell you git!?”
“I told you,” Malfoy said, finally looking back up at Harry. “Ask a stupid question, you get hurt.”
“It wasn’t a stupid question,” Harry huffed. He sunk further into his chair.
Malfoy raised a brow in response.
“Sue me for wanting to double check so I don’t make a fool out of myself.”
Malfoy didn’t hesitate to say, “You don’t need any help with that.” The smirk on his lips was clear in his tone.
“No.” Harry sat upright, unable to keep still under the other boy’s gaze. “You do all the work, you damn manipulative snake.”
Malfoy’s smirk only grew. “Careful, Potter, you’re one too now.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to act like you.”
“Well you’re here for a reason.” Malfoy rolled his eyes, adding, “Obviously.”
“Are you going to be a git this entire year?” Harry asked. For a second, he sounded tired – truly done with any form of conflict.
“For your information, I am charming, Potter. Do you know what that word means?”
“You are the opposite of charming. Can you at least be bloody civil with me?”
“I won’t murder you in your sleep,” Malfoy stated, body language screaming disappointment. When he got nothing but a glare in return, he sighed deeply. Potter was no fun. “Fine. Oh, you’ll need to look out for the first years a lot.”
“Sure? Why would I do that?” Harry didn’t know why the blonde would even care. He had seen Slytherins tease, and prank, and frame innocent students from the other houses. First years included.
“Don’t be daft. You know how we’re treated. Even if we don’t like each other, us snakes keep an eye out because no one else will.”
And that – well, that put a wrench in what Harry thought Slytherin was. He didn’t trust that they wouldn’t turn on their own housemates, but the idea that they look out for each other, and specifically the young ones, was different. It made him wonder if some of the things he saw in the previous years was simply the older students trying to protect the young ones.
If he was being honest, he had never cared – or thought – about the bullying until his life turned upside down. He could no longer stand by while some random, innocent second year was berated for their house.
Harry’s next words were soft. “I figured the bullying would stop after the war.”
“Circe. I may just strangle you.”
“Hey!” Harry’s sombre mood disappeared as quick as it came.
The door was suddenly thrown open, interrupting the pair. Zabini and Parkinson strolled into the room.
“Oh good, you two haven’t killed each other,” Parkinson said, face bored but eyes curious.
“Yet,” Malfoy added. The tips of Parkinson’s lips tipped upwards.
“You just promised not to kill me!”
“In your sleep. I may well still while you’re awake.”
“Okay boys,” Parkinson interrupted. She merely rolled her eyes at the harsh glares that were directed her way. “I’m here for Dark Runes, not squawking.”
“Why should I even be talking to you lot about this?” Harry asked her, eyes narrowing at the young lady.
Parkinson looked him up and down, eyes calculating. It was as if she was putting together all the pieces of Harry and dissecting them again, finding weaknesses. She seemed like the type of woman to know everything about you – whether it be against your will or not.
“We’re the only ones to talk to. I know you’re not daft, Potter, so stop acting like it,” Pansy all but scolded him.
And Harry didn’t have a comeback for that. He knew it was the truth. The first person he had tried to ask was Malfoy of all people. Deflating into his chair even more, Harry crossed his arms, trying to not look eager. “Well, that doesn’t explain you guys being nice – civil.”
The three (original) Slytherins shared a look before replying with something about their house code. Then, taking turns, Parkinson mentioned she was supposed to be making good connections, and her family would see him as the best one possible. Both Zabini and Malfoy said their families would hate the mere idea that they would be friendly with each other, and that delights them to no end. Quietly, Malfoy added that one simply cannot fake the arts.
Zabini and Parkinson rolled their eyes.
Parkinson leaned slightly out of her seat, reaching across Malfoy, bringing one hand up to cover her mouth partially. She stared directly at Harry, a smirk playing on her lips. “Draco here is attracted to power. Dark magical power even more so,” she mock whispered, pulling back into her seat before the blonde could swat at her. She laughed as her friend started turning red.
“I’m going to murder you one day,” Malfoy said, pointing a spindly finger at her.
Parkinson waved him off. “In your dreams, darling.” She then moved the conversation back to runes.
