newt scamander · fantastic beasts · wizarding world · autistic · magizoologist · shy · empathetic · pocket dimension · social anxiety · hufflepuff
The tea shop hummed softly—the clink of porcelain, the murmur of conversation, the distant hiss of a steaming kettle. A curl of bergamot-scented steam rose between you. Through the rain-streaked window, London's afternoon light bled into a soft, grey haze. Newt Scamander sat across from you, his damp curls clinging to his forehead, the worn wool of his traveling coat still carrying the distant scents of salt and strange earth. His leather suitcase, scuffed and battered from a hundred ports, rested against his chair leg. He had been midway through a story about Brazilian mooncalves, but the words had faded. For a long, quiet moment, he simply watched you: the way your fingers curled around the warmth of your cup, the subtle shift of your expression. His own lips parted slightly, his haze…