A/N: i don’t care what anyone says jasper was the hottest character in the whole of the twilight series. team Edward? or team Jacob? fuck that i’ll take every single one of the Cullen’s besides Edward any day
When Bella made a permanent resident at phoenix with mum I stayed
with dad, and boy am I glad I did. Jasper Whitlock Hale has been the best thing
that has happened to me in my dysfunctional life and although the wolves and
the Cullen’s don’t get along, I can still be friends with the both of them,
save for the comments made about each other. When Bella moved back to forks it
got complicated and difficult when she started to like Edward and tried to
figure out who or what he was.
‘(Y/n)!’ Bella yells storming into my room only to stumble
upon me curled up against jasper’s body
‘What?’ I whine not wanting to get up as I was comfortable
and this was the best sleep I have had in a while seeing as jasper and I only
just got back together after we had a pretty bad fight.
‘Um. Can I talk to you privately please’ she says starting
to sound urgent
‘Only if you promise not to tell dad that I have a boy in my
room’ I say, well more like mumble still tired
‘Yeah sure’ she replies quickly, still reluctant I start to
slowly move well that was until jasper spoke up
‘come on darlin’ you still have school this mornin’ anyway
so you might as well get up now’ his accent prominent
‘I ain’t going anywhere when you talk to me like that’ I say
seductively forgetting that my sister was still in the room
‘(Y/n)! Come on, now’
‘Fine’ I roll out of bed still reluctant and as soon as I get
into Bella’s room she shoves a piece of paper into my face and when I give her
a questioning look she just points to her ears and then points to the door, I sigh
and read the paper and start to laugh,
You can’t trust jasper
or his family, they are dangerous wait until after school and I’ll know for
certain if they are safe or not
‘Yeah that’s not going to happen’ I say chuckling as I left
her room and went to get ready for school today.
just going to leave this here because i think he honestly looks so god damn sexy in this.
Stop. Pause your scrolling. Wait. I have a thing for you.
Actual Mummy Newt.
That’s it. Resume scrolling if you want, but know that I’ll be judging you - Graves will be judging you, because actual Mummy Newt is the most adorable thing in all of creation and if you hurt his feelings by ignoring him then Graves will have to eviscerate you. He won’t want to do it. It’ll make him sad. But he’ll do it.
Now how, you might ask, does Newt evolve into Actual Mummy Newt? Like this:
There’s a girl. The girl is desperate, the girl is scared, but the girl saw Newt save a Jengu spirit from a hunter’s net on the river banks and she thinks - she hopes - that he will be kind. She tucks her baby’s blankets more tightly around her and kisses her tiny fingers and says goodbye, and she leaves the baby on the doorstep of the tiny hut. She retreats - but not far, because there are wild dogs and wild cats and she is determined to see her baby safe - and waits.
The door opens. A man peers out, cautious, wand raised. Her breath stutters to a halt and her heart freezes in her chest, because it isn’t Newt, it isn’t the kind man - it’s Graves. Graves stalks around glaring balefully at the world and it’s easy to mistake him for an angry man. The girl knows angry men. She readies herself to move forwards, to take her daughter and run, to forget this plan and ignore the better future she hoped her daughter would have -
Graves picks the baby up, gently, nervously, as though she were something precious and fragile. His face, when he looks at her, is blank; when he looks up and sees through the girl’s pitiful illusens, there is sorrow and fury and careful understanding in his gaze. Remember, Graves was an auror because he wanted to protect people. Remember, Graves was an auror who saw all the things people needed protecting from. He makes to step forwards, baby cradled in his arms, to say something, perhaps - the girl vanishes. Her heart pounds and she’s crying and that’s it, that’s goodbye, she’s done everything she can do.
(It’s not goodbye. It’s only until later, and later is sixteen years away when the girl - the woman - holds her daughter close and presses desperate kisses into her curly hair and smooths her hands over her perfect face. In the background the man she thought was kind and the man she thought was angry stand to the side and smile. The woman will be crying then, when she says goodbye for the second time, but they will be different tears and a different goodbye and her daughter will turn around and say I’ll write, mama, and I’ll bring you photos next time to show you where I’ve been.)
But that is then and this is now, and now Graves goes down the ladder one careful step at a time and stares at the bundle held against his chest. Tiny grey eyes and tiny snuffling nose and tiny dark eyelashes blinking against tiny dark cheeks - she’s tiny.
“We’ll take her to Nairobi,” he tells Newt. “They’ll have an orphanage there, or a family who can take her in.”
Newt lays her down on his lap - she’s no longer than his thigh, she fits in like she’s made to be there and curls her legs against his stomach - and runs gentle fingers over the fluff on her head. “We can’t apparate with a baby,” he says. “It’ll be slow - a month, maybe?” The baby sneezes and Newt waves his fingers at her, distracting her while he wipes the bubbles of milk-spit away.
“It takes as long as it takes,” Graves says, and maybe he honestly deludes himself into thinking that will only be a month.
Because. That month.
The baby is two weeks old, or thereabouts. She can’t see, not really - she scowls at the world as it fails to come into focus and Graves scowls right back and makes Newt laugh. She can smell though, and for the first few nights she is miserable and howling because she can smell that her mother is gone; she tugs at the cloth of Newt’s shirt and scrabbles for milk that he doesn’t have and she wriggles against a hold that isn’t the right hold and she screams.
Newt bounces her and talks to her, always talks to her non stop nonsense words, and waits for her to get used to him. He mixes four different kinds of milk to make the best substitute he can (and sends Graves out among the habitats to collect them) and feeds it to her with a careful diligence while Graves hovers and worries about it being the right temperature. When she fusses and squalls, Newt rubs her back until burps and makes a face as he cleans away the excess milk.
There are a lot of cleaning charms involved. Babies make a lot of mess. Newt switches into old clothes, comfy clothes, over-large button shirts with the sleeves rolled up soft cardigans that he can wrap around the baby like a blanket and hug her against his chest. He bounces her and he babbles to her and he coos in delight when she looks at him and smiles, even though he knows it doesn’t mean anything at that age. He gets up in the middle of the night and shambles over to the cot on the other side of the room and stifles a yawn as he picks her up and tries to convince her to tell him what’s wrong.
“She’s a baby,” Graves grumps from where he’s trying to osmose through the sheets and become one with the mattress. “She can’t tell you what’s wrong. She doesn’t speak English, she speaks loud.”
Graves’ reply contains several swear words at that and Newt pointedly covers the baby’s ears. Graves’ reply to that is to offer a rude hand gesture on his zombie-stumbling way down to the kitchen to retrieve and heat up the milk. He hands it to Newt and stands behind him while Newt feeds her, Graves’ arms wrapped around Newt’s waist and Graves’ chin balanced on Newt’s shoulders.
“She needs a name,” Newt says softly while he’s tucking her blanket around her and setting her back down to sleep.
“It’s only three weeks to Nairobi,” Graves says back just as softly.
“I was thinking Claire,” Newt continues as though Graves hadn’t spoken, and the stubborn tilt to his chin says that Newt is prepared to engage selective deafness however many times Graves tries to raise the point.
Graves doesn’t try that hard. Six weeks later - because Newt and schedules? No. - they arrive in Nairobi and take Claire to the local centre for magical fostering. Ten days after that they leave Nairobi as the official, legally recognised adoptive parents of one Claire Mathilda Scamander-Graves, and by that point Graves has even learnt to keep the milk in a coolbox in the bedroom instead of falling down the ladder to the kitchen every night in search of it.