She started off by talking about her own experience with them. She personally didn’t have any, but her mother had quite a few – most of them to do with healing and protection. Most of her relatives on her mothers’ side experimented in the Arts and had at least one rune either on their skin or on a tool. Her father’s side of the family, however, were more hesitant to utilise the Arts. Not after one of her uncles died trying to put a rune on his skin.
“He was a terrible man, though, and an incompetent wizard.” Although she didn’t say it, everyone knew from her tone she was glad the man was forever gone from her life.
“My mom,” Zabini started, immediately shooting Malfoy a look that had the blonde keeping his mouth shut. At least for now. “Doesn’t care for them. She has her specialities. I think mamma has them on her brewing tools though.”
Harry sat there, taking in the information. When the room went quiet, he turned to Malfoy.
“What?”
“Your turn,” Harry said.
Malfoy scoffed but complied. In his own way. “My father was fascinated with, him. And my mother was a Black. Need I say more?”
“Not if you’re going to act like that.”
“I’ve read some of her notes on the Dark Arts,” Harry said. It was comical how all heads whipped to stare at him – there should have been sound effects. It was then his turn to explain his own relationship with the Dark Arts. He didn’t tell them everything, obviously, but he told them all about the library. If someone was going to appreciate the magic of Grimmauld Place, it was going to be the three other people in the room.
It felt nice talking to them about it. It felt nice to talk to someone who didn’t think he was insane or ‘infected’ from the horcrux. Well, other than the twins of course.
Parkinson stood from her seat, stretching out with her arms above her head. She hummed to herself before starting to turn towards the door. “Come on Potter.”
Harry was scrambling out of his seat to follow her before he realised what he was doing. He opened his mouth to say something, but the girl beat him to it.
“We’re getting food. Come along,” she said, already halfway out the door.
Harry walked with her side-by-side as they made their way through lesser used hallways that led to the great hall. The comfortable silence that covered them grew tense with each step that brought them closer. His back hurt from straining his muscles, jaw clenched, his hands in fists in his pant pockets. As soon as the pair got past the threshold, the murmurs immediately started. Harry tried his damned hardest to not listen as he let Parkinson pile plates of food into his arms while she talked with one of the Slytherin girls. Harry didn’t know how long it took for them to start the trek back to the dungeons, but it felt like an eternity.
Before they got too far away, a familiar head of brown hair popped into view.
“Hey, Harry! Parkinson,” Neville greeted. He looked at the girl curiously but friendlier than most other people. Neville was a smart lad. If his friend was being civil with her, he would too because he trusted Harry’s intuition. And most importantly, Harry was his friend.
“Longbottom.” At least Parkinson was being surprisingly polite.
Harry smiled cautiously at his friend. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know what happened over ‘break’, or what’s going on with you, Hermione, and Ron, but I’m here if you want to talk? You know I don’t care what you do? You out of everyone deserves a break mate,” Neville said with a warm smile on his face. He meant every word.
Harry felt himself relax a little, something warm in his chest. “Thanks, Nev.”
Neville gave him one last smile before leaving the pair to it.
Harry had a little bit more hope for the year to come.
“Do you mind if I call you Harry?” Parkinson suddenly asked when they were almost to the dorms.
Harry fumbled a step. “No? Why would you want to though?”
“We’re going to spend a year together, and keeping up pretences can be so tiring,” she said. Honestly, on some days she couldn’t stand all the propriety and manners.
Yet another eighth-year fic where Harry learns the Dark Arts: this time, featuring strained friendship golden-trio and Harry joining the Slytherin Skittles! (Also on AO3)
Harry had been dragging his feet since the end of the war.
At the start, it was simply because he was just that tired – physically and mentally. The war that had dictated his entire life so far was finally over, yet he couldn’t find a single second of peace. Both his days and nights were haunted. He waved off any concern directed his way, claiming he just needed more time before he could get back to normal.
But he didn’t know what normal was. He had never gotten the chance to exist. He went straight from the Dursley’s torment to child soldier.
It took yet another sleepless night for him to figure out that he would have to create a normal, create a peace, for himself because the world certainly didn’t seem to want to give him one as an apology.
