Soulmates

“A-a-aah!” Newt Scamander tumbled out of the glowing magical portal and landed hard on the wooden floor, looking around in confusion. He found himself in a small cabin made of roughly hewn logs, nearly in their natural state. The thick beams could probably withstand anything—except fire. Or maybe a giant dancing on them. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling in uneven bunches, and in the armchair near the fireplace sat what looked like a half-giant, if not a full-blooded one. He stared at Newt just as bewildered as Newt stared back. “Hello, I’m Newt Scamander,” Newt said politely as he stood up. “I know who you are,” the man replied, stunned, showing him the large tome he'd been reading. “I’m Rubeus Hagrid, and I was just reading your famous book. But you're supposed to be long dead... I mean, the birth and death dates are printed on the back.” “I know,” Newt sighed. “Grindelwald cast some unknown spell on me and sent me into the future. Apparently, someone prophesied that I would significantly contribute to his downfall, and he decided killing me wouldn’t be effective enough—and might come with curses for trying to cheat fate.” “Voldemort wasn’t that clever,” Hagrid commented. “Who?” “He was like Grindelwald, but a lot dumber,” Hagrid smirked. “Though he still managed to ruin a lot of lives... including mine. That’s why I never finished Hogwarts.” “I didn’t either,” Newt shrugged. “Official qualifications are overrated. You could still learn magic, you know. I’d teach you everything I know, but...” “But what?” “If you’re holding a book I haven’t written yet in my time, it means Grindelwald failed and I must return to my era.” “Makes sense,” Hagrid sighed heavily. “So when are you going back?” “No idea,” Newt shrugged again. “But it could be any moment. Mind if I stay here with you for now?” “You must!” Hagrid brightened. “I’m a big fan of yours... literally. Tea?” “I wouldn’t say no,” Newt smiled. Hagrid immediately began clattering with a heavy, slightly dented kettle. Newt sat on a roughly made wooden bench covered with a soft blanket. It felt incredibly good to relax for a while and not think about war. There were always wars, one after another. But love? When was there time for that? And with whom? Tina had those deep, salamander-dark eyes, and sometimes Newt felt drawn to her... but Tina seemed more interested in her career. And he respected that. One day she’d probably become the head of the American Auror Office, who knows? “Tea with raspberry or honey?” Hagrid’s voice pulled Newt out of his thoughts. “Both,” Newt replied, then joked, “And maybe without the tea. I’m starving...” “Then I’ll give you tea, honey on bread, and a plateful of raspberries,” Hagrid said affectionately, almost cooing like he was about to feed a child. “You won’t be hungry here. You know, guests are rare for me. Especially famous ones. Wizards have completely forgotten me. I live here all alone. All my friends grew up and scattered who knows where. I’m aging. The silver in my hair—that’s my medal for all the strength, health, and nerves I lost in the Second Wizarding War. I’m so glad you showed up in my home. There’s hardly any room left in my soul for surprise. You’re my hero, you know.” “That’s strange and unfamiliar to hear,” Newt looked at the floor. “Hermione was right,” Hagrid said. “Who?” “Hermione. An old friend. She once told me—based on your biography—you probably had Asperger’s Syndrome. She made a good case. Listed all the symptoms. You won’t even look me in the eyes—just like she described.” “Asper-what now?” Newt blinked in confusion. “Asperger’s. It’s a Muggle diagnosis.” “First I’ve heard of it,” Newt muttered. “Great. Now I’m being diagnosed by the future.” “That’s not the future’s fault—it’s Hermione’s. She’s the one who finally came to visit me. It’s hard to get her over here these days. She’s running magical Britain now.” “Anyway, to look you in the eyes I’d have to crane my neck,” Newt added. “Fair enough,” Hagrid chuckled and began setting the table with the kettle, cups, and plates. “Whatever it is, I know you didn’t quite fit into society. Am I right?” “Never did,” Newt said quietly. “But I only ever cared about magical