Archive of Our Own ^beta

As the latest nanny ran out of the estate crying and screaming bloody murder at anyone enterprising enough to attempt to console her, Mrs. Robinson reflected on the necessity of a strong disposition when it came to handling the Graves children. A strong disposition was needed in general when it came to children, particularly spoiled or clever ones; however, the five Graves children were used to their father's disposition and, as such, required a stronger than normal disposition in order to phase them. Or, more importantly, in order to ensure their cooperation.

Mrs. Robinson had known that the nanny, a Missus McKinley, was not someone gifted with a strong disposition, or much of a disposition in general. The old omega had believed herself to be in possession of a firm countenance and strict disciplinary nature, but had resorted too often to scolding the children when they misbehaved. As anyone who has interacted with strong-willed children is aware, scolding rarely does anything to remedy bad habits.

It was, Mrs. Robinson mused, difficult to scold a group of children for beginning what was a rather impressive colony of rats in your wardrobe. Especially when the rats themselves, having developed the colony into something of an empire, were not inclined to leave their kingdom of soft skirts and underthings and had lodged a counter attack shortly after Missus McKinley's attempts to remove them. In what was perhaps the best decision she had made upon coming to the Graves estate, Missus McKinley had declined to scold the children following her attempts to remove the rats, and had simply left at a considerable speed through the front doors.

She turned to look at the butler, Mr. Chadwell. They shared the look of long-suffering that had become common in the Graves household since its master's decision to find a suitable nanny for his children. 

"That one only lasted a week," Mr. Chadwell said pointedly. 

Mrs. Robinson glared at him. "I'm aware, Robert." 

"The one before her lasted for two weeks," he added. 

The two-week governess, it should be noted, had been Mr. Chadwell's choice. 

"She said she was used to handling difficult children," Mrs. Robinson said defensively. "She came with numerous recommendations."

"Ah yes. Because clearly a group of children who tricked a boggart into the guest wardrobe and let loose a colony of pixies upon an unsuspecting, half-blind omega fall into the category of merely 'difficult children,'" Chadwell said dryly. "I see your logic."

Mrs. Robinson opened her mouth to reply with some, no doubt very clever, retort when a sharp whistle tore through the air. Shortly after, another whistle sounded. She let out a sigh and rubbed her temple. 

"It seems the General wants us," she muttered. Another series of whistles sounded, managing somehow to convey a sense of dwindling patience. "That bloody whistle of his is going to be the death of me."

"Careful," Chadwell chided her as they began to make their way down the hall to the General's office. "You're getting awfully close to insubordination and mutiny, Matilde."

"I'm not a soldier or a dog," Mrs. Robinson said primly as they arrived at the office door. "One of these days, Robert, I'm going to--" 

"You're going to what, Mrs. Robinson?" a voice asked curtly as the doors were thrown open by a tall alpha with broad shoulders and thick brows. "Do tell." This last part was said dryly; the alpha was well aware of his housekeeper's feelings regarding the use of the whistle. 

Mrs. Robinson glared at the General sourly. "Nothing, sir," she muttered with a certain mutinous pitch that Graves had heard on occasion from several of his more sullen soldiers. 

He let it slide. Mrs. Robinson was not a woman you wanted upset with you-- your clothing had a sudden, nasty habit of shrinking and your favorite rooms began to acquire a musty smell. 

"It appears that my children have chased off another nanny, unless my ears deceive me."

"You heard that, sir?" Chadwell managed somehow to sound surprised, though looking at the beta's face it was clear that he was not at all surprised to hear this.

Graves ignored the butler's sarcasm. "Luckily, the Order is sending a postulate to replace Missus-- what was her name?"

"McKinley, sir," Mrs. Robinson supplied. 

"Hmm yes, her," Graves said in a tone that implied that he had asked rhetorically and did not, in fact, want to know the name of the most recent nanny. 

Sometimes, Mrs. Robinson didn't know why she tried.

Still, one thing stood out to her. "A postulate from Hogwarts?" she asked. "I wasn't aware that their postulates were out for hire."

"This one's a special case," the General said, dismissively. "Father Albus said that he needed to 'experience the world,' or some sentimental nonsense like that." It was common knowledge that, while Graves respected the older man's prowess as a wizard and a tactician, he was somewhat dubious of the man's good sense.