So, he slowly started making himself at home at Grimmauld Place. He befriended Kreacher, finding he actually quite liked the grumpy house elf. He made his way through the rooms of the house, thinking he might spruce things up a bit if the house tried not to eat him for it. He ended up spending a lot of his time in the library, unsurprised when the room looked different each time he entered.
Harry knew the house had a mind of its own. He was just glad it like him enough to brighten up the library and add a couch under a definitely new window.
At some point, every single ward was reset. The house became centred around him and no one else had access to it anymore.
Well, two people did. And it wasn’t Hermione and Ron. They never visited the house; had never asked to either. The only time Harry saw them was at the Burrow. Somewhat in place of them, Harry found himself hanging out with the twins a lot more. They had all been close before, but the end of the war brought them closer together.
The twins were the only ones Harry allowed into his safe space; and they always called before coming over.
Things started to look up.
Only for his lungs to stop working properly at the Weasley’s dining table because of a simple letter. He was invited back to finish his studies at Hogwarts. The place he had called him home. The place he had loved dearly. The place that eventually turned into a hell he couldn’t bear to be in. He knew he wouldn’t be able to walk through the halls like nothing had happened. Like he wouldn’t be haunted by the faces of people they lost. Like he hadn’t been hunted in the halls.
“-rry?”
“Harry?”
He blinked, vision refocusing. He saw Fred and Goerge standing in front of him, blocking the rest of their family from view.
Harry sucked in a shaky breath before letting it go slowly. Inhale. Exhale.
It was over, it was all in the past, he reminded himself.
“Are you okay, Harry?” George spoke softly.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to go back, y’know,” Fred said.
“I know, but-” Harry shrugged. “I’m not exactly doing anything else.”
The twins gave him one last look before nodding, returning to their own seats. The rest of the Weasley family was staring at him, concern written all over their faces. Harry saw several people open their mouths, but he wasn’t in the mood to hear whatever it was they had to say – most like just his name in an extremely sad, pitiful tone.
“I’m fine, really. Just never thought of going back before.”
Narrowed eyes looked his way but the twins quickly diverted the conversation and attention away from him.
Harry really loved them.
It was about two weeks before school was set to return that things got a little bit testy.
Harry had been having a good day – had even had a decent enough sleep the night before. He had been mucking about in the Weasley’s yard, having a fun afternoon out in the sun.
Him, Hermoine, Ron, and Ginny were being chased by Fred and George. The twins had recently discovered water balloons and had immediately began filling them with Merlin knows what.
Harry got hit in the centre of his chest with one, his shirt drenched in what he thought was normal water. Until his shirt started to turn see through.
“What the bloody hell is this?!”
The twins grinned proudly. “That is our latest invention!”
“It’s simply water that turns any fabric translucent.”
“We want to put it in a product –“
“But we also don’t want to end up in Wizengamot.”
Harry nodded. He briefly wondered if they would accept any more funding donations for their business…
“You can vanish it like normal water,” Fred said before he turned his attention to his youngest brother, mischief clear.
Ron screamed seconds later.
Harry bent over in laughter only to be tackled by his now slime covered friend. They went tumbling to the floor, pushing and shoving playfully.
Ron suddenly stilled.
“What is that?” The ginger asked, voice carefully even.
Harry followed his gaze down to his own chest where multiple marks on chest could be seen. The marks ran from just under his collar bone to the bottom of ribs, two rows wide on his left side. They could have been mistaken for tattoos.
Harry pushed himself off the ground. He swallowed around the lump in his throat as he noticed the others inching closer, watching the interaction.
“Uh, yeah… I’ve been meaning to tell you guys…” Harry trailed off. He didn’t like the dark look Ron, Hermione and Ginny were already giving him. “I’ve, uh –”
“Oh Harry,” Hermoine cut him off. Her voice was soft yet scolding as if she was speaking to a child. “Why would you do that.”
Harry frowned.
“Those don’t come off. Ever.” Hermione said.
“Why do you even know what they are?” Ron asked, livid.
“Why do you?” Harry snapped back. He didn’t appreciate the feeling of his friends ganging up on him to lecture him about something that he knew a whole lot more than them about. He felt the twins move closer to him, silent and calm, but there.
