#magiccaretaker

“Listen, I’m not going to just walk away with nothing, this is just as important for you to be involved with -” Ariana paused in her argument when she heard a loud thump from outside, and she looked at the men, half expecting this to be from them. “What’s going on?” 

    “You know, I think I’m finally getting the hang of this one,” Graves mused, waving a shiny bottle cap in front of the niffler who was holding his collar pins hostage. “Which is not a sentence I ever thought I would say about a magical creature that enjoys creating havoc just for the sake of getting it’s hands on something shiny. I do believe that means I’m spending far too much time in the vicinity of that case, Newton.”

It had been a long time since Aryan had seen his old schoolmate. He'd found Newt had a talent for trouble he'd rather enjoyed during their younger years, and he'd kept up with his owrk as Newt had travelled. When Newt had published his book, Aryan had been unashamedly first in line. Well... almost. Dumbledore had been first, but Aryan was close behind. Aryan had always been interested in the creatures Newt so loved. He wasn't particularly good with magical creatures, but he'd certainly been happy to spend time around them with his friend when they were in Hogwarts.

Aryan hadn't realised Newt was back until he caught the sounds of clanging in the trophy room. At first, he thought some students might have been duelling - it was a favourite place for such activities, considering it was generally removed from the main areas of the school - but upon inspection, he found himself playing a game of wills with a small creature he knew well. Newt had seemed particularly fond, if also incredibly frustrated, in his writing of nifflers. This one was currently trying to shove an old Quidditch shield into it's pouch. Nifflers weren't generally found anywhere near Hogwarts, and there was only one real explanation.

I let myself fall in love with you anyway. When she’d imagined telling him that she loved him she hadn’t imagined it to be like this. Yet, there was more truth in those words than anything else. Tina so rarely let people in that Newt breaking through those barriers, earning a sentiment few others did, had been a feat.

A feat she had cherished and feared, and it seemed the latter had been correct.

She sat at the table, not sparing him a glance for the fear of the tears that might follow. Her hands gripping the mug of hot cocoa-- for bad days and long talks her mother had once said-- soaking in its warmth as if it was a shield.

“You didn’t mean to,” She repeated, more coolly than she meant to, “I needed you, Newt. I realize it wasn’t all that important to you and...”

“That, my friend, is a Mackled Malaclaw.” Newt informed, carefully picking up the lobster like creature. “It is not particularly dangerous, but its bite does tend to have a ghastly affect. Anyone bit by a Malaclaw becomes terrible unlucky for a while. Oh, and I wouldn’t eat this little fella. You’ll get incredibly ill, and you will develop an unsightly rash.”

Tina apparated into the apartment with a pop, sliding her wand into the sleeve of her jacket as she set down her suitcase. She began to creep around the house, quiet as it was for signs of life. She eventually found her husband’s case sitting on their bed. Opening it and slipping inside, she explored the world within the leather suitcase until she found Newt by the bowtruckles. “I’m home.” She smiled, tucking her hands into her pockets. Her trip for work had ended early, and she was home two days earlier.