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Leaning against the wall behind the tapestry, Harry took out the map and started looking over it. Firstly to make sure there were no teachers around who would catch him skivving off class, secondly to get ideas about what to do or where to go. The weather was still nice outside, maybe he could explore the grounds a little? He knew there was no Whomping Willow yet but what else would be different? The school itself was already proving to be different in a lot of ways, mostly in the fact that it was bigger to accommodate more students. It might take him a day or two to get used to it.
Harry scanned over the grounds, which were mostly empty of people except the greenhouses where Herbology was taking place, but he suddenly spotted a lone name in a surprising place.
Newton Scamander.
The name sparked recognition in Harry, and it took him a moment to remember why. When he remembered that the man went by Newt rather than Newton, it clicked into place. Not only was Newt Scamander the author of the staple Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, he’d also been mentioned in that awful book about Dumbledore that Rita Skeeter had published. Newt had been involved in the first capture of Grindelwald, and was rumored to have had a hand in his eventual defeat as well. Little was known about it by the general public and the man had refused to make any comments when Rita approached him for information.
On the one hand, in Harry’s time the man seemed to be loyal to Dumbledore beyond his death, but that could be wrong. Perhaps it was grief that made Newt Scamander so adamant to respect Dumbledore’s memory and refuse to betray his trust. On the other hand, whether or not that was true, he might prove to be very helpful if Harry was now to go after Grindelwald himself.
He was alone right now at the stables, and when would Harry ever get the chance to ‘bump into’ him again? Might as well go meet him.
Keeping an eye out for teachers on the map, Harry made his way out of the castle and down towards the stables. It was a little risky walking through the open grounds like this, where someone might see him from a window, but he just hoped they wouldn’t recognize him from so far away.
As Harry approached he heard a soft gentle voice speaking, and understood that the gentle tone was probably necessary when dealing with animals, especially ones as difficult as hippogriffs.
“Just a bit more, Nightwing... Easy does it… Good boy…”
Harry entered the stables very carefully, not wanting to offend any hippogriffs that might be in there, but it was empty save one. Harry noticed it was the same black stallion that had been causing trouble while pulling carriages last week. Harry approached slowly, not blinking too much, and bowed low once he was near enough to the creature. Like before, the hippogriff bowed its head in return.
The movement seemed to throw Newt off, who was sitting on a stool in the stall with Nightwing’s left hoof propped up in his lap. He was tending to it with some kind of salve with a cloth, wand in his mouth while he worked. He looked up at Harry, startled to see someone there, and quickly took the wand out of his mouth to speak.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “Nightwing is particularly testy- bad case of greasy heel -nearly toppled the carriage he was pulling the other night.”
“I know, I was there,” said Harry. “Some of the younger students were pestering him, that’s all. I told them off.”
A spark of recognition flashed in Newt’s eyes, and Harry saw the man take him in fully. No doubt he noticed the house colors Harry was wearing; it was probably surprising to see a Slytherin care about being kind to a creature like this.
“Were you the young man who calmed him down, then?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, coming closer. Nightwing seemed not to mind his presence much, and Harry gently stroked his feathers, thinking of Buckbeak. “I have a soft spot for hippogriffs. What did you say he had?”
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” Newt asked, eyebrows creasing a little.
“Free period,” Harry lied. Newt seemed to accept his answer, going back to treating the hippogriff's leg.
“Greasy hoof- scratches. Also known as mud fever, or dew poisoning,” Newt answered. “A skin lesion caused by bacteria. It’s been a particularly damp season. It's not the worst case I’ve ever seen, but enough to make him more irritable. hippogriffs are proud and not usually suited to pulling carriages, so their patience when doing so is already quite thin.”
Harry nodded, though he didn’t know anything about hippogriff care. Newt obviously knew what he was doing, probably better than anyone else in the world.
“They’re smart, too,” said Harry. “And they really don’t like it when bratty kids are mean to them.” He stroked Nightwing’s beak, slow and gentle. “One time, there was this kid I knew, big arsehole. He marched up to one and insulted him right in his face. Buckbeak scratched him for that and the kid was such a baby about it. Whinged for months.”
“He’s very lucky it wasn’t worse,” Newt said. He used his wand to fasten the dressings around Nightwing’s leg and set his hoof back down on the ground before standing up. “Depending on how much of a fuss he or his parents make, a hippogriff could be put down for that. For less, really.” There was something sad, even a little bitter in Newt’s tone.
“Oh, he tried,” said Harry with a huff. “But I may or may not have illegally helped Buckbeak escape. You didn’t hear it from me, though.” He smiled at the man, mischief in his eyes.
Newt smiled back conspiratorially, peering at Harry through his fringe. “I may or may not have illegally rescued creatures from poor conditions all over the world. Rules are important, but sometimes the right thing to do is to break them. If someone or something is suffering, I think that’s one of those times.”
“I’m glad to see an adult think like that,” said Harry, his tone going a bit softer now. “The whole thing with Grindelwald makes me question adults a lot more. I don’t like what I see. They say Dumbledore is the only one powerful to face him, so… why hasn’t he?”
