#I've had plenty of teachers who you could just tell hated children

[starwrighter]

Dude, get a restraining order

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(Chappy #4)

The incompetence he bore witness to today rivaled that of which you’d see at an underfunded public school. This is a private school funded to the highest caliber! Damian hadn’t missed the dramatic increase in budget around the time Father enrolled him in the school. He’d been there when the press hounded him about it! The point was, that he knew for a fact that the school had the resources to accommodate a single transfer student!

With how poorly Daniel had been equipped to traverse the halls, one could only question if it were intentional. There was sure to be the inevitable mix-up with a student actually showing up for the transfer program. Usually, all they got was an announcement over the PA that all the potential transfers had not so politely declined the invitation. No rational parent would send their child to Gotham alone unless they were truly desperate, ignorant, or neglectful. 

Nothing could ever excuse what he’d seen today. You don’t hand a half-blind student a schedule with braille so radically different from the actual print by accident. It was a bat burger menu for gods sake! Someone had to have noticed when they handed it to him. In lieu of a recent spike of impairments involving vision and or hearing, every schedule had braille on it! Both sign language and braille had become their own optional after-school courses that upon completion, awarded a more than generous amount of extra credit. One didn’t even have to complete the course, all you had to do was pass multiple fluency tests, and then you were finished.

Most teachers knew either Braille or some form of sign language, and they all damn well would’ve known that the map was outdated! Fifty years outdated, you’d have to be a moron to hand that out by mistake. Though with what he was seeing now, he’s not quite sure the facility wasn’t primarily composed of scrambling idiots.

Mr. Rivers, ever the annoyance, had taken to only approaching Daniel from his blind side. It became more and more infuriating as class ticked by. The teacher shoved his body between the two of them, violating any semblance of personal space for the sole purpose of inconveniencing Daniel. Every time Mr. Rivers encroached on their personal space, Damian sharpened his pencil. Every time he made the other boy flinch, the idea of launching the pencil like one of his throwing knives became more and more appealing. No harm would’ve come to the teacher, the sight of a wooden pencil embedding itself in the wall mere inches away from his left eye would be more than enough to frighten the man. 

He’d face detention or possibly even suspension, but he’d take the punishment with pride. A smirk played on his lips as he tapped his pencil against his desk.

His smirk soon shifted into a scowl as yet another work packet was piled onto his desk. It was irritating, everything about this class was irritating. Daniel let out a dramatic groan beside him, the other boy slumping back in his chair. Worksheets were piled high on the boy's desk, some completed while most remained unfinished.

A ruler snapped down onto Daniel’s desk, a loud thwack! Startling the boy into sitting up straight.

“I guess I deserved that one,” Daniel shrugged.

“No you didn’t,” Damian replied flatly, but Daniel just shrugged it off. Most of the school facility were what most Gothamites would consider normal. Mr. River just had a generally detestable personality.

The man hated teenagers, often spewing complaints of their “rowdy behavior” and “lack of dedication,”. Damian might’ve agreed with those statements if it weren’t for the blatant lies in every word the man said. His classmates were…noisy and rather unpleasant for him to mingle with, but they were far from the “Lazy entitled brats” Mr. Rivers had painted them as. It’d be hypocritical for him of all people to judge the teacher based on being “mean” but the two of them couldn’t be farther apart.

 Damian was a hostile presence in the classroom, but he didn’t go out of his way to target and harass people for things they couldn’t control. People could choose to stay out of his personal space, and they could choose to not say dumb shit to his face. A mental or physical condition wasn’t something they could change, nor were they things that verbal and physical abuse would fix. This should've been common sense to anyone with two brain cells to strike together, but apparently, Darwinism had failed once again.

Mr. Rivers targeted Daniel based on his visual impairment. Every question was targeted at Daniel regardless if his had been raised or not. The man punctuated each sentence with a loud headache-inducing smack to his desk. He always struck on the boy’s blindside, never where he could see the ruler come down. Aside from the occasional flinch, Daniel took the abhorrent behavior in stride.

Concerning… It was one word he could use to describe Daniel's indifference. Completely unbothered, like this was just a typical Monday in class for him. Maybe his previous statement rang true, and he soulfully had experienced worse. That in itself was a concerning statement but made sense considering the context to that worse was engraved on his face. Everything the teacher did just seemed to roll off the other boy’s shoulders like water off a swan's back. A muttered comment of “his school counselor being worse than this teacher ever could be,” only serving to exasperate his concerns.

