The Wandmaker’s Granddaughter
Newt Scamander x Ollivanders granddaughter reader
wand shop chaos, overprotective ollivander, soft boy newt, angry girl kisses, magical date nights, tea, flowers, & creatures
⸻
The summer had been slow but steady at Ollivander’s wand shop. Most days, Y/N stayed tucked away in the back, helping with wand repairs, cataloguing rare cores, or carefully dusting off the old shelves that lined the shop. It was quiet work—safe, predictable, and behind the scenes. Not quite the adventure she craved.
But now, with the last week of the summer holidays settling in, her grandad had finally offered her something she’d been dreaming about since she was little: permission to work at the front of the shop.
A big deal, indeed. Ollivander was notoriously particular about who got to greet the customers, especially given the shop’s history and reputation. And now, finally, he was letting her take the reins for a while, giving himself a much-needed break.
Y/N practically floated on air the morning she stepped behind the polished counter for the first time.
The shop buzzed with the faint hum of magic, the scent of old wood and lavender hanging in the air, and the glint of countless wands displayed under the soft golden light. A few stray bits of parchment fluttered in the breeze from the open window.
Ollivander sat quietly near the back, meticulously inspecting a wand’s core with his spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. But every few minutes, Y/N caught him glancing up, his eyes narrowing just enough to peek at her.
“Remember, patience and charm,” he muttered without looking up. “Wands are a delicate business, but people—people are even more delicate. You must listen well, Y/N.”
She nodded, cheeks warm with pride.
The first customer stepped in—a young wizard with wide eyes and a hopeful smile. Y/N straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and greeted him with the sweetest, most confident smile she could muster.
“Welcome to Ollivander’s. How can I help you find your perfect wand today?”
Behind her, the faint sound of Ollivander clearing his throat reminded her that her grandad was watching, ready to swoop in at the first sign of trouble. But Y/N was ready. This was her moment.
⸻
Two weeks.
Two weeks Y/N had been manning the front of Ollivander’s wand shop, and now she thought she might finally be close to earning her grandpa’s trust to carry on the legacy.
Then, just as she started believing she could actually do this, the blasted chaos stormed in—four paws and a whole lot of mischief.
The Niffler.
It burst through the door like a furry tornado hellbent on destruction.
“NO! Stop!” Y/N yelled, voice cracking with panic and fury as the creature barreled through the aisles, knocking over precious wand boxes, sending phoenix feather cores tumbling like confetti.
Kids screamed and scattered, parents yelled, and the shop turned into a war zone of shrieking chaos.
Y/N’s heart hammered. She could feel the shop’s legacy slipping through her fingers.
The creature made a beeline for the cash register, clawing frantically through the coins and notes, gleefully wrecking what felt like a century of history.
“No, no, no!” Y/N screamed, her hands shaking as she scrambled for her wand. Her voice cracked again. “Please, please stop!”
With a desperate flick, she shouted, “Immobulus!”
A ribbon of icy blue magic wrapped tightly around the Niffler, freezing it mid-rummage.
The shop fell silent except for the heavy breathing and distant sobs of startled children.
Y/N’s chest heaved as she fought back tears.
She was utterly convinced she had ruined everything—her grandpa’s trust, the legacy, her chance.
Then, the shop door slammed open.
In came a man with wild sandy hair and an easy smile, stepping in like he’d just strolled through a garden party.
“Ah, there you are,” Newt Scamander said with an infuriating calm. “Looks like trouble found its way inside.”
Before Y/N could say a word, he knelt beside the frozen Niffler and, with a gentle flick and a murmur, melted the immobilisation charm.
He scooped the creature up, cradling it like a prize.
“Good job with handling it,” he said, looking at Y/N with an amused twinkle.
Y/N’s entire face burned with anger.
“What in the Name of Godric did you just say?” she snapped, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Good job? Your Niffler just tore this place apart, knocked over half the inventory, and almost emptied the register—and not a single sorry?”
Newt blinked, surprised, but didn’t back down.
“Well, technically it’s not my Niffler,” he replied, smiling as if this excused everything. “But I do have a knack for cleaning up after them.”
Y/N’s glare could have melted steel.
“This is my grandpa’s shop, his life’s work! I’m supposed to be proving I can manage this place, and your bloody magical menace just made me look like a complete idiot.”
She stepped closer, voice rising. “Do you have any idea how much I’m risking here? How close I am to losing his trust? And you waltz in, like some entitled gentleman, acting like it’s no big deal?”
Newt’s smile faltered under the storm in her eyes.
Before either of them could say more, Ollivander appeared in the doorway, his frame suddenly commanding and tall.
“Enough,” his voice was low but firm, carrying the weight of generations.
He stepped forward, eyes sharp as razors as they locked onto Newt.
“You may have a way with creatures, Mr. Scamander,” Ollivander said, voice cold as a winter night, “but this shop—and this family—requires respect. Your… flippant attitude towards this chaos is not appreciated.”
Newt straightened, sensing the warning in those eyes.
Ollivander’s gaze flicked to Y/N, then back to Newt.
“And as for you, Y/N,” he said, softer but no less serious, “this legacy is yours to protect. And I expect you to do exactly what you did today—handle chaos with determination, no matter how maddening it gets.”
