Chapter Text
"We need to talk about Newton Scamander, Father Albus."
Dumbledore, sitting behind his desk and debating the merits of a lemon drop over a chocolate frog, let out a sigh. He looked up at Sister Galatea Merriweather and smiled. "I'm not sure what there is to talk about, Sister," he said airily.* "Lemon drop?"
"No." Merriweather glared at him. "Lies are unbecoming of those who have pledged their life to the Order," she muttered under her breath, in such a way as to have plausible deniability of saying something more appropriate, such as "Lovely bowl, that; plenty of lemon drops in there."
Dumbledore twinkled at her.
Merriweather forged on. "Surely even you can admit that Postulate Newton is a problem."
"In so much as a young omega his age can be," Dumbledore said, admitting nothing.
"Father, I really must insist that you take this seriously!" Merriweather looked close to tossing her hands in the air.
Before Dumbledore could provide another sage, incredibly unhelpful comment about the situation with Newt, the door to his office was once more flung open. Such was the sad life of the Father Abbot, Dumbledore mused, that he couldn't indulge his sweet tooth without his flock bursting in on him, demanding that he address the postulate with the unfortunate hobby of collecting dangerous creatures. He was certain Newt hadn't had the time to find another creature since that charming little lizard of his had gotten loose; there really wasn't an immediate reason for everyone to bother him during sweets time.
"Father," two voices shouted at once. The speakers glared at each other, each offended by the other's audacity to interrupt.
"Father," the first, one Brother Slughorn, said imperiously, "I must talk with you about Newton Scamander."
"Ha," Dumbledore heard Merriweather say under her breath. When he glanced her way, the heavyset omega was staring in an interested manner at a spot on his office ceiling.
"Nonsense," Brother Binns said in his monotone voice. "I'm sure there's nothing to be said against the poor boy, not that you'd know that listening to you, Brother Horace."
Slughorn, in the habit of many an apostle who felt incredibly well-educated, pretended not to hear this. "See here, Father," he said, "Postulate Newton is a menace! That da-- ahh, that is to say, that dratted niffler of his stole my best pocket watch!"
"I'm sorry," Binns cut in, "but I was under the impression that upon joining the Order of Hogwarts, one was required to give up all of one's worldly possessions so as to free oneself of the burden of the physical world and become that much closer to the purity of spirit that is--"
Dumbledore, sensing that Binns was about to start lecturing on the virtues of the Order and the evils of avarice, hastily cut in. There were some things that tested even his patience, and Brother Binns on a filibuster was one. "Yes, Brother Binns is quite right. Worldly goods and all that."
Binns paused mid-speech, one finger raised in the manner he took on when lecturing new postulates. He started to puff himself up at Dumbledore's acknowledgement of his spiritual correctness before he realized that Dumbledore now had control of the conversation.
"Might I ask what all of you would like for me to do about Postulate Newt?" Dumbledore asked, looking placidly at the angry faces around him.
"What do you do about a problem like Newt?" Merriweather scoffed under her breath. Then, louder: "He's not cut out for life in Hogwarts, Father."
"I would think not!" Slughorn exclaimed. "He spends half of his time daydreaming or catching wild beasts that no one in their right mind would so much as touch!"
"Then he brings them to the morning worship with him," Merriweather added. "And to his chores and classes. He'll never learn proper spellwork if he's always chasing after some horrid beast."
"I rather like him," Binns interjected. "He's a sweet boy, Father. Pure of heart, patient--"
"He's the only postulate that sits through your class on the right and virtuous use of magic without falling asleep," Merriweather said dryly.
Binns turned red. "That is not in any way related to our current discussion, Sister!"
"I imagine it's not," Dumbledore said, before Merriweather could respond. "I understand your concerns, Brother Horace and Sister Galatea. However, I do find myself in agreement with Brother Cuthbert. Postulate Newt is a good spirit; everything he does is with the best of intentions and entirely selfless."
"Good spirit or not, Father, Newt is not meant for life at Hogwarts." Merriweather said softly but firmly. She met Dumbledore's gaze. "I don't believe it will do him any good to be here."
Ah, and here was the heart of the problem.
Dumbledore had long since realized that Newt was not the sort of person that did well on a rigid schedule under the strict supervision of those around him. Newt's spirit, while pure, was a bit too adventurous to flourish in an environment like Hogwarts. Still, Newt was young yet; Dumbledore was well aware, perhaps better than any of the assembled in the room, that a young person rarely knew his or her own mind well enough to make a decision as weighty as joining the Order. Newt's behavior and (admittedly unintentional) rebelliousness was not necessarily an innate feature of the omega's personality.
Which brought them back to the discussion at hand: what to do about a problem like Newt.