"Ah." Chadwell paused, trying to think of a delicate way to express himself. "And you... think that this young omega will be qualified, then, sir?"

He didn't quite succeed in his delicacy, as evidenced by the sour look sent his way by Graves. 

"I'm sure we'll find out, Mr. Chadwell," Graves snapped. "Have the children prepare themselves for the new nanny's arrival."

Mrs. Robinson nodded and began to head towards the door. Chadwell, after ascertaining that he was also included in the command, gave a shallow bow before trailing behind the housekeeper. The General wasn't yet in a mood, but that likely had more to do with the fact that, as none of the nanny's had lasted past three weeks, he had been expecting this development.

The two made their way towards the grand staircase, each lost in thought. Neither was entirely sure that the new nanny would be qualified, but both were aware that there wasn't likely to be a nanny that was qualified to handle the little beasts-- that is, children.

The Graves children were gifted with their father's clever and determined nature, as well as his amazing patience when it came to plotting the downfall of his enemies. Their mother had shared with her spouse a certain sort of militantness, and her own qualities were seen in the children's mulish warring on any or all who attempted to keep them in line. Both parents had had something of a hands off approach with the children, and the result was a distinct lack of respect for anyone who was not the General. 

As a result of both personality and circumstance, the children were absolute terrors to any nanny that was hired. 

"Do you think he'll last the week?" Chadwell asked, conversationally. "I've been given to understand that the Hogwarts omegas are not the sort to deal with nonsense."

Mrs. Robinson snorted in a manner that was not becoming of a housekeeper of her years or experience. "If the esteemed Father feels that he'll do well here, I'm sure I'm not one to disagree."  

Chadwell raised an eyebrow at his old friend. "Of course," he said with a straight face. "Far be it from you to think you know better than the esteemed Father, my dear Matilde."

Mrs. Robinson ignored this, heading towards the stairs with the air of one who was far above the people around her. 

Just as the two reached the first steps, the front bell rang to signal the arrival of a guest. Chadwell sighed. "That will be the new nanny," he said. "I suppose I should go let him in."

He remained standing by the stairs with Mrs. Robertson.

"Go get him," she said, pushing the stout beta towards the door. "I want a look at him before he meets the children." When Chadwell hesitated, she gave him another push. "Hurry, Robert, before the General makes an appearance."

The butler went off, clearly reluctant to begin the cycle of a new nanny again. Mrs. Robinson waited patiently on the stairs, tapping her foot and looking towards the door expectantly. As one does when waiting patiently.

Finally, her wait paid off and Chadwell arrived, towing a tall young man. The omega had messy red hair and was wearing an ill-fitting jacket that was an almost offensive shade of chartreuse.* Already, this was not looking good. No one with any decent disposition would be caught dead wearing a jacket that color. 

As they walked towards the staircase, the young man tripped over his feet and nearly took out the butler in front of him. Chadwell, in the manner of a man who was much used to dodging flailing bodies, stepped neatly to the side and watched dispassionately as the omega face-planted onto the tiled floor. The suitcase he'd been holding in his arms slid slowly away, landing with a small thud at the base of the stairs. "Oh dear," Chadwell said, "That must have hurt."

This was said with no attempt whatsoever to help the omega up from the ground, nor to retrieve the errant suitcase. 

Mrs. Robinson jerked her head at the omega in a pointed manner until Chadwell, with a sigh, bent over and hauled the postulate to his feet.

The young man offered them an awkward smile. "Hello," he said. "I'm Postulate Newt Scamander, from Hog--"

"Yes," Mrs. Robinson interrupted. "We know where you're from, Postulate Newt." 

The omega blushed and stammered out an apology. Mrs. Robinson, who had not had high hopes to begin with, felt that the postulate would be lucky if he made it through the night. She watched as he hurried over towards the suitcase and picked it up, clutching it to his chest. It wasn't entirely clear if he was doing so to protect the case's contents or to attempt to ward off the unimpressed stare of the housekeeper.

Feeling that she might as well let the young man meet his fate sooner rather than later, Mrs. Robinson gave a curt nod to the two men and headed up to make sure that the children were dressed appropriately for the arrival of their new nanny. 