Y/N nodded stiffly, still simmering.
Newt took a cautious step forward, flashing a crooked smile.
“Well then,” he said, voice warm but measured, “if you ever need help managing your grandpa’s legacy—or these mischievous little beasts—you know where to find me.”
Ollivander’s eyes narrowed, his protective stance a clear warning.
“Do be mindful of your tone, Mr. Scamander. And your ‘help’.”
Newt gave a small, respectful bow.
Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Chaos might have just stormed the shop, but one thing was clear: no one was letting her legacy go quietly—and maybe, that was exactly what she needed.
⸻
After the whirlwind of chaos and cleanup back at the wand shop, Y/N finally allowed herself a moment to breathe. The afternoon light was soft and warm as she stepped out onto the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, the bustle fading just enough to feel like a brief escape.
She spotted a small, cozy teashop nestled between a dusty bookstore and a lively apothecary. Perfect.
Pushing open the door, a gentle bell chimed, and she was greeted by the comforting scent of herbs and freshly baked scones. The shop was quiet, a welcome contrast to the raucous wand shop she’d just left behind.
Settling into a corner table, Y/N sighed, grateful for the brief peace. She ordered a pot of chamomile tea, her fingers curling around the warm ceramic as she closed her eyes for a moment.
Then, just as she took her first tentative sip, something small and green landed in her cup with a soft plop.
She blinked, startled.
Lifting the tiny creature from the tea was a Bowtruckle — delicate, twig-like, with sharp little eyes that blinked slowly as if to say, Really?
Y/N groaned and looked around. Across the room, sitting calmly at a table, was Newt Scamander, completely engrossed in a wizarding newspaper. His sandy hair was a little messier than before, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward in a subtle smile that made Y/N’s cheeks heat up.
She cleared her throat, standing and crossing the room with her tea cup carefully cradling the Bowtruckle.
“Aren’t you like… supposed to be good at this?” she asked pointedly, holding out the tiny creature. “Because your creatures are everywhere.”
Newt looked up, eyes twinkling as he took the Bowtruckle from her and gently stroked its twiggy fingers.
“Well,” he said with a charming grin, “I do try to keep them in check, but sometimes they have their own ideas.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched.
“Your idea of ‘keeping them in check’ seems to involve letting them wander off into other people’s drinks.”
Newt laughed softly, his gaze locking with hers. “I’m sorry for the intrusion… perhaps I should offer you a fresh pot, on the house?”
She raised an eyebrow, still amused despite herself.
“That depends,” she said, “Is this offer as genuine as your ‘good job’ compliment earlier?”
Newt’s grin grew wider, and he leaned in just a little.
“I assure you, my compliments are sincere, but the tea is very genuine.”
Y/N shook her head, laughing now, the tension from the day melting away.
As Newt returned to his newspaper, she settled back at her table, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through her.
⸻
Y/N tried to return to her corner, tried to forget the fact that a sentient twig had just cannonballed into her tea, but when the server brought over a new pot—courtesy of the “gentleman in the blue coat”—she found her resolve unraveling like a poorly tied shoelace.
Newt caught her eye again. With an almost boyish shrug, he gestured toward the empty seat across from him.
Against her better judgment—and every stubborn bone in her body—Y/N picked up her cup and slid into the chair opposite him.
“Let me guess,” she muttered. “The Bowtruckle wasn’t yours either?”
“Oh, no, he definitely is,” Newt replied, looking far too pleased with himself. “Though he’s rather fond of climbing into teapots. Warmth, you see. And a little mischief.”
Y/N arched a brow. “A perfect mascot, then.”
Newt chuckled, folding the newspaper and setting it aside. “You’re still angry.”
“I’m not angry,” she said tightly. “I’m recovering. There’s a difference.”
“Well,” he said, lifting his tea with both hands, “in your defense, most people don’t have to deal with a Niffler-induced inventory collapse before noon.”
Y/N snorted despite herself. “You should’ve seen your face when I yelled at you.”
“I think you mean courageously reprimanded me with righteous fury.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Just a bit,” he admitted, and then, with an almost boyish softness, added, “But mostly I’m impressed.”
Y/N blinked. “Impressed?”
“You kept the entire shop together,” he said, sincerity filtering through the teasing. “Screaming children, flying wand boxes, a kleptomaniac Niffler—most witches would’ve fled. You stayed. That means something.”
Y/N stared at him for a moment too long. Her brain, unprepared for praise and charm coming from the same direction, scrambled to recalibrate.
“You talk a lot of nonsense for someone who’s technically banned from half the continent for smuggling magical creatures,” she said, sipping her tea and ignoring the way her cheeks warmed.
Newt’s lips twitched. “That’s mostly exaggerated. I prefer the term relocating under duress.”
She fought a smile. “You’re trouble.”
“So I’ve heard.” He leaned back in his chair slightly, watching her with a look that was far too observant. “But you’re not nearly as cross with me now.”
“I want to be,” Y/N muttered, stabbing her spoon into the sugar bowl. “It’s just hard when you’re… well, you’re not as bad as you seem.”
“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me this week.”
“That’s concerning.”
