⠀      ❀᭢᜴꤬ ⠀ 𝓒𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝓞𝑵𝑬   ི᭨ᩧྀ ⠀ ⠀ ⏖

❝ Newt? Newt Scamander? ❞

London, England
- United Kingdom
( September, 1927)

𝑵ewt Scamander's steps were hurried as he exited the Ministry of Magic, his mind swirling with frustration. The meeting had been a complete disaster—his request for a travel ban to be lifted was denied, and the news of Credence being alive, now a fugitive, weighed heavily on him. His thoughts were far too tangled to focus on much else, and the cacophony of the bustling streets of London didn't help ease his mood.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't see her until it was far too late. The impact of their collision was sudden—papers flying from Newt's arms, his briefcase dropping to the ground with a soft thud.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Newt muttered, scrambling to collect the papers, a mild embarrassment creeping up on him. He barely noticed the woman he'd bumped into—until he did.

He looked up, and there, standing in front of him, was a familiar face, one he hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime. His heart skipped a beat as their eyes met, both of them frozen for a moment in realization. The years had passed, but she hadn't changed all that much. Sabine Du Lac in the very flesh.

Her gaze softened in recognition, and her lips parted in surprise. "Newt? Newt Scamander?" Her voice, though still full of surprise, held an almost playful lilt to it, as if she couldn't quite believe he was standing before her.

For a brief moment, Newt just stared at her. There was something undeniably different about her now—a quiet elegance that had been there before, yes, but now it was more pronounced. She was more poised, more sure of herself than she had been at Hogwarts. The years had been kind to Sabine, and he noticed that she looked more confident, more mature. It was impossible not to notice how she had grown into a woman, her beauty now undeniable and commanding.

Sabine took no care of his silence. "Well, I must say, you've been busy, Scamander. Fugitive, rebel, hero... Is there anything you haven't done?" Sabine's voice carried a teasing tone, though there was a flicker of curiosity behind her words.

Newt couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head as he finally gathered himself. "Well, I haven't had tea with an old friend in far too long."

The words were out before he could think to stop them. A boldness that was rare for him. Sabine raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. He had always been so shy back in school. It was odd for him to be so forward now, but the moment felt so right, so natural.

Her lips parted slightly, and Newt caught a fleeting look of surprise cross her face. Sabine was clearly taken aback by his bluntness. Still, there was no sign of disapproval, only an almost imperceptible glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

"Perhaps something stronger?" she suggested, her tone blunt but not unkind. "I fear you look as if you've had a terrible day."

Newt's lips twitched into a soft smile, feeling a warmth spread through him at her concern, despite her blunt directness. Most would take offense to it, but he knew from previous years that it was only her personality and not to take it to heart. "What a kind thing to say," he responded, a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he met her eyes.

Sabine blinked, realizing her words might have been a bit too frank. "I didn't mean—"

"No, it's quite alright," Newt interrupted with a reassuring wave of his hand. "You're right. My day hasn't been the best." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "The Leaky Cauldron sounds nice. But I believe you were just heading in, weren't you?" He gestured toward the Ministry doors, half-expecting her to brush him off.

But Sabine surprised him. She shook her head lightly, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Oh, my sister can wait," she said with a touch of mischief. "I think I could do with a drink more than whatever business she's fussing about in there. Always a bore anyway."

Newt found himself smiling more widely at her words. Sabine's dynamic with her older sister always reminded him of his own with his older brother. "Well then," he said with a small nod, "I suppose we should go then?"

They stood there for a moment, the noise of the busy street buzzing around them as if the world outside had gone on without them. Newt had always been someone who preferred solitude, but there was something reassuring about Sabine's presence. It was as if, after all these years, they had picked up right where they left off.

"We shall!" Sabine cooed, her smile a little more genuine now, the slight tension from their initial encounter now easing into something comfortable.

Newt nodded, stepping to the side to allow her to walk ahead. As they walked together toward the nearby pub, Newt couldn't help but feel the weight of the day lift, even if just a little. There was something oddly comforting about being in Sabine's company again, as if they had never truly been apart.

