Author's Note: Written for QLFC (Season 4, Round 2). Position: Keeper for the Falmouth Falcons
Word Count: 2665
Write about a student's relationship with their professor for Care of Magical Creatures
Alistair Quimby Dingwall Madigan was not what Newton Scamander had expected from a professor teaching Care of Magical Creatures.
Though his own upbringing, British but altogether improper, had taught him that not all members of the British population were the same, he had found that only few stood out. At the ripe age of thirteen, this bitter thought had already nested inside Newton's mind and coloured him in a misanthropic light, so when Professor Madigan appeared in a yellow, floral paisley waistcoat and a red handlebar moustache, Newton immediately perked up.
Of course, Newton should have known from the moment he'd stepped inside the circular Care of Magical Creatures classroom that this professor would be different; four trees─two gnarled, two straight─grew inside the room, towering over the students and blocking the ceiling from sight. Like four abstract statues of Atlas, holding up the sky, they were spaced apart equally and without a single note of explanation.
At the far end of the room stood a row of glass containers with mysterious creatures Newton had never seen before. One was snoozing happily on the bottom of the container while another was playfully swimming in the form of a horizontal eight.
"A Jack-o'-lantern!" someone barked loudly in his ear, and Newton jumped around.
The man who had mysteriously materialised behind him turned his back to Newton in a quick, measured motion, calling to the class, "Can anyone tell me why it's forming the symbol for eternity?"
Most of the students were still scurrying towards their seats; a few were already brushing through their books frantically, and even fewer had raised a hand.
"Yes, you." The professor pointed towards one of the girls, and Newton saw his chance to sneak towards his seat quietly, almost stumbling over a wide-reaching tree root on his way.
Behind him, the girl's lips quivered slightly as she said, "Gretchen Scavenius, Professor," before continuing, "Because it's immortal?"
"No," came the flat answer. The professor pointed at someone else.
"Because it's a universal symbol that all creatures are born with the knowledge of, Sir?" Reginald Pampers, a Ravenclaw, said.
"No." The professor grimaced, and a mix of incredulity and scorn scrunched up his features before he asked, "What was your name?"
"Reginald Pampers, Sir."
"Of course it is. Mr. Pampers, it's Professor or Professor Madigan, since that is my profession and I am not a part of the British nobility, and where did you learn such a ridiculous thing?"
It wasn't until then that Newton realised the heavy London accent, running shrilly into a high pitch.
"Carl Jung, S-Professor," Reginald said, bristling slightly and straightening in his seat.
"Merlin."
Newton thought Professor Madigan looked rather young for a professor; Hogwarts was an esteemed wizarding school, and Newton wondered if it was even possible to build the credentials to teach in such a place in such short time.
"I've heard he bribed his way to the position," Margaret Cullum whispered to Newton, keeping her eyes trained on the professor.
"Really?"
"Uh huh," she answered, "Apparently, he was thrown out of China for─"
"Mister...?"
Professor Madigan, Newton realised to his great surprise and anxiety, was staring right at him.
"Scamander, Professor." Trying his hardest to come across loud and clear, Newton realised he might have been shouting.
"Why," asked Professor Madigan, the rings on his fingers reflecting the sun shining through the windows, "is this Jack-o'-lantern, or will-o'-the-wisp, swimming in eights?"
Newton, not knowing the right answer and reminded of Sisyphus─existential fatigue from eternally performing the same, laborious task─decided to go for the insolent option. Shrugging his shoulders, he said sarcastically, "Because it's eternally bored?"
Scattered snickers accentuated the silence that ensued as, at the front of the class, Professor Madigan smiled shrewdly and crossed his arms. Only when Newton was starting to fear the unknown consequences, did the professor speak: "Ten points to Hufflepuff."
Heads turned. Newton tried to mask his bewilderment.
"As you can see," Professor Madigan continued the class without ceremony after a proper, yet vague introduction, "we're dealing with the elements today, and to which ones each beast belongs."
"Where's the fire?" someone complained.
"And the wind?" another bellowed.
As a strong wind rose within the classroom, Newton, already on his second page of notes, reached out for the nearest heavy thing and placed it on his first piece of parchment. Only when he heard an indignant "Hey!" coming from Peggy, did he look up to discover he had accidentally grabbed her thick-glassed spectacles. Blushing, he returned them, tucking the first piece of parchment under the second one instead.
"If you want wind," Professor Madigan was roaring at the front, "you'll have wind, but for today, we'll stick to earth and water."
Begrudging moans and mumbles spread throughout the classroom. One of the students, quite close to Newton, could be heard saying, "That's just because you used to be a Slytherin."
"What was that?" The professor cupped a hand behind his ear, indicating the student with his wand. The boy, a Ravenclaw, straightened in his seat, looking around as if for support. "Erh, well, I said that's just because you used to be a Slytherin and water is your element."
"Wrong. Can anyone tell me why we're doing water and earth first?"
