I would lay down my life for autistic Newt Scamander. I do not like JKR. I follow from UnnamedElement. || Gryfflepuff || pronouns: they/she/i'm tired || Fic on AO3 || autistic - please communicate clearly
Me: yeah so coelacanths are called “living fossils” because scientists found fossils of them and thought they were an extinct species until a living specimen was discovered in the 40s. does that make sense
The soldier beside me in the trench: are you not going to throw back that grenade
just reread Head Full of Fairies again and it’s got me wondering if youve got any more fb fics in the works? 🫶💗
Hi! Thanks for reaching out!! ✨🌿💕 Doing okay! My health is doing pretty well right now, which is great. Unfortunately super busy with what I hope to goodness is the last year of my PhD, which has put a damper on extracurricular “fun” writing, all while swimming through fascism and a descent into oligarchic autocracy while people are kidnapped off the streets in broad daylight, my marriage is under fire, autistic people have been dehumanized, my fields have been defunded, and my naturalized family members don’t seem safe anymore so… Just par for the course, you know?
But…!
Yes I do have other fics in the works! Though they’re not much more than scenes or sentences or outlines. As for WIPs — Two Brothers and With Its Head Under One Wing are still less than a thousand words to bridging the gap to being able to post the next already-written 10k to 30k on each, ha. But I’m not satisfied yet so it is what it is. (And I frankly had to take a break from WIHUOW because my therapist was concerned with how much time I was spending obsessing over 1930s Europe given the current political context worldwide, and how it was affecting me. So I’ve been trying to focus on other special interests like insects right now, instead of the historical setting of WIHUOW. Good for my brain, not as great for moving forward the fic!) My mod-AU about cancer (“A Wild and Precious Life”) that I was writing to sort of process my own father’s death is on hold for now because I simply don’t have the bandwidth for it, although there’s chunks written.
But for other more novel stuff in the works, I have four short-ish pieces mostly written — one about Newt and Tina’s sex life in a round about way (out-of-character for me, yes, but it was fun, “The Givers”); one about Newt’s first few weeks post-expulsion (“Out of the Ashes”) focusing on his relationship with his dad; one on the first year post-expulsion, sort of focusing on Newt learning to navigate the working world, as an autistic teenager (untitled); and one about Newt’s middle child Ephesus/Fife, who is a natural-born legilimens, and their relationship from the 1950s to the 1970s, sort of highlighting Grindelwald trauma and the WWs’ trauma alongside McCarthy-era and Cold War-era MACUSA politics, and the mark that leaves on the Goldstein-Scamander family (“The Official Magical Secrets Act”). Technically I could also probably post “After Jacob, and the Subway” pretty quickly if I put my mind to it, so maybe that’s the next low-hanging fruit, really. It’s about Tina and Newt in the days after the NY fiasco, before the harbor scene. Honestly, I think a couple of those may be excerpted in an Ask response I drafted up for @keepmeinmind-01 back in June, so I’ll tag you in it when I get around to actually tidying it up and posting it, if that’s the case.
Here’s my Fantastic Beasts WIP folders, and the “One-shots and ideas” folder opened:
Anyway. Have you been working on anything fun recently?
Hope is the thing with feathers? 😦❤️🩹 I love that one sm. It’d be nice to see more Theseus and Tina interactions on this app; they have a lovely dynamic. (And to see that baby too I’m a sucker for Newtina as parents)
💗💗💗
Hello! Sorry for the delay in reply! My life is..."baby niffler" level chaotic right now, if you know what I mean! Anyway, here's the link to my WIP ask game post he27o is referring to (originally tagged by @keepmeinmind-01) for anyone playing along.
As for Hope is the Thing with Feathers (HTwF)... I'm so pleased you're enjoying it! I honest to goodness had most of it written before I realized I had inexorably written myself into a corner regarding Queenie and thus had to entirely scrap most of it -- hence the sudden abandonment on AO3 as I massively reconsidered parts of earlier fics (of which only a few one-shots and half of With Its Head Under One Wing are posted /sweat emoji/). Anyway, HTwF is intended to be part 3 or so of the "full length" stories in the WIHUOW 'universe,' focusing on the erosion of human rights during wartime, families in war, and chronic illness.
So here's a few quite unedited snippets that will assuredly make it into the eventual fic once I sort out WIHUOW! (Unfortunately, not a ton of Tina-Theseus interaction, but it is what it is. And for proper Newtina as parents, check out The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures and A Home by the Sea.)