It was distracting… Every time Daniel gave him a reassuring smile, his heart pounded like hummingbird wings. Blood rushed to his cheeks, warming them like he’d just sat in front of a fireplace. As big of a deal as his siblings made of his apparent social ineptitude, Damian wasn’t an idiot.

How was he supposed to read people if he didn’t understand the emotions that drove their behavior? He’s a vigilante! He couldn’t be walking around uninformed about the basic spectrum of human emotion!

This was obviously what people would call a crush.

Grayson had been the one to attempt explaining crushes and relationships to him. It was a painfully awkward conversation to sit through. His brother spoke of love like a romcom, both cheesy and highly unrealistic. It was by sheer dumb luck Grayson had entered any form of relationship before, and a miracle any of them had lasted more than a week. Anyone with a dash of common sense could tell Grayson’s advice wasn’t a viable source of information. The number of times he’d been pulled aside by someone within earshot of conversation was enough for him to conclude his brother's brain was diluted by hallmark specials and fairytales.

Regardless of his elder brother's delusion, the conversation itself had been unnecessary. Romantic feelings had been explained to him from a very young age. From learning how these emotions could affect one's behavior to understanding not all people felt those feelings, and that was normal too. It was crucial for detective work to recognize the entire range of human emotions. 

Damian didn’t believe in love at first sight. He believed one could feel physical attraction for a person minutes or merely seconds after meeting, but love? How could you love someone you’ve only spent a minute with. Rushing in with that mindset was how you ended up courting someone you’d despise in the end. Outward appearances could tell you plenty about a person, but it wasn’t often you could read out someone’s entire character by reading their shirt. It could happen, but this wasn’t one of those cases.

He hadn’t even had a proper conversation with his seatmate yet. Rushing in at the first sign of attraction was an idiotic way to hurt himself emotionally. He’d need to tread through this carefully, learn more about Daniel, and proceed accordingly with the information he received. 

Glancing up at the clock, he scowled. Students discreetly packed their bags, fidgeting in their seats as they waited for the bell. Nobody liked being in Mr. Rivers's class. He was the type of teacher to pile a month's worth of homework onto any student unfortunate enough to have gotten their work done in a timely matter. Needless to say, Damian found himself with a thick stack of worksheets on his desk every class. Maybe if he were a little less spiteful, he would slack and draw out the original worksheet like everyone else did, but that would imply Mr. Rivers had gotten under his skin. 

Daniel tapped a thick stack of papers on his desk. His name scrawled shakily in graphite on each sheet. Much to his surprise, Daniel had completed every single worksheet their teacher had thrown at him. How he’d managed to do so in such a short amount of time was a mystery, but Damian was delighted nonetheless. 

The boy grinned, pride and a dash of spite written clear on his face. Damian had watched, enraptured at the subtle wilting of Mr.River’s face with every sheet he completed. The teacher had been far too dull to print out random worksheets for Daniel like he had with Damian. No, every single one of those pages was a part of the required curriculum assigned to transfer students. Work required to be graded and submitted no more than a week after submission. 

“Impressive,” Damian commented.

Daniel beamed, foxlike and giddy as he neatened the pile of paper. 

“If all that doesn’t go in the grade book, I’m starting a riot,” Daniel muttered. Damian didn’t doubt him. Tomorrow, Daniel would likely be piled with the same worksheets Damian was stuck with, papers that weren’t graded outside the original worksheet. 

“I’ll join you,” Planning a riot together would be the perfect activity for him to get to know Daniel more. One's true self tended to be clearer in times of war. 

“Hell yeah! Nothing like a less than peaceful protest to bring people together,” Daniel laughed, the bell rang and Daniel’s expression shifted to one of dread.

“I can walk you to your next class if you’d like,” He offered.

"That would be helpful,” A nervous but exasperated smile had wormed it’s way onto Daniel’s face, the other boy subconsciously running a hand through locks of black hair. "I don't think my map would've been all that helpful," He laughed.