She also wanted to make entirely sure that nothing had taken up residence in the room intended for Postulate Newt, courtesy of the Graves brood.

That left Newt alone with Chadwell who, loosing interest in the omega now that he wasn't tripping over anything or stuttering out apologies, wandered off to go torment some new kitchen aids. 

Newt, still holding his case in front of him and blushing a bright red, was left alone in the middle of the foyer. He looked around haplessly, not entirely sure what to do with himself now that his companions had abandoned him.

In the manner of most people when left to their own devices in an unfamiliar environment, Newt began to nose around while attempting to look as if he were not, in fact, nosing around. This was a particularly difficult task for him due to the slightly cumbersome nature of the suitcase he was holding; he nearly knocked over a lamp trying to get a good look at the delightful embroidery of a dragon on a nearby pillow.  

He cursed softly and juggled the case around until it was held in one hand, freeing the other so that he could reach out to try and steady the lamp. The juggling motion, however, had caused a flower vase located inconveniently on a coffee table just to the side of the lamp to begin to wobble as well. Newt immediately stuck out a foot in order to stabilize the vase.

It was just as Newt was attempting to right the lamp and the flower vase, and failing spectacularly at both, that the General walked in. Newt paused in his attempts to stare at the other man, taken aback by the appearance of a large alpha in full military dress.

The vase chose that moment to inch closer to the end of the table and, with a dramatic feint to distract Newt's foot, tip over the side with a shrill crash. 

Newt felt all of the blood in his body begin making a speedy journey up to his face. Carefully, he righted the lamp and shuffled over a bit to hide the recently deceased vase behind him.

"Err..." he said, eloquently. 

Graves merely raised and eyebrow at him. "You would be the postulate from Hogwarts, I assume?" 

Newt nodded miserably. "Newt Scamander, sir." He took a deep breath, preparing to offer a long-winded apology, but Graves held up a hand. 

"The vase will come out of your wages for the first month," he said simply. "In the future, I would appreciate it immensely if you could restrain yourself from breaking my furniture." 

Sensing that this was not a prime time to apologize, Newt merely nodded again. 

Graves seemed pleased with this response, however. He looked Newt up and down in an intense way that made the younger man squirm uncomfortably.** His eyes lingered on the young man's jacket.

"What," Graves asked slowly, "are you wearing?"

Newt looked down at his jacket, tugging at it with his free hand. "Oh, this?" Newt offered a small smile in the general vicinity of Grave's shoulder. "The new postulate was wearing it when she came to the Order. Father Albus said that I would need something to wear that wasn't the Order's uniform, so he offered this to me."

Of course Dumbledore was behind the jacket. Graves eyed the jacket distastefully. 

"Do you have anything else to wear?"

Newt shook his head, whipping curls back and forth as he did so. "Ah, no, I'm afraid not. But this will do quite nicely, I assure you!" 

Graves, who was more concerned with his reputation should it get out that he had a young man in his employ frolicking around in a chartreuse women's jacket, ignored the postulate's assurances. "I'll have a new set of clothing ordered for you." 

The 'immediately' went unsaid and, consequently, unnoticed by Newt. "Oh, you don't have to go through all of that trouble! Umm, sir." The young man was now staring earnestly in the general vicinity of Graves' shoulder, the General noticed. "I really am quite happy with it, and I don't need anything fancy."

Graves gave the omega a Look. "I'm aware that you don't need anything fancy, Postulate. I'm also aware that that jacket you're wearing is an abomination."

Newt, who rather liked the jacket, felt that this was very unfair. But the General did not seem like a man to share these thoughts with, so Newt decided to take a different approach. "I can make a new jacket myself, sir. I only need some fabric."

At the very least, Newt wouldn't cost the General the expense of a tailor. His transfiguration skills were relatively good, seeing as how he had spent much of his time in the Order being sent to the Father Abbot's office. Dumbledore was renowned for his transfiguration skills.^  

Graves seemed to find this acceptable. Or at least Newt assumed he did, as the man made no response to Newt's offer, instead changing the subject from Newt's jacket to the children. 

"You will be responsible for keeping the children to their schedule and tutoring them in the fundamental spellwork that they are expected to know." Graves produced a whistle from somewhere in his pocket. Newt eyed it, feeling somewhat apprehensive.