Newt chuckled again, and Y/N felt herself relaxing more than she meant to. There was something quietly disarming about him—the way he held his teacup like it might bolt at any second, the way he watched people with the same gentle focus he gave his creatures. Like he saw everything, but judged nothing.
It was annoying. And a little endearing. And extremely inconvenient.
“Don’t get comfortable,” she warned. “You still owe me for emotional damage, and the cleanup, and the child who used a wand to set a curtain on fire because your bloody Niffler startled him.”
“I’ll repay you in tea,” he said. “And maybe a walk through the Mooncalf sanctuary. If you’re ever curious.”
“Is that you flirting with me, Mr. Scamander?”
He took a sip, then looked over the rim of his cup. “I suppose it is.”
Y/N’s breath caught just slightly. She shook her head, smirking into her drink.
“Merlin help me,” she murmured. “You’re worse than the Niffler.”
“But far better company, I hope.”
“Jury’s still out,” she muttered, though her smile gave her away completely.
⸻
By the time they finished their second pot of tea, the afternoon had begun to fade into soft golden light. Diagon Alley buzzed with life around them, but in their little corner of the world, it felt oddly quiet. Still.
Too still for someone like Y/N, who thrived on motion, chaos, and certainty. And yet here she was—walking slowly beside Newt Scamander of all people, with her fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of her sleeve as they meandered back toward Ollivanders.
Their conversation had shifted from flirtation to familiarity. Newt talked about a rescue mission gone wrong in Romania involving a Runespoor and a misunderstood birthday cake, and Y/N told him stories of growing up in the backrooms of the wand shop, balancing cores on her nose and accidentally sneezing on a unicorn hair bundle once.
He laughed. Not in the polished way most men did, but with real delight, warm and low in his chest.
And the worst part? Y/N liked it.
She liked it a lot more than she was ready to admit.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” she said, half-smiling as they neared the corner. “Maybe it’s the tea. Maybe it’s brain damage from the Niffler attack.”
Newt glanced sideways at her, his hand brushing hers lightly as they walked. “Or maybe you just like me.”
Y/N stopped walking.
Newt took another two steps before realizing, then turned back around, sheepish but undeniably smug.
“You are not charming,” she declared, pointing at him.
“I never said I was.”
“You think you are.”
“I said nothing of the sort.”
Y/N squinted at him. “You’ve got a smirk.”
“It’s my face.”
“Your face is a problem.”
“Noted,” he said brightly.
They continued on, the air between them lighter now, laced with something almost shy. And just as they rounded the final corner toward the wand shop, Y/N’s stomach sank.
Standing in front of the window, hands clasped behind his back like he was casually trying not to casually spy, was Garrick Ollivander.
Her grandfather.
Oh, Merlin.
Y/N grabbed Newt by the arm.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“Abort mission.”
“Are we on a mission?”
“My granddad.”
Newt squirted. “Ah.”
“He’s… nosy.”
“Protective?”
“Psychotically invested in my future. He keeps a journal titled ‘The Unworthy Suitors.’ He’s not ready for me to date, and certainly not someone with a suitcase full of chaos and glitter-fingered creatures!”
Y/N groaned, dragging her hand down her face. “if he sees me walking up beside you—smiling—he’s going to start engraving your name on a wand coffin.”
Newt tilted his head. “I didn’t realize wand coffin-making was part of his retirement plan.”
Y/N looked at him, deadpan. “Newt.”
He held up his hands in surrender, chuckling. “Alright, alright. So… what’s the plan?”
“Walk casually,” she said. “No smiling. No eye contact. Absolutely no flirting.”
“I’m naturally charming. Can’t help that.”
She shot him a look that said you’re not helping, but they moved forward anyway. As they approached the front of the shop, Ollivander’s pale eyes flicked up, narrowing.
“Oh no,” Y/N muttered. “He’s squinting. That means he’s thinking. Or plotting.”
Newt gave a little wave, as polite as a gentleman at a tea duel.
“Stop it,” she hissed. “You’re making it worse.”
But it was too late. Ollivander had stepped out onto the cobblestone, hands still behind his back like a wand maker appraising a very flawed piece of wood.
“Y/N,” he greeted slowly, eyes bouncing between her and Newt like he was measuring magical signature compatibility.
“Granddad,” she said a little too brightly. “I was just having tea.”
“For two and a half hours?”
“There was a second pot.”
Ollivander’s stare was unblinking. “I see.”
Newt stepped forward and offered his hand. “Mr. Ollivander. I’m Newt Scamander. Lovely to meet you.”
Ollivander did not shake his hand.
Instead, he tilted his head slowly. “You’re the one with the Niffler.”
Newt’s smile faltered just slightly. “Among other things, yes.”
“And the flying chaos that endangered a dozen children and knocked over my curated collection of ash wood—”
“That was a misunderstanding,” Newt offered gently.
Ollivander blinked once. “Mhm.”
Y/N tried not to melt into the cobblestone.
“Granddad, we were just walking back,” she said quickly. “It was just tea. No prophecies or engagements.”
“Yet,” Newt added under his breath, earning a swift elbow from Y/N.
Ollivander narrowed his eyes. “I see.”
He turned slowly and went back into the shop—but not before muttering, “Ash wood… entire display ruined… I’ll have to re-enchant the shelves… wand coffins…”
Y/N groaned aloud.