No one answered.
"Alright, let me explain."
.ooo.
Knock, knock, knock.
A muffled "Come in!" raised Newton's hopes, and he opened the door to the professor's office.
Inside was chaos. Newton had visited other professors' offices, but nothing quite compared to the cacophony of colours and banquet of trinkets belonging to Professor Madigan. Some kind of lavish, burgundy textile was spread across a couple of dark-polished chairs─Hanoverian, by the looks of their feet, Newton thought excitedly, reminded of his father's trade with antiques─leaving him with nowhere to sit down. Books and mugs formed strange shapes on both desks and shelves; one of the figures featured on the windowsill. Smooth jazz was heard from a mint-green and wooden gramophone, and a scent of Jasmine and charcoal permeated the air.
Newton, trying to whistle at the sight of the messy office, failed miserably.
The professor himself stood bent forward, hastily trying to hide something, and the sound of metal scraping against flagstone could be heard. Professor Madigan turned around, ridding himself of a pair of apple-green oven mittens with pears dancing merrily on the quilted surface.
"Ah, Mister─"
Suddenly remembering that he was also sporting a maroon apron, Professor Madigan frantically untied the knot and discarded it on top of a square box and a magazine.
"What's this?" Newton asked, intrigued, bending down to pick up the magazine before the professor could answer.
As Newton pulled out an edition of the periodical, named Spellbound, Professor Madigan rose quickly to his feet and snapped it from his hands. "Nothing, absolutely nothing for you to worry about."
"But that article has your name on it!" Newton protested. "Do you─do you write cooking articles?"
"Shhh!" Professor Madigan hissed, looking around as if the walls had ears. "That's─our little secret, alright?"
Newton nodded.
"Now, why are you here, Mister─"
"Scamander, Professor. I wanted to talk to you about something… personal."
"Oh, no, nonononono. Is this because I thought your response to my question was the right kind of cheeky? Look, Scamander," Madigan put his arm around Newton, his cloak sleeve crawling up just enough to reveal a tattoo of an anchor and knocking over Newton's hat, "you're going to keep my secret, and I appreciate that, but we're not friends, so─"
Behind the professor, something crashed, and he turned around. Newton, too, peered curiously over his shoulder. On a tin tray on the windowsill, next to a turned-over pitcher of milk, sat a small, furry animal, biting into a single, golden coin.
"Peabody!" The professor stalked over towards the animal, grabbing it by its neck fat, and deposited it in a small, rocky cave while Newton looked on in amazement.
"What's that?"
Straightening, Madigan let out a deep sigh without looking at the young boy. "Is that all you can ask, Mister Scamander?"
"Why's he called Peabody?"
Turning around with an air of measured enthusiasm, Madigan stepped towards him. "Because he's a Niffler. Did you know that to 'nifle' means peeing in Danish? Peabody was obviously the right name for him," Madigan said, looking at the pet fondly.
Newton had to laugh.
Suddenly noticing a flying model ship inside a glass bottle, Newton realised he'd been carrying a question on his lips since class. "Is it true you were thrown out of China?"
A slow smirk appeared on Madigan's lips. "Sit down, buddy."
.ooo.
"Why do you never clean?" Newton shook his hand violently, trying to rid himself of a cobweb. Underneath his hand, a spider swung madly from its gossamer thread and landed on the floor. Newton raised his foot in preparation for the kill, but he was interrupted by an angry Madigan. "No! Leave them alone!"
"Why?"
Madigan, his mouth full of noodles, said something incomprehensible.
"Professor…"
"Because, I said," Madigan began, "they're believed to bring good luck."
"Psh." Newton snorted. "In what world?"
"In the East-Asian world," Madigan replied nonsensically.
Newton, though intrigued, shook his head, saying, "Anyway, that's not why I'm here."
"Then why are you here, buddy? You always seem to stop by when you want to hear about my travels."
Newton knew he was right. After three years in Madigan's class, they mainly discussed two things: magical creatures and his time as a sailor.
"This is about my essay?"
"Ah," said Madigan, mouth finally empty and drying his hands on a homemade dishcloth with the words 'From Grandma with love' written on it, "I thought you might want to have a chat about that."
"She nice?" Newton asked in mimicry of Madigan's dialect, pointing at the gift and momentarily ignoring the issue at hand.
"Who?" Madigan looked at the cloth. "My gran? Nah." He waved a hand. "They're the kind of people who use the word 'blood orange' to explain a colour."
Newton, confused, looked at him until they made eye contact, which made Madigan cough awkwardly.
"So, anyway. Coffee?"
"Coffee?" Newton repeated in a voice of mild outrage.
"That was what I said, buddy."
"And stop calling me 'buddy'. You're from England!"
Alistair Madigan stared him down with a stony look on his face. "You rely too much on nationalistic tendencies, Newton. Must be your mum and those darn pedigree Hippogriffs. America would suit you well."