The General blew into the whistle several times. Pickett stirred irritably in Newt's coat pocket, causing Newt's hand to shoot up and hastily cover the bowtruckle before the General noticed. He glanced at the man's face and was relieved to note that Graves hadn't seen the bowtruckle on his person.

This likely had more to do with the five children marching down the stairs than any subtle movement of Newt's. Each was wearing a pristine white uniform and walking with their hands held stiffly to their sides. The General was watching his children carefully, hands clasped behind his back in a classic military pose. Newt attempted to straighten himself out of his slouch, feeling that he should follow Sister Merriweather's advice about not slinking around. Something about the General seemed to demand a sort of non-slouchy approach to life.

The children lined up in front of the two men, oldest to youngest (or so Newt assumed). Graves barked out a sharp, "Attention!" and the children, somehow, managed to look even more put together than they had when trooping down the stairs.

"I suggest you pay careful attention," Graves warned Newt. "Present!"

This was said right before the General whistled a series of quick notes. Newt blinked in surprised and wondered if he was supposed to have memorized that. Then the oldest girl, a coltish young alpha with short brown hair, was stepping forward. Staring ahead of her, the girl called out, "Porpentina, sixteen," before falling back into line.

Another set of notes that Newt realized, with some dread, he would in no way ever be able to memorize, called up the second young woman. Like her sister, this girl was a tall and slender alpha, with curly red-blonde hair. "Queenie, fourteen," she said in a breathy voice. 

More notes, and then a young omega, notable as being considerably taller than the remaining two children as well as the only male, stepped forward. "Credence, ten." And back in line he went.

Next was another omega with her curly brown hair pulled into a tight bun. "Chastity, eight." 

Finally, the youngest stepped forward. She had the scent of an alpha to her, like her older sisters. Of the five, she was the only one that risked a glance at Newt. "Modesty," she chirped, "five."

Newt beamed at her. She responded with a slow smile reminiscent of a cat who had noticed that a mouse was attempting to engage in friendship with it. Newt, who handled dangerous creatures on a regular to semi-regular basis, felt his self-preservation instincts tingle in alarm.  

"There," Graves said. He turned to Newt and thrust a whistle at him, less well-used than the one he himself had been using. "Now, call on each of the children using the whistle. You may begin," he prompted, nudging Newt with the whistle when the omega didn't immediately accept it.

"Err," Newt said. "Umm."

"Call on the children," Graves repeated, attempting to ignore how the omega was now biting on his lip. "Go ahead, call on them." 

Newt reluctantly accepted the whistle. He looked at the General's nose. This went on for several seconds, causing the General's nose to crinkle at the top where his brows were furrowing. "I don't think I'll be any good at this," the postulate finally said.

"Nonsense," Graves barked. "Give it a try." This was said with a slight waving of his hand, intended to inspire confidence in the omega.

Newt was in the process of bringing the whistle to his mouth, resigned to his fate, when he noticed a familiar grey shape out of the corner of his eyes. Suddenly nervous, Newt forced a laugh and all but threw the whistle back at the General in his haste to block the creature's movements with his body. "No need!" Newt said shrilly. "I'm sure I'll have their names memorized and I'll be perfectly capable of using those to call them."

Graves frowned at him. Sure, the omega had struck him as kind of quirky, which made sense given whose desk his recommendation letter came from. But this was taking it a step too far. "What's the matter with you?" he asked. 

"Nothing! I just wanted to... err, to get a better view of the children! It's very hard to see their faces over by the couch, you see." Newt's eyes darted to the side in a suspicious manner. "Very hard."

"Postulate Newt, I'm not a fool-- you're clearly hiding something from me. Very poorly, at that." 

The postulate opened his mouth to deny this admittedly accurate accusation, when he noticed his niffler attempting to scale the General's pant leg. The General's military dress jacket was covered in glittering gold buttons, but what was likely of the most interest to Niffler was the shiny cigar case in the General's jacket pocket. 

"I--" Newt trailed off as the General followed his gaze down to the steady ascending niffler. "Ah."

"Postulate Newt, what in the hell is on my leg?" the General asked in a conversational tone that belied his annoyance. The children, while still in line, had broken from their strict at attention stances to stare unashamedly at the situation unfolding before them.

