Soulmate markings were extraordinarily rare in the Wizarding world. At one point they had been more commonplace, as they ran through the ancestral lines of old Wizarding families - but over time Witches and Wizards had seemed to take control of their own fates, often ignoring their markings altogether. A soulmate marking was of course no guarantee that you would actually meet your predestined partner; only that one existed, somewhere in the world. Most with the markings never actually found their soulmates at all, instead falling in love with whomever was in closer proximity and living out quite happy lives, thank you very much.
It was so rare now, in fact, that children with soulmate markings were made into a bit of a spectacle. They were almost always teased in school, and it was always harder for them to date as they got older. There was a risk, you see, in falling in love with someone who could potentially leave you some day for a complete stranger. Eventually it came to pass that most of those with markings simply refused to put their lives on hold and wait for someone who might very well never come along.
It was with some amount of surprise that the Scamander's second son was born marked. It had run in their family, but not for a very long time; the last being Mr. Scamander's great-great-great grandfather (who, coincidentally, never found his own marked partner, though he had loved his wife very, very much). The Scamanders were a simple people who didn't put much stock in such fanciful ideas as 'soulmates,' and so they raised their son much the same way. He of course grew up with the knowledge of what his mark was and what it meant, but, on the whole, never gave much thought to it at all.
Newton Scamander, the boy in question, grew up all freckles and legs and arms. He never got on well with other boys his age, as he wasn't the type to throw rocks at stray Kneazles or spit long distances. Newton instead preferred to spend his time climbing trees and watching Bowtruckles, or picking Dirigible plums in the summer, or staying up late to draw crude sketches of Porlocks. He was constantly distracted, often forgetting to eat his dinner or brush his teeth. He would accompany his mother to work and assist her with the care of the Hippogriffs she bred, often going missing and always to be found in deep conversation with the newly-hatched Hippogriffs in their nests.
By the time he had entered school, Newton had almost completely forgotten about the strangely shaped mark on his wrist. It wasn't until after he had been sorted into Hufflepuff and had seated himself at his table that a small, blonde-haired girl next to him had noticed it and gasped.
"Is that - " she had said, reaching over and grabbing his hand, pushing his sleeve back, "a soulmate marking?" He flinched, not used to being touched.
"Oh," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Yes."
The girl had inspected it, squinting her eyes and twisting his wrist painfully to get a better look. "What is it?" She had asked, nose crinkled. "A flower?" Newton pulled his arm back, holding it defensively against his body. The girl's eyes narrowed at him but he ignored her, turning back to his plate in silence.
It was a flower of course, and Newton had read many Herbology books to figure out just which one. It wasn't until later, while flipping through one of his dad's old Potions texts, did he recognize it. Dahlias were not uncommon flowers on the whole, though he had never seen them around his house growing up. He had learned everything there was to know about them, but no information on the flower gave him any sort of indication of why they'd be important to him. He had asked his mom about dahlias once, but she had frowned and told him not to waste his life worrying about it.
"At the end of the day, Newton, it's just a mark," she had said with kind eyes. "Your destiny is yours alone to create. Don't let anyone tell you any different."
Still, the idea of having a soulmate was sometimes very comforting to him, especially in school. While it was traditionally common to be teased by other children for having a mark, Newton was teased in school for simply being himself. He was quiet and kept alone, preferring to study instead of socialize. As he got older, he distanced himself more and more from other people. He became increasingly interested in observing the magical creatures Hogwarts kept on its grounds, often missing classes completely to observe their behaviors and take notes. By the time he graduated, he was completely enamoured with the idea of studying these fantastic beasts full-time.
He started as many young Wizards do by working for the Ministry, eventually joining the Beast Division and biding his time. He made next to nothing, of course, but poured himself into his work and looked towards the future. When he finally got the opportunity to research beasts in the field for the purpose of writing a book, he jumped on it immediately, soulmate quite forgotten. As far as Newton Scamander was concerned, this was his true destiny. Nobody could tell him any different.
1929, London
Newt hurried down the street with his case, hardly taking notice of his surroundings. In his hand he clutched a small handwritten note, which he kept unfolding and re-reading. His eyes scanned the numbers on the buildings before him.