An excerpt from Newt's journals (opening of ch3):
Excerpts from Newt Scamander’s personal journal while in Australian custody
3 May 1944 - Wednesday
I have never been in an airplane before and I have certainly never been in one wedged between a half-tonne of medical supplies and seven Australian aurors. They forcibly took my case when they invaded my camp to detain me, but they’ve allowed me to keep my writing implements and art supplies during travel. I’m not concerned yet with the ____ and ____, as I’d healed them as well as I could for the time and there are enough charms set to provide routine care without my intervention for nearly 36 more hours.
In regards to my predicament, though: My questions have been entirely unappreciated. I’ve also had my wand seized and am certainly keeping to myself that I have any wandless abilities whatsoever (beyond charming my writing illegible to anyone but me, that is), at least until it becomes clearer what exactly is going on. All I’ve gotten out of them is what I was told upon my arrest, which is all really rather ridiculous, because I still can’t figure out (a) how I’m meant to have been in two places at once; and (b) what gave the Australians the right to arrest a British citizen in a non-Commonwealth territory at all.
But, I suppose — what do I know about Magical Law beyond beasts?
On a positive note, they were willing to tell me that this plane is called a C-47 and that they “requisitioned” it from the American military, which just very much sounds to me as if they took it without asking. I’m not allowed to look out the windows as they have very thoughtfully chained my feet to the ground, as if I can go anywhere at all without my creatures or my wand, anyway. There are the parachutes, of course, but—with my luck—I’d land either right in the middle of a minefield or unintentionally deliver myself precisely to Grindelwald’s doorstep, so I think I’d rather take my chances here.
(What a thing to say.)
I guess I’ve nothing to do except sit for now… Work on transcribing my notes on those particular tropical species I haven’t made sense of yet. Hope Theseus is aware of what is going on and can get me out of this, the poor bloke. Think about Tina and hope she’s been left alone; that Leora, my little light, is safe; that the world will hold itself together for long enough that I can see them once again.
Across the way, the youngest auror has begun using my case as a desk to roll his cigarettes on, and if I had my wand I swear on Ptolemy’s name…
Yes, it is definitely time to work on my notes, before I get charged with something—somehow—more serious than high treason.
An excerpt from later chapters (ch4 or so)
There was something Theseus could only describe as a ‘kerfuffle’ happening at the heavily guarded international Floo hearths at the far end of the Atrium, and he immediately took off at a run.
The Australians were, apparently, running ten minutes early. Tina hadn’t even arrived yet, let alone Dumbledore, and he heard his brother’s frantic voice before he could even see him.
“Theseus! Theseus, they’ve got my case!”
And then there Newt was, gripped tightly under the armpits by two aurors taller than even Theseus himself, hands clearly bound behind his back with charmed bindings, too, at his ankles, a silver magic-suppression cuff situated close to the skin of his neck.
Certainly, Newt always looked a bit worse for wear when returning from abroad, but it was clear the Australian aurors hadn’t even let him properly re-dress before placing him under arrest, for he was wearing only an undershirt, a half-buttoned flannel, and a pair of thick canvas pants spattered with mud (and what Theseus was reasonably certain was slime from an oversized snail)—an outfit Theseus knew Newt would not normally be caught dead in in actual public. For all his peculiarities—or perhaps exactly because of them—Newt dressed neatly (if occasionally casually and always unconventionally) when he knew he had to interact with “Society” (and Theseus also knew Newt to be ridiculously fond of his stupid bow ties)…
The rest of the transport team spilled out of the hearth behind them then, and he could finally catch Newt’s eyes amid the sooty ash dominating his face.
Theseus strode purposefully forward and shook the highest ranking Australian auror’s hand, before taking his brother at the shoulder to subtly suggest the Australians release him.
“They’ve taken my case,” Newt repeated immediately, shrugging out of the aurors’ grip to step closer to Theseus’ orbit. (And as Newt’s gaze flickered away from him, he suddenly noticed the deep circles under his eyes, how grey he looked beneath sun-darkened freckles…) “I have written permission from all governments involved to rehabilitate these creatures, and I won’t have them killed!”