As they entered the Leaky Cauldron, the dim lighting and familiar, cozy atmosphere of the pub greeted them like an old friend. The noise of chatter, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air, but it was a welcome background to the moment. Sabine had always liked it here, the place was full of life and mystery, and the memories of past visits brought a sense of comfort.

She followed Newt to a small table near the back, where a few empty chairs waited, their faded wood offering a stark contrast to the sleek modernity of the ministry they'd just left. As Newt settled into his seat, Sabine wasted no time.

With a knowing glint in her eyes, she leaned forward slightly, her hands folding neatly in front of her on the table. "I read your book, Scamander," she said, her tone light but laced with a hint of smugness. "I told you so."

Newt, who had been absentmindedly adjusting his coat, looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes as he met her gaze. "You did?" he asked, his voice both curious and cautious, as if unsure whether to be pleased or slightly wary.

Sabine couldn't help but smirk, the familiar feeling of teasing creeping up on her. "Of course I did," she replied, the words flowing with an air of satisfaction. "I told you you'd write a book one day and you didn't believe me, not one bit. But I sure did tell you didn't I? That people would care about your creatures, that your work would make a difference. And now look at you," she said, her voice warming as she gestured toward him with a subtle nod. "A celebrated author and researcher, just like I always said."

She leaned back slightly, her expression turning more serious, though the glint in her eyes never completely disappeared. "Not that I'm surprised, mind you. I always knew you had it in you."

Newt's cheeks flushed faintly, his fingers twitching nervously at the edges of his coat as he adjusted his position in his seat. "I suppose I should thank you for your faith in me," he said, a modest smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Though I never really expected any of this. The fame, the attention, it was never why I did it."

"Well, it's certainly nice to be appreciated," Sabine teased, her voice gentle but teasing all the same. She studied him for a moment, noticing how his nervousness lingered just below the surface. Despite everything he had accomplished, Newt was still the same humble, slightly awkward man she remembered from their school days.

"I'm glad you liked it," Newt added, clearing his throat slightly. "I wasn't sure how it would be received."

Sabine smiled softly, her gaze softening as she studied him. "You've done more than write a book, Scamander," she said, her tone quieter now, more reflective. "You've opened up a world of possibility. I think that's something worth celebrating."

He met her gaze, a quiet appreciation reflected in his eyes. "I'm just glad it's been able to help. That's all I really wanted—helping people understand the creatures I love."

Sabine nodded, her smile growing. "Well, you've certainly succeeded at that. So, when are you going to stop being so modest and accept the fact that you're a hero in your own right?"

Newt chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Perhaps when the world stops calling me 'eccentric' instead."

"Eccentric or not, you've made a difference," Sabine said with a wink. She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms, her eyes scanning the room with a thoughtful look. "But I suppose you'll never truly see it, will you? Always looking for the next creature to rescue or save. It's in your nature."

Newt shrugged lightly, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Maybe so," he replied, his voice low but warm. "But that's enough for me."

There was a silence then, comfortable and full of understanding. Sabine's heart fluttered, a soft contentment settling over her. It was easy, so easy to fall back into the rhythm of their old banter, the familiar dynamic that had always existed between them. Despite the years apart, it felt like they had never truly been apart at all.

She caught herself smiling again, and for a moment, her thoughts turned to the time that had passed since they'd last spoken. There had been so much between them, so many things left unsaid, but here they were now. Together, in the same place again, sharing a quiet drink and a bit of laughter. For Sabine, it was more than enough.

Sabine leaned back in her chair, the warm glow of the Leaky Cauldron surrounding them. They weren't talking much anymore but that was okay. She had always enjoyed the quiet moments, and now that the conversation had settled into a more personal direction, it felt oddly comfortable.

Her curiosity got the better of her, though, and she couldn't help but ask, "Why were you at the Ministry earlier?"

Newt sighed softly, his gaze falling for a moment as he collected his thoughts. He looked almost exhausted, like the weight of the day had already taken its toll. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, tinged with frustration. "They denied my request to lift the travel ban unless I agreed to work as an Auror."