"1404, 1405, 1406…" His eyes settled on the last door of the block. "1407." He folded his note, placing it in his breast pocket and checking the time. A Bowtruckle, previously hidden, clicked irritably and poked its head out of the pocket as Newt smiled down at him. "We're a bit early, Pickett, but better early than late, right?" The Bowtruckle clicked at him again, diving back down into his coat. Newt stepped up to the door and raised his hand, hesitating momentarily before knocking. The door swung open almost immediately, revealing a short and squat man.
"Mr. Scamander!" He said, beaming. "Welcome, welcome to my home! Please, come in!"
"Ah, thank you," Newt said, stepping into the building. "Mr. Grant, I presume?" Mr. Grant smiled, extending his hand. Instead of taking it, Newt looked past him and into the parlor. "I'm terribly sorry to be early…" Mr. Grant seemed largely undisturbed by Newt's actions, instead shaking his head and smiling.
"No, no, no, none of that," he said. "Come in, come in." Newt followed him into the parlor, sitting uncomfortably on an armchair that Mr. Grant offered him. "Now," he said, sighing as he lowered himself onto the sofa, "I hear you've got yourself a problem?"
Newt fidgeted, eyes darting down to the case that laid at his feet. "Yes," he said slowly. Mr. Grant sensed his hesitation.
"My boy," he started, gently, "I am not one to gossip. I will keep the secrets you ask me to."
Newt nodded curtly and clenched his jaw, finally meeting Mr. Grant's eyes. "I… I've heard that you have spent a lot of time studying Nundus." Mr. Grant raised an eyebrow at him.
"I wonder who you heard that from?" He said, smiling. Newt swallowed.
"Have you... have you ever seen one fall ill?"
Mr. Grant frowned at that. "I've heard of it, but never seen it," he said. His eyes flicked down to the case. "Have you got one?"
Newt was silent for a moment. "Yes," he said finally. Mr. Grant sighed.
"Well, I don't know how much help I'll be," he said, "but I can take a look?" Newt thought for a moment, finally nodding his consent.
"Alright," he said. "I'll show her to you."
Down in the case, Mr. Grant frowned watching the Nundu. Her behavior was very odd indeed. She was laying down in the grass, breathing heavily and licking her paws repeatedly. "How long has she been acting this way?"
Newt frowned. "For a couple of weeks now," he said. "I haven't changed her diet, and she's still so early in her life cycle…" Newt trailed off anxiously. He had never had an issue with one of his creatures that he couldn't fix before, and he was worried sick. Mr. Grant was the only other person in the world who had spent time studying Nundus and survived to catalogue the research. He was Newt's last hope.
"You say nothing new has been added to her environment?" He asked. Newt shook his head.
"No, nothing."
"Curious," Mr. Grant said. He turned to look at Newt. "Mr. Scamander, I'm sorry, but I am not a doctor…"
"You have to help her," Newt said thickly. Mr. Grant was quiet for a moment, thinking.
"I have an idea," he began, "but it's a bit… unorthodox."
Newt smiled at the man. "I'm afraid most of my life is terribly unorthodox, sir."
"Is that so?" Mr. Grant grinned. "Alright. I know a Potions Master who specializes in healing draughts," he said. "Typically she works on people, but she is truly the most talented Potions practitioner in Europe."
Newt frowned. "I'm not sure that makes her qualified to help my Nundu," he said.
Mr. Grant chuckled. "Son, one look at your Nundu and she'll be able to concoct a remedy that will have her fixed up in no time," he said confidently. Newt still seemed unsure. "Mr. Scamander, I wouldn't recommend her if I didn't trust her with my own life," he said. "I'm not sure what else I can offer you…"
Newt watched sadly as the Nundu rolled to her side, softly roaring out in pain.
"Alright," Newt said. "Where is she?"
You huffed and jumped off your ladder. Your library was a total mess - no matter how many times you promised yourself you would organize it, you never did. In fact, the only time you ever thought about cleaning your library was when you were trying to search through it for something specific. As soon as you found what you were looking for, you'd of course forget all about the organizing. You frowned.