creatures.” “Same here,” Hagrid beamed. “If not for them, I’d be completely alone. Never thought I’d miss the war days, as awful as they were. But now I feel utterly useless,” he suddenly drooped. “I’ve felt lonely since I was a child,” Newt carefully placed his hand on top of Hagrid’s—it barely covered a fraction. “You’re not afraid of me?” Hagrid’s smile was more timid than even Newt’s touch. “No, of course not,” Newt shook his head. “You’re not scary at all. You’re... quite attractive, actually.” “Newt, are you sure your vision’s okay?” Hagrid asked gently. “Did you lose your glasses in the time jump?” “I’ve never worn glasses,” Newt said, puzzled. “Then you can’t possibly miss that I’m a huge, hairy, overweight half-giant.” “You look more like a strong Viking to me,” Newt said shyly, smiling. “I think you’re an incredibly handsome man.” “You must’ve lost your glasses. Or your mind,” Hagrid sighed. “Still, I appreciate it. Maybe… after tea we could read about manticores together? Or I could show you an upgraded Blast-Ended Skrewt—less likely to explode, promise!” “Gladly,” Newt took a sip of tea and, visibly pleased, reached for the raspberries. Hagrid gently pushed the bowl closer. Hagrid resembled a big, cuddly bear that one just wanted to hug tightly. Newt let himself fully relax, despite the absurdity of the situation. After a light meal, they did indeed read about manticores, and Hagrid was simply glowing with joy—no one else shared his passion. After manticores, they moved on to basilisks, and then to the most thrilling subject of all—dragons. At some point during the reading, Newt didn’t even notice how he ended up sitting on Hagrid’s lap. Or, rather, on one of his thighs, as both simply wouldn’t fit under Newt’s narrow backside. Realizing this, Newt blushed and finally looked up, meeting Hagrid’s gaze. “If I kiss you now, will you punch me?” Hagrid asked timidly, cheeks flushed just as red as Newt’s. “No,” Newt said simply, turning his whole body toward Hagrid and reaching up toward his broad face. “Not at all. I want your kiss—and not just your kiss,” he added, clearly unsure how one was supposed to kiss a half-giant with a regular human mouth. Their kiss was awkward. Newt’s lips ended up somewhere near the corner of Hagrid’s mouth, but the man looked absolutely delighted regardless. He scooped Newt into his arms and carried him to the bed, immediately beginning to fumble with his clothes—his massive fingers struggling with tiny buttons. Soon, Hagrid was stroking and caressing Newt’s delicate skin with utmost care. He didn’t lie down on top of Newt—of course not—instead holding himself up so as not to crush him. Newt rolled onto his stomach, letting the lower part of his body hang slightly off the bed, ready. A warm droplet touched his backside—saliva, which Hagrid gently spread over his entrance. Or rather, what Hagrid believed to be a droplet—there was enough fluid to raise tropical fish in. What followed wasn’t a tongue, and definitely not something a normal man would use. It was huge. “Oh, Hagrid,” Newt moaned. “Please be careful. It’s so big… and so thick...” “Newt,” Hagrid said gently, “that’s just my pinky.” “Oh...” Newt’s eyes widened, startled or maybe a little scared. “Don’t worry. I know I’m too big for you. But I promise to be gentle—and creative.” Hagrid’s pinky pushed into Newt with the speed of a cautious tortoise, ensuring not to hurt him. His free hand caressed Newt’s shaft and sac with soft fingertips. The moans spilling from Newt’s lips were so sweet, they made Hagrid’s head spin. Giving his idol pleasure—what could be better? Receiving it in return? Maybe. But not necessary. Newt would surely be completely spent by the time Hagrid was done worshipping him. Newt gasped as Hagrid suddenly said, “Turn onto your back and put your legs on my shoulders.” “Hey, don’t give orders,” Newt grumbled but complied anyway. “Sorry. But I promise you’ll like what I’m about to do.” Hagrid's large, broad tongue swept over Newt's genitals like a massive, flat, wet tentacle. Newt arched his back and moaned loudly with pleasure, while Hagrid reinserted his pinky. Newt breathed heavily and rapidly—even Hagrid’s smallest finger was almost more than