He’d spat the last over his shoulder at the Australian entourage, with a surprisingly caustic accompanying glare. At that, Theseus gave him a look that he prayed Newt remembered from childhood—‘we both know our parents are wrong but you’ll get nowhere with that attitude, so please dear Merlin wait’—and held out a hand toward one of the aurors slinking in at the back of the group.
“Newton Scamander’s effects, please.”
But the mission lead spoke up then, before their frighteningly young attendant could even get a word out— “Those aren’t to be released, per Director Travers’ orders, until the contents have been cataloged by the British Ministry.”
“I am the British Ministry,” Theseus countered cooly.
But the Australian’s response was lost in the rush of activity that followed, for—a few hearths down—Tina Goldstein had stumbled dramatically out of a fire, while four down from that, Albus Dumbledore was striding from the flames.
An announcement identifying Tina reverberated from nowhere all about them, and then Theseus’ own aurors were on their colleague—their American counterpart—like lions on a gazelle. As he ran—digging about in his pocket for the letters from MACUSA and the American Wizarding Embassy—he could vaguely hear Newt shouting behind him, followed by the sickening crack of knees hitting much too hard against stone, but he couldn’t look back.
By the time he got to Tina, Dumbledore was already standing in front of her, arms outstretched—
“Wands away!” Theseus shouted. “Wands away! Diplomatic immunity!”
And he waved the documents he had finally been able to fetch from his jacket pocket, before duplicating them and sending them flying to each of his men.
Most of them immediately fell silent and stepped back, but one fellow—Blishwick, who had always resented Theseus’ quick rise through the ranks and long-held power—stood his ground.
“Oh, come off it. She’s as good as British—she’s married to your brother, Scamander!”
Theseus took a step forward and stared at him in silence for a moment, hoping to intimidate him by reminding him what he’d just done in front of a room full of witnesses.
Around them, the Atrium was deadly quiet, apart from the occasional clicking of newspaper cameras and Newt’s unfortunate continued struggling to reach Tina behind him. (A hissed jinx and fleshy thump quickly quieted Newt’s protests, though Theseus could hear him gasp and then draw in a deep rattling breath in the beat after the thud, as if he’d been pinned to the ground by a boot to the back...)
“One, my brother has been falsely accused, of a very serious crime no less, and—two—Goldstein’s not a citizen, you absolute bloody pillock.”
He pointed emphatically at the specialized immigration and marriage papers in Blishwick’s hands, before pulling the man close to hiss in his ear—
“You are flirting with insubordination and fully courting an international incident. You may be able to put Newt through the wringer once again; but Goldstein is off limits, because we respect international law in this department, Auror Blishwick. Do I make myself clear?”
rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WiPs.
Here’s mine!
Thanks for tagging me, @keepmeinmind-01!! My WIPs are spread throughout a ridiculous number of locations and devices, not all of which I have access to, so here are the ones in my Google Drive.
Related to already posted WIPs:
With its Head Under One Wing (Chapters 13-22 + 3 misc documents)
Older, or Two brothers and a train station (aprx 12-15 fully finished or partially written chapters)
Most Vicious Creatures on the Planet (random scraps)
Far Away from Temple After Sunset sequel (1-2 documents?)
Hope is the thing with feathers (Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 5, miscellaneous scraps)
Wild & Precious Life (??? I don’t even know what’s in that folder honestly, bc most of the fic was on the phone that got run over by a truck last year — I’m a gremlin who writes in their notes app far too often)
Unposted fics or scenes or scraps:
Apothecary scene, Newt after expulsion
Out of the Ashes/eschewing empires
The Official Magical Secrets Act
The Givers
Unconventional
Politics
Imperfect Understanding
After Jacob, and the Subway
Solving the Lockhart Problem
Inspired by Katy’s art
Wwi newg and theseus (repurposed for Older, or 2baats)
Theseus & Newt - post-attack
tina bar, newt & achilles - 1938
Chronic illness, Newt
Easiest to pick on
Jacob short
The Being Division
Sickness & In Health
Parseltongue
The Odd One Out
Miscellaneous - shorts - 1.4.23
Honestly I have no idea what some of these are (even the chapters in the current WIPs) because of who I am as a person so. 🤷♀️
I’m certainly not tagging 5billion people per the rules, but I will tag @roselightfairy. And if you follow me on this Fantastic Beasts blog and also write fic, please consider this an automatic tag, too!
hey i
i um
i’m calling because
i missed
i mean i have a missed call?
from earlier? from
your area code and i thought
maybe it was you you know because
it was the same area code but
ah it’s probably
it probably was just a wrong number
um haha
i guess that’s oh
the tulips! came back up
in the garden, we were
worried, remember? that they wouldn’t
come back after the frost last winter
they did though and i know
i know how much you like them
they look really nice
really
i
uh
i hope you’re doing
all right and
you know i also
also wanted to say
about how last winter
i’m really sorry about how we left
that
and i wanted to tell you
so many times since then
i really
beep
Newt apparating Theseus out of the amphitheater was everything.
