"Partners"

The air in the basement of the brownstone on 11th Street was thick with the scent of damp earth, dried herbs, and the distinct, musky aroma of a Graphorn. It was a chaotic symphony of sounds—the chattering of a Niffler trying to pry a copper button off a coat, the soft rustle of leaves from the Bowtruckle tree, and the rhythmic bubbling of a medicinal poultice on a silver burner.

Newt Scamander leaned over a wooden workbench, his brow furrowed in concentration. His auburn hair was a mess of tangled curls, and a fresh smudge of dirt streaked across his freckled nose. He was delicately applying a soothing balm to the wing of a young, injured Fwooper.

"There now, easy... easy," Newt murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "It’s just a little stinging, then you’ll feel much better. I promise."

"You talk to them more than you talk to me, Newt. And I’m the one who actually brings you tea."

Newt jumped slightly, nearly dropping the glass jar. He turned to find Caleb leaning against the doorframe, a tray in his hands. Caleb’s long black hair was tied back with a leather cord, though a few stray strands framed his dark face. His golden eyes, luminous even in the dim light of the basement, held a familiar glimmer of weary amusement.

"Caleb! I—I didn't hear you come down," Newt said, his cheeks flushing a shade of pink that matched the Fwooper’s feathers. He shifted his weight, looking down at his boots. "I was just... the wing is healing quite nicely, you see?"

Caleb walked into the room, his movements fluid and silent, a grace that had only intensified since the bite he’d received in his third year at Hogwarts. He set the tea tray down on a clear corner of the table, carefully nudging a mischievous Niffler away from the sugar cubes.

"I see," Caleb said, his voice a low rumble. "But even Magizoologists need to hydrate. You’ve been down here for six hours. The sun’s already gone down."

Newt glanced toward the enchanted windows that mimicked the outside world. He hadn't noticed the transition from golden afternoon to the deep navy of a New York twilight. "Oh. Right. Thank you, Caleb. Truly."

They had been working together for three months now, ever since a chance encounter in a dusty apothecary in Greenwich Village. Newt had been looking for powdered moonstone; Caleb had been looking for a job where people didn’t look at his scars with disgust. It had been over a decade since they had roamed the halls of Hogwarts together—the shy boy who preferred bowtruckles to people, and the boy who had become a pariah overnight.

Newt reached for a cup, his fingers brushing against Caleb’s. He pulled back as if burned, his heart doing a frantic little dance against his ribs. He had felt this way since he was twelve, a confusing, swirling heat in his chest every time Caleb smiled. Back then, he hadn't had the words for it. Now, at twenty-nine, he had the words, but he lacked the courage to say them.

"You're twitchy today," Caleb remarked, leaning back against the workbench. He watched Newt with an intensity that made the younger man feel like he was under a microscope. "Is it the moon? It’s three days away."

Newt looked up, his green eyes wide with concern. "How are you feeling? I have the Wolfsbane ready, and I’ve reinforced the habitat in the back—"

"I’m fine, Newt," Caleb interrupted, though his jaw tightened slightly. "The potion helps. Your company helps more. It’s just... you’re avoiding my eyes even more than usual. Did I do something?"

"No! No, not at all," Newt said quickly, finally meeting Caleb’s gaze before darting his eyes away again. "I’ve just been thinking. About... about how lucky I am. To have found you again. New York was so lonely before."

Caleb’s expression softened. He reached out, his large, calloused hand hovering near Newt’s shoulder before he pulled it back. He knew the prejudices of the world; he knew that as a werewolf, he was considered a monster by most. He had loved Newt since they were children—since Newt had sat with him in the hospital wing after the attack, bringing him a jar of Glow-worms to keep the darkness away—but he had never dared to speak. Why would Newt want a beast when he spent his life trying to save them from cages?

"It wasn't exactly a picnic for me either," Caleb said, his voice dropping an octave. "People here are just as narrow-minded as they are back home. But working here... with you... it’s the first time I haven’t felt like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop."

A sudden, sharp cry broke the moment. Pickett, Newt’s favorite Bowtruckle, had managed to get himself stuck in the latch of a nearby suitcase.