Sabine raised an eyebrow, surprised by the revelation. "You don't want to be an Auror?" she asked, her tone curious yet gentle, as if she understood that this might be something deeply personal for him.

Newt shook his head, a faint smile on his lips, though there was a sadness in his eyes. "It's not my style," he admitted. "I've never been one for that sort of thing. I'd rather focus on the creatures I care about than be involved in... all of that." He gestured vaguely, as though the chaos of the Auror life and the Ministry politics were something far removed from his own world.

Sabine considered his words for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, her fingers curling around her cup. "Then what is your style? What have you been up to all these years? Other than writing a book, I mean," she asked, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Newt's expression softened, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought. "Mostly focusing on my creatures. I spent some time in America for a while," he said, his voice drifting slightly as if he were thinking back to distant memories. "But that's a rather long story."

Sabine tilted her head, an amused smirk playing on her lips as she studied him. "Since when did you become so mysterious, Newt?" she chuckled, her eyes gleaming with lighthearted teasing. "You used to be an open book, no secrets."

Newt blinked, almost surprised by her comment. He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I suppose I've had a few more years to learn the art of keeping things to myself," he said with a sheepish grin. "Some things are easier left unsaid."

Sabine's mind drifted back to their Hogwarts days as Newt spoke. She couldn't help but remember how many things had gone unsaid back then. Most notably, the massive crush she'd harbored on him—those quiet, secret feelings she'd never dared to voice. She pushed the thought away, not wanting to linger on things long past. Instead, she smoothly shifted the conversation, a playful smile forming on her lips.

"My sister works with your brother now," she said, eager for a lighter topic.

Newt blinked, clearly surprised by the sudden change in direction. "Is that so?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Sabine chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, yes. And he drives her bloody mad," she added, her tone full of amusement.

Newt's lips twitched upward in a knowing smile. "Sounds like Theseus," he replied, his voice tinged with fondness. "He's always been... a bit of a handful."

Sabine laughed softly, nodding in agreement. "You could say that," she said, her smile widening. "Sol's been working with him for months now, and every time I see her, she's either ranting about him or making some exasperated comment."

It felt good to talk about her sister like this—something so familiar, so grounding. The bartender's voice rang through the air, breaking the rhythm of their exchange.

"What can I get you two?" the bartender asked with a polite smile.

Sabine glanced at Newt, considering what she might want. "I'll have a gin and tonic, please," she said, her voice light.

Newt looked up, contemplating for a moment. "I'll have a whiskey, neat," he said, his voice soft but confident.

The bartender nodded and moved off to prepare their drinks, leaving the two of them in a comfortable silence once more. Sabine glanced over at Newt again, her thoughts drifting back to their time at Hogwarts. It felt like a lifetime ago, and yet, here they were, sharing a drink, talking like old friends.

The bartender returned with their drinks, setting Sabine's gin and tonic in front of her and Newt's whiskey down with a quiet clink. She murmured a soft "thank you" before taking a sip of her drink, the crisp tang of gin and lime refreshing her palate. Her gaze flicked to Newt, who took a careful sip of his drink, the amber liquid catching the dim light of the pub.

"Whiskey?" she mused softly, tilting her head as she studied him over the rim of her glass. "I wouldn't have pegged you for the type. What happened to butterbeer?"

He let out a soft chuckle, almost embarrassed, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his glass. "I blame a friend from America for that," he admitted, his voice carrying a subtle warmth.

"America, hmm?" Sabine said, leaning forward slightly. "Are you finally going to tell me what you were up to there? Or would you rather maintain this air of mystery you've so carefully cultivated?" Her teasing smile softened the words, but her curiosity was evident.

Newt hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her. The lines of his face grew a little tighter, and Sabine could almost see the wariness flicker in his expression. It was subtle, but it was there—a shadow of mistrust, a hesitation to bare too much.

She caught on quickly and leaned back, giving him space. "You don't have to," she said gently, her voice quiet but reassuring. "I didn't mean to push."

He shook his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint, apologetic smile. "No, it's alright," he said, his voice steady now. "It's not a secret. I was... returning Frank. A thunderbird. To his home."

