The Parisian night was cold, but the chill in your bones had little to do with the weather. For weeks, you’d hidden in the shadows of alleyways and shuttered apartments, far from prying eyes. Far from anyone you could hurt.

Magic rippled beneath your skin like an untamed storm, flaring whenever your fear spiked or anger broke through your cracked composure. Light bulbs shattered, glass trembled in its frames, and the floorboards groaned with the weight of your unrest.

And now—someone was at your door.

You barely had the strength to raise your wand, trembling fingers clumsy with exhaustion. But the door didn’t burst open. Instead, it creaked slowly, and a familiar, hesitant voice drifted in.

“Please… I mean no harm.”

Newt Scamander stepped into the dim light, his coat dusted with rain, worry shadowing his gentle face. He looked around the crumbling apartment—your refuge turned prison—and his heart broke just a little.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

You shook your head, stepping back until your shoulders met the cracked wall. “You shouldn’t be here. I can’t… control it.”

The lamp flickered overhead, your emotions flaring without permission.

But Newt didn’t flinch.

Instead, he slipped off his long coat and held it out to you, voice quiet but steady. “You must be freezing. Please—let me help.”

You stared at the coat like it was some impossible kindness. No one had offered you warmth in weeks.

Slowly, hesitantly, you took it. The weight of it settled over your shoulders like safety itself.

“I have room in my case,” he said softly, as though speaking to a wounded creature. “It’s safe there. Quiet. No one will find you… and the magic won’t hurt anyone.”