Damian inspected their schedules. They shared lunch and a fourth-hour history class, but that was it. Daniel had earth science third hour while he had an art class. A disappointment, but an expected one. 

“Since you don’t have a valid map, I’ll come to pick you up around lunchtime,” He proclaimed as they rounded the corner.

“Sounds good,” With that they parted ways, Daniel giving him a quick wave paired with a smile that made his heart thrum before he stepped into the classroom.

With a sigh, Damian headed down to the first floor. Vibrant paintings and impossibly detailed pencil drawings lined the halls surrounding the art rooms. A giant mural around twelve feet across was the art students' prized project. Massive mountains and towering trees for everyone to see. An outdoor landscape painted with warm colors shifted to the cold colors of city skyscrapers and roads dimly illuminated by street lights. The mural itself took up almost the entire hallway. Not an inch of the remaining space remained bare. Overall, the first floor had more color than all the other floors combined.

Stepping into class, the smell of paint filled his nostrils. Watercolor stained the wooden tables, cracking paint and charcoal smears scattered across the workspace. Conversations from the previous classes were scrawled onto tables. A collaborative drawing between several students having been scribbled over with a conglomerate of charcoal and colored pencils.

The seats were the only part of the table that was mostly bare. Only a few pencil scribbles and scratches. Too many students' uniforms had been stained with dusty patches of charcoal and paint before drawing on the chairs was prohibited, and tarps were placed over them. 

Art was the one class students were mostly left to their own devices. Given full access to the entire range of supplies, with a vague instruction of showing off their progress at the end of class. A giant bookshelf was set up next to a metal wire shelf carrying baskets of various types of paper. The bookshelf was filled to the brim with any and all books art-related. From beginner to expert, sculpting to painting, realism to cartoonism, a book was there to teach you about it. It was against the rules to draw inside any of the books, but post-it notes were stuck to every page of every book. 

Students filtered in like blood slowly oozing from a paper cut. Quiet chatter filled the room, their teacher sitting calmly at his desk. Damian sat with his new sketchbook, staring daggers at the plethora of empty pages. Sounds of cabinets opening and paintbrushes clinking against glass mugs were his background noise. Pencils scratched against paper, soft searching lines filling a blank page, slowly shaping Daniels's features.

From his sharpened canines to the dimples on his cheeks. To the messy way he swept his hair to the side to the light freckles dusted across his face. Drawing Daniel’s scarring proved to be quite difficult. Intricate branches of scar tissue never seemed to look right when he had them on paper, and it frustrated him to no end. When he finally got it right, he could’ve collapsed right there. It was far from the perfection he was aiming for, but he’d have a reference photo by the end of the day to solve that plight. 

This drawing would be more than enough if Daniel turned out to be an… unpleasant individual.

[justatalkingface]

Your points on Stain were great. I've always said that the guy was crazy and a total loser. He was just killing people for not being All Might. Not pointing out corruption. Not exposing anyone. Not hunting down the most horrible corrupt heroes. No. If they aren't All Might, then he decides you need to die. His logic is also very self-serving. He can justify hurting you if you happen upon him murdering someone and you decide to leave. And if you intervene, he's also justified in hurting you. Like many MHA foes, Stain was created as an enemy for Izuku to fight. But the implications of him being allowed to exist at all shows that he didn't achieve much of anything, despite what the narrative tells us. Imagine someone in real life calling themselves the cop killer and they kill dozens of cops and wound twice that number. An enormous manhunt would have them converged on and killed within a week, at most. In MHA, though? Nothing. They put Endeavor on the job and business continued as usual. Despite the sheer resources hero society has, a mass hero murderer wasn't worth an exhaustive manhunt where they either have this guy's corpse or drag him away in chains. From a story perspective, this had to happen this way because Izuku needs to fight this guy. In universe, though? It proves that heroes are disposable and replaceable commodities, and that the system is very adept at churning out new ones. It doesn't matter at all that Stain killed or maimed these people so they can't return to work. The hero schools will graduate plenty more of them every year. In fact, given that UA alone graduates 40 heroes a year, Stain could kill 1 hero a week and still not make a real dent in the hero population. Every other hero school would be graduating a similar number of people, after all.

