Chapter Text
The two seventh-year boys walked down the third floor hallway, one smirking and the other nervously tugging on the end of his sweater. It was too early on a Saturday morning for many students to be up and active and their steps echoed loudly.
“You should not look this pleased to be headed to detention,” the more anxious one remarked.
The taller of the two, with ginger hair and a grin still firmly in place, replied, “Is a day with Professor Goldstein considered a punishment?”
“She sent an owl home,” his friend reminded him. “You’re in so much trouble, Scamander.”
“My dad is on foreign assignment in Merlin knows where. The owl went to my uncle.”
Conversation stopped once they reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and knocked on the closed door. The door opened slowly and steadily, a clear act of controlled, non-verbal magic, and the two boys walked into the classroom.
Professor Goldstein stood in front of a bookcase, at the very front of the room. Several rows of student desks separated her from the two Hufflepuff students and Atlas Scamander’s eyes were still drawn to her backside and the swish of her skirt.
“Mr. Scamander,” she began as she slowly turned to face them. “Right on time. Thank you for being punctual.”
The seventeen-year-old gulped, the way that she reprimanded him simply by saying his name made something in his belly twist pleasantly. “Of course, Professor,” he responded eagerly. “What are we doing today?”
She closed the book in her hands and placed it gracefully back on the shelf. “Today, we will be using your N.E.W.T. level talents to review first-year work.”
Atlas held back a wince. He could think of few things that sounded more tedious, but the company would be fantastic.
“And Mr. Abbott,” she directed at his best friend standing at his side, “I trust you will enjoy your day in Hogsmeade?”
“Yes, Professor,” Edward answered meekly.
“See ya later,” Atlas muttered out of the corner of his mouth as his friend slowly backed out of the room.
Professor Goldstein kept him firmly on task for the morning and early afternoon, and she had not allowed a lot of talk that strayed from the first-year subject matter they were reading. The few times he had tried to ask a question that would lead to a conversation about her, she had fixed him with a firm stare - an arched eyebrow and pursed lips - that only served to make him feel even hotter under the collar.
Perhaps he was pushing the line of propriety between teacher and student but Professor Goldstein was a one in a million woman. How was he supposed to be interested in any of the immature girls fluttering around the castle when he could sit in a classroom and listen to Professor Goldstein lecture on Advanced Concealment Charms? She was more magically talented, interesting, and attractive than any girl he had ever met – even if she was a few years older than him. She was a knock-out, a certified babe, from her eyes to her lips to her long legs. Even her American accent was appealing, reminding him of the Muggle movies that he enjoyed watching.
He knew that he was far from being the only teenage boy competing for the title of teacher’s pet in Professor Goldstein’s class, but he was certain that he was the only one that had analyzed her wand technique and duelling stance.
He was serious about his intentions.
Atlas closed his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages when he spotted the figure of his uncle walking towards him. He was an easy man to spot with his familiar case at his side. He hopped to his feet, stuffed the book in his bag, and strode across the grounds to meet his uncle with a happy smile. The man that was so much like his father in stature and appearance and his opposite in personality and temperament.
“Uncle Newt!”
His uncle was not a physically affectionate man, but he was known to give a hug or two between long absences. So Atlas opened his arms wide and his uncle mirrored his body language.
“Atlas, how are you?” He greeted quietly after giving him the obligatory squeeze a hug required.
“Great, Uncle Newt! I’ve already started revising for exams.”
“Great?” The older man repeated in confusion. “Then why did I get an urgent owl from the school requesting my presence for a meeting with the Headmaster and…” He trailed off and retrieved a crumpled piece of parchment from his coat pocket. “With the Headmaster and a Professor Goldstein?”
“It’s a misunderstanding, Uncle Newt.”
“A misunderstanding?”
His uncle repeating his words with a frown made him feel suddenly sheepish. He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck and looked down at his shoes.
“I… maybe… said something inappropriate and Professor Goldstein overheard…”
Newt sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s take a walk.”
Listening to his nephew talk about Hogwarts, it was clear that he valued one teacher’s time and attention above the others. (Professor Slughorn, who had taken an interest in the son of a war hero, would be terribly disappointed to learn that.) He had never met Professor Porpentina E. Goldstein, he had learned Defence Against the Dark Arts under the tutelage of Professor Merrythought, but Atlas spoke of her like she was a newly discovered species of some rare creature. He couldn’t help but think that she sounded an awful lot like a Thunderbird – intuitive, stubborn, terrifyingly beautiful.
