Fantastic Beasts and How He Found Them

A Guide to Hospitality

 "Room 111 ½."

Newt couldn't break his gaze from the witch's manicure. Nail polish would usually distract Newt because he can see no use for it. The hands and by effect, the fingernails, are arguably the most used part of the human body. It made no sense to decorate them when they will easily be tarnished in the future, especially when they have such intricate designs. However, it isn't the color or upkeep that preoccupies Newt and the witch's manicure. Rather, it is the texture of the nails. They are made out of fur.

Unexpectedly, Newt is intoxicated with the scent of stale butterbeer and turns his back from the furry-nailed witch to the source of the smell. Desperate. Newt is desperate. Suddenly, he is aware of his surroundings and recognizes the weight of his journey in one breath.

The room feels mad with a raucous serenity that can only derive from the backs of the working class. But it's different. In London, the 9-5 witches and wizards are generally dissatisfied with their monotonous work while also being very much content with their mundanity. These American witches and wizards however, secrete a pent up anger that is suffocating. Newt's eyes water and he quickly dries them with the edge of his robe. It isn't the flooding of home sickness that made his eyes water, rather it is the thick, impenetrable smoke that has engulfed the room. Surrounding Newt is the clamor of ale, cigarette puffs, and the rolling of hash. This is not a room, it's a carnivorous den.

Just as quickly as Newt was distracted he is brought back by a sneeze. Newt has always considered himself to be a very polite individual. When there is a sneeze, he promptly exclaims, "Bless you." However, in the lobby of The Seven Mages, the clouds of smoke drift from Newt's eyes and he can see who the witches and wizards really are. They are not a group of hooligans, rather he was taken aback by the considerable amount of polite patrons.

Not a moment was spared from when Newt heard the tremendous sneeze that he began to utter the first syllable of "bless you." He never finished saying it, or he possibly did but couldn't hear himself over the several other patrons had beaten him to the punch. Then, like an orchestra with pollen as its conductor, a frenzy of sneezes were emitted that erupted in a roar of courtesies.

The overeager politeness of these Americans bordered on aggressive behavior. It was strange for Newt to behold, yet he felt a tingle of amusement. Americans, turning everything into a competition. He started to feel comfortable again.

Suddenly, Newt became overwhelmed with a tickling sensation that rose from his toes to the tip of his nose. His face felt stuffed with cotton and he consciously tried to suppress it but his efforts were futile, the sneeze was emerging until he went, "achoo."

"Bless you."

Glassy-eyed, Newt looked up at the furry-nailed witch dangling his room key on her finger. "Sang, Elaina Sang. You must be new," she said as an affirmative, not a question. In quick succession she tugs the key into her palm and offers her free hand to Newt. Her other nails, Newt realizes, are made of water. He hesitates briefly but Sang takes it upon herself to shake his hand anyway. Even going so far as to bend over the front desk.

"Room 111 ½ sweetheart." The key is already in Newt's hand. Before he turns to leave he jolts back.

"Where exactly is Room 111 ½ ?"

"If you got half a brain and a wand, you should be able to figure it out sweetie," Sang smirked as she picked a miniscule leaf of seaweed from her nail.

Newt quickly lifted his luggage and made forward to search for Room 111 ½ before another fury overwhelms his sinuses. Newt proceeded past the group of aggressively-polite witches and wizards while calmly asking where his room is. Most pretended not to hear him, one burly wizard laughed until he choked on a pumpkin pastry. Newt did not understand what the joke could have been but he continued onward, circling the entry floor of the inn.

This did not make sense to Newt at all, he checked twice and thrice that he is on the first floor of the inn. He considered going to the upper levels of the inn but the staircase is gone and flying indoors is explicitly prohibited by federal, magical law. At least that is what the sign says.

Staircase is on personal leave for familial matters until further notice. The Department of Magical Affairs would also like to remind you that flying indoors is prohibited. Any offence is subject to a $10 fine with a minimum 5 year sentence to Zertacla.

-Management

In any case, Newt isn't too keen on flying in general. He earned only acceptable marks during his flying class back at Hogwarts, those aren't the finest moments of his life. Then, it hit him. Newt is in the United States, meaning that American English is backwards English.

On the boat to the U.S., Newt shared a bunk with a very damp-smelling wizard who went by the same of Soff. Soff didn't say much, in fact he hardly spoke at all. He spent almost the entirety of the two week voyage devouring U.S. tourist guides. On the occasions that Soff would speak, it would always be during the midst of bad weather. One storm in particular left most passengers in fear. The waves clapped the sides of the ship as to sway passengers from one side of the ship onto the other. Newt would sit on his bed and promptly slide to left and be shoulder-to-shoulder with his fellow passengers. Primarily, Newt and the other travelers had their hands clasped on one another, muttering those ineffective incantations that seem to calm muggles during a crisis. However, they were not praying for mercy, but rather for the mercy of their luggage. Sailors are trained to cast the bubble-head charm when a ship capsizes, and most passengers are competent enough to perform the charm themselves if they are ever in danger. But that typically results in lost luggage, and most witches and wizards didn't purchase insurance for their voyage.

Soff was stark raving mad with excitement and expelling all the facts he had digested at once to Newt. Most of what Soff was saying meant nonsense to Newt, especially since Newt wasn't paying much attention to Soff but rather reciting the futile, muggle incantation. But Newt did hear a few fun facts, and it was coming back to him.

"The first floor is called ground," Newt remembers while sitting on a stool. Silly Americans and their backwards language. His next hurdle is to figure out how to get up there.

"Let's see here," Newt thought. "Miss Sang I only needed half a brain and a wand, I'm positive I possess both." He patted the breast of his robe and felt the outline of his wand. He thought harder, "I'm positive I possess one." It seems so difficult, almost like a riddle, what he would give to be a Ravenclaw at the moment. Newt felt tired, as a sign of defeat he was about to order a pint of spiked butterbeer before he noticed a young witch from across the bar. She paused by where the staircase should be and took out her wand. The witch gave a gentle flick of the wand and whispered an incantation. A small bubble grew from the tip of her wand, but the witch blew and blew into the direction of the substance until it swelled into the size of a small table. The witch stepped on top of her bubble and floated upwards.

Newt's eyes lit up and he found his answer. He ordered his butterbeer to-go and proceeded to walk next where the witch floated up. With a smirk he took out his wand, made a few practice flicks, and then realized he did not know what spell that witch had just performed. He stood frozen, with his smirk locked on his face but looking more confused than ever.

"It's called bulla," Elaina Sang yelled from the front desk. With haste, Newt casted the spell and a tiny bubble formed. He blew and huffed until his face felt red and puffy. His bubble barley covered the width of his feet, but it will have to do until finally he made it to the second floor. Or first floor according to American logic.

There it was, a corridor of rooms.

Room 101.

Room 102.

Newt followed each succeeding door until he reached Room 111, then Room 111 ½. To be honest Newt was a bit surprised to see only half a door. He shrugged and was just grateful he made it this far, almost to the end of a very long day. Inside Room 111 ½ was half of everything, half a bed, half a sink, half a window. Despite it all, it all seemed rather comfortable. Then Newt realized that there should have been something whole that wasn't in his room- his luggage. He lifted his arm and chanted, "accio luggage." Newt felt a sensation of pain before blissful serenity. The luggage went straight for his head and he was out cold, falling straight into sleep after a packed day.