Sabine paused for a beat, her lips twitching before she burst into soft laughter. "You named a thunderbird... Frank?" she asked incredulously, her shoulders shaking as she laughed again.

Newt's cheeks colored slightly, but her laughter coaxed a smile from him. It was small at first, but then it grew, tugging at the corners of his mouth in a way that was unmistakably genuine. "Yes," he said simply, his tone light. "Frank."

"That's absurdly endearing," Sabine said, shaking her head as her laughter subsided. "Out of all the majestic names you could have chosen—Zephyr, Aether, Tempest—you went with Frank."

Newt shrugged, taking another sip of his whiskey. "He just... seemed like a Frank," he said earnestly, and that made her laugh again.

"Well," she said, lifting her glass to him, "to Frank the thunderbird. And to his very creative rescuer."

Newt clinked his glass against hers with a quiet laugh of his own. "To Frank," he agreed.

The air between them felt lighter now, the weight of earlier conversations momentarily lifted. Sabine watched him with quiet curiosity, marveling at how much he'd grown since their school days—and yet, how much of the Newt she'd known remained unchanged.

Newt tilted his head slightly, his curiosity evident as he leaned forward. "Enough about me," he said softly, his voice tinged with genuine interest. "What have you been up to all these years?"

Sabine smiled, swirling the ice in her glass thoughtfully. "Well," she began, "I went back to France for a while after Hogwarts. Needed to reconnect with home, I suppose. I traveled a bit after that—visited some friends, saw places I'd only read about growing up."

Newt's lips curved into a small smile, the faintest spark of admiration in his gaze. "That sounds... exciting. France must have been lovely."

"It was," she admitted. "But I just recently moved back to London to live with Sol. She's been asking me to come back for ages, so I finally gave in." Sabine chuckled softly, but there was a note of something wistful in her tone. "I've been trying to get a job at The Daily Prophet, but... well, let's just say it hasn't been the easiest process."

Newt's brow furrowed slightly. "Why not? You're... you're an exceptional writer," he said earnestly, his sincerity taking her by surprise.

Sabine smiled faintly, touched by his confidence in her. "Thank you, Newt. But I suppose the Prophet has very specific ideas of who they want on their staff. Or maybe my writing is too straightforward for their tastes. Either way, it's been a bit of an uphill battle."

Newt took a sip of his bourbon, his gaze steady on her. "If anyone can convince them otherwise, it's you," he said firmly, a quiet but unshakable belief in his tone.

Her cheeks warmed slightly at his words, and she looked away for a moment, focusing on the condensation on her glass. "You've become quite the encourager," she teased lightly, trying to deflect the sudden rush of emotion his support brought.

"I mean it," Newt replied, his voice soft but unwavering. "You have a way with words. You always have."

Sabine glanced up, meeting his gaze. "Well," she said, her voice a touch more playful, "if I ever get that job, I'll be sure to write a glowing piece about the man who brought a thunderbird named Frank back home."

Newt chuckled, a genuine, quiet laugh that lit up his expression. "I look forward to reading it," he said, and the way he looked at her made her feel, for just a moment, like anything was possible.

Newt shifted slightly in his chair, clearing his throat before blurting out, "Would you like to join me for dinner this evening? My apartment is downtown."

Sabine blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise. Before she could form a response, he hurried to fill the silence, clearly overthinking his own invitation. "It's just been a while since I've had comp—"

"I'll see you at seven," she interrupted smoothly, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips.

Newt froze for a moment, his eyes wide, before a flush crept up his neck. "Oh. Right. Seven, then," he said, his voice soft but relieved.

Sabine took another sip of her gin and tonic, doing her best to suppress the grin threatening to break free. "I'll bring dessert," she added lightly, watching the slight flicker of nervousness and excitement dance across his face.

"Dessert?" he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him in that moment.

"Yes, Newt," she teased gently. "It's what people eat after dinner."

A soft chuckle escaped him, his earlier nerves giving way to that endearing, awkward charm she remembered so well. "I suppose that sounds... wonderful."

She gave him a playful nod. "Then it's settled."