"I am aware, Sister Merriweather," Dumbledore said, serious for the first time during the conversation. "However, I do not find removing Newt from Hogwarts to be the best decision at the moment."
Merriweather shook her head, clearly frustrated. "I suppose you know best, Father," she said in a voice that suggested that she supposed no such thing.
Beside her, Slughorn harrumphed in a way that managed, rather impressively in Dumbledore's opinion, to be both incredibly pompous and condescending. Clearly, neither of the apostles had much faith in Dumbledore's decision making abilities; it might have had something to do with how he simply beamed and remained seated while Newt's lizard reigned havoc upon the church, but Dumbledore felt that holding that against him spoke of a sort of poor disposition that was very unbecoming in senior apostles.
Regardless, the decision was ultimately his, and the other omegas in his office were likely in need of a reminder of this fact.
"I do." Dumbledore allowed his voice to become sharp. "Now, if the three of you would excuse me-- I'm afraid that I've lost track of time. I have a meeting with the postulate in question, and I believe he's been left waiting, quite rudely on my part."
Slughorn and Merriweather moved in a slightly rebellious manner towards the door, still unwilling to concede to any decision that placed Newt with them for the rest of their natural lives. Binns, happy to know that his favorite student would continue to stay awake and perky during his 6AM lecture, puttered out of the office in a much happier manner than his colleagues.
Shortly thereafter, a mass of auburn curls poked into Dumbledore's doorway, their owner hidden by the oak door frame.
"Postulate Newt," Dumbledore said, cheerful once again, "come in my boy, come in!"
Newt shuffled in. HIs manner was similar to that of many postulates before him who had been called into the Father Abbot's office to discuss the dangers of poor decision-making and all around idiocy**.
"S-sir," the young man said once he'd arrived in front of Dumbledore's desk. "I didn't mean-- I suppose I should have known not to-- That is to say, Kipper didn't intend to burn a hole through the statue of Salazar, it's just that the snake around Salazar's feet was awfully big, probably as big as the ones that would have eaten Kipper in the wild--"
"Postulate Newt." Years of being the Father Abbot had given Dumbledore an impeccable sense for when to interrupt someone. "I didn't call you in here to discuss your Kipper."
Newt's eyes darted quickly up to Dumbledore's face before they returned, just as quickly, to the study of his robe hem. He appeared to process this new information; now that he knew Kipper wasn't going to be discussed (at least at the moment) he was left at somewhat of a loss of what he could have done to warrant a visit to the Father Abbot.
"Th-then why did you ask that I see you, Father?" Newt finally asked.
"My boy, I think we need to talk about you staying at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, gently. He gestured to a small bowl that was spilling over with little yellow circles. "Would you care for a lemon drop before we begin?"
Dumbledore was a firm believer in the magical properties of lemon drops, not that anyone bothered to take the damned things when he offered them one.
Newt, not sure if he should first panic at the foreboding mention of him staying on at Hogwarts or politely decline Father Albus' offer of a sweet, settled on a happy medium between the two: becoming petrified in front of the Father's desk. There really wasn't a precedent for this kind of situation, as Newt was in the process of finding out.
Newt's bowtruckle, however, had no such inner turmoil; Pickett, prodigiously fond of sweets and having heard Dumbledore's offer of some, popped out from his hiding place underneath Newt's hat and prepared to launch himself at the bowl of lemon drops a few feet in front of him.
"Pickett!" Newt cried and threw his hands out to catch his little friend.
A short scuffle followed, in which Newt nearly upended several pieces of furniture while appearing to juggle Pickett. It ended with Newt clutching the bowtruckle in both hands and a lot of angry chittering on part of Pickett.
Newt brought Pickett up to his face and said sternly, "We've discussed this! You're not to go flinging yourself around whenever something sweet pops up! It's very unbecoming of a bowtruckle your age, Pickett. This is why the others tease you so often!"
Newt gradually came to the realization that he had an amused audience watching him make a spectacle of himself. An amused audience, but an audience consisting of his immediate supervisor nonetheless. He felt his face flush.
"Ah, I'm s-so terribly s-sorry about that, Fa-father," Newt stammered as he held Pickett protectively against his chest. "He's rather f-fond of s-sweets, you see."
"It's fine, my boy," Dumbledore said. He was twinkling again.^
Newt, feeling that it was most definitely not fine, looked dejectedly at the bowl of lemon drops.
"Sit down, Postulate Newt," Dumbledore said gently. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Your little friend can have a lemon drop if he'd like one."
Pickett once again dove towards the bowl, though with greater success this go around. Newt watched helplessly as his bowtruckle began picking up and discarding lemon drops, presumably looking for a suitable candidate.