Newt seemed very startled, even taken aback by the sudden change of topic. He looked at Harry again, clearly trying to decide what to say. He was a bit guarded now as well. “I’m afraid… You’d have to ask Professor Dumbledore that yourself. I really couldn’t say…”
“No?” said Harry, looking back at Newt. “I thought… well, I’d heard that you were there at the beginning. You were the first to capture him, weren’t you? I thought maybe you’d know more…” Harry bit his lip, half trying to figure out what he wanted to say and how much to say. He didn’t want to scare off Newt, but he needed information. “If Grindelwald is so awful for our world, then why isn’t the leader of the light going after him? Why let so many people die?”
Newt let out a heavy sigh, averting his gaze. If Harry had to guess, he’d say that the man had been thinking the same things. Eventually he spoke again. “I happened to be there but only by chance. I’ve seen the things Grindelwald is doing and I agree, they’re terrible. Innocent people-” he cut himself off. “I’m sorry but I really don’t have any answers for you. If you’ll excuse me…” He made as if to leave, keeping his head ducked down.
“Wait, I’m sorry,” said Harry, holding out a hand. Nightwing reared back slightly, blocking Newt off from his escape. The man seemed to huff at the creature, who stared resolutely back at him. “I didn’t mean to bother you, sir. I’m sorry. I just… He killed my parents.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “The Dark Lord killed my parents, so… it’s just hard to see inaction.”
Newt met his gaze again, pity in his eyes. Harry was used to people showing him pity when they heard about his parents but this time… There was something else there. Something told Harry that Grindelwald had killed people Newt loved as well. He was showing something more than pity- it was empathy.
“What’s your name?” Newt asked.
“Harry Evans.”
“Newt Scamander,” Newt said. He put a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Harry I… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… I know there’s nothing I can do or say to make your pain go away. I know you want him to be stopped- everyone does. If I knew why Professor Dumbledore was holding back I would- I would tell him to stop it myself and to go out there and do something.” There was a sudden passion in his tone, and Harry now knew for certain now that Newt had wondered the same things before. “I don’t know why he does anything that he does. No one ever really knows. I’m sure there’s some reason-” he sounded like he was reassuring himself as much as Harry, now. “But whatever it is I really don’t know. My advice is to talk to the man yourself. He’ll listen, he always does. I can’t promise he’ll give you a satisfactory answer, but… It’s worth a try.”
Harry nodded, a lump in his throat. He knew Dumbledore’s door was open, but he had too much personal experience of the old man not listening to him. There were always words of reassurement, sidestepping the issue, but never true listening to what Harry needed. After all, he sent Harry back to an abusive home over and over again, year after year.
He didn’t trust Albus Dumbledore.
It was such an odd thought. Harry hadn’t entertained it before, but now that it rose to the surface of his mind, he realized it was true. He didn’t trust Dumbledore to put Harry’s needs into consideration. Not really. It was always an illusion of helping him, of being concerned for his welfare. Harry didn’t think Dumbledore was malicious at all. Not really. But for all of the praise and accolades, the man was not all seeing, all knowing. He sprouted ‘Greater Good™’ and all that shit, but he never saw the big picture.
Emotion clogged Harry’s throat. He couldn’t give Newt a proper answer. His eyes glistened a bit with the odd feeling of loss that wasn’t over his parents. He nodded once more and mumbled, “Thanks, sir.”
Newt could probably tell that Harry was unhappy with his answer, and once again showed boundless sympathy. The hand on his shoulder gave a warm squeeze. “Harry… If there’s anything I can do for you… Even if you just want to talk, you can send me an owl. I know you’re unsatisfied with not having an answer right now; I really wish I could give you one. Maybe I’ll write Professor Dumbledore myself. I won’t mention you, but maybe I can get a satisfactory answer out of him. I promise if I do, I’ll tell you, alright? For your own peace of mind.”
“Thank you,” said Harry softly. “I appreciate--”
“Evans!”
Harry blinked, turning to see a furious Tom Riddle marching through the stable doors. The other boy’s hair was a bit skewed and he appeared somewhat ruffled. Harry had to bite back a smirk.
“Can I help you, Riddle?”
“You skipped class,” said Tom, his voice low and dangerous. “The first Divination class of the year and you skive off.”
“Oh…” Harry winced at the scrutinizing look that Newt was now giving him. “Oh, uh… oops?”
“Oops?” hissed Tom. “That’s all you have to say? That’s all?”
“It’s just Divination,” said Harry with a shrug. “And besides, it's not OWL year, anyway. Lighten up, Riddle. You’re too uptight about the first day of class. You remind me too much of my muggleborn friend. She was a stickler for all that.”
Tom turned a shade of red mixed with puce. His chest heaved. “Detention. For skipping class.”
Harry shrugged. He looked back at Newt and gave him a wave. “I guess I better get to my next class before Riddle here busts a vein. Thank you again.”
“Thank me by not skipping any more classes, Mr. Evans,” Newt said, arms crossed, but with a small smile. His tone was lighthearted, but Harry knew he still meant it. He had an urge to never disappoint this man, like he was some kind of father figure- Nope, don’t linger on THAT.
He strode past Tom and gave the other boy a double eyebrow lift, smirking at him. He relished in the furious glare he received in return.
Winding up Tom Riddle was far too much fun.