Newt watched him disappear, then glanced at her with a crooked smile. “Well, that went well.”
“That was a disaster.”
“I’ve had worse introductions.”
“You’ve had dragon chases that went better.”
Newt reached out, gently brushing his fingers against hers. “Would it help if I promise not to unleash any more creatures near the shop?”
“It might help more if you promise not to flirt when Grandpa’s within a ten-mile radius.”
“No promises there,” he said with a wink.
Y/N rolled her eyes.
But she didn’t let go of his hand.
⸻
The bell above the shop door chimed softly.
Y/N didn’t even need to look up.
Only one person entered Ollivanders with the weight of someone hoping not to knock over an entire display of wand boxes with his satchel. Only one person carried the air of well-meaning awkwardness, a vague trail of muddy footprints, and enough magical creature fur clinging to his coat to make it look like a sentient scarf had hugged him.
Newt Scamander.
Y/N straightened the ledger in front of her and tried not to smile. “Back already?”
Newt hovered near the front display, his eyes darting around the shelves like he might need to pretend he was actually here for wand repair.
“Just… passing by,” he said. “Thought I’d… drop in.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Passing by Diagon Alley? On a random morning?”
“Very busy day,” he nodded solemnly. “Lots of… shops.”
“Mhm.”
Before she could tease him further, the distinct shuffle of slippered footsteps echoed from the backroom.
Of course he was here.
“Ah.” Ollivander emerged, robes trailing faintly like a ghost as he stepped out of the shadows. His wide, pale eyes immediately narrowed.
Newt straightened. “Good morning, Mr. Ollivander.”
The old wandmaker did not reply. He simply looked.
Not in a polite way.
Not in a welcoming way.
No, this was the kind of look Ollivander reserved for unstable wand cores—like someone had just brought him a yew wand with marmalade as a core.
After a long pause, he spoke. “Back again, are you?”
Newt offered a friendly smile. “Just thought I’d check in.”
“Check in with my granddaughter, you mean.”
Y/N winced. “Granddad…”
“I was under the impression,” Ollivander said slowly, “that this was a wand shop. Not a courtship arena.”
Newt coughed awkwardly. “I… didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Hm.”
Y/N tried not to die of secondhand embarrassment.
The older man circled around the counter with deliberate slowness, hands folded neatly behind his back.
“Tall,” he muttered, as if taking mental measurements. “Soft as pinewood. Hm.”
Newt blinked. “Sorry—?” Y/n just sigh in defeat…here we go again.
“Not the most stable magical signature,” Ollivander added, eyes narrowing. “Core like a swirling occamy feather wrapped in kelpie hair? Unpredictable. Dangerous under pressure.”
Y/N hissed, “Granddad, stop comparing him to wand cores!”
“Why?” Ollivander asked, entirely serious. “Wand cores never lie.”
Newt cleared his throat and tried again. “I did bring back your Bowtruckle,” he said lightly. “And the Niffler only stole these galleons, which I want to—”
“No flirting in the shop!” Ollivander suddenly barked, waving a hand in the air like he was shooing off an insect.
Y/N turned bright red. “We weren’t—! He wasn’t—!”
But Newt, traitor that he was, just tilted his head and grinned. “Technically, I haven’t flirted. Yet.”
Ollivander gasped, scandalized. “YET?”
Y/N dropped her head to the counter. “Oh Merlin. Please take me now.”
“I knew it,” Ollivander said, voice rising with grandfatherly outrage. “You came here to woo her. Woo! In my shop! Surrounded by children and unicorn hairs! Have you no shame?”
“I brought muffins,” Newt offered, holding up a paper bag.
Y/N snorted. “You what?”
“For you,” he added, placing it beside her. “Cinnamon. I remembered you said they were your favourite.”
Ollivander gasped again—long and dramatic, like a Victorian widow. “He remembers your muffin preference?”
Newt smiled politely. “Is that… a problem?”
The wandmaker leaned in dramatically, nose-to-nose with him. “Everything is a problem when it comes to her. She is my only granddaughter. A priceless artifact. A prodigy. The future of wandlore! Not someone to be distracted by smiley magizoologists with charming voices and forest creatures spilling out of their socks!”
Newt blinked. “I don’t have anything in my—oh.”
A tiny puffskein peeked out from his boot.
Ollivander pointed at it like it confirmed all his suspicions. “See? You are infested.”
Y/N laughed. She couldn’t help it. She tried to hold it in, truly, but once she saw Newt’s mildly affronted face and the puffskein curling smugly around his ankle, it broke free.
“Granddad, for heaven’s sake,” she said between giggles, “he brought muffins and smiles, not doom.”
Ollivander did not look impressed.
“You are young. Your judgment is clouded by dimples.”
Newt blinked. “I—have dimples?”
Y/N covered her face again.
Ollivander sighed as though the weight of the wizarding world rested solely on his shoulders. “Fine. Stay. But no wooing. No smiling. No dimpling. And no flirting in the vicinity of wand cores!”
Newt held up a hand solemnly. “Understood.”
Y/N rolled her eyes and opened the muffin bag. “You’re a menace,” she whispered to Newt.
“I brought you muffins.”
“That’s emotional manipulation.”
“Delicious, though?”
She bit into one and groaned. “Damn you.”