"I wanted to talk to you about an opportunity outside of Hogwarts that I hope you might take."
Hope was probably not the correct word; Newt was going to take the opportunity regardless of his own feelings on the matter. Otherwise, Dumbledore might have a homicide on his hands, and it would be a shame to lose so qualified a defense professor as Galatea to the legal authorities.
Newt, apparently aware that Dumbledore's use of hope had more in common, semantically, to 'demand' than 'wish,' nodded glumly as he sat hunched over and miserable in his chair.
"Cheer up, lad!" Dumbledore said, pulling out a letter from some hidden drawer in his desk. "You look as if I'm sentencing you to an extended stay at Azkaban."
Despite feeling exactly like he was being sentenced to Azkaban, Newt gave another nod and attempted to look happier. He was unsuccessful.
Dumbledore sensed that Newt was legitimately upset about the conversation and, with a sigh, leaned forward to look at the young man in front of him. "Newt, I really do want what's best for you. This is an opportunity for you to get a look at life outside of Hogwarts--"
"But Hogwarts is my home!" Newt cried. He met Dumbledore's gaze, eyes teary and turning red around the edges. "I came here because I wanted to learn magic and so that- so that-"
"So that your parents didn't marry you off?" Dumbledore asked him, gently. Newt jerked his head sharply in agreement.
There would be the main cause of the panic, Dumbledore noted to himself. Perhaps a different approach would produce better results.
"My boy, no one is sending you away permanently. I simply received a request for an omega to serve as a nanny for General Percival Graves-- you've heard of him? No? Ah, General Graves is a well-known war hero. He played quite a big part in the initial suppression of Grindelwald, you'll remember."
Newt didn't, but that was unimportant in the long run. Dumbledore had advised Graves and several others during the war and, while Graves and his men had been unsuccessful in capturing Grindelwald, Dumbledore had grown to respect the alpha, despite his gruff manner. He was a good spirit, though it would do him wonders if he smiled more and accepted Dumbledore's offer of lemon drops.
"His wife died during the war, and he's been in and out of governesses and tutors since. The general has five sweet children^^ who I am quite sure you'll do well with."
Despite his difficulty with adults, Newt seemed to do rather well with children. He was more at ease with them and had the rare talent of answering their questions, no matter how inane or unlikely, with a great deal of thought and care. Many of the locals would leave their broods with Newt when coming to the Order to discuss something with Dumbledore or one of the apostles, and the children in the area would flock to Newt as soon as they saw him, much in the manner of baby ducklings spotting their mother.
Odds were high that Newt would not leave the Graves residence screaming and crying, Dumbledore was relatively certain on that account.
"How long will I be there, Father?" Newt asked, still despondent. In contrast, Pickett was gnawing away happily at a large lemon drop, completely oblivious to his caretaker's distress or his own soon-to-be relocation.
"Until February, I should think."
"Of course, Father." Newt gathered Pickett from the bowl. "If that's all, Father, might I go and pack?"
Dumbledore nodded and Newt trudged out of the door, looking much the same as he had when he'd first walked in.
It was for the best, Dumbledore told himself, despite Newt's feelings on the matter. This would give Newt six months to experience life outside of the Order. Hopefully, this would also allow Newt to come to terms with what he wanted in his life, as well as how far he was willing to go in order to create a happy life for himself.
If Newt chose to leave the Order, he ran the risk of being sent back to his parents. The Order, despite being restricting, was one of the only things standing between Newt and an unhappy arranged marriage. It was also one of the only places that an omega could receive a full, higher level education on magical use. So, while Dumbledore felt that Newt would be happier outside of the Order, he also realized that the young man would need to fight his way out from under the Scamander family thumb in order to do so.
And that, he thought sadly, would be the most difficult thing for young Newt to do.
*-- It should be noted that this was a blatant lie. Newt had, just yesterday, brought in a lizard capable of spitting acid. He'd then proceeded to lose the lizard in the middle of mass. You would have had to have lived under a very well-sheltered, acid-proof rock not to have something to talk about in relation to Newt at the moment.
**-- That is to say Newt came in very reluctantly and slowly, and would easily have been mistaken for man walking to his death.
^-- Father Abbot Albus Dumbledore had a tendency to twinkle when he was amused. Some at Hogwarts believed that Father Albus twinkled when he was attempting to be sage and cryptic. While they weren't wrong, as Dumbledore did tend to twinkle rather fiercely when intentionally confounding his subordinates, they were mistaken in the cause for Dumbledore's twinkling; few things amused Dumbledore more than watching people become frustrated at his senile old man act.
^^-- This was another blatant lie. The last omega who had worked as the children's governess had run out of the house screaming because said children had encouraged some rats to set up a colony in her wardrobe.