Newton Scamander was a timid but accommodating wizard in his late forties, and a distinguished Magizoologist. He didn't look very comfortable at the Ministry Gala, not unlike Harry, but he perked up as soon as Mrs. Finch explained Tom's interest in Augureys.
Tom had a cover story ready, of course – not to draw attention to what they'd really been up to, he played the "Custodarium is a shelter to everything magical" card to the fullest by claiming they'd been looking to introduce some magical creatures to Staffa, Augureys being the first choice since they weren't especially demanding and were practically native to the area.
Mr. Scamander was quite enthusiastic at the prospect and said they could drop by anytime as he had a pair of Augureys in his care. Tom eloquently returned whether "anytime" applied to the next day, because "there wasn't much left of their Christmas holiday and they wanted to get started on any adjustments necessary."
That's how they found themselves in the fireplace of… a London apartment? Tom even recognised the street, it was a little over a mile away from Wool's Orphanage. Not exactly the location he'd imagine for a Magizoologist's base.
They had a few minutes to look around the small antique hall before they heard frantic footsteps. Then, a dishevelled Mr. Scamander burst into the room.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, I forgot to take off my wristwatch when I went to feed the Nifflers and lost the time," he pointed to his empty wrist apologetically.
He ushered them to the basement which he'd emerged from, down a criss-cross staircase, passing various doors leading to obviously magically expanded spaces, sometimes whole landscapes – that explained a lot. They finally entered one of them and found themselves on a tiny island with a couple of trees and bushes.
"This is the aviary," said Mr. Scamander, "Polly and Jack should be around."
He made a low chirp, bizarre to have come from a middle-aged wizard, and sure enough, a pair of greenish black heads popped out of the brambles, chirping back. He held out an arm until one of the birds took the cue and flew up to land on it.
"As you gentlemen correctly guessed, an Augurey like Jack here would be quite happy on an island like yours. They prefer to nest in thorns and brambles, you'd only need to plant those and protect them from unwanted attention.
"Augureys are great hunters, they can take care of themselves, but beware, they have a taste for fairies whenever it rains, so if you have a fairy colony, you'll want to protect it, too. They let out a distinctive cry when it's about to rain… some people find it annoying," he frowned and scratched the creature's neck gently. "…Do you have any particular questions?"
"How many would you recommend to introduce, and where best to get them, the wild or from private breeders?" Tom asked readily. He wasn't really interested in the birds, but it wouldn't hurt to keep up appearances and get a couple of them on Staffa.
"Either is fine, theoretically; the instincts stay strong in them, though the man-kept could be acquired with lower risk of harm. As for how many, I'd say two females would be enough to start a small colony.
"Actually, Polly's started brooding a few days ago. She had her wings singed and can no longer fly well, that's how she ended up here… But if you'd like, I could entrust you with some of her young once they're weaned…"
"That would be brilliant!" Harry said, looking genuinely excited at the prospect.
Tom, on the other hand, knew an opportunity when he saw one. "So it's true that Augurey feathers are highly waterproof but susceptible to heat? Is that where they got the name 'Irish Phoenixes' – they were thought to be the counterpart of actual Phoenixes?"
"Er, I suppose… yes, possibly." This information was obviously new to Mr. Scamander, as it damn well should be, because Tom just made it up.
"Interesting," he feigned awe, "Would you… would Jack mind if I took a few feathers to study their properties?"
The Magizoologist raised his eyebrows at the bird and appeared to have a short silent conversation with it, then said, "I don't think it would be a problem, um, let's see…"
He reached up carefully, trying various feathers to see which were close to falling out, gently plucked three out and handed them to Tom. Harry watched the exchange with poorly disguised wonder. Fortunately, it seemed like Mr. Scamander rarely looked at people directly.
"Thank you, and sorry to have bothered you so close to Christmas Eve, Mr. Scamander" Tom nodded politely as he accepted the feathers.
"Ah, no, it was no bother at all… Actually, if you're not busy, there are other species here that would benefit from a wizarding reserve like the Staffa island…"
xXx
Naturally, they couldn't refuse such offer. Mr. Scamander led them from one door to another, eager to explain all about his beloved beasts and Harry was happy to listen – his only regret was that Hagrid wasn't here with them, he would have been over the moon.