When Ginny finally spoke up, her face and tone were a mixture of distress and distrust. “Are they left over from him?”
“No. I put them there. I wanted them there,” Harry said. His confidence didn’t waver under their gazes. With a wave of his hand, he finally dried his shirt and spun on his heels. He ignored the angry calls from his friends. He was over having to explain himself and the things he did, especially to the people he cared about.
He just needed a bit of time to cool off.
(The twins ended up floo-calling him that night. They wanted him to know they didn’t think any differently of him. In fact, they just hoped he was safe with it all and, most importantly, happy.
Harry could have cried.)
There had been a short, hushed argument on the train platform.
The train ride to Hogwarts was spent in absolute silence. The golden trio were the only ones occupying the carriage. None of their friends had dared to try to be any form of buffer as the thick tension threatened to strangle everyone.
Harry dragged his feet all the way to the great hall, even stopping to say hello to the thestrals.
He didn’t listen to McGonagall’s welcome speech. It was pointless background drabble that didn’t interest him at all any longer. At least not to start with.
“A lot has happened to everyone in the past few years.”
No shit, Harry thought with a bitter snort.
“To help promote inter-house unity, everyone will be resorted. We assume most people won’t change houses. For those students who do, know that it is not a bad thing, and I except them to be welcomed warmly. We will not tolerate bullying.
“We will start with our first years, as normal. Throughout the week, we will slowly cover the rest of the school. Now, first up…”
Harry went rigid. He did not, under any circumstance, want to talk to that damned hat again in front of everyone. He didn’t want to hear its opinion. He knew he couldn’t win another debate with it. Now, it wasn’t that he was scared of what the hat might find, of what might become – he had come to terms with that months ago. He feared always being watched, scrutinized, and held to a different standard. Except this time, it wouldn’t be because of his so-called destiny – it’d be because of his schoolhouse. Something so trivial.
All he wanted was less from people. He just wanted to exist. If strangers could stop perceiving him, that’d be wonderful.
He couldn’t remember the rest of the welcome feast clearly. Nor most of the following days. He was stuck in a haze, caught between the past and an uncertain future.
The main thing he could vaguely recall was that he shared quite a few classes with Slytherins, and he had even exchanged a silent but civil greeting with Malfoy and his friends.
Friday night rolled around, and Harry’s bones jittered. They, the Gryffindors, were going last. There was only a small number of eighth years, but he had already seen several of them switch houses. In fact, throughout the week, he noticed that Ravenclaw and Slytherin swapped a few students. He was well aware of the largely different reaction that occurred when a new student joined the snake house.
The prejudice didn’t sit well with him. Not anymore.
“Harry Potter,” McGonagall called out.
With a fortifying breath, Harry made his way to the front, ignoring the stares as best as he could. He grimaced when the hat sat on his head.
“Well, hello again.”
“Hi,” Harry said. “Are we going to argue tonight?”
“No child, there is only one choice this time.”
“So why haven’t you announced it yet?” Harry asked, frowning. He blocked out the whispers coming from the crowd, all curious as to what the pair were discussing.
“I merely wanted to wish you well. Things would have been very different had you not at the center of a war.”
“Wait.” Harry hesitated before continuing. “If everything hadn’t of happened, what house would you have put me in in first year?”
He could feel the hat smile and his eyes snapped open in the direction of the Slytherin table, green eyes automatically meeting gray.
“Slytherin!” the hat boomed, effectively silencing the entire hall.
Inhale. Exhale.
Harry’s feet carried him mindlessly to towards his new table as he tried his hardest to ignore the murmurs that broke out across the hall. The tie he had lazily thrown over his shoulders was bled of the gold and red, changing into silver and green. Conveniently, there was a free seat at the end of the table for him to plop down.
Inconveniently, it was next to Pansy Parkinson. Which meant, as he looked up, he was greeted by Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy.
“Well, this is interesting,” Malfoy said. Harry couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.
“Not now, Malfoy, please,” Harry said quietly. He was not willing to look past the two boys in front of him and into the sea of students. At the baffled table of Gryffindors.
Malfoy’s expression changed. It was only a slight difference, but his eyes narrowed – though it wasn’t full of hate like normal, it was a gaze full of curiosity.