From the back, Ollivander muttered, “Swirling kelpie core, I tell you…”
⸻
“Grandfather.”
“No.”
“I didn’t even say anything yet!”
“You don’t need to. I see it in your eyes.” Garrick Ollivander turned away from the counter, gesturing dramatically toward the wand shelves like they’d betrayed him. “That man brings only chaos.”
Y/N crossed her arms. “He brought muffins.”
“Exactly! You start talking like him now—muffins! Merlin help us.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hide the grin bubbling up. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I am being correct,” Ollivander snapped. “You think I don’t see it? The soft smiles. The stars in your eyes. The way you stared at that cinnamon roll like it held all the secrets of the universe?”
She stared at him flatly. “It was a good muffin.”
“You used to be proud,” he huffed. “Focused. Strong-willed. Now you’re fluttering about the shop like a mooncalf, sighing at freckles and floppy hair.”
Y/N groaned. “I’m not fluttering.”
“I know his type,” Ollivander muttered, starting to pace behind the counter like he was preparing a courtroom defense. “I’ve seen his kind before. Charming. Disarming. Walk in with a bowtickle or whatever in his pocket and before you know it—poof—he’s set the wand storage on fire.”
She blinked. “He didn’t set anything on fire.”
“Yet.”
Y/N leaned on the counter, chin in hand. “He’s sweet.”
“So is poison,” he countered.
“He helped calm that little boy who broke his wand yesterday.”
“He lured the twig-creature here in the first place.”
“And the Niffler—”
“Do not finish that sentence,” Ollivander barked, jabbing a long, knobby finger in the air. “That Niffler nearly made off with the entire month’s earnings! He’s like a human thunderstorm—cute little smile and then BAM! Wreckage! Looting! Crushed wand boxes!”
Y/N couldn’t help it. She laughed.
Ollivander narrowed his eyes. “And now you’re laughing.”
“It’s not a crime to laugh, Granddad.”
“It is,” he sniffed. “When you’re laughing because of him.”
She smiled and stood to reorganize a display of wand polishes. “You don’t like anyone near me.”
“Because you are my precious unicorn-hair-core,” he said with fierce sincerity. “Do you know how rare that is? Steady. Pure. Loyal. You deserve someone with balance. With structure. With sense. Not someone who leads with chaos and buttons undone.”
“He’s kind,” she said gently. “And he listens. He let me talk about wand lore for twenty minutes straight and didn’t even blink.”
Ollivander scowled. “Probably because he didn’t understand any of it.”
“Granddad.”
“Fine. But don’t let him near the phoenix feather collection. If he so much as breathes on it—”
The bell over the door chimed again.
Y/N turned.
And of course—it was Newt.
He looked sheepish, a bit windblown, as if he’d gotten distracted by a bird on the way here and followed it three streets in the wrong direction. His satchel was less full today, but she swore she could still hear something chirping inside.
“Oh,” he said, eyes lighting up when he saw her. “Hi.”
Ollivander made a sound.
Newt blinked at him. “Everything alright, sir?”
“No wooing,” the old man snapped, “we’ve talked about this.”
Newt blinked again, holding up both hands. “Wasn’t wooing. I actually… wanted to ask if I could help.”
Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. “Help?”
“In the shop. For the day. You said the day before yesterday it was always busy before term starts, and I thought—well—creatures tend to trust me, so if any more small dragons show up, I could… be of use.”
She stared. “You want to help.”
He nodded. “Only if it’s not a bother.”
Ollivander narrowed his eyes. “What’s your wand core?”
“Kelpie hair.”
“Of course it is. I knew it!”
Y/N bit her lip to hide the smirk. “We do have a shipment of dragon heartstring cases arriving soon. It’s a nightmare unloading them without startling them.”
Newt smiled softly. “I’m good with dragons.”
Ollivander muttered, “He’s good with chaos.”
Still, despite his protests, the older man didn’t stop them.
⸻
Later that afternoon, Ollivander stood in the corner of the shop with his arms crossed and his eyebrows climbing ever higher as Newt Scamander crouched next to a wide-eyed child who had just snapped her wand in half. The girl was close to tears, clutching the broken pieces like they might explode.
Newt didn’t flinch.
He knelt slowly, voice low and steady. “It’s alright. You know, my first wand snapped clean in half, too. I used it to try and levitate a murtlap and hit a wall.”
The girl blinked. “Really?”
“Truly. I cried for hours.”
Y/N watched, arms folded, her heart doing very inconvenient things in her chest.
Newt helped the girl wrap her wand safely, explained exactly how repairs worked, and offered her a little hedgehog-shaped creature from his pocket that cheeped when touched.
By the time she left, she was laughing.
Ollivander narrowed his eyes.
“Hmm.”
⸻
That evening, with the shop quiet and the lanterns dimmed, Ollivander finally spoke again.
“He’s still trouble,” he said gruffly, watching Newt tidy the display without being asked.
Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder.
“He’s… helpful trouble.”
The old man huffed. “You’re smitten.”
“I might be.”
Ollivander sighed like the weight of all wandlore had descended upon him.
“At least he respects the phoenix feathers.”
She smiled into his arm. “That’s progress.”
“Still not allowed to flirt in the shop.”