On the way from the Hippocampus' habitat, Harry heard a series of low murmurs. In a classic Gryffindor fashion, his curiosity got the better of him, and he paused to locate the source. It was coming from an alcove to the left.
As he approached, the voices became clearer, though the words were just barely intelligible.
"Ai told yoo der ver strenjerz."
"Hiz kamin dis vey!"
"Daz hi hev rowches four uz?"
He didn't see anything other than a collection of pots, watering cans and boxes – it wasn't until he stood directly in front of it that he noticed the small blue heads peeking out here and there.
"Hello? Um, sorry, I don't have any roaches for you."
A few beats of silence, then the creatures burst into chatter all at once, and the initially difficult comprehension became completely impossible.
Worried their host would be angry at him for upsetting the creatures, Harry turned to find Tom and Mr. Scamander come to a stop behind him, both watching him with a different kind of surprised expression.
"Er, sorry, I didn't mean to slow you down, I was just… What are those?" he gestured to the general clutter.
"…Occamies," said Mr. Scamander, looking thoughtful.
"Oh! We learned about Occamies in Care of Magical Creatures! I didn't know they could talk, though."
"They can't… Unless…"
Meanwhile, Tom had been rubbing his eyes with his fingers, radiating exasperation. What was going on? Harry couldn't think clearly with how loud the little bird-snakes were being… snakes…
Oh, bugger.
"Are you, by any chance, a Parselmouth?" The confusion on Mr. Scamander's face was replaced by delight, he didn't even need an answer – obviously, he must have just heard Harry hissing. "Wonderful, so Occamies do speak Parseltongue… I've been looking for someone to confirm that for years."
Harry scratched the back of his neck, purposefully not looking at Tom. "Er, sort of. It's like they have a heavy accent."
"Oh, that makes sense, they're not serpents entirely. Have you met any other serpentine beasts?" Mr. Scamander reached out for one of the watering cans and poured a blue-green creature onto his arm, suddenly bigger than should have fit into the space.
"…We have a Horned Serpent in the pond on Staffa." At a still more exasperated look on Tom's face, Harry quickly added, "Um, he's really nice, he knows not to hurt anyone." He supposed this was the best time to mention basilisks.
"A 'really nice' Horned Serpent, fascinating… I'm sorry, would you mind interpreting for me a bit?" Mr. Scamander asked hopefully.
"Sure," Harry said just as the Occamy on the Magizoologist's arm chirp-hissed and reclined its head. "Er, that was 'Can mummy also speak with us now?'" he translated and shook his head at the creature. §No, but I can pass a message, if you want.§
The Occamy hissed back, and Harry chuckled, "She asked if you have more watering cans, because the others are always trying to steal hers."
"Ah, that could be arranged for," the older wizard stroked the scale-like feathers affectionately with his thumb. "…It would be greatly appreciated if we could stay in contact, Mr. Potter, magical serpents tend to get into trouble and end up here quite often."
"Oh, I'd love to help!…And, er, one of my good friends is big on beasts, even the dangerous ones – he raised an Acromantula in his fourth year and helps the groundskeeper at Hogwarts over the summer… He's really inspired by your work, so, if you wouldn't mind…"
"Not at all, feel free to bring him along, I don't encounter kindred spirits very often." Mr. Scamander smiled a bit sadly to himself and let the Occamy slip back into the container.
xXx
The success of Harry and Tom's ventures to London put a cherry on top of the upcoming festivities. Them and Sarah hung their stocking on the dining room fireplace, Harry filled each with sweets and added new brushes and magical paints to Sarah's. Him and Sarah spent the Christmas morning preparing the dinner while Tom got started on the quill enchantments.
The Christmas dinner itself was a peaceful affair, but since it was their first Christmas on Staffa – together in a home they built – it made Harry all warm and fuzzy.
He showed more potential residents around the island, took Sarah for a fun day in Diagon Alley, and before he knew it, it was the 31st or December. He had a big New Year's Eve/Tom's birthday party planned – the Knights, the volunteers, Sarah's friends, Hagrid and the Potters were all invited.