“It sounds like you admire her a great deal,” Newt commented quietly. “She fought in the war, didn’t she?”
Atlas nodded. “She did. Duelled Grindelwald himself.”
“Formidable,” he murmured. He took a deep breath before he addressed the issue at hand. “What did you say exactly?”
His nephew, tall and broad-shouldered like Theseus and just as confident in most situations, blushed and looked away. They had reached the shores of the lake so he encouraged Atlas to find a good rock to sit on before they delved any further into a topic that was obviously uncomfortable.
“I was in the library with my mates,” Atlas began. “We started talking about the Minister and I said that it might be nice to have a woman in charge for once. They started to rib me about Professor Goldstein then… you see, well, I rather like it when she’s stern with me.”
Newt’s eyes widened as he watched his nephew blush profusely. This was not an area where he was considered an expert. Creatures? Absolutely, world renowned. Travelling? Yes. Whipping up a potion or a salve to take care of an odd wound? He had done that a time or two in the field. He did not have a lot of experience talking to teenage boys about sexual proclivities. However, since Leta’s passing and Theseus’ near constant acceptance of top secret foreign assignments in a quest for some sense of self-preservation, he had grown quite close with his nephew.
Still, he was not prepared to talk to Atlas about being sweet on his teacher.
“Then,” his nephew continued in an embarrassed murmur, “I said that I would love to clean her kitchen, and that’s what Professor Goldstein overheard.”
Newt furrowed his brow, more confused than ever. Was that a remark disparaging her gender? Her marital status? Her cleanliness?
Seeing the look on his face, Atlas tried to help him figure it out. “Uh… well Uncle Newt it means that I want to kiss her… somewhere very specific.”
Still completely lost in the world of current teenage slang, Newt continued to stare.
“I really like her rear end, Uncle Newt.”
He jumped to his feet like a kneazle whose tail was just stepped on. “Al-alright t-then,” he stammered while he fidgeted anxiously. “I’ve heard all I need to, I think.” Atlas at least had the decency to look properly ashamed and Newt remembered that now would be the proper time to offer some adult wisdom. “Perhaps after I meet Professor Goldstein, we can discuss how you should show respect to your teachers, and women.”
“Yes, Uncle Newt,” the young man answered quietly.
Newt walked forward until he could reach out and squeeze his nephew’s shoulder. Unlike his father and uncle, Atlas did not have a penchant for getting into trouble, even the mischievous, harmless kind. Newt felt confident that this would be a solitary incident, as soon as the boy grew out of his crush. He hesitated slightly, but ultimately leaned down to place a kiss on the top of Atlas’ head, something his father had done for him and Theseus in times of trouble.
“Let’s head back to the castle,” he muttered.
Atlas nodded and stood with a smile. “Uncle Newt?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you have a fag?”
“No,” Newt scoffed, “and even if I did, I wouldn’t give you one.”
Atlas laughed and shrugged. “No sweat, Uncle Newt, just thought I’d give it a shot.”
When they returned to the castle, Atlas headed to the Hufflepuff common room and he went in search of the now famous Professor Goldstein. Whoever inhabited the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, unless they were a Head of House, usually lived in the quarters attached to the classroom itself, so that was his best starting place.
The door to the classroom was open and he walked in slowly so as to not startle anyone inside. The classroom, not so different from his school days, was empty. He didn’t allow himself to get lost in any nostalgia or bitterness as he walked in between a row of desks towards the staircase that led to the private quarters. He took a deep, slow breath before knocking on the door.
He rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited for an answer. He was about to raise his hand to knock again, when the door opened with a creak.
Suddenly, a tall brunette with a bright smile and beautiful brown eyes stood in front of him and he found his mouth quite dry and incapable of speech.
Her smile seemed to widen further and the corners of her eyes crinkled in amusement as she appraised him. “You must be Mr. Scamander? I can see the resemblance.”
He had never heard his surname spoken like that before and it made his knees a little wobbly.
Bloody hell, his nephew had impeccable taste.