“I’ll let him know.”
⸻
The lanterns were dimmed. The shop had finally—finally—gone quiet after the pre-term rush, and Y/N stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, counting the last of the sickles and knuts that hadn’t been stolen by Nifflers or clumsy ten-year-olds.
Newt was by the door, helping rehang a crooked display sign that had somehow ended up upside down after a miniature spell mishap earlier.
Y/N glanced at him from under her lashes. His hair was wild as ever, curls falling into his eyes, his shirt rolled at the sleeves in a way that made her far more flustered than she cared to admit. The man had charmed a screaming child, sorted a wobbly stack of wand boxes, and helped Ollivander fix a rare wand that had split its core—all without breaking a sweat.
And he brought her a muffin. Again.
He looked up just then, catching her eye with a quiet, lopsided smile.
She cleared her throat, heart beating faster than it should.
“Hey,” she said, voice trying and failing to stay casual. “You hungry?”
Newt tilted his head. “Pardon?”
“Because I was thinking… there’s a little place around the corner. Late-night pastries. Decent coffee. Terrible chairs.” She shrugged, attempting nonchalance but failing wildly. “We could go. If you’re not busy.”
Newt froze like a stunned porlock.
“You’re asking me on a date?”
Y/N’s cheeks flushed instantly. “I mean—if you want to call it that.”
His smile bloomed like dawn. “Yes. Merlin’s beard, yes.”
At that moment, a very distinct choking sound came from behind the stacked wand shelves.
“No. Absolutely not. I object!”
Y/N closed her eyes. “Grandfather.”
Ollivander emerged from behind a rack of unicorn-hair polish, his expression like he’d just swallowed a lemon. “You’re asking him? You’re asking him?! That man brought a creature into my shop that tried to eat the change register!”
“It was one time!” Newt said, hands up.
“I thought you were the sensible one,” Ollivander barked, rounding on Y/N. “The responsible, clever, steady-handed unicorn core of my heart! And now you’re inviting chaos to dinner!”
She smirked, grabbing her coat. “Don’t wait up.”
“I’ll be dead by morning!”
Newt tried valiantly not to laugh. “I promise I’ll have her back at a reasonable hour, sir.”
“Not helping!” Ollivander said, turning on his heel and storming back toward the sorting room. “Next thing you’ll be naming Bowtruckles after her!”
Newt leaned in slightly, whispering, “Too late. I have one called Pip who really likes her.”
Y/N grinned and looped her arm through Newt’s.
He looked down at her like she hung the stars.
She tried not to melt on the spot.
⸻
The café they to was exactly as she’d described: small, tucked behind an old record shop, with cracked chairs, flickering lanterns, and a menu charmed to play jazz notes when you tapped the specials.
It was perfect.
Y/N shivered as they stepped inside from the evening breeze. The scent of cardamom and clove wrapped around her like a hug, and Newt politely held the door, the tips of his ears already a little pink.
“Pick a table,” he said, voice soft.
She pointed to one in the back, half-hidden by potted plants and old spellbooks stacked on the windowsill. “That one. Looks like it might collapse under us. Adds to the thrill.”
Newt chuckled. “Dangerous. I like it.”
They settled in, close enough that their knees brushed under the table. The waitress, an older witch with sparkly glasses and a floating quill, took their order with a wink—two warm apple pastries, buttered tea, and whatever muffin Newt insisted “tasted like moonlight.” Y/N was fairly certain it was just lemon and lavender, but she let him have it.
And for a moment, there was quiet.
Not awkward. Not heavy.
Just two people breathing the same soft space.
Newt tilted his head, watching her. “You seem calmer.”
“Well,” Y/N said, sipping her tea, “it helps when no one’s screaming. Or setting things on fire. Or accusing you of breaking the wand economy.”
He winced, smiling sheepishly. “To be fair, the Niffler did most of the damage.”
“And you let it loose.”
He placed a hand over his heart, mock-offended. “I did no such thing. Teddy is an escape artist. He doesn’t believe in cages.”
Y/N snorted. “You named him Teddy?”
Newt leaned in, eyes warm. “Short for Theodosius. But only when he’s in trouble.”
A laugh bubbled from her chest, unfiltered, real. Newt watched her like he couldn’t quite believe she was laughing with him—and not at him.
Just then, something stirred beneath the collar of his coat. A small twig-like creature peeked out—a Bowtruckle, blinking sleepy eyes, then crawling delicately onto the table and curling up in front of Y/N’s teacup like it was his personal fireplace.
She blinked. “…Is that Pip?”
Newt nodded, trying and failing to look innocent. “He missed you.”
“Oh, Merlin,” she muttered, gently stroking the Bowtruckle’s head with her fingertip. “He’s warm.”
“He only does that when he trusts someone,” Newt said. “He’s incredibly picky. Actually, it’s the first time he’s curled up with anyone besides me.”
Y/N smiled, cheeks flushing. “Great. Now I’m emotionally involved with a stick.”
Newt tilted his head. “A very loyal stick.”
Their pastries arrived in a puff of cinnamon steam, and for a while they simply ate, sipping tea and chatting about things that weren’t wand lore or screaming first years. Newt spoke in quiet, thoughtful tangents about magical migrations and kelpie rescue missions. Y/N told him stories about Ollivander’s quirks—how he talked to wand cores at night or cried whenever someone tried to enchant the shop bell.