You were looking for a book on the properties of Dittany for some research you were doing on Healing Potions. Running your index finger over the spines of the books on the first shelf, you scanned through the titles quickly. A knock at your door interrupted your concentration.
"Come in," you said absently, waving your wand at the door and opening it. You kneeled down to inspect the books closer.
"Um, hello?" A voice called.
"In here!" You called, pulling a book out and shaking your head when it was the wrong one. You set it on the floor next to you. "Where in Merlin…" You stuck your wand in your mouth, lifting up a heavy pile of books to uncover a box of even more books on the floor.
"Excuse me," a voice said, and you peered over the top of your book pile to see a tall man wearing a blue overcoat in your library.
"Mmmpf," you said, turning and setting the books down next to you.
"I'm sorry?" He said, smiling. You removed your wand from your mouth and stood.
"Hello," you said.
"Hello," he responded. You stood looking at each other for a moment.
"Can I help you?" You asked. The man colored a bit.
"Oh, yes. I'm looking for Miss Faye?" You smiled.
"You've found her," you said.
"Oh," he said surprised.
"Oh?" You asked, raising a brow. The man looked startled.
"No I just… I was, perhaps, expecting someone a bit older…" You opened your mouth to reply but he rushed on. "I'm so sorry, I was sent here by Mr. Grant?" It was your turn to be surprised.
"Mr. Scamander?" You asked. He nodded, becoming flustered under your gaze.
"The only," he said, grimacing after. "Well, apart from my father. And my brother…" You laughed.
"Mr. Grant tells me you have a sick creature," you said, eyes flicking down to his case. Newt nodded. "Well, I can't promise that I'll be able to help, but I promise I will do everything I possibly can."
"Thank you," he said quietly. You regarded him for a moment.
"You know," you said slowly, "you look awfully familiar, Mr. Scamander. Have we met before?"
He offered you a small smile, shaking his head. "I don't think so, but now that you mention it, I do get that feeling." You hummed, letting your eyes drift over his shoulder and behind him.
"Aha!" You called. Mr. Scamander jumped a little, looking at you in surprise. "There you are," you said, taking quick strides across the room and passing him. You shot him a smile. "I have been looking for that book," you said, pointing up at your book on Dittany, "for hours." You stepped to the shelve reaching for the book, frowning when you realized it was just out of reach. "Merlin's beard," you cursed, turning to reach for your wand.
"Allow me," Mr. Scamander said, stepping next to you and reaching up to it with ease. He handed the book down to you and you hugged it to your chest.
"My hero," you joked. "Sometimes I think I'd give up magic to be just a little taller."
Mr. Scamander chuckled. "I'm sure you notice all kinds of things I don't from down there."
"Watch it, Mr. Scamander," you warned, smiling.
"Please," he said, "call me Newt."
"Ok, Newt," you said, turning from him and walking across to room to put the book on your desk. "I'm Dahlia." The sound of him dropping his case to the floor clumsily made you turn around. He was looking at you, face white. "You alright?" You asked him.
"What… what did you say your name was?"
You looked at him in confusion. "Dahlia… Dahlia Faye." Newt swallowed thickly and you frowned. "I mean, hey, maybe it's not super original, but my parents named me after my mark and - "
"Your mark?" Newt interrupted weakly. You flushed. Your mark wasn't something you normally talked about with strangers. You nodded. "Can I see it?" He asked quickly. You gave him a strange look.
"I… that's kind of personal, Newt." You looked at him for a moment, biting your lip. He looked stricken.
"You're right," he said, shaking his head. "You're right, I'm sorry."
"It's ok…" you said, trailing off. An awkward silence hung in the air. "I'm not one of those people who's just waiting around, you know." Newt looked up to you. You offered him a smile. "They say most people never find their partner, anyway."
"Of course," Newt said, but something in his voice seemed off.
"Should I take a look at your Nundu?" You asked. Newt furrowed his brow.
"What?" He asked. You chuckled.
"Your creature? The reason you're here?" You smiled as he colored. "You sure you're ok, Newt?"
"Yes," he said, shaking his head. "Yes, please… I'll show you to her." You smiled at him. He really was very handsome when he was flustered.
