Chapter Text
Newt Scamander has been many places across the globe. Hot, sunny Egypt and cold, unforgiving Siberia. He has met many people but none have piqued his interest quite as Percival Graves has. Newt had faced no issues after leaving the ship. His creatures had safely made it to New York and the muggles had suspected nothing upon his entry into the city.
Newt had been wandering around the city for quite some time when he happened upon a park that was rather deserted. He sighed, content to finally be out of the noise and bustle of New York for a moment. Though he had traveled to far busier cities, the light and sheer amount of people would always give him slight troubles. Newt carefully settles his case down onto the conjured park blanket and he soon follows. He takes out a carefully wrapped scone from a nearby bakery and settles in to delight in the treat.
Only a bite or two into his scone, Pickett appears next to his ear, scolding him for a nibble of the treat. Newt fondly laughs at the bowtruckle and breaks off a small portion for his friend, “Peace, stop scolding me.”
Pickett happily takes the parcel and eats it, begging for more seconds after finishing. “Alright, but not much more or you’re likely to become sick.” Newt agrees as he passes over a slightly larger part.
“You really ought not to have bowtruckles out where any no-maj could wander by.” A rather deep, male voice calls out, startling Newt and sending Pickett back into hiding.
Newt looks up to find a broad-set man looming above him. Newt tilts his head in confusion, “No-maj?”
The man frowns at him, “A person with no magic?”
Understanding dawns on Newt’s face, “Ah, well, in England we call them muggles.”
Confusion passes over the other man’s face, “That makes less sense than our term for them.”
Newt lightly chuckles, “I would rather disagree with you on that point. Wizarding communities in many other nations refer to them as such.”
“Yes,” The man agrees, “Americans do love to be contrary in some aspects.”
“Quite.” Newt nods. “Oh! I am very sorry, I am being rather rude. My name is Newt Scamander.” Newt climbs to his feet and offers his hand. Newt finds it odd of himself that he was even able to meet this fellow’s eyes instead of looking past a person’s ears like he usually found himself doing.
The man takes it for a firm handshake, “Percival Graves.”
“It is lovely to meet you.”
Graves gives Newt a slow, honey warm smile, “The pleasure is all mine.”
Newt fidges and flushes under Graves’ scrutiny, causing another slow smile to appear on his face. “Have you been in New York long?” Newt finally mutters.
“My entire life.” Graves replies, “I assume you have just arrived.”
“Just an hour or two ago.” Newt confesses, “I’m here on business.”
“Ah, what is it that you do, Mr. Scamander?”
Newt once again flushes, “Please call me Newt.”
“Newt, then.”
“I am a magizoologist. Currently I am working on a book documenting creatures from all over the globe.”
“A very noble cause, indeed.” Graves is pleased to see that the blush spread down from Newt’s cheeks towards his ears and neck.
Newt gives him a small smile, “I simply do what I love. Caring for creatures and learning about them. They are all so very fascinating in their own ways. Even flobberworms can have their moments, though it takes a special kind of love to find them very interesting.” Newt confesses the last part, “Not all creatures can be thunderbirds and dragons. Though I must say I am rather fond of the creatures that have their own unique personality despite looking very much like a muggle creature. Jarveys, for instance, look like overgrown ferrets, though they have their own…” Newt trails off, much to Graves’ disappointment. “I am very sorry, I tend to prattle on when I start talking about my creatures. People tend to find it an annoying habit of mine.”
“Not at all.” Graves disagrees, “I find it fascinating, listening to you talk about something you are clearly very passionate about.”
“Not many think the same as you, Mr. Graves.”
“Percival.” Graves corrects gently, “Please.”
“Percival it is then.” Newt hesitantly smiles at Graves.
Graves practically beams back, in his own reserved manner, “Are you free at the moment, I thought since it was nearing noon we could share a lunch and you could tell me more about your travels and the creatures you seem so fond of.”
Newt awkwardly nods, “That would be lovely. Any place in mind?”
“I know the perfect place. Very quaint and very much a magical establishment so you will be free to discuss all aspects of your creatures without fears of being overheard.”
“Lead on, Mr. Graves.”
“Percival, Newt, is very much fine.”
Newt blushes once more and gives a small nod, “Percival.”
“Your hand? A side apparation would be much quicker.” Newt hums in confirmation and makes quick work securing his park blanket and firmly settling his suitcase in his hand, muttering a sticking charm so there was no chance to lose his case during the trip.
Graves holds out his hand and Newt allows the small contact. A shiver slinks down his spine as he takes hold of Graves’ larger and smoother hands, blemished only by the small callouses from the grip of his wand. Graves smiles inwardly at the feeling of Newt’s heavily calloused hands in his own. Yes, this was not the afternoon he expected when he left the offices for a quick jaunt to retrieve lunch to eat in his office, but he would rather this any day. “Ready?” Graves queries.
Newt nods, “As I can ever be.”
“Then here we go.” Graves whispers into Newt’s ear before the disappear from the park.