Garfield couldn't help but admire Newt Scamander's magical creature sanctuary.
From the outside, it appeared to be a modest home, probably Newt's personal residence, but once inside, Garfield had stepped into something far more extraordinary.
Padding silently across the wooden floor, Garfield made a full circle of the room, sniffing and scanning with his keen magical senses. No traps.
That was a relief.
Soon, he located a familiar door leading down to the basement. With a flick of his tail and a twitch of his whiskers, he placed a paw on the handle.
Creak
A stone staircase stretched down into the dim, earthy space below.
"Cook? Are you down there?"
Silence.
"If you don't say anything, I'm going in."
"…"
"I was invited, after all. Meow."
Tail high, he descended the steps in full catwalk fashion.
As he reached the lower level, he took in the familiar, comforting chaos of Newt's menagerie.
Magical creatures chittered, burbled, and rustled from their habitats, but the space was otherwise empty.
To his left, a wooden shelf overflowed with supplies… rations, potions, enchanted grooming tools.
Garfield gave the animal feed a curious sniff, but kept moving.
In the heart of the sanctuary stood Newt's signature leather suitcase, propped open.
Inside were all sorts of magical creatures: a colony of Bowtruckles perched on their tree branch, enormous dung beetles lumbering in the corner, and a cozy-looking nest of snoring anhingas.
Garfield prowled deeper into the sanctum, eyes darting for signs of the elusive Demiguise. But the creature was nowhere to be seen.
"Hiding, huh?" He muttered. "Saw me coming, did you? Clever beast."
It wasn't unlikely. The Demiguise could sense danger or even mild inconvenience a mile away.
Trusting his supernaturally enhanced sense of smell, Garfield soon caught the unmistakable scent of gold, silver, and… more importantly... His loyal follower Niffler.
He followed it to a glittering nest tucked into a cozy corner.
There lay the Niffler, dozing contentedly on a bed of coins, jewels, and trinkets… treasure from New York, no doubt. Pure bliss.
"Servant!" Garfield called.
Startled, the Niffler jumped, tumbling out of his hoard. When he saw Garfield, he clutched his chest in relief.
"Boss! You scared me!"
"I've got a job for you." Garfield said, tail flicking. "Want to make some more money?"
"Make… money?" Niffler blinked, clearly confused.
Garfield pointed at the pile of treasure. "Like this. But more. We're going to hit a jackpot, think of it as expanding your collection."
Niffler's eyes lit up. "Really? But… will Newt let me out?"
Garfield waved a paw. "Don't worry about Newt. He'll get over it. I'll bring you back once your new nest is twice as full."
For a moment, Niffler stared, then his pupils turned into gold coins as he imagined a treasure mound double the size of his current stash, with a lovely female Niffler draped across it for good measure.
"Boss, I'm in! Let's go!"
With that sorted, Garfield turned to Niffler once more. "By the way, where is Newt?"
"He went to the Ministry of Magic. Something about Grindelwald, they called him in for another report."
"How do you know that?"
Niffler pointed to the entrance. "I smelled gold on the wind this morning. And heard it from Newt on the way out."
Typical. Garfield chuckled. Niffler had always had a nose for shiny things and a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It was no wonder Grindelwald would eventually lose the blood pact vial to this Niffler more than a year later.
As he wandered deeper into the sanctuary, Garfield paused at the edge of a wide, enchanted pool.
Floating within was a Kelpiesque creature… part horse, part dragon, made entirely of writhing aquatic plants.
Garfield shuddered. "Nope."
"Not going near that. I may not be a real orange tabby, but I've got enough cat in me to know, water's bad."
He gave the watery beast a wide berth and moved on.
The sanctuary was enormous, more than anyone would guess from the outside. Newt had completely transformed the space.
Every corner was alive with enchantment, every habitat carefully designed, every inch crafted with care.
Garfield paused and took it all in.
"Impressive!"
Newt Scamander had personally designed four separate habitats in his sanctuary, each one reflecting a different season… spring, summer, autumn, and winter… meticulously tailored to suit the native environments of the magical creatures under his care.