"That would be a niffler, sir. He, ah, he's rather fond of shiny things, the little magpie." This was said somewhat more fondly than probably did Newt credit, at the moment.

"I see. And what is it doing in my house?" 

"He's one of my creatures, sir. I, umm, I brought him with me. He-he's a part of my menagerie."

"Menagerie." This was a question, but the General's voice was flat and lacked the normal intonations that were indicative of a question mark (such as an inquisitively raised pitch).  

"Oh, it's nothing too extravagant^^," Newt hastened to clarify. "It's just a collection really."

Graves didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he merely sighed and gestured at the niffler, who had by now reached the bottom of his coat and was attempting to reach its paw into his pocket. "Get this creature off of me, Postulate."

Newt stammered out an apology and rushed forward, nearly knocking the broader man over in his haste to retrieve Niffler. The General was treated to a face full of auburn curls and stubbornly refused to breathe in deeply, as his instincts were vocally encouraging him to do. His resolve was helped somewhat by the fact that the large (and heavy) suitcase the omega was carrying had rammed into his stomach at some point during the struggle between man and creature.

He kept his face blank as the young man finally disentangled them and stepped back, squirming Niffler in hand.

"Stop that," Newt scolded the creature. "I told you, you're to be on your best behavior. And look at the trouble you've caused!" He gave the creature a little shake with one hand and Graves watched, eyebrows nearly to his hairline, as several of priceless heirlooms tumbled out of the beast's pouch.

Newt gave a little scoff of disappointment at this new development. "Really!" 

The creature simply stared at the young man mutinously, paws crossed over its chest.  

Graves and his children watched, all in a bit of shock, as the young man placed the case he was holding onto the ground, quickly opened it, and then tossed the pouting niffler inside. 

This, Graves thought, was likely what Dumbledore had meant when he'd written that 'the postulate in question has something of an affinity for beasts, though I assure you it's quite harmless.' 

Harmless his ass. 

Still, Graves wasn't in a position to send the postulate back. Several nanny agencies no longer answered his calls and, on the occasion when he'd gone in person to the residence of one such agency, the lights had mysteriously turned off on his arrival and whispered calls of "Shush, you!" could be heard from outside the door. 

Best to take the awkward omega with his messy hair and case of animals, then. Graves eyed the omega as the young man knelt to close his case.

Even better to keep a careful eye on him, he thought, eyes fixed on certain assets of the young man. A very careful eye, at that. Newt stood, case presumably secure. Clearly, Dumbledore had sent the young man to him in order to get him out of his own hair.

Deciding that he'd handled enough for the day, Graves turned to look at his children. They hastily snapped back to attention, attempting to pretend that they hadn't been watching the train wreck that was, against all reason, going to be their new nanny. Satisfied that his children would behave for the next hour or so, Graves began to head back towards his office.  

"I trust you can handle this, Postulate," he called over his should. The emphasis he placed on trust suggested that trust was not necessarily the word he was thinking of.

"Of course, sir!" Newt turned to smile at the children, holding his case up a bit in an endearing fashion that suggested a certain sort of weakness that might be taken advantage of by a clever child. 

And so Newt was left with his five new charges, all of which were staring at him in open curiosity. 

*-- Which was, it should be noted, saying something. Chartreuse was typically an ugly color; to have it be noticeably offensive spoke of clear efforts on part of the jacket's designer to have his (or her) name go down in designer history as the person who had managed, against all odds, to select a chartreuse color that surpassed its brethren in sheer audacity and hideousness.

**-- It should go without saying at this point that the young postulate was blushing. The reader should be notified, though, that young Newt's blush was rather appealing. Graves, used to some rather dowdy and sturdily built nannies, was a bit taken aback by the fact that his new employee did not look capable of crushing a melon in one hand. He chose to ignore the fact that the omega's eyes were very apparent when he was flushed, and instead focused on the concerning fact that the omega did not, as it were, appear capable of crushing a melon in one hand.***

***-- This had been a much needed skill for the previous nannies.

 ^-- In addition for to his quirky but lovable wardrobe decisions and affinity for offering everyone a lemon drop. Dumbledore was a man of many tastes, one could say.

^^-- Much like his mentor, Newt was in the habit of lying blatantly in the face of every evidence to the contrary.