"Oh, for heaven’s sake, Pickett," Newt sighed, though his tone was fond. He hurried over to the suitcase, his nimble fingers working to free the tiny green creature.

Caleb followed him, standing close enough that Newt could feel the heat radiating from his body. "He’s just like you," Caleb said quietly. "Always getting into trouble because he’s too curious for his own good."

Newt managed to free the Bowtruckle, who immediately scurried up his arm to hide in his hair. Newt laughed softly, a sound that always made Caleb’s chest ache.

"I suppose I am a bit of a nuisance," Newt admitted, turning to face Caleb. The proximity was dizzying. He could see the faint scars on Caleb’s neck, the gold of his eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight.

"You’re not a nuisance, Newt," Caleb said, his sarcasm failing him for once. He looked down at the floor, his strong temper replaced by a rare vulnerability. "You’re the only person who looks at me and doesn't see a wolf. You just see... me."

Newt felt a surge of boldness, the kind he usually reserved for facing down a charging Erumpent. He took a step forward, closing the small gap between them.

"I’ve always seen you, Caleb," Newt whispered. "Even at Hogwarts. I wanted to tell you then. I wanted to tell you how much I... I admired you. How much I liked being near you."

Caleb looked up, his eyes searching Newt’s face. "Liked? Past tense?"

Newt swallowed hard, his face turning a brilliant shade of crimson. "No. Not past tense. It’s... it’s much worse now, actually."

Caleb let out a short, breathless laugh. "Worse?"

"It’s louder," Newt explained, gesturing vaguely toward his heart. "It’s very distracting. It makes it quite difficult to focus on the creatures when all I want to do is ask if you’d like to go for a walk in Central Park. Without the excuse of looking for a runaway Niffler."

Caleb reached out, and this time, he didn't pull away. He cupped Newt’s face, his thumb brushing over a cluster of freckles on his cheekbone. Newt leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut.

"You have no idea," Caleb murmured, "how many times I’ve wanted to hear you say that. But I’m a werewolf, Newt. My life is... it’s not easy. It’s dangerous."

Newt opened his eyes, his gaze steady and fierce. "I spend my life protecting things the world finds dangerous, Caleb. I don't see a monster. I see a man who is kind, and brave, and—and very good at making tea."

Caleb smiled, a genuine, lopsided grin that reached his eyes. "You really are a strange man, Newt Scamander."

"I’ve been told," Newt replied softly.

Caleb leaned in, pausing for a heartbeat to give Newt a chance to pull away. When Newt didn't, Caleb pressed his lips against Newt’s. It was a soft, tentative kiss, tasting of Earl Grey tea and the lingering scent of woodsmoke. It was the culmination of years of unspoken longing, a bridge built over a decade of silence.

When they pulled apart, Newt was breathless, his eyes sparkling with a joy he usually reserved for the birth of a rare species.

"That was..." Newt started, struggling for the word.

"Efficient?" Caleb suggested, his sarcastic edge returning, though his voice was thick with emotion.

"I was going to say 'wonderful,'" Newt corrected him, a small smile playing on his lips.

Caleb wrapped his arms around Newt’s waist, pulling him into a firm hug. Newt buried his face in Caleb’s shoulder, feeling the steady thrum of the other man’s heart. For the first time in a long time, the basement didn't feel like a sanctuary from the world—it felt like a home.

"So," Caleb said into Newt’s hair. "About that walk in the park. Does it have to be tonight? There’s a blizzard starting outside."

Newt pulled back just enough to look at him. "Well, I suppose we could stay here. The Murtlaps need feeding, and I believe the Occamy eggs are close to hatching."

Caleb groaned playfully. "Of course. My first date and I’m feeding sea anemones."

"They’re very interesting creatures, Caleb!" Newt protested, though he was laughing.

"I know, Newt," Caleb said, kissing his forehead. "I know. Lead the way."

As they moved toward the back of the case, hand in hand, the Niffler finally succeeded in popping the copper button off Newt’s discarded coat. Neither of them noticed. They were too busy looking at each other, finally seeing the future they had both been too afraid to imagine.