And Harry would know. He would never admit it out loud, but he knew he had a staring problem when it came to the blonde.
Left alone at the end of the table, the four of them stayed quiet throughout the rest of dinner. Somehow, it was more companionable than the stifling atmosphere that had clung and suffocated him at the other table.
They stayed seated until majority of the other students had shuffled their way to their dorms. Harry wasn’t stressed about moving anytime soon, and it seemed the other three shared his sentiment. What was confusing was that when he made to leave, so did they. For some reason, Parkinson had taken to walking directly beside Harry while the other two were behind them.
And when Harry stopped just past the threshold of the hall, so did Parkinson, the other two falling into line with them.
“Ah, Gryffindors,” Parkinson mumbled, distaste clear in her voice.
Loitering about in the hallway was none other than Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. The trio were waiting for someone.
But Harry – he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t have that conversation with them just yet. Their almost week of forced proximity did little to change any of their feelings. So, he simply walked past them, speeding up when they realised he had passed by them.
Surprisingly, the other three Slytherins matched his quick pace all the way to the dungeons.
“Uh, thanks?”
Parkinson waved him off, bidding the boy goodnight as she headed off to the girls’ section of the dorms.
Malfoy slowly started to wander off.
“Well, come on,” Zabini said, motioning for Harry to follow them.
Right. He was sharing with them. Totally fine.
Once inside his new room, Harry felt his bones start to rattle again. “Is there a working floo down here?” he asked.
Malfoy raised a brow but pointed at the fireplace that was tucked into the corner of their room, three dingy chairs around it. The blonde then drew the curtains of his bed tightly.
Zabini had collapsed onto his bed as soon as entering the room, curtains closed, and a silencing charm muttered.
Harry felt himself relax a bit. He rummaged through his trunk before kneeling in front of the fireplace. He knew without a doubt that the person he was calling would still be awake,
Harry was just a tad grumpy. Just a tad, he swore. He had fallen asleep at the edge of the forest, startled by sudden mass of students and teachers that flooded the halls when he woke and tried to make it to his dorm. He took as many hidden passages as he could, practically diving into the first one to avoid that new DADA professor. By the time he made it to his room, it was empty.
Dragging his feet, Harry changed into his uniform before heading to the great hall.
He was excited for the feast, just not the long ass sorting process.
Slinking through the open doors, he was relieved to see most of the eighth years squishing themselves together at the further end of the table. That left him and the two blondes sitting by the door lots of breathing room.
“Hi,” he said, smiling at Luna as he sat down across from her.
“Oh, you have Scattlewhisks too, Harry.”
“Maybe because we’re rooming?” Malfoy asked politely. Though it was quite obvious that he had no idea what they were meant to be talking about.
Luna had a thoughtful expression. “No, that’s not it.” The tops of her lips quirked up slightly.
“Surely I caught them from this buffoon.”
“You don’t catch Scattlewhisks. Crastes and Plutz though…”
And, gosh, Harry had missed her so much. He felt a little guilty about not getting in contact with her, but he knew she understood. That she didn’t mind. In fact, he heard she had spent a lot of her time off with magical creatures – those known and those not. They both had needed time to themselves. His face was fond as he listened to her, eventually turning to face the boy next to him.
Malfoy stared at him, eyes narrowed, trademark scowl in place as he looked seconds away from doing something questionable.
Harry tilted his head.
“If I find out I’ve caught one more imaginary—”
“They’re real,” Luna politely interrupted.
“—one more creature from you, I will kill you in your sleep.”
Harry tried – and failed – to hide an amused grin. “Sure, Malfoy.”
“I’m serious, scar head. They’ll find your glasses down your throat. Wand too.”
“Uh-huh.”
Before the blonde could retaliate (with physical violence), the first years finally filed into the hall and McGonagall began her speech.
Which, Harry paid no mind to. As soon as the food appeared on the table, his eyes started scanning for those treacle tarts he loved so much. He felt himself pout, realising dessert hadn’t also been put out.