"Do I just─" Newton started as he was handed the mug of coffee, "drink it like this?"
He held the brim of the mug to his lips to indicate that he was about to take a sip.
"Merlin, no!" Madigan said, panicking and grabbing the mug. He then placed it on the desk beside him and went to rummage through a messy pyramid of unnamed things standing on a tray by the window.
Returning to Newton, he started pouring milk into the mug while pushing a sugar canister depicting a children's room at Newton's chest. "It's undrinkable when it's black. Why would you even suggest that?"
"I don't know. You're the one distracting me with this─ungodly creation," the sixteen-year-old huffed indignantly, placing the mug back on the desk. "What about my essay?"
"Ah, yes. You're too much of a Hufflepuff, Newt."
Newton recoiled.
"Too much hard work, not enough play. I want to see bravery, creativity, perhaps a little ambition in this."
"You're such a Slytherin, Professor."
"If I hadn't known that to be the best house, I would have thought you were insulting me." Professor Madigan sat on the desk, one foot touching the ground, the other hanging from the side, a shit-eating grin spread wide across his face. He then nodded towards a shelf of rolled-up parchment in the corner of the room. "Get that scroll with the yellow ribbon for me, will you, buddy?"
Newton, mildly mollified, stepped towards the shelf, pushing up on his toes. Even stretching his fingers, however, he couldn't reach, and he turned despondently towards the professor.
Madigan sighed and rolled his eyes. "Accio scroll."
While Newton made his way back, the man had already folded out the essay and was now sitting, twirling his ginger moustache.
"Well, first off, what is this?"
Madigan held out the scroll to Newton, who blanched.
"I─I was just trying to illustrate─"
"Nah, those doodles are great," Madigan said encouragingly, "but how did you smooth out the parchment. Or, more importantly, why?"
"Well, I invented a spell. So I could draw."
"Huh. Alright, then. I guess we finally straightened you out, then, didn't we?"
Newton stared while his professor laughed at his own pun. Madigan was bringing out his comb and gliding it through his already perfect coiffure. It was a gesture Newton had learned to take for either boredom or─well, mostly boredom. He was also mumbling to himself, or to the parchment; you never knew with Alistair Madigan. Newton had often witnessed him screaming at doors, sweet-talking his model ships, or singing to his cacti.
Inanimate objects were the madman's most beloved audience.
"Well," he finally said, standing up and pulling a cable-knit sweater over his head, "It's not bad."
"Then why did you give me an A?"
"Because," Madigan said in a steely voice, "it was average.
.ooo.
"Come on, buddy."
Newton hadn't been sure what to expect when Professor Madigan had told him to swing by over summer, but a new cross-species wasn't it.
"What are those?"
"Ah, yes, Newt as we know him best. What's this? What's this?" Madigan said in a sing-song voice.
"Quiet down," Newton grunted.
"You be careful now, my young apprentice. They may allow me back to teach for another year."
Newton, rolling his eyes, crouched down.
"Careful!" said Madigan, pulling him back, "Don't get too close."
"I've never heard of anything like this before."
"That's because it's a new species. It's a mix between a Chimaera and a Fire Crab."
"That honestly sounds a little dangerous. Why would you create that?" Newton gave his professor a dubious look.
"Because, dear Newt, it's brave, it's creative, and it's a little ambitious."
"Yeah, yeah." Newton rolled his eyes.
.ooo.
"Newton Scamander. Is that your name?"
"My entire name is Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, Sir."
A few murmurs were heard throughout the court. It looked like several conversations were going on at once, and Newton wasn't even sure if half the Wizengamot was paying attention. He looked up at Professor Dumbledore helplessly, but his Transfiguration professor didn't acknowledge him.
"You have been charged with experimental breeding which almost cost another human being his life. How do you plead?"
Newton hung his head.
"Not guilty!" he heard Professor Dumbledore respond.
"The boy has admitted to wanting to impress his mother and professor, Dumbledore. What more proof do you want?"
"Professor Madigan, who is the only other witness, has been severely crippled and is unable to back up his story. I only ask that we wait until the experimental treatment at St. Mungo's─"
The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement huffed. "More experiments! We don't even know if it will work, and if it does, what makes you think Alistair Madigan will do anything but back up this young boy?"
"Firstly, though brilliant, Newton Scamander has not passed his N.E.W.T.s yet, and as such, is not qualified─"
"I have here one of his essays. It's bold, intelligent, way beyond his age, and the ambition, Mr. Scamander himself claims was the reason for breeding those monstrosities, comes across clearly."
Silence.
"I move that we vote."
.ooo.
Newt, returning to Hogwarts to pack his things, found a letter on top of a cage. Though it was in Dumbledore's handwriting, it was unmistakably from Madigan: To Newton Scamander, for loyalty and friendship: Peabody's yours now - he needs adventure, and we both know I won't be going on one any time soon. Take good care of him, buddy. And don't tell anyone where his name comes from.