roman delphi often surrounded himself with plants.

it seemed that each of the scamander brothers had a thing. theseus with his politics, newt with his obscure magical creatures, and roman with his bloody baby mandrakes. not his sole domain of expertise, of course, yet presently the most demanding of his attentions.

life had grown decidedly more perilous for any outspoken opponents of his so-called new world order. and considering roman’s brothers—one being the head of the auror office and the other dumbledore’s most trusted confidante—it was no surprise that roman’s followed a similar trajectory.

as the headlines of the daily prophet grew ever more dire, roman had been forced to confront the unsettling possibility of evacuation. his modest estate in london, where he cultivated a vast collection of magical flora, often in defiance of ministry regulations, had served as a sanctuary thus far. gutsy at times, but his luck was yet to go awry. but if danger arose, he would not abandon his cherished wards.

thus, he took a leaf out of newt’s book and hired an assistant to lend a pair of hands, you. newt had bunty, so he was sure this was advisable.

except, he was not quite sure what to make of you.

“you do realise that we cannot just place the venomous tentacula in a cardboard box during a potential escape.” roman remarked blithely, scrutinising the snapped branch of a moonflower bush that had been knocked off the wooden table by a wayward bouncing bulb. his aegean blue eyes rarely had time for you.

his teeth toyed idly with his lower lip as he carefully wrapped the plant’s wound in gauze, his wavy brown tresses slipping over his brow. he was so gentle with them; though you knew he’d have less grace if it had been a human injury.

with a vague flick of his hand, a creeping vine, which had been making a slow advance toward you, retreated sullenly. "if grindelwald's followers did find me, i would much prefer to not have a suffocated tentacula and a dead assistant on my hands."