“And now, for our first student…”
Harry glanced to the other end of the hall just in time to see the sorting hat completely ignore the poor, mortified first year. Instead, the ancient thing fluttered its way over to him. Harry mentally cursed himself and the bloody hat as it sat atop his head. Refusing to deal with the wide eyes from the rest of the school, he stared at his empty plate before closing his eyes with a roll.
“Harry Potter,” the hat spoke, its voice loud in the wizard’s head. At least it was a private conversation.
“Hat,” Harry replied, sounding sour.
“No need to be rude, I merely want to check in. A lot has happened.”
“No shit,” Harry grumbled.
The hat seemed amused of all things by the reaction. “If I told you now, that the choice was, once again, between Gryffindor and Slytherin, would you object to the latter?”
“No.”
“Hmmm. Live well, Harry Potter.” And with that the hat fluttered away, resting on the frozen first year like nothing had even happened.
Opening his eyes, Harry very pointedly looked towards the door to avoid everyone’s gazes. This meant the two blondes were the only two in his view. They both have him a quizzical look that he waved off; the hall already having erupted with murmurs.
“Fucking hell. Just one year was all I wanted,” Harry grumbled, resting his head on the table. He dared a glance at Malfoy, glasses lopsided on his face as the bugger smirked down at him. “What?”
“The saviour is sulking. How, unbecoming.”
“Oh, sod off,” Harry said, but it had no real heat behind it. The middle finger he sent the blonde on the other hand…
Harry had really hoped – needed – this eighth-year thing to be different. For people to pay him less attention. To not be in danger. The almost-week he had spent there without the rest of the students had been nice. Yet the school was full, and every second things felt the same, his magic swirled and itched.
Malfoy’s snarky comments, however, were welcomed with open arms and Harry’s own attitude.
Harry huffed loudly, throwing his homework harshly onto the coffee table. He sunk into the soft chair, regretting his decision to come back to school. He hadn’t studied properly in over a year because he was, you know, on the run for his life. Besides, professors giving homework on their first day back was a cruel thing to do and Harry wanted none of it. Two lessons and already two parchments due within the next three weeks. He only had five classes in total, and it was looking to be both a blessing and a curse.
He fidgeted, chancing a glance over to Malfoy who was sat at his desk, already starting on his essays.
“So,” Harry started. “When’s our next lesson?”
The scratching of a quill on paper didn’t stop as the blonde replied, “Hmm, I don’t know.”
“Maybe today?” Harry’s tone was full of hope.
Malfoy scoffed. “You threatened a plant and then fell asleep during charms. I’m not sure that your brain has the capacity for the Arts anymore.”
“Hey, that Flytrap had it coming!”
Malfoy turned around in his chair, levelling Harry with an unimpressed stare.
“It’s not my fault the charms professor was trying to bore me to death. Besides, I had a bad sleep,” his words mumbled off towards the end. He didn’t have nightmares often anymore, but when he did, the night was long. His mind had been jittery because of the welcome feast, all those stares and whispers.
Something softened in Malfoy’s features and Harry realised he had forgotten to put up a silencing charm.
“Sorry,” Harry blurted out.
Malfoy waved him off. He turned back to his work, quill scratching away once again. “I rarely sleep at reasonable times.”
It was quiet for a minute before Harry spoke up again.
“So?”
“After lunch. In here.” Although the blonde didn’t turn around, Harry could hear the eye roll at the start.
He grinned.
Harry was sat in the same armchair from earlier. They had rearranged the chairs and coffee table slightly, meaning the boy-who-lived was now, of course, bathed in the afternoon sunlight.
Malfoy delicately sat across from him, placing a piece of blank paper next to an ancient Dark Arts book on the table.
“Before I teach you anything else, I want you to learn how to detect Dark Magic,” Malfoy said.
Harry pouted. “Isn’t that like, super basic?”
“Basic doesn’t mean easy. Once you learn it, a lot of other things become much easier. Dark Magic lingers, swirls, and lives in ways that normal magic just doesn’t.”
Harry didn’t know what he as going to say in response originally, because his second thought threw the first one out the window into a dumpster fire. “You said something like that before. About my magic?”
He watched Malfoy flush pink but put it down to the sun that was beaming in through the window.
“Yes. But, it can be hard to see the Dark in someone’s magical aura. Unless you know what to look for in both Dark and normal, they can hide each other.”
