Chapter Text
This was all Theseus’s fault.
Newt huffed and took another sip from his now lukewarm tea. He was tucked at a corner table in a rather shabby but comfortable coffeehouse in Greenwich Village—the only one who also served tea, or at least something approaching tea, in their menu—and busily confronting both his manuscript and correspondence.
Although correspondence might not be the right word, considering that he was practically talking to his mother, if through writing.
‘But darling,’ her firm, decisive strokes appeared on the parchment, ‘this one is different, trust me. And very much your type. Handsome. Broad-shouldered. Deep-voiced. Commanding. With interest in magical beasts too. He could be a bit older, I suppose, given your penchant for older men, but–’
‘Mum, please.’
‘My point is, he could be the one.’
Newt sighed deeply. The truth was, his brother could not always be held accountable for their mother’s obsession with finding The One for him. Except, this time, it was Theseus’s fault. Because if he weren’t planning to come to New York City on Ministry business, then their mother would certainly never conceive the idea of tagging along for the express purpose of matchmaking her younger son.
Her newest candidate was Ernst MacDuff—‘met him at a wedding here, a very nice young man, especially for an American, and rather handsome too. Family descended from one of the Original Twelve. He’s the third son, but inherited quite a sum from his mother’s side of family some years ago. That seems to have caused a degree of tension between him and his older brothers, but no matter that. He’s nice and handsome and rich and guess what, he has a pet kneazle so I’m sure you two will get along splendidly.’
All this information was cramped into the small bit of parchment that Theseus had specifically spelled for him when Newt first attended Hogwarts. Incredibly useful back then, it was now beyond precious, especially after Newt had started travelling around the world. He checked in weekly, making sure that his family at least knew where he was. The one time he had forgotten to check in while tracking a rather clever Tebo in the rainforests of Congo, Theseus had arrived with a colossal fuss at the Ministry consulate in Kinshasa until Newt finally emerged out of the woodwork.
All the convenient uses aside, Newt rather regretted the existence of the parchment at the moment.
‘I’m really rather busy, Mum, editing and stuff. Deadline’s next month.’
‘Nonsense. Surely you can spare an hour or two to meet this nice young man for tea.’
‘There’s no such thing as meeting for tea over here.’
‘Really? How uncivilised. Where does a self-respecting citizen go to socialise then? A pub? A bar? ’
‘Prohibition, remember?’
‘How dull. Now I begin to consider the wisdom of throwing you into the arms of this dull lot.’
‘So I don’t have to meet him?’ Newt wrote hopefully.
His mother’s answer appeared almost at once. ‘I didn’t say that. After all, darling, he already agrees to meet you. We’re exchanging letters now. Name the time and place and I’ll let him know.’
That made Newt raise an eyebrow. ‘You’re exchanging letters? Are you sure you’re not the one who’s interested in him?’
‘Don’t be impertinent, Artemis. He’s your brother’s age.’
‘Barely twenty-year difference then.’
‘Actually it ’s only eighteen.’
‘See? And you’re very, very pretty, Mum.’
‘Stop it.’ Newt bit down a grin. He could almost see the half-amused, half-exasperated expression on his mother’s face. ‘You’re only trying to get out of this.’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘If you would only meet him once–’
‘Seriously, Mum, I’m really not interested. To meet him or anyone else for that matter.’
‘Give me one good reason why.’
‘I’m sort of seeing someone.’
It was only after he had read the sentence three times that Newt realised what he had just written.
Bugger.
There was no response from his mother for some time. Newt was about to go down the ha-ha only kidding road when she replied with one terse word.
‘Who?’
‘An American.’ Bless written conversation. No one could hear him pause. Or stutter.
‘Really?’ Even through writing, his mother’s incredulity was nothing short of obvious. ‘Who is he? What is he? What’s he like?’
‘He’s very handsome. Late thirties. Salt and pepper hair. Impeccable fashion sense. And he likes croissant and espresso for breakfast.’
Later, Newt would blame his mother’s interrogative style for this reckless answer. And the fact that he was describing the very person sitting in front of him, only two tables away, enjoying (yes, you’ve guessed it) a cup of espresso and a croissant.
And yes, Newt might have spent the last five mornings here staring (surreptitiously!) at the stranger, but that’s beside the point.
‘Huh. That does sound like your type. With broad shoulders and firm hands to spank naughty little boys too?’
Newt’s face burned. It did not stop him from stealing another glance at the man. He really was terribly handsome, which might or might not have any bearing on his decision to have his breakfast there. He didn’t even usually have breakfast, but Pickett had rather been insistent of late and, well. The view, if he were to admit, was certainly not too bad at all.
‘Pretty big hands, yes.’
‘Alright. That settles it. I’m going to New York with your brother next week.’
Newt sputtered. Ironically, it was this reaction which drew the stranger’s attention to him. Newt glanced up, flustered, and their eyes met for half a second before he quickly looked down.
Just in time to see a black blur slipping under the next table.
“Oh, no, you don’t!”
Newt dove under the table, sending chairs toppling in his wake. This was a familiar battle, but the battleground was not in his favour. He kept bumping into the leg of this table or the seat of that chair, things that Niff with his smaller build had markedly less trouble to navigate around. The blasted creature was almost at the door when he suddenly stopped, as if frozen.
Newt seized the chance and grabbed him by the nape. Niff made a series of panicked noises but otherwise remained frozen in his flight-to-freedom pose. Newt frowned. It was only after he had risen to his feet and glanced at the only other guest in the room that he realised what had happened.
The other man had stood up as well. His right hand was raised slightly, fingers half curled inside. Only then did Newt feel the last vestiges of fading magic swirling in the room.
“It was you,” he said faintly, clutching Niff to his chest. “Thank you so much. He would’ve escaped– not that he was dangerous, more a nuisance, really. So sorry. This is a niffler but he’s perfectly harmless–”
“I know what it is.”
Newt blinked. Well, bugger. Even the voice was exactly to his liking, dark and smoky like fine whisky. He probably should mention that too the next time his mother–
Newt’s heart plummeted. The parchment. It was no longer on his table, which had been knocked over to the side. It wasn’t on the floor either.
It was, in fact, in the other man’s hand.
And he was reading it.
Merlin’s balls.
Those thick eyebrows were slowly rising. Newt’s stomach was now twisting painfully. He still remembered every detailed (not to mention exaggerated) description, every honest (unedited) expression of admiration—and hadn’t his mother said something about spanking?
When the man’s dark, unreadable eyes finally fell on him again, Newt had the most horrible blush on his face. “I’m really sorry,” he said miserably.
The other man didn’t answer. Instead, he waved his hand and Newt felt sudden, rigid pressure around his arms and chest. Not just pressure. Chains. The man had conjured heavy iron chains to tie him up. And Niff. Who was trapped against his chest and now making a racket with his shrill panicked noises.
“You will come with me to MACUSA,” the man said grimly.
Newt swallowed. He was under arrest. Again.
End Chapter 1