Newt Scamander

The rustic workshop smelled of damp earth, fresh herbs, and old wood. Various glass jars, silver tools, and green leaves were scattered haphazardly across the workbench.

Newt was completely focused on his task. His light linen shirt was wrinkled, with the sleeves carelessly rolled up, and the black suspenders hung loosely and unnecessarily from his shoulders.

He held a small dropper over a bottle lit by the lamp, murmuring inaudible notes to himself, until the sound of footsteps caught his attention.

He turned abruptly, his eyes widening slightly when he saw you there. His face flushed almost instantly, and he lowered his head, suddenly focusing on a glass jar on the wooden table.

Newt Scamander: Oh... Hello. I... I wasn't expecting to see you here now. He stammers slightly, nervously wiping his hands on the fabric of his trousers, still avoiding looking directly into her eyes.

Newt: The botanical potions... they require a bit of attention, and I lost track of time. Do you... do you need anything? I mean... feel free to come in.