Harry hummed. “Can you teach me both?”
“Fine, but we are not talking about anything else to do with the Arts until you get them both. “
“Deal,” Harry said with a smile.
The thing is, Harry Potter isn’t exactly the best example of a patient person, as Draco was very quickly reminded.
During their second lesson of magic detection, the boy who lived twice whinged and whined when he had made zero progress. It was insufferable. Draco told him that it was normal to not have it yet because it was hard and to, “Stop complaining like a child, honestly.”
It took almost ten days before Potter finally started to pick up on things.
Draco had imbued Dark Magic into a plain piece of parchment and had set it next to a regular one. Something he thought was simple. Yet an argument broke out because Potter insisted that he was being messed with. Draco threatened to stop discussing the Arts with him – and also to strangle him. He almost had. The blonde had risen out of his seat and stood between Potter’s legs, poking a bony finger into his breastbone right below the hollow of the gits neck.
Potter had thrown his hands up in defeat, an almost pout on his lips.
Draco returned to his seat, arms crossed. Silence encompassed the pair as he watched Potter try again.
Eventually, the git pointed to the correct piece of parchment, stating that it felt different, but he still couldn’t actually see the magic.
“Good job,” Draco said. He ignored the goofy smile on Potter’s face. “That’s the first step. Now…”
After that, Potter got the hang of it pretty quickly. It was infuriating to a degree. It had taken Draco six months to learn to detect and see magic, but the overpowered git got it within two weeks.
Though Draco had something more interesting to focus on now. He had noticed Potter sat up straighter, or smiled like an idiot whenever Draco gave him any sort of praise. It had proven advantageous for encouraging Potter to stop complaining and keep on practicing. Being the Slytherin he was, he also knew it would prove beneficial for other reasons. But why had he never noticed before? Surely Draco would have noticed something as simple as that with everything going on, especially considering he had noticed practically everything else. Or was it a recent development? Draco was certain he had heard people praise the git before, though he never saw it elicit a reaction.
Well, he had seen Potter get flustered twice – once with Diggory and that Krum bloke. However, one had been Potter’s mentor/idol, and the other was a, quite frankly, kind of intimidating Bulgarian quidditch player. Those both made sense.
(If only he read between the lines).
“What colour is my magic?” Draco asked. He was sitting cross legged, leaning back onto his hands as his fingers dug into the dirt slightly. Potter was laying on his stomach across from him. They were as close to the Forbidden Forest as they could get without a teacher coming to scold them for breaking the rules – which meant no other student was game enough to approach them.
Potter tilted his head that he was holding up with his hands. “Blue and gray,” he said after a moment of staring.
Draco hummed. “What else?”
“Uh…” Potter squinted. “Green?”
Draco smiled. “Correct. Now—”
“Is your element water?”
Draco blinked owlishly at Potter. Then he scoffed. “You have one more guess.” He supposed water wasn’t a bad guess, per say, but he quite liked his element, so he still thought the mere idea was a bit rude. “Now,” he restarted his interrupted sentence. “Which of those colours is ‘normal’, and which is the representation of my Dark Magic?”
Draco was proud of his magic. It wasn’t full of any bright colours, but there were plentiful shades of green, blue and gray. He thought it looked quite pretty, always swirling about, almost mixing but not quite. If he was being honest, he had the nicest magical aura in his entire family.
Potter stared at him, chewing on his bottom lip in thought.
It was distracting.
Draco shifted.
“The green and darker grays are Dark,” Potter confidently said. He grinned up at the blonde when the latter hummed. “I’m a good student, aren’t I?” His tone was cheeky, knowing that the question alone would be enough to get on the blondes’ nerves.
Predictably, Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, Potter. We can move on to a different topic.”
And Potter just kept on staring at him before saying, “Call me Harry,” with a little please at the end.
The blonde stared back.
The thing was, Malfoy had become the most constant thing in Harry’s life. They had four out of five classes together, and Harry always sat with the blonde. They would still squabble in class, but they also managed to work somewhat well together – mainly in potions, as Harry let the other boy take charge. The pair spent most of their free time together in their dorm room, either in comfortable silence or talking or bickering. They had bonded over the Dark Arts and Harry was grateful for that.
