This is my take on Newt's weird mannerisms, kind of a character study for Newt Scamander.
If you like it, please leave a comment, it'd mean the world to me! :)
NOTHING HE DID WAS EVER GOOD ENOUGH
He doesn't like to look people in the eye.
He also tends to hunch over, trying to make his tall, lanky frame look as small as possible.
Perhaps nobody would notice him then; the strange man with the messy hair and the tattered suitcase.
He doesn't know when it started, his weird mannerisms; when it was that he adopted them.
Maybe he got told one too many times that he was a nuisance, that he annoyed people.
Did he start to care for his creatures more than for people because they rejected him so often?
Or was it the other way around, people started rejecting him because he cared so much for his creatures?
He did not know.
The one thing he definitely knows is that he very much prefers beasts over people.
When he's tending to his creatures he can let go, he feels at ease.
People, however, tend to make him feel uneasy and anxious. He feels threatened and worthless at the same time. They don't accept him, he's just a freak, somebody you'd rather not get involved with.
For so long, all he did was trying to fit in, to make friends and just be normal.
'Why do they not like me?', he asked himself over and over again.
They told him he talked too much. And maybe they were right. Maybe he does talk too much, who'd want to hear about the fact that he managed to save two of the most rarest creatures on earth anyway?
They told him he was weird. Maybe they were right. He didn't see anyone else flinching at loud noises or constantly holding onto a suitcase so tightly that their knuckled turned white.
They told him he was useless. And maybe they were right. What good had he done anyway? He wasn't exactly a war hero like his brother, wasn't he?
He tries not to draw any attention to himself, making himself seem small and avoiding any contact whatsoever.
Nonetheless, he's never impolite, oh no. If he has to interact, he tries his absolute best to be as normal as possible. Just like he did when he was younger.
He smiles but can't help but feel like it's more of a grimace.
He tries to look them in the eye but can't bear it for long.
He tries to make light-hearted conversation but feels like people are annoyed with him the second he opens his mouth.
'No, don't talk about that, you stupid idiot! They don't want to hear it. They'll think you're weird!' he scolds himself.
He averts his eyes, trying to hide his inner torment.
'Splendid, now you'll look even more like a bloody freak. Stand up straight and look them in the eye, it's not that hard!'
He tries; he really tries his best but he just can't seem to get it right.
His thoughts drift away, wishing himself back to his creatures, away from this awful situation, away from the mess he's made once again.
He excuses himself, grabs his suitcase and hurries away, not caring any more how weird it looks.
After all, what could he possibly make any worse? He's already ruined it all with his stupid behaviour. Why can't he just be normal?
There are so many people that he's disappointed: his parents who expected so much of him, his brother who wanted him to follow in his footsteps, Albus Dumbledore who couldn't quite keep the look of disappointment out of his eyes, and so many more.
Yet he doesn't seem to be able to acknowledge the amount of people who disappointed him.
He's always only been means to an end, nobody ever appreciated him as a person.
He's tried to hard to make the people around him happy, he gave them all he could, hoping that they'd be his friend in return or even only a friendly acquaintance but it never worked out that way.
Nothing he did was ever good enough; he himself just wasn't good enough.
Newt doesn't try to fit in any more, he gave up on that years ago.
He found it so much easier, dealing with beasts than with people; it wasn't as hard.
They liked him for who he was and didn't think him annoying or weird.
But every moment spent with his creatures was one step further away from the 'real world' or whatever you want to call it.
He's lost touch with the rules of society, he feels more awkward than ever being among people.
Maybe that's just how it's supposed to be. He wasn't exactly unhappy.
He loved his creatures with all his heart and whenever he longed for human company, he tells himself he doesn't need it, that it's for the best that way.
At least, that way he wouldn't risk annoying them or making a fool of himself once again.
Maybe he just wasn't meant to be loved properly for who he was; in fact he can't even seem to love himself for who he was.
His existence was and will always be means to an end, he finally figured that out, now he simply needs to accept that fact and get on with it.
After all, he can't waste any more time, he has creatures to care for.
So he picks up his suitcase, takes a deep breath and hurries on board the ship taking him to New York, successfully managing to hide among the crowd, his gaze firmly fixed on the ground.