“You’re brilliant with the shop,” Newt said suddenly, when she paused for breath. “And the children. And the… chaos. Honestly, you’re far more impressive than I was expecting.”
Y/N raised a brow. “Than you were expecting?”
He flushed. “I just meant—when we met, you were angry. And powerful. And very loud.”
“And now?”
“Now,” he said softly, “you’re still all those things. But also kind. And patient. And funny. And stunning, obviously.”
Her mouth parted slightly. “That was… smooth.”
He smiled. “I’ve been practicing.”
The air shifted between them. Softer. Warmer.
Y/N tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Alright, magizoologist. You think you can charm a wandmaker’s granddaughter over muffins and mischief?”
“I hope so,” he said earnestly.
And then, before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned in.
Their lips met in a kiss that was slow and unexpected—warm, tentative, but sweet. His fingers brushed her cheek, her hand resting lightly on his chest, and the café faded around them.
Even Pip stayed curled and quiet, like he’d expected this all along.
When they pulled apart, Newt’s eyes fluttered open, a dazed grin spreading across his face.
“That was…” he breathed.
Y/N smirked. “Better than your muffin?”
“Unfair comparison,” he said, grinning. “You’ve ruined pastries for me forever.”
They both laughed softly, and outside the café window, the stars began to shimmer just a little brighter.
⸻
Y/N barely had her cloak off when her grandfather’s voice boomed from the back room of the shop.
“Where in Merlin’s underpants were you?!”
She winced. “Good morning to you too, Grandpa.”
Ollivander stormed in, his wild silvery hair more disheveled than usual, wand dust clinging to his sleeves. “Morning? Do you know what time you got in last night? I do. Because I stayed up. Waiting. Staring at that ridiculous grandfather clock and wondering if I had to send a search owl to St. Mungo’s.”
Y/N dropped her bag behind the counter. “I’m fine.”
“You weren’t answering your mirror!”
“Because I was on a date.”
He staggered back like he’d been hit with a Stunning spell. “But! With him!”
Y/N blinked. “…Yes?”
Ollivander’s hand gripped the edge of the display case like he might need to steady himself. “Please tell me you didn’t—tell me—”
“We kissed,” she said flatly.
He gasped. Audibly. “You what?!”
Y/N rolled her eyes, grabbing a rag and wiping nonexistent smudges from the counter. “Honestly, I thought you’d be more upset about the muffin I ate with my tea.”
“Oh, don’t you sass me, young lady!” he cried, pacing wildly. “Kissed! You kissed the creature collector! The beast man! The walking danger zone! He’s like a bloody cross between catoblepas and a detonating snitch!”
Y/N tried to hide her smirk. “That sounds kind of fun, actually.”
Ollivander nearly combusted. “Do you want me to have a heart attack?!”
Just then, the bell over the shop door rang.
Both of them turned in slow motion.
There stood Newt Scamander. Again…
Holding a rather charming, if slightly lopsided, bouquet of enchanted daisies. They shimmered in shifting hues of soft pink and gold, one of them awkwardly glowing at the tip.
Newt looked up and gave his most gentle smile. “Good morning.”
Ollivander did not return it.
Instead, he slowly took off his spectacles, cleaned them with the hem of his sleeve, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “May Morgana grant me strength.”
“Mr. Ollivander,” Newt said carefully, stepping forward, “I just wanted to say thank you again for letting Y/N take such good care of the shop. She’s brilliant. And brave. And very—uh—”
“Tall and soft as pinewood,” Ollivander cut in, glaring at him. “Wand core unstable. Tendency to wobble. Possibly cursed by chronic blushing.”
Newt blinked. “I—sorry?”
“Not sorry enough.”
Y/N snorted behind her hand.
Ollivander ignored her. “You think you can win me over with flowers? Please. I’ve been proposed to with phoenix feathers and firewhiskey. You bring daisyweed and chaos.”
“They’re enchanted daisies, actually—”
“I don’t care if they sing madrigals and knit scarves,” he snapped.
Newt cleared his throat. “I just… came to ask if Y/N would like to go to the conservatory with me this weekend. There’s a Mooncalf release. Very rare.”
Ollivander opened his mouth to retort, but something caught in his throat.
“Kelpies,” he said slowly.
Newt blinked. “Pardon?”
“The core. The wand core you mentioned last time,” Ollivander said, scrutinizing him like a specimen under glass. “You said you’ve worked with kelpie hair, yes?”
“I have,” Newt replied carefully. “Twice. Very temperamental, but elegant if you match it right.”
“Mmm.” Ollivander squinted. “What about the wood? Is the wood at least good?”
Newt hesitated. “Uh… one was bog oak. The other was spalted beech. Bit unpredictable, but—”
“Oh, Merlin’s buttons,” the old man groaned. “He’s one of those wand personalities. Wood that cracks in a dry climate and cores that bite back.”
“Grandpa,” Y/N warned.
But Ollivander only sighed deeply, rubbing his temples with a theatrical groan. “You’re going to break her heart, or the floorboards, or both.”
Newt looked like he wanted to disappear into his own suitcase.