he could handle, but he eagerly pressed down onto it himself, his cries of pleasure echoing through the cabin, alongside gasps, groans, and a few scattered mentions of Merlin taken in vain. At last, a shudder ran through his body, and he climaxed right onto Hagrid’s tongue. “Oh—I’m sorry,” Newt murmured in embarrassment, but Hagrid calmly licked it up like a bear savoring honey. “What’s there to be sorry for? A beautiful man fell into my house out of nowhere and let me make him feel good. And it’s not even my birthday. I’m just happy. Truly. I’m savoring every second you’re here.” Newt collapsed onto the bed, completely spent, and reached out to gently stroke Hagrid’s massive hand. “Thank you for everything, Rubeus. I haven’t felt this good in... maybe ever. I wish we could keep talking about magical creatures...” “And not just talking,” Hagrid winked, though his expression turned a little sad. “I’d love that too, Newt. You brought youth and joy back into my life—and they’ll vanish with you, back to the past, never to return.” Newt didn’t know what to say. Honestly, he needed comforting just as much. So instead, he just wrapped his arms around Hagrid as best he could. A single tear fell onto Newt’s head—though it felt, at the time, like someone had emptied a full glass of water on him. He even had to shake his head to flick the moisture from his suddenly damp curls. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to lose you,” Newt whispered. “But I have to—otherwise, my future, and your present, could change for the worse. Half-bloods might be killed, and I’ll lose you anyway.” Wiping his own wet lashes, Newt quickly dressed. The portal back to the past could open at any moment, and he didn’t want to return naked—or without his wand. He had already taken quite the risk, undressing for Hagrid. Buttoning up his shirt—with some buttons hanging by a thread after Hagrid’s giant fingers fumbled them—he tucked his wand into his belt and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. About an hour later, as he and Hagrid sat quietly on the bed, still hugging, the magic began to pull him back. Newt felt the spell grip him, drawing him toward the portal. He gave Hagrid a quick farewell hug and surrendered to the current of time. But just as he was vanishing, a large, warm hand grabbed his tightly—and they both fell out of the portal together, onto a cobblestone street. “Hagrid! Are you insane?” Newt yelped. “No one knows how time portals work! You could’ve lost your arm—or died—and still stayed behind!” “I’m not insane. I’m in love,” Hagrid replied. “Though that might be the same thing.” “Isn’t it a bit soon?” Newt asked, then admitted, “Oh, who am I kidding. I fell for you too, Rubeus. And I don’t give a damn how irrational that is. But won’t you miss your home?” “Cold, lonely nights in a bed built for one? Not a chance.” “What about all your creatures?” “Already wrote a will years ago. If anything happens to me, they’ll be taken care of. Newt, back home I was a living statue—a memorial to the war. People brought flowers on holidays and avoided me the rest of the year. And even then, I wasn’t the main hero—Harry, Ron, and Hermione got most of the credit. Deservedly. They did more to stop Voldemort than anyone. But now... what use am I to them? They’ve got their own lives. So how about I help you take down one more Dark wizard, yeah?” “Yeah,” Newt said, smiling brightly. He took Hagrid’s enormous hand in his own and nuzzled it like a cat, nearly purring. Hagrid’s face lit up. He suddenly remembered the year same-sex marriages were legalized among wizards—long before Muggles caught up. Newt didn’t know that yet, but he would. “By the way, I grabbed your book,” Hagrid said, pulling it out of his cavernous pocket. “Now I know how I wrote it,” Newt sighed. “I stole it from my future self. This is absolute madness.” “Stealing from yourself isn’t plagiarism,” Hagrid reassured him. “And you can revise it however you like. I’ll help. I’ve worked with magical creatures my whole life too. You don’t mind, do you?” “See for yourself,” Newt said, smiling and pointing to the altered book cover. Now it read: “Newt Scamander, co-authored with his husband Rubeus Hagrid.”