But really, it's the government that he had a problem with. You could blame heroes for being false or corrupt or whatever. But who lets people become heroes with zero questions as to their motivations? Who lets hero schools graduate people that are unfit? Who bases all the tests and exams on becoming a hero around combat and brute force? Who's responsible for all the propaganda that markets heroes to children to convince them that being a hero is a path to wealth, happiness, adoration, and success? Who decides who even gets to be a hero in the first place? The government does. The entire crop of current heroes are just a symptom of a system that has no quality control or real restrictions on who can become a hero. He should have been murdering politicians, and rich people. They're the ones who control these policies and ensure things stay the way they are. They create the status quo. I like Stain only in fanfics, where Dabi meets him before Shigaraki. At the very least Stain can be used to go after Endeavor to help out with Dabi's revenge. This is the one time him attacking someone is somewhat justified. And it makes for a very interesting what if. As far as your point about corrupt heroes, I wish this series had that much depth. Take this post here. https://www.tumblr.com/djunk411/161410092505/its-now-canon-that-midnight-wanted-to-become-a It's got panels from the spin off where Midnight explains she wanted to be a predator and that's why she's a teacher, and Shota doesn't care. We're meant to see this as a joke! But what if it wasn't?

I think the point is with Stain, actually, just goes back to one of the big things that kind of fucks up MHA's world building: civilians are useless.

Unless you are directly connected to a villain or hero, if you are a civilian you are a useless sheep, who exists only to be saved or to cause problems. This includes the police; as a society, all the responsibility is just... given to the heroes somehow, for some reason, and everyone's fine with it. No none villain hates that status quo, not one really rejects it....

And to top it off? We see civilians try to do things once. With some support gear? They're so criminally incompetent that they kill themselves with it, and Wash, I think, is left to mourn over the foolishness of the people.

Hori just really seems to hate having to have normal people in his story in any length of time, so it's not surprising that the police are completely useless. To be fair, though, Stain is, as far as we can tell, completely off the grid. He is the kind of fanatic that is willing to live with nothing, and so it's probably hard to track him.

Except. Where does he get his literal arsenal of weapons? (And five seconds on Google tells me that katanas are illegal in Japan, so.... there's that too) How does he successfully find his targets? Or is he just randomly hunting down every hero he can find in a given area? How long has he even been doing this?

*shrug*

Stain just doesn't make sense. The idea of him makes sense, there's a place for him in the setting, and he needs to be there to help drive the division with heroes and the rest of society to the point of breaking, but his execution is empty and hollow.

It says... something, that when you said talked about the government, my knee jerk response was, 'Well, Hori is limited by his medium', but... that's bullshit.

Like, look at Jujutsu Kaisen. Though I hate the pacing of it in general, and I have trouble giving a shit about the characters at this point, I really do like it, and it handles politics a lot better than MHA.

The thing is that while the blame is clearly on these old fuckers, who for all intents and purpose are the government of the magical part of the setting, there isn't a giant focus on them. We don't need to see, like, hours of debate to realize that these guys are the problem: there's some scenes of them being, well, them, and then we see the repercussions of what they decide throughout the series. We see Gojo hate on them. We see Itadori all but getting a kill order. We hear about how fucked up the Zenin clan is, and how they've ruined the lives of multiple characters.

I wish they'd go into all of that more, sure, but it's made very clear that a lot of the problems comes from the top, and descends down from them to everyone else, which resonates with various people, and from them to other people and so on.

Contrast that with MHA: we see some references to the Hero Commision, sure, but beyond Hawks and Lady Nagant, there isn't much there, and even with them there's just... build up, and no development. We get hints, we're teased, but it never... goes anywhere. This is the greatest level of authority we honestly see in the entire setting, until our brief, standard manga blurb of how the U.S. is useless, anyways. I think we literally see more of the American government than we do of the government of the country the setting is set in.

Here's the thing: the way MHA is set up? Heroes have a lot of influence. They're super celebrated celebrities, they're almost universally loved (unless they aren't), if they're successful they're rich, and they can kick all sorts of ass. If a hero wanted to push a social agenda? They're in one of the best places to do it, and there's honestly some good plot points there that never get any love; what happens when they do that? What if a hero supports a politician, and thus gets control over them, and through them, the government? That would be a realistic place to explore about heroes influence on society.