After a chaotic morning of preparations, he went to meet Hagrid by the Three Broomsticks to Apparate him to the island as he wasn't supposed to leave Hogwarts and him Flooing from the tavern (or doing pretty much anything else in Hogsmeade) would be easily noticeable.
Harry couldn't wait to tell him all about their visit at Mr. Scamander's and that he could come along for the next one. He wasn't disappointed by Hagrid's reaction – the half-giant gave him a full-giant hug, looking like he just got a lifetime of Christmas presents all at once.
"Yer an angel, Harry! Blimey, I can' wait ter meet all the cuties! An' Aragog's caught his firs' deer the other day, bless him, makin' mummy so proud! 'Twas a good idea ter move him," Hagrid smiled fondly, eyes shining with tears.
"Yeah, uh, that's great… I think Mr. Scamander mentioned a Nundu while we were there," he couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine at the idea of being so close to the most dangerous beast alive.
"Brilliant, bet they're nice kitties, jus' need a bit o' love, like everyone else," Hagrid gushed.
Even though so many years separated this boy and the groundskeeper Harry had known, he felt like time hadn't applied to Hagrid's personality at all. His view might be a bit simplistic, but Merlin, wasn't it true? Tom was the perfect example – one person, one act of forgiveness, one love were enough to turn a prospective terrorist into… Harry didn't know what yet, but he was sure it would be amazing. He sort of felt like a spectator at this point, waiting for the new future to unravel before him.
He looked at Hagrid earnestly and laid a hand on his forearm. Don't ever change, he wanted to say, but he settled for "You'll make a thumping good Magizoologist, Hagrid."
He Apparated them to Custodarium a second later and sat the half-giant in the common room with Sarah. More guests started arriving shortly after, Harry welcomed them, and before he knew it, the usually too-spacey house was pulsing with life.
"Tom's not coming?" Fulcran asked at one point.
Indeed, the brunet was nowhere to be seen.
"He should be… I'll go check," he stood up and walked to their quarters.
Tom was there, standing by his desk with a wand in his hand.
"Hi, birthday boy, um, people are here and asking about you… What are you doing?" Harry said.
Tom turned to face him with the most self-satisfied grin Harry had seen on him. "Giving myself the first birthday gift."
On the desk laid an open book with a quill furiously scribbling in it. Harry stepped closer so he could read the text in Tom's neat cursive.
31December 1944 – 20 eggs……7 Knuts
31 December 1944 – 5 loafs of bread……18 Knuts
31 December 1944 – 2 sets of bed linen……10 Sickles
Before Harry could ask, Tom touched it with the tip of his wand. "Show me whaťs most precious."
The ink sunk into the parchment, then bled back, taking a new form.
12 June 1928 – Timothy Baldwin (53.3648686, -6.2597230)
26 June 1928 – Alima Shafiq (56.4389310, -6.3405668)
1 July 1928 – Alphonsus Parkinson (52.2202997, 0.1400257)
Some of the numbers in the brackets kept changing.
"Are those… coordinates?"
Tom nodded proudly. "A map would have been inconvenient, addresses too vague; this is my solution."
"It's genius," Harry smiled and pulled Tom, whose face was glowing with an unsaid I know, for a kiss. The taller wizard hooked his fingers on the back of Harry's neck, running them along his hairline and deepening the kiss. That smug tosser knew perfectly well how quickly it always made Harry melt. And hell, when Tom nipped on the skin under his ear like that…
"O-oi!I was supposed to bring you to the common room, not to deprive the guests of both of their hosts," he protested a little breathlessly.
"They have Sarah," Tom muttered dismissively, resting their foreheads together, his lips so close they brushed Harry's when he spoke.
It took all of Harry's resolve to counter, "Right, and they also have Fleamont. Wanna bet what he'll joke about if we're gone for too long?"
Tom sighed, but he pulled away in surrender, giving Harry a couple of seconds to catch his breath before they left to join the party.
Fleamont fortunately didn't comment on their prolonged absence, he was just happy to have an audience for his anecdotes, and the Knights were happy to be the audience. Sarah and her friends were happy to be partying with the cool kids – everyone was happy, and Harry's greatest New Year's resolution was to always keep it that way.