The matter was settled sooner than anyone had anticipated. Just two days later, Hogwarts Castle received an unexpected visitor.
That afternoon, Henry was reading in the library when an owl swooped in and dropped a note directly onto the open page before him.
The handwriting was immediately recognizable, Dumbledore's distinctive, slightly sprawling script: "Newt is here. Come to my office."
Henry closed his book and stood.
Cho Chang looked up from her own work. "Is something the matter?"
"Mr. Scamander has arrived," Henry said.
Her expression brightened immediately. "The Scamander who wrote Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them?"
"The same." Henry smiled. "Come along."
The gargoyle at the entrance to the Headmaster's office took one look at them and stepped aside without prompting. Dumbledore had evidently made the necessary arrangements.
The spiral staircase carried them up, and when the door opened, the office was already occupied.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, watching the door with a composed smile. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood in a small, uncertain cluster to one side.
Hagrid was there too, positioned a little apart from everyone else, his enormous frame somehow managing to convey both admiration and nervousness simultaneously as he gazed toward the sofa.
On the sofa sat an old man.
He wore a worn overcoat, his hair entirely white, his posture slightly stooped with age. He held a teacup in both hands, head angled downward as he spoke quietly with Dumbledore.
When Henry entered, he raised his eyes and studied him with a direct, unhurried expression.
"You must be His Highness Henry," he said.
Henry gave a slight, respectful bow. "Mr. Scamander. It's a genuine pleasure to meet you."
Newt lowered his head with a faintly sheepish smile. "Albus told me you were something out of the ordinary. I'll admit I took that with some reservation at first, Albus has always had a tendency to speak well of people." He paused. "Having seen you now, I think he was accurate this time."
"You're very kind," Henry said.
Newt waved the compliment away. "It isn't kindness. It's observation."
He set down his teacup and rose to his feet with the careful deliberateness of someone who had learned to be patient with his own body. "Where is this dragon? Can you take me to see it?"
"It's in my cabin!" Hagrid was on his feet instantly, very nearly toppling the table beside him.
The group made their way to Hagrid's hut. Norbert, approaching a month old and nearly three feet in length, was tethered in the kitchen area.
At the sight of so many visitors entering at once, the dragon exhaled a sharp burst of sparks and issued a low, warning hiss.
Hagrid hovered anxiously nearby. "It... it doesn't usually behave this way. It's just not used to company."
Newt gave no indication of concern. He crossed the room, crouched down, and brought himself level with Norbert's eyes.
The dragon stared back, its orange-red gaze narrowed with suspicion.
Newt held perfectly still and made a sound, low and oddly modulated, bearing little resemblance to any human language.
Norbert's head tilted. The large eyes shifted from wariness to something closer to curiosity.
Newt made the sound again. The dragon exhaled another scatter of sparks, but the threatening hiss did not return.
Then, slowly, Newt extended one hand.
Norbert watched the hand for a long moment, then dipped its head and allowed Newt's palm to rest on top of it.
The sound Hagrid made was somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. "How on earth did you do that?"
Newt looked up at him. "You have a good relationship with this creature, Hagrid. It trusts you. But you've been communicating without understanding its language."
"Dragon language?" Hagrid repeated, genuinely bewildered.
"Yes. Dragons communicate in ways that are entirely their own, and Norwegian Ridgebacks are particularly attentive to it. Without understanding it, you're guessing, and sometimes you guess right, and sometimes..." He glanced pointedly at Hagrid's hands, which bore more than one old bite mark.
"No wonder Norbert always bites me," Hagrid said, with the expression of someone receiving the answer to a very long-standing question.
Newt rose and straightened his coat. "This is a healthy dragon, vigorous and temperamental. That's exactly what a Norwegian Ridgeback should be. You've done well by it."
Hagrid went red to the tips of his ears and stood rubbing his hands together, apparently unable to find words sufficient to respond to being praised by his lifelong idol.
"There is one other matter, though," Newt added, looking down at Norbert with a considering expression. "Rather significant, actually."
The Gryffindor trio went still. Hermione reached out and gripped Ron's wrist without appearing to notice she'd done it. Ron winced quietly.
"What is it?" Hagrid asked, his voice several notes higher than usual.
Newt looked up with a faint, dry smile. "This is a female dragon. She shouldn't be called Norbert. She should be called Norberta."
A beat of complete silence.
Then Hagrid let out a startled laugh, his whole face shifting into something between embarrassment and delight. "A girl! All this time I thought, well. Norberta it is, then. That suits her better anyway."
Norberta, apparently indifferent to the clarification of her name, sniffed at Newt's coat and produced a small, satisfied curl of smoke.
Newt turned his gaze to Henry. "When do you expect the sanctuary to be completed?"
"Next spring, if things proceed as planned," Henry said.
"And in the meantime?"
"We were hoping," Henry said carefully, "that you might be willing to help."
Newt glanced at Dumbledore, who had become deeply interested in a faint mark on the ceiling, and appeared to be humming something quietly to himself.
Newt sighed. "I'll take her for now," he said. "But we can't leave until tomorrow, I need to write to Tina first and have her make some preparations."
With Newt's agreement settled, Dumbledore slipped away not long after, leaving the remaining group to settle around Hagrid's enormous table.
Hagrid had clearly decided this occasion called for his best hospitality. He moved around the hut with considerable energy, pouring tea and pressing tarts on anyone within reach, his face flushed and his eyes bright.
Every few minutes he would steal a glance at Newt and then look quickly away, as though too much direct observation might be impolite.
Hermione noticed eventually and smiled. "Hagrid, are you quite all right?"
"Perfectly!" Hagrid said, his voice climbing. "It's just, Mr. Scamander is sitting in my kitchen. Having tea. In my kitchen."
Newt lowered his head with a shy, slightly helpless expression. "Hagrid. Call me Newt, please."
"I couldn't possibly," Hagrid said firmly. "You're my idol. I read your books when I was a boy, I had Fantastic Beasts practically memorized."
Newt's face went a gentle shade of pink, and he appeared to have run out of argument.
Henry sat quietly nearby, teacup in hand. Cho Chang had positioned herself beside him and was engaged in writing careful notes in a small book, having already put several questions about Eastern magical creatures to Newt, all of which he had answered with evident interest.
"Mr. Scamander," Hermione said eventually, looking up from her own notebook, "the dragon language you mentioned earlier, could you teach us? Even a little?"
Newt raised his eyes to her, briefly, then returned them to his tea. "You want to learn?"
"Very much," Hermione said. "I've always been fascinated by magical creatures. Perhaps one day I could study them properly."
Newt considered her for a moment, then offered a quiet smile. "Start with observation," he said. "Every dragon has individual patterns, habits, preferences, particular reactions. If you watch long enough and carefully enough, you begin to understand what they're communicating without needing to translate it word for word."
Hermione's notebook was already open.
Ron leaned toward Harry and murmured something under his breath. Harry's foot connected with his ankle before he could finish.
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Early chapters: [email protected]/palevolt100