Also, it’s amazing that Newt was able to apparate them out of there without splinching, considering all the chaos that had happened and was happening. It’s great that he was still able to focus well enough to apparate out of there safely, especially since Theseus was trying to break out of Newt’s grip and close to succeeding.
Wizards used to laugh at non-wizards for being so primitive, doing everything manually. But that was before technology started outpacing magic. You really got a sense of how serious this was when you saw the greatest mage of your age sitting right next to you in your thermodynamics class.
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I’d never noticed Theseus’ movements in the scene in that last gif. Sure, he’s a well-trained auror, but the man was also absolutely ready to fraternally throw down.
In early 2024, Newt Scamander is injured during a conservation project in Burkina Faso. As usual, he gets better, but then… he doesn't. Meanwhile, Tina Goldstein is head of the auror office within the UK’s Department of International Magical Cooperation. Her sister and Jacob have just moved to London; and she and Newt are meant to be married in a matter of weeks. When Newt’s routine checkup suddenly turns concerning, the news comes hurtling at a speed they aren't prepared for... It turns out wizards aren’t impervious to everything; and now Newt and Tina are stuck between a wedding and a timeline that's determined to change their lives.
Opening Scene (Chapter 1)
Newt pounded up the stairs from the basement and screeched to a halt in the kitchen, hiking boots squeaking on the tiles as he dropped his [perfectly unordinary] briefcase onto the floor just a wee bit harder than he’d meant to... His eyes scanned the room for wherever he’d last left the tea kettle and – invariably – his ever-missing, godforsaken phone.
The sound of Tina’s hair-drying charms buzzed from the bathroom as he cast a location spell for both:
A bright ping!! drew him to a stack of papers by the stove (which, shuffling through them, revealed his half-charged phone, already stacked with notification banners…); while a gasping hiss! led him straight to the kettle in the sink, where he’d apparently left it the night before when they’d hurried to the bedroom.
(Monday night had been Tina’s 28th birthday and—after a well-deserved get-together at her favourite restaurant with their her various friends and colleagues… Well… Upon returning home, Tina had simply needed celebrating.)
But now, in the light of day—(as Newt struggled with the inevitably stubborn lid on the top of the kettle)—he caught sight of a pale gold band beside a maroon-stained pair of wine glasses, the ring’s warmth contrasting subtly with the brush-stained silver of their kitchen sink...
He gave up on the kettle and charmed it open instead, shouting over his shoulder (always a battle over Tina’s clatter in the bathroom — gentle mornings were not her forté):
“Tina love!”
But he paused then, swearing under his breath, for he’d enchanted the water in the kettle to boil before even thinking of setting it on a trivet, and thus his hand—
“You’ve left your ring by the sink again!”
He shook out his burnt fingers with a huff, pulling a battered green travel mug (Central African Conservation Conference - 2018) from a cabinet just as the drawer in the bathroom finally slammed shut—
“I keep telling you…” he muttered absently, and Tina’s routine morning noises suddenly died out. “It’ll get knocked into the drain. Or Teddy’ll run off with it. And I haven’t got another royalty check until after the wedding, so if you could –”
But he stopped mid-sentence then, for Tina was suddenly beside him with an abrupt and unexpected tenderness, slipping the citrine ring back onto her finger and pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. She dropped a fragrant Earl Grey tea bag into his mug before nudging it toward him and suggesting firmly, crossing her arms–
“Add honey to that, Newt. Your cough sounded terrible this morning.”
Newt flicked his eyes up to her at that, summoning the honey with an acquiescent but mildly amused grimace. “It did, didn’t it?”
For good measure, he squeezed a half lemon into his travel mug with a half-smile (the tagline ‘I survived erumpent mating season!!’ still made him laugh, even six years later); and Tina moved a step closer to brush a lock of unruly hair from his brow.