The way they talk, though, is like they are the government. Like All Might is the Prime Minister, and so on, and so they all have this massive control over things. And, again, they do have a lot of control, but they aren't actually writing the laws. Civilians are placid cow people because heroes save them, but... do you not want heroes to save them? Should they just leave people to die so they can toughen up or something, learn to be independent? Their job is to save people, everyone wants it from them, they're literally being paid to do it, and I really can't blame them for not being total assholes and doing their actual jobs. The blame for everything falls onto the heroes, with how the manga shows it, but they aren't gods, they aren't the overlords of the setting; it falls onto everyone else as well, the cattle-like civilians, the insane villains, the government who set up the system, all of them.

I just... it just looks like Hori didn't want to deal with the fact that his heroes, building smashing, laser firing heroes, would be subservient to the people, and especially to the government. He didn't want god-like All Might, or Endeavour, or anyone else really, to have to obey mere mortals, who should only exist to be saved or harmed by their betters without any control over their ultimate destinies.

And again, this is something Jujutsu explores better, with Gojo: he's no All Might, personality wise, but he's absolutely the strongest in the setting, literally hailed a god. And yet, he listens to some old guys he could blow up with a finger, because they have control over so much of the world he lives in. This is acknowledged, and talked about in story, but he never goes through and slaughters them like he so easily could, because while he's a bit of an ass at times he's still genuinely a good person at the end of the day. While I don't expect All Might to have delusions of godhood, wouldn't it be interesting if they explored how all these people who are getting trained to beat the shit out of everyone they don't like, and are constantly growing stronger generation by generation while getting all the more revered by the public, but have to listen to some weaklings? At least in Jujutsu, the elders actually have powers in their own right, and are often talented combatants, and so have that implicit ability to back their decisions against most of the setting with force if necessary, while in MHA, politicians are still just politicians, nothing more.

*looks at the Meta Liberation Front, who want a Quirkocity, and who canonly already has heroes on their side*

Nope, no way to work that into the story!

On Midnight, I just... I just can't take that seriously. I know this is technically canon, but I really can't, I really can't think she's both a hero and school teacher with an attitude like that, who genuinely wants the best for her students. Whenever I imagine Midnight as something closer to an actual person, she's so much less.... that. All I can think of is just how Hori loves to use women constantly for their bodies, and she's just a symbol of that. The fact that she literally exists just because he thinks she's hot, is built off the idea of bondage, and almost has no characterization beyond that is just insulting.

[skippyjo94]

Something Special

Albus Dumbledore was no stranger to special witches and wizards. He had encountered more than his fair share in his life.

His entire family was talented for one thing. His brother, outstanding. His father, insanely powerful. His mother? Never outright showed it, but the ease with which Albus witnessed her performing any of her magical affairs, he had a hunch she may be more powerful than them all.

His sister hadn't had the chance to be anything special, rest her soul. But he knew in his heart, she would've put them all to shame.

Albus himself, of course, was nothing to scoff at. He had always been a natural at all things magical. He had watched other children struggle to learn things that came to him effortlessly. It had always bothered him when he could watch and see what was wrong, what his classmates were missing. He was always one to jump in and help.

At times, he admits, he may have seemed to be a know it all. He truly just wanted to help. He grew to understand, through life experience, that he may have been less than gracious in how those handled situations.

Everything that happened with his sister and his father and then his mother made him a bit resentful of it all. His natural ability had gotten him exactly nowhere. He still had to return home and do all the things everyone else does, be less, even, than what everyone else is.

He met Gellert Grindelwald. He was another outstanding wizard, both in the conventional way and a way all his own. They did their thing. Two wonderful wizards, making plans to make a better world. One that corrects the injustices Albus has faced in his life.

Until it happened. And then they couldn't anymore. Albus couldn't. He wasn't the same person he had been.

He understood. He understood all the wrong, all the misconceptions they were under, all the unfairness and lies. It was like the glass shattered. Suddenly he saw what this new world would be. What it would turn into.

It wasn't what Albus wanted.

He had always loved seeing witches and wizards excel. He had always been one to excel himself, so he knew how elated they were when they got that new spell finally. When they were told their potion passed with flying colors.

Grindelwald's world didn't allow for that. It didn't allow for people to succeed that way. For the peers he had helped, even though he hadn't been too gentle with their feelings he now knew, to have the chance to get there too.