But Ollivander wasn’t finished. “You bring chaos. Noise. Living pockets full of winged thievery. You’re not what I pictured for her. I imagined someone sturdy. Like cherry or red oak! Grounded. Someone who doesn’t smell faintly of fire crab.”
“Technically, that’s a Runespoor,” Newt mumbled, completely flustered.
Y/N crossed her arms. “Grandpa—”
Ollivander held up a hand. “But.” He sighed again, dragging his hand down his face. “At least… something is good.”
They both blinked.
“You’re kind,” he muttered at Newt, almost grumbling. “You didn’t hex me yet. You speak with respect. And my granddaughter—my precious unicorn-hair-core-level-of-special granddaughter—seems to smile when you’re around. Which is annoying.”
Newt, stunned into silence, held out the flowers again.
“…For you, sir?”
Ollivander made a strangled noise. “Don’t push it.”
Y/N snatched the bouquet with a smirk. “I’ll put them in water. You two play nice while I’m gone.”
As she vanished into the back room, Ollivander and Newt stood in the shop’s soft golden silence.
“Well?” the wandmaker barked, glaring at him.
Newt cleared his throat. “I… like her. Very much.”
“Hmph.”
“And I’m not going anywhere.”
Another pause.
Then, very softly, Ollivander muttered with a smirk, “We’ll see if you’re still saying that after she burns your hair off in a duel. She’s like her grandmother that way.”
Newt blinked. “…Duels?”
“You’ll see.”
⸻
The conservatory grounds were hushed under a velvet sky, the air still and rich with the scent of dew-kissed grass and night-blooming herbs. Somewhere in the distance, a harp played softly—enchanted, no doubt, by one of the curators—and Y/N found herself walking hand-in-hand with Newt Scamander through glowing patches of foxglove and moonstone ivy.
“I still can’t believe this place exists,” she murmured as they passed beneath an arch of silverleaf vines. “It’s like a fairytale.”
Newt glanced sideways, his fingers gently curling tighter around hers. “You haven’t even seen the best part yet.”
“Oh?”
“The Mooncalves,” he said with a grin. “They’re about to start.”
He led her up a small slope overlooking a grassy clearing framed with runes. The air shimmered faintly with magical containment spells, subtle and non-invasive—just enough to keep the creatures from wandering too far.
And then they appeared.
Soft silver-grey with wide blue eyes, the Mooncalves moved with otherworldly grace, like dancers on clouds. One raised its bulbous head and let out a sound like a sigh wrapped in starlight. Another leapt—and landed so gently that it didn’t even bend the grass.
Y/N’s mouth parted in wonder. “They’re… beautiful.”
“I know,” Newt said, but he wasn’t looking at the Mooncalves. He was looking at her.
She turned to him, feeling her cheeks warm. “You planned all this?”
He shrugged, adorably awkward. “I thought you deserved something calm. Gentle. After… well. The Niffler Incident.”
Y/N laughed. “You mean the Disaster That Nearly Made My Grandpa Banish Me?”
“That’s the one,” he said sheepishly.
She smiled, her heart skipping. “You’re not as hopeless as I thought.”
“I’ll take that as high praise.”
They stood in silence, watching as the Mooncalves began to glow faintly, their silvery fur catching the moonlight and shimmering with every movement. The ground beneath them pulsed gently with pale blue light—an ancient magical dance only visible for a few short moments each month.
And in the midst of it all, Newt reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“You know,” he said softly, “you’re kind of… ruining my lifelong plan to be socially awkward and married only to my case of magical creatures.”
Y/N laughed, eyes bright. “Sorry about that.”
“Not sorry enough.”
He leaned in, slowly. She met him halfway.
The kiss was soft—less like fire and more like starlight melting against her skin. Warmth bloomed behind her ribs, sweet and impossible.
When they pulled apart, Newt looked utterly dazed.
“I, um… I should kiss you more often,” he murmured.
She grinned. “You really should.”
BONUS:
They walked home under a star-scattered sky, fingers still entwined, brushing shoulders and occasionally bumping into each other like teenagers on a first date. The entire world felt quiet, like it was giving them space to just… be.
When they reached the shop, Y/N paused before the door. “Thanks for tonight.”
“You’re welcome,” Newt said, his voice softer now. “I’m glad you came.”
Just as he leaned in for another kiss—CRASH.
Y/N whipped around. “What the—?”
From the window beside the display case, they could just make out the back of her grandfather, half-crouched over the enchanted bouquet Newt had given her days earlier.
“…Is he enchanting the flowers?” Newt asked, blinking.
“Oh my Merlin,” Y/N groaned, dragging him by the hand around the corner to peek through the window.
Inside, Ollivander was muttering under his breath, wand outstretched, carefully casting a Preservation Charm followed by a faint Bloom Enhancement Hex.
“You better still be bloody glowing,” he grumbled, examining the flowers like they were under a microscope. “Stupid soft-hearted Scamander. Making her smile. Honestly. What next, singing hedgehogs?”
Newt looked delighted.
Y/N smothered a laugh, tugged him even closer, and whispered, “See? I told you he likes you.”
Newt looked at her, stars reflected in his eyes. “Not as much as I like you.”
She rolled her eyes playfully—and kissed him again, right there in the moonlight.