“And ask about it at the healers, won’t you?” she prompted. “ When you go in for your check-up? At your final examination this afternoon.”
“Oh - um - right… ”
He most definitely hadn’t forgotten about his second [three-month] follow-up for his January runespoor bite. (There was a reason Tina had merged their calendars the moment they moved in together the year before, and it certainly wasn’t because Newt was the superior timekeeper...)
“It’s been two weeks and the pepper-up’s not working,” Tina continued from where she’d crouched in front of the refrigerator, eventually selecting a Pyrex dish of leftovers to shove into her bag. “Maybe you picked somethin’ up in Spain last month?”
“Ah - no - I couldn’t have,” he murmured, flicking his wand to imbue Hello Newt!!! St. Mungo’s! 12.20! on his hand with waterproof ink and a buzzing reminder spell so he wouldn’t forget. “I mean, apart from pox, humans can’t catch things from dragons, can they? Their diseases simply aren’t zoonotic. And none of the ones I was working with were even sick. Breeding consult, you see,” he clarified.
“Fine, Mr. Scamander,” Tina harrumphed goodnaturedly, and then she was back at the counter, reheating coffee to pour into her own simple travel mug. “But – honey – coughing up a lung under the chuppah wouldn’t be cute, so maybe humour me this time.”
“Well. When you put it that way…” he conceded, returning to the whirlwind of his own morning preparations to get out the door. “Yes, I’ll ask. Of course.”
He had just finished attaching a leather strap to his briefcase to make travelling easier when he suddenly – (actually) – caught his fiancee’s eye, fully registering her striking comportment and demeanour for the first time that morning.
He immediately paused (frozen), for Tina stood particularly straight-backed, in an uncharacteristically well-polished outfit, having apparently swapped her casual slacks and button-ups for a fitted maroon pantsuit, a crisp white dress shirt, and a pair of no-nonsense (but brightly shined) chunky black oxfords.
She raised her eyebrows as Newt continued to stare at her. “Yes, Newt?”
“You - “ He paused to swallow. “You just look very nice today, Tina…”
A beat.
“Thank you.” She smiled and blushed, adjusting the lapel of her cropped suit jacket before taking a step closer to smooth out a wrinkle on Newt’s—conversely—well-loved summer cardigan.
In return, he ran a gentle thumb over a spot on her neck, dissolving the light love bruise back into the creamy tone of her skin with a subtly murmured wandless spell.
“I’ve got planning for that international summit—the one in Vienna—this morning,” she explained with a slight frown. “And then meetings with the French consulate all afternoon.” A huff. “Like, all afternoon, Newt… It’s a pain! But Queenie insists I’ll be taken more seriously if I look my best, so—”
She gestured at her outfit –
“Here we are, I guess.”
Newt tilted his head with a frown, rocking on his heels before patting down his pockets to check for keys, notebook, phone.
“You ought to be taken seriously because you’re the best international auror they’ve got,” he argued haltingly, shoving his wand up his sleeve. “Not just because you dress better than them.”
She guffawed and patted him on the back (in such a way that he would have been offended if it were anyone else), flicking her wand to turn the lights off.
“It might be 2024, Newt, but I’m still a witch under the age of thirty in international magical relations.”
And then they both wove through the slightly cluttered front room of their flat (currently littered with various wedding paraphernalia) toward the door, travel mugs clutched tightly in hand, as she concluded:
“It’s not exactly a walk in the park.”
“Yeah, yes, that’s true,” he acknowledged, when they paused on the stoop. Tina fumbled for her keys and then cast a subtle protective ward on the door behind them. “S’not exactly a walk in the park as an autistic scientist either, I suppose.”
“No, it’s not,” she laughed, and then he leaned in—accidentally bumping their mugs together—to press one hand to the side of her face and soundly kiss her.
“And that,” she murmured against his lips, as they pulled slightly apart, “is precisely why we work…”
Newt smiled, and then shoved Pickett back down into his cardigan pocket when he began to peek out.
“But please don’t lose track of time in the highlands and miss your appointment again!” Tina suddenly pleaded. “I just want everything cleared before the wedding, before our honeymoon…”
“Look,” he countered flatly, “I won’t forget as long as you don’t forget the takeaway.”
“Deal. Thai. 6PM,” she agreed, taking a step further away from him and then looking both ways to check for any particularly attentive Muggles… (They’d at least long ago charmed the front of the flat to be resistant to technological recording devices.) “All clear then.”