Gellert's world, it only allowed for the exceptional to succeed.

Albus now recognized the error in this way of thinking. He had always known, but now it was all he could see.

They were all exceptional. Every witch who was the best at transfiguration, who puts her whole class to shame. Every wizard who took three attempts to make the perfect sleeping draught because he was distracted from a lack of sleep the night before. Every muggleborn child who got their Hogwarts letter at 11, and even their younger sibling that didn't.

Not a single one of them was unexceptional.

Even his brother, who people often see as exactly that, unexceptional

And just like that, he knew there was more he had to do. He had to be the one to make them see just how much potential they had, each and every one of them. How exceptional they could be. And he had to help them make sure they got there.

Some years down the road he had become a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He liked to think his students benefitted from his efforts in teaching. He liked to think his students enjoyed having him as a teacher.

He made an effort with each and every student that came through his doors, to make sure they felt confident and as if they were one of the brightest students he had ever met. It was hardly a chore. They were each amazing in their own right.

Every year there was that one child that stood out above the rest. Usually a student to whom magic seemed to come especially naturally. They were usually much like him in this way.

He always strove to set them on the right path. He had been dangerously close to making an irrevocable move down a path he would rather not accept existed most days.

He made sure he could use his own experience to stop others like him, others whose horses were maybe too high some days. To ensure they knew it was alright to stay a bit lower to the ground, lest they stop seeing where their hooves fell.

The one student this year was peculiar. Usually Dumbledore could pick out his pivotal pupil, as Professor McGonagall jokingly called them, within the first week of classes. This year was different. No one seemed to stand out to him really. They were all exceptional, but none that truly caught his focus.

Until about halfway to the Christmas holiday. It was during a lesson with the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first years. There were only about eighteen students in the class, one of the smaller groups, with several out with whatever illness was ransacking the castle.

The lesson was on how to fend off various beasts, generally a popular subject among the younger students. Especially those born from Muggles, having grown up without the knowledge that all sorts of magical creatures they've heard about are far from the myths they were raised to believe.

One such beast was under discussion, what it may do upon catching a human, how to defend against it. Not always the most palatable of discussions but a necessity none the less.

Rarely did Dumbledore have a student disagree with his teachings. A small boy, reddish-brown hair a mess atop his pale, slightly freckled face, spoke up.

"Why wouldn't you just distract it? Or get its attention and make it trust you?"

The innocence in his voice was striking. Dumbledore suddenly realized he had never heard this student speak before.

"There are times that is a viable option of course," Dumbledore began, thinking through his answer carefully. "Other times, though, there may not be a choice. Of course we never want to unnecessarily harm a creature, but in life there may be situations where they don't leave you with another option."

He hated to put that thought into their minds, especially that boy who asked the question, innocent as he seemed. "I do sincerely hope none of you are ever in a place to make such a call."

The boy seemed to have more to still be displeased with the answer but chose to leave it at that. Dumbledore was grateful, he didn't want to see a more displeased look on the young boy's face.

Yes, this boy was something special.

It went on like this for the rest of the semester. Newt, he discovered, Newt Scamander was the boy's name. He had an older brother, Theseus, who was quite talented at defensive enchantments.

The boy was very quiet, studious, though without any real desire to follow the rules it seemed. He was very intelligent, and exceedingly awkward. He seemed to light up whenever the lesson or conversation turned to any kind of magical creatures.

Newt had a wealth of knowledge on magical creatures, rivaling that of any upperclassman. He knew things even some of the teachers only vaguely remembered hearing, obviously stemming from his own research.

It was clear he was entranced by creatures, not just for their uses, but for their well-being above all else.

One day Dumbledore came across Newt out on the grounds. He appeared to be speaking rather intimately to a tree.

Not wanting to startle the boy, Dumbledore stopped a safe distance away and watched. What was happening soon became apparent.

The boy stuck out his hand, slowly, no sudden movements and continued speaking softly to the tree. His words were too quiet to be heard from a distance, but his actions seemed to be encouraging.

Just as Dumbledore was about to walk away, write it off as one of the boy's many peculiarities, a small movement caught his eye.

It could have been the wind, but something about it made him stay. A while later, long past when Dumbledore's own patience would have worn thin, a tiny twig seemed to inch out of a hole in the bark.

