I'm more of a chaser, really

Hello everyone! Not sure how many of y’all are still active, or if any of you remember this blog’s brief existence, but I’d really like to start writing with Newt again!!

I set tumblr rp aside at a particularly stressful point in my life when I had to shift my attention elsewhere, but now that things are calmer, I’d really like to give it another go. Especially in light of the new movie coming out soon! Exciting times. 

Would anyone be interested? Feel free to like/comment/drop a line if so!

❤, 

@saltveined

Newt hadn’t known what to expect when he arrived in Cork. He didn’t exactly have a plan, past poking around the city and asking some questions. This certainly felt like his worst lapse in judgement to date. After all, he had no guarantee he would find what he was looking for. Or that what he was looking for would even want to be found.

Undeterred, the young wizard wove his way down the busy street, armed with nothing but rumors and wishful thinking to guide him. No point in scanning the crowds for a familiar face. It had been years since they’d last corresponded, and even longer since they’d seen each other in person. 

He let out a slow breath, turning a corner and ducking into a small hole-in-the-wall. It was the only place he could think of where he might have a chance at unearthing some piece of information. A weathered sign hung slightly askew just above the door, with the words “Hopping Pot” carefully painted on its surface. "Enchanting customers since 1641,” read smaller script just below. Newt had visited once before, years ago, and he wasn’t certain that ‘enchanting’ was the most fitting term. It was a respectable establishment, if one overlooked some of the seedier clientele, and the musty smell that seemed to permeate every corner of the room. Ceilings were low, standards were lower, and the magic that brewed just below the surface was as dark as the firewhisky they served. 

All in all, not one of Newts favorite places to visit. 

He slid onto one of the barstools, setting his case down beside him where he could keep an eye on it. “Excuse me,” he said quietly, giving the bartender a small wave. He squinted at the name tag pinned to the wizard’s uniform.  “Ah-- Brax, is it? I was wondering if you had heard of someone by the name of Theon. Greyjoy. Theon Greyjoy. Fellow about my age?”

The bartender—Brax— gave him a level look, then went back to cleaning the countertop. Newt sighed. After a moment he fished out some money from his back pocket, sliding the coins onto the bar. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

The flash of gold caught Brax’s attention, and he paused, reaching over and pocketing the bribe. He gave a light shrug and said, “Can’t help you.” As if those three words were worth all the money Newt had just paid. 

Really? the Niffler loved the idea of Newt helping him out with his hoard and his lair. It had been forever ago since he last had and although Niff never minded that his owner’s attention was elsewhere (it allowed him chances at sneaking off afterall), one always loved to get some attention for themselves of course.

He had come a long way there. When he first got a home in Newt’s case he was very possessive and protective of it. He didn’t trust Newt enough to let him come too closer. Least of all trusting him with his treasure.

Now it had been a few years - he suspected anyway, and he was perfectly healthy and Newt was most likely completely done with his Niffler part of his book. Not that Niff knew for sure, but while some creatures came and went once Newt was done with them, Niff had settled. And been allowed to stay.He might get restless and cause chaos and absolutely not reccomended as a pet, but Newt was different. He didn’t put him in a cage. Didn’t use him to dig for treasure. In the end he was really just one of those rare cases of domesticated Nifflers. As close to domesticated as you could come he supposed. 

“Really,” Newt confirmed, tucking the eggs into his pockets— they were rather roomy, after a few well-placed enchantments— and turning on his heel, heading in the direction of the Niffler’s lair. He had gotten far too caught up in his research of late, buried under a deluge of journals and sketches and papers. Important work, to be sure, but he hadn’t found many opportunities to relax with his creatures, to watch their antics without feeling the need to observe them. His natural curiosity was all but inseparable from his work, and it was difficult to unwind after so long in the field.

He glanced at the little fellow on his shoulder with a fond smile. Occasionally, he wondered if Niff would grow lonely, cooped up in his suitcase. There weren’t others of his kind, here, unless Newt happened to rescue one in need of rehabilitation. And even though Nifflers were relatively solitary creatures, they were no strangers to partnerships. The males in particular seemed to enjoy displaying their wealth, hoping to attract a partner of choice— much like certain species of Muggle birds.

But despite the odds, Niff had stayed, and Newt was eternally grateful for his company.

“Later we can head to the bogs. The Redspeck’s pearls should be fully mature by now, and I’m sure one or two could be spared for your collection,” he said, positive that the Niffler would love the small, glowing crimson orbs. “Ah— I almost forgot!”

He rummaged around one of his pockets and pulled out a tarnished skeleton key. It fit neatly in the palm of his hand, and he lifted it up within arms reach.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what this opens, but I’m sure it might do the trick for some box or other. Think you’re up for the challenge?”

“Well that’s exactly what they do Newton. They repeat their whole life when they die.” Aethra explained. “And next time let us know what you’re doing. I don’t need woken up by screams.”

“But isn’t it fascinating? What would happen if one were to die quickly— if it were attacked by a predator, for instance. Would the sounds be condensed into a smaller frame of time? Would it make no sound at all, having been caught off guard? Or is there a trigger post-mortem, where it is able to issue sounds even after death, if the tissue and nerves remain intact? That would depend on whether or not its vocal functions were still functional, I’d imagine, unless it has more of a magical base and less of a physiological one...”

Aww, thank you so much! You just made my day.