A beat.
“Be safe, Newt!” she insisted with finality, and he rolled his eyes.
They squeezed one another’s hands one last time before dropping them into pockets and – on the count of three – they each disapparated to their respective jobs: one to a stuffy conference room in the Department for International Magical Cooperation, and the other one to a crevasse on the highest mountain in the United Kingdom.
In early 2024, Newt Scamander is injured during a conservation project in Burkina Faso. As usual, he gets better, but then… he doesn't. Meanwhile, Tina Goldstein is head of the auror office within the UK’s Department of International Magical Cooperation. Her sister and Jacob have just moved to London; and she and Newt are meant to be married in a matter of weeks. When Newt’s routine checkup suddenly turns concerning, the news comes hurtling at a speed they aren't prepared for... It turns out wizards aren’t impervious to everything; and now Newt and Tina are stuck between a wedding and a timeline that's determined to change their lives.
Opening Scene (Chapter 1)
Newt pounded up the stairs from the basement and screeched to a halt in the kitchen, hiking boots squeaking on the tiles as he dropped his [perfectly unordinary] briefcase onto the floor just a wee bit harder than he’d meant to... His eyes scanned the room for wherever he’d last left the tea kettle and – invariably – his ever-missing, godforsaken phone.
The sound of Tina’s hair-drying charms buzzed from the bathroom as he cast a location spell for both:
A bright ping!! drew him to a stack of papers by the stove (which, shuffling through them, revealed his half-charged phone, already stacked with notification banners…); while a gasping hiss! led him straight to the kettle in the sink, where he’d apparently left it the night before when they’d hurried to the bedroom.
(Monday night had been Tina’s 28th birthday and—after a well-deserved get-together at her favourite restaurant with their her various friends and colleagues… Well… Upon returning home, Tina had simply needed celebrating.)
But now, in the light of day—(as Newt struggled with the inevitably stubborn lid on the top of the kettle)—he caught sight of a pale gold band beside a maroon-stained pair of wine glasses, the ring’s warmth contrasting subtly with the brush-stained silver of their kitchen sink...
He gave up on the kettle and charmed it open instead, shouting over his shoulder (always a battle over Tina’s clatter in the bathroom — gentle mornings were not her forté):
“Tina love!”
But he paused then, swearing under his breath, for he’d enchanted the water in the kettle to boil before even thinking of setting it on a trivet, and thus his hand—
“You’ve left your ring by the sink again!”
He shook out his burnt fingers with a huff, pulling a battered green travel mug (Central African Conservation Conference - 2018) from a cabinet just as the drawer in the bathroom finally slammed shut—
“I keep telling you…” he muttered absently, and Tina’s routine morning noises suddenly died out. “It’ll get knocked into the drain. Or Teddy’ll run off with it. And I haven’t got another royalty check until after the wedding, so if you could –”
But he stopped mid-sentence then, for Tina was suddenly beside him with an abrupt and unexpected tenderness, slipping the citrine ring back onto her finger and pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. She dropped a fragrant Earl Grey tea bag into his mug before nudging it toward him and suggesting firmly, crossing her arms–
“Add honey to that, Newt. Your cough sounded terrible this morning.”
Newt flicked his eyes up to her at that, summoning the honey with an acquiescent but mildly amused grimace. “It did, didn’t it?”
For good measure, he squeezed a half lemon into his travel mug with a half-smile (the tagline ‘I survived erumpent mating season!!’ still made him laugh, even six years later); and Tina moved a step closer to brush a lock of unruly hair from his brow.
“And ask about it at the healers, won’t you?” she prompted. “ When you go in for your check-up? At your final examination this afternoon.”
“Oh - um - right… ”
He most definitely hadn’t forgotten about his second [three-month] follow-up for his January runespoor bite. (There was a reason Tina had merged their calendars the moment they moved in together the year before, and it certainly wasn’t because Newt was the superior timekeeper...)
“It’s been two weeks and the pepper-up’s not working,” Tina continued from where she’d crouched in front of the refrigerator, eventually selecting a Pyrex dish of leftovers to shove into her bag. “Maybe you picked somethin’ up in Spain last month?”