A Bowtruckle. And then another.

A couple of very tiny sticks with eyes are inspecting the offered hand very cautiously. They must decide the boy is safe as they crawl into the open palm.

Dumbledore starts walking forward carefully, making enough noise to announce his presence but not enough to seem threatening.

Newt never looks away from the treasure in his palm. He stays facing the tree, keeping the bowtruckles close to their home to ensure they feel safe. He is a new person after all, they mustn't feel separated from their home.

"What have you found there, Mr. Scamander?" Dumbledore kept his tone light so as not to startle the peaceful moment.

"Not what. Who. There is a Bowtruckle family living in this tree. They only live in wand wood trees so I've never seen one in person before." Rarely had anyone sounded as happy as Newt.

"I've never tried to get one to come out. How did you manage it?" Dumbledore knew plenty about Bowtruckles, but he was eager to learn more about his boy.

"Well, they aren't very trusting. They have to feel safe to leave their home, which means they have to recognize you." Newt recited the facts as though they were second nature. "There is very little information on them as a whole because they so rarely leave their trees. I wanted to learn more about them, so I've been coming here for the last couple of months and talking to them."

Dumbledore was surprised by that. "Talking to them?"

"Yes," Newt responded. "They're wonderful listeners. I come here after classes are finished, before supper. I tell them about my day, my classes. Sometimes I read to them from our books."

Dumbledore wasn't sure what to do with that. It made sense from the boy somehow.

"At first, they acted like they weren't there. They must've been frightened. Then I read them the story the knight and his dragon from our History of Magic class, and they forgot to pretend they weren't listening." Newt smiled then, proud of himself for his efforts. They had clearly paid off.

"They have never let me hold them before. They have been coming out to talk for a couple of weeks now. Well, to listen. But they're a very responsive audience." Newt looked up at Dumbledore for the first time in their exchange. His eyes were shining.

"I think they're just shy, Professor. I think they don't mind humans at all, just no one ever takes the time to get to know them, to gain their trust." Something in his expression made Dumbledore positive they weren't just talking about the Bowtruckles.

He looked down at the tiny creatures in Newt's hand, and sure enough, they were leaning into Newt's chest where he had his hand cradled, looking up at Dumbledore warily.

"I'm sure you're right Mr. Scamander. People must learn to be more patient. Not all creatures are kind, and some are more cautious of who they place their trust in." Dumbledore was amazed at how wise this young boy was. "It would do us all well to remember that. And perhaps be a bit more like that ourselves."

Newt had long since returned his gaze to the Bowtruckles tucked safely into his chest. His gaze was one of adoration, something surely reflected in Dumbledore's own gaze upon the scene.

"I think it best if I leave you to your observations now," Dumbledore said fondly. "We have yet to become acquainted and I would hate to cause them undue stress. Perhaps in time, I may earn their trust as you have, hmm?"

"Yes, of course Professor." Newt looked pleased that someone he seemed to hold in such high respect was treating his knowledge as the authority on the matter. "They really are a gentle species. They are just...misunderstood I think."

Misunderstood indeed, Dumbledore thought. "Then we must fix that at once. I believe you to be the right man for that job." Newt looked up again at the thought, hopeful at the opportunity and responsibility he had been given. "If anyone can properly understand them, I am sure it will be you."

Newt felt his face flush at the confidence in his teacher's voice. No one had ever had such unwavering faith in his abilities before.

Dumbledore turned to head back to the castle. He had only made it a few steps away when he heard the boy, barely loud enough to hear even from this small a distance, "Thank you, Professor."

Dumbledore turned to look back at his surprising young pupil. "I feel as though very soon, it will be I thanking you, Mr. Scamander." He made sure to make eye contact as he said this. "Bowtruckles is just the beginning for you, I'm sure of it."

Newt looked away, uncertain what to do with the praise. "I look forward to being learning from your observations, Newt."

And with that Dumbledore was off, back to the castle, his initial destination long forgotten.

He had dealt with a great many exceptional students. Though so far, none as surprising as this boy, with no friends to speak of, but the trust of a creature thought, until now, to be notoriously coldshouldered to humans.

Yes, this boy was going far. He was destined for great things. This boy was truly something special.