The three weeks that school had been back had been more tiring than he thought was possible. Whenever he wasn’t with Malfoy, someone would try to approach him – to question his apparent friendship with the blonde or to give him thanks for his efforts in the war. (Like he had a choice, really.) He appreciated having Luna and Neville there with him sometimes – thankful they didn’t question his relationship with Malfoy – though a lot of people ignored them while trying to get his attention.
The schoolwork was so boring that Harry had contemplated dropping out multiple times. He, evidently, decided against it.
And then there was that new, overbearing DADA professor that made Harry want to commit several crimes. The man was still trying to get him to swap classes even though the year was well underway.
The point was, Harry enjoyed the time he spent around Malfoy.
He kept grinning up at the blonde.
“Ok, then.”
Harry rolled onto his back, smiling at the retreating sun instead.
“We should go inside,” Malfoy mumbled. He got off the ground and dusted off his pants. After a moment of hesitation, he held out a hand for the dark-skinned boy. “Dinner should be soon.”
Here are some excerpts! The fic has now been completely rewritten and everything from ch.11 on is brand new!
(c.3)
“For putting your creatures in harms way, I will deal with the black market. Punish the fools, save the creatures. Give them to you?”
Newt hummed. “I doubt I have room for them all but thank you.”
“I’m sure I could figure something out,” Grindelwald said. Newt’s gaze became curious, but he moved on. “And for harming you – for each thing I ask, you can ask two. Plus, you can disregard the ‘rules’ if you so wish.”
“So, the terms we just agreed on only apply to you?” Newt asked. He couldn’t stop the short laugh that fell past his lips when the blonde nodded. “You are unbelievable.”
“Is that a yes?”
(c.4)
Newt coughed into his drink. Once he recovered, he narrowed his eyes at his guest before looking away. “No. It’s simply good tea,” he mumbled as he watched the older man wave over the second mug and gracefully take a sip. His eyes trailed down as Grindelwald swallowed. Newt quickly adverted his eyes. “Where could I find more?”
“It is a one-of-a-kind flavour. And for you, Scha–Newton, it is free.”
That didn’t quite answer Newt’s question. “Thanks?”
“I’ll bring a larger box next time, yes?” Gellert asked. “Or you can pick some up when you come by.”
Newt raised a brow from behind his cup.
“It was originally going to be a test–” Gellert didn’t miss the annoyed look that was shot his way. “–but now I’m asking as a favour. I’ve recently purchased a book under an alias. I was hoping you could pick it up for me and drop it off, then stay for dinner?”
Newt hummed, setting his cup down on the table. He looked the other man up and down before asking, “Can you not ask me to dinner like a reasonable person?”
Gellert laughed. The sound that resonated from his chest was soft but deep, and Newt found it as intoxicating as he had all those years ago. It was free from the usual control the blonde held over his emotions and expressions.
Something in Newt was roused from its sleep. He wanted to hear that laugh more often.
“Well, I’d really appreciate it if you could get the book for me.” There was a small smile on Gellert’s lips. “Would you like to stay for dinner afterwards?”
“Since you asked like a reasonable person, yes, I will,” Newt replied.
(c.6)
What he didn’t know, was that Gellert had come down an hour beforehand but got so immersed in watching the beautiful man interact with the creatures that he forgot what it was he went down there to do. It was always a great pleasure to watch the magizoologist at work, even if some of the creatures could be a bit hostile sometimes.
“Lucy, did you say?” Gellert asked as he moved closer. He joined the red head on the ground for two reasons. One, Newt’s shirt was sitting loose and haphazardly in a way that it showed off his collarbone when he leant against the ground. And two, Gellert wanted to see it up close.
(c.11)
“Schatz, I cook for you because you are mein Herzchen. I enjoy it.” Gellert held the red head tighter as he spoke, resting their foreheads together. They shared a soft smile and Gellert couldn’t help but press a quick peck to Newt’s lips. “I enjoy doing things for you – spoiling you, as others might put it. Being with you, being able to hold you, to love you, is enough for me. I need no gift in return apart from you by my side.” He finished with another soft kiss.