“Ah - no - I couldn’t have,” he murmured, flicking his wand to imbue Hello Newt!!! St. Mungo’s! 12.20! on his hand with waterproof ink and a buzzing reminder spell so he wouldn’t forget. “I mean, apart from pox, humans can’t catch things from dragons, can they? Their diseases simply aren’t zoonotic. And none of the ones I was working with were even sick. Breeding consult, you see,” he clarified.
“Fine, Mr. Scamander,” Tina harrumphed goodnaturedly, and then she was back at the counter, reheating coffee to pour into her own simple travel mug. “But – honey – coughing up a lung under the chuppah wouldn’t be cute, so maybe humour me this time.”
“Well. When you put it that way…” he conceded, returning to the whirlwind of his own morning preparations to get out the door. “Yes, I’ll ask. Of course.”
He had just finished attaching a leather strap to his briefcase to make travelling easier when he suddenly – (actually) – caught his fiancee’s eye, fully registering her striking comportment and demeanour for the first time that morning.
He immediately paused (frozen), for Tina stood particularly straight-backed, in an uncharacteristically well-polished outfit, having apparently swapped her casual slacks and button-ups for a fitted maroon pantsuit, a crisp white dress shirt, and a pair of no-nonsense (but brightly shined) chunky black oxfords.
She raised her eyebrows as Newt continued to stare at her. “Yes, Newt?”
“You - “ He paused to swallow. “You just look very nice today, Tina…”
A beat.
“Thank you.” She smiled and blushed, adjusting the lapel of her cropped suit jacket before taking a step closer to smooth out a wrinkle on Newt’s—conversely—well-loved summer cardigan.
In return, he ran a gentle thumb over a spot on her neck, dissolving the light love bruise back into the creamy tone of her skin with a subtly murmured wandless spell.
“I’ve got planning for that international summit—the one in Vienna—this morning,” she explained with a slight frown. “And then meetings with the French consulate all afternoon.” A huff. “Like, all afternoon, Newt… It’s a pain! But Queenie insists I’ll be taken more seriously if I look my best, so—”
She gestured at her outfit –
“Here we are, I guess.”
Newt tilted his head with a frown, rocking on his heels before patting down his pockets to check for keys, notebook, phone.
“You ought to be taken seriously because you’re the best international auror they’ve got,” he argued haltingly, shoving his wand up his sleeve. “Not just because you dress better than them.”
She guffawed and patted him on the back (in such a way that he would have been offended if it were anyone else), flicking her wand to turn the lights off.
“It might be 2024, Newt, but I’m still a witch under the age of thirty in international magical relations.”
And then they both wove through the slightly cluttered front room of their flat (currently littered with various wedding paraphernalia) toward the door, travel mugs clutched tightly in hand, as she concluded:
“It’s not exactly a walk in the park.”
“Yeah, yes, that’s true,” he acknowledged, when they paused on the stoop. Tina fumbled for her keys and then cast a subtle protective ward on the door behind them. “S’not exactly a walk in the park as an autistic scientist either, I suppose.”
“No, it’s not,” she laughed, and then he leaned in—accidentally bumping their mugs together—to press one hand to the side of her face and soundly kiss her.
“And that,” she murmured against his lips, as they pulled slightly apart, “is precisely why we work…”
Newt smiled, and then shoved Pickett back down into his cardigan pocket when he began to peek out.
“But please don’t lose track of time in the highlands and miss your appointment again!” Tina suddenly pleaded. “I just want everything cleared before the wedding, before our honeymoon…”
“Look,” he countered flatly, “I won’t forget as long as you don’t forget the takeaway.”
“Deal. Thai. 6PM,” she agreed, taking a step further away from him and then looking both ways to check for any particularly attentive Muggles… (They’d at least long ago charmed the front of the flat to be resistant to technological recording devices.) “All clear then.”
A beat.
“Be safe, Newt!” she insisted with finality, and he rolled his eyes.
They squeezed one another’s hands one last time before dropping them into pockets and – on the count of three – they each disapparated to their respective jobs: one to a stuffy conference room in the Department for International Magical Cooperation, and the other one to a crevasse on the highest mountain in the United Kingdom.
I expect it’s just their way of organizing things, but it’s been haunting me since October, lmao. Like, yes, it’s been a year since I updated this particular fic, but I’ve posted aprx 3 since then. And I once had a 130k fic ‘active’ for 5+ years before I actually posted the whole thing. So, in context, I’m like… Sir, it obviously will be done! I have so many words already written! 😆
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