Garfield, naturally averse to water, steered clear of both the tropical summer zone and the icy winter chamber.
He wasn't particularly fond of damp paws or frigid winds.
With no destination in mind, he roamed the sanctuary a couple of times out of boredom before finally making his way upstairs.
The warmth of Newt's living room and, more importantly, his plush, inviting sofa beckoned.
Garfield stretched once, circled the cushions, and then flopped down with a satisfied 'meow.'
Within minutes, his rhythmic snoring filled the room.
Huhuhu...
Huhuhu...
When Newt returned home, he paused at the entrance, hand instinctively reaching for his wand at the unfamiliar sound echoing through the room.
Snoring?
He crept forward… but then a realized.
Could it be…?
Newt peeked into the living room and saw a familiar sight: a bright orange furball sprawled across his favorite sofa.
"…" The whole sofa vibrated with Garfield's snoring.
It was him. Newt smiled faintly.
Garfield, for as long as Newt could remember, had been one of the most confounding magical beings he'd ever encountered.
The Ministry had no classification for him. Even Dumbledore had once responded vaguely to Newt's concerned letter.
"Garfield is… unique. Don't treat him like a magical creature. And no, he's not an Animagus, at least, not in the way you understand it."
"The rest you'll have to discover for yourself."
Newt had heard of how Dumbledore had taken Garfield to Diagon Alley, even to Ollivander's wand shop.
Rumor had it that Ollivander sold him a thousand-year-old boutique wand said to one day shake the magical world.
Could Garfield really be an Animagus?
Newt doubted it. Something about Garfield defied that explanation.
Still, Newt couldn't help but crouch beside the snoring feline, curious fingers twitching, tempted to pet him…
But he knew better. Years of experience had taught him never to disturb a sleeping magical creature.
So he waited…
And waited…
…
…
…
Waiting still…
Garfield didn't stir. Eventually, Newt gave up and went down to the basement to tend to the creatures.
Two hours passed as he groomed, fed, and inspected the sanctuary's residents.
When he returned upstairs, hunger gnawed at his stomach… what he saw made him freeze.
Garfield was still here, not on the couch this time, but perched beside the kitchen door.
From inside the kitchen came the sound of clattering pots and pans.
"Cook, you're finally back. Meow." Garfield turned to him, tail flicking.
Newt blinked. "Garfield? What are you doing?"
"What does it look like? I came to find the cook. You clearly don't know how to make a proper meal for a king like me, so I had to step in. Meow."
Newt peered around the kitchen doorway, and what he saw made his heart stutter.
Every pot and pan was flying around as if enchanted, except they weren't.
A frying pan was sizzling cuts of meat, a knife on the counter chopped vegetables at breakneck speed, and in the soup pot… something was poaching a fish.
A live fish. That had apparently fallen from the ceiling.
Newt's voice came out a little breathless. "Garfield… are you an Animagus?"
"Of course not." Garfield gave him an unimpressed look.
"Then how are you doing magic?"
"I'm a genius. You're just too much of a Muggle-minded herbologist to understand how genius works. Meow."
Newt laughed helplessly. "So… you came all this way just to cook for me?"
Garfield glared at him. "Don't be ridiculous. I came to borrow money. But I'm a principled King. You borrow things with transparency."
"That way, if something goes wrong, nobody accuses you of theft later."
Newt looked baffled.
Garfield flicked his tail again, pacing. "Besides, think about it. If anything happens later… like, I don't know, Japanese Ministry wizards storming the British Ministry, the Brits will just shrug. 'Not our problem,' they'll say. Old powers always look down on the small ones. Meow."
Garfield's whiskers twitched in pride.
The humiliation of the Japanese delegation being ignored by the British still made his fur bristle with patriotic satisfaction.
If nothing else, Garfield believed in meowing with dignity.
And if dignity meant borrowing some money and cooking his own fish?
Mote it be.
꧁𓊈𒆜༺⚜༻𒆜𓊉꧂
Phantom your way through a treasure trove of chapters waiting on P@treon!
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