Newt is 17 and has a lot of things going on for him; he has a wonderful brother in Theseus; he has a sort-of best friend in Leta and he has a plan for the future. What he doesn't have is a crush on the new DADA Professor…no matter what Leta says. Slash. Teacher-Student relationship. Newt/Harry.

A/N: This chapter has been reviewed and doubled in length compared to the first version. More details have been added to make the story flow better.

Timeline: The first world war started in 1914. Newt is around 17 in 1914 so I changed his age to 17 instead of leaving it at 16.

Chapter 1 Professor Evans

Newt Scamander had just turned 17 and is in a pretty good place in life...if he did say so himself.

He has a caring mother - whose love for magical creatures nearly rivals his own.

He has a protective older brother - who taught him things about magic that they didn't really touch upon in school.

And he even had a good friend - who actually sat with him during meals and did not laugh at him for wanting to become a Magizoologist instead of something more socially acceptable.

Newt Scamander was content and did not need the attentions of the new Defense of the Dark Arts teacher to feel happy...no matter what Leta thought.

"Here's a crazy idea," says Leta Lestrange, her voice dry as sand. She blows on her nails, making sure the polish is applied correctly before finishing her thought. "Why don't you go over there and talk to him…instead of doing whatever-this-is."

Next to her, 17 years old Newt Scamander - fresh faced and innocent, right in the middle of an awkward stage where he is simultaneously too old to be called a boy and yet too young to be treated like a man - startles horribly at her suggestion and nearly knocks over a pitcher of pumpkin juice in his haste to turn around in his seat.

"What?" he squeaks, eyes wide and heart thumping. He could already feel droplets of sweat making their way down the open collar of his white shirt. "What are you talking about? Talking to who? You're not making any sense."

Leta rolls her eyes at him, her disdain for his poor attempt at a denial obvious on her pretty face.

"I hate to pop your bubble," she says, flipping a strand of her long black hair over her shoulder in the same way Newt has seen many Pureblood heiresses do. Newt guesses that it was their I'm-better-then-you-in-every-way flip. "Merlin knows how much you depend on that thing to get through your pathetic excuse of an existence."

The second part was said in an undertone, but Newt is close enough to be able to make out the words perfectly.

"Hey," he protests hotly and Leta smiles sweetly at him, a vision of pure innocence Newt knows very well she is not.

"I'm just saying," Leta continues, not bothering to apologize for her caustic remark. "You can just go over there and talk to him. He is a teacher after all."

Newt bites his lips nervously, eyes unconsciously trailing back to the Head Table where Professor Harold Evans - the newest addition to Hogwart's staff - was having his dinner. Newt tries not to let his gaze linger on the new teacher's sun-kissed skin, elegant fingers, or his understanding and caring smile, but feels himself losing the battle pretty fast.

He sighs, defeated.

He turns back to Leta and sees her looking at him, a smirk tugging the corner of her lips upwards. She doesn't even have to say I-told-you-so out loud for the message to come across loud and clear.

"And if," Newt mumbles, hoping that no one was listening in on this conversation. He is already embarrassed enough as it is. "And I am saying a big if."

He pauses and Leta glares at him, looking as if she wanted to strangle him.

Newt ignores it and soldiers on.

"If I knew who you were talking about, how, do you think, I should approach this?"

"Introduce yourself as a member of his class of course," Leta answers in an are-you-stupid tone. Newt is unfortunately very familiar with that tone of hers considering how many times she had used it on him. "Why is this so hard for you?"

"It's just…" Newt looks down to the table, unable to explain why, for him, the simple thought of actually starting a conversion with Professor Harold Evans, prodigious Dueler and one of the best DADA teachers Newt has ever had, is enough to make his face flush and his heart rate go up the roof.

"So what you have a crush on the guy," Leta says distractedly, her attention having moved from Newt to the Slytherin's table. "A lot people have crushes on him and you don't see them breaking out in a cold sweat at the thought of talking to him."

"Wait," Newt blinks, momentarily taken aback by her words, "I don't have a crush on him."

At her disbelieving snort, he adds: "It's called admiration Leta. Surely you have experienced something of the sort before."

Leta sneers at the very thought.

"Admiration?" she laughs. It isn't exactly a nice sound. "I don't admire people Newt. Admiring someone means admitting that they have something that I don't. As you should know by now, I can't think of anyone who falls in to that category."

A first year Hufflepuff, who had coincidentally walked by their table at that moment, stops in her tracks upon overhearing Leta's words, throws the witch a disproving glance before hurrying along once more.

Newt pretends not to notice.

"Well, that's just you," he says, already used to his friend's attitude.

To say that Leta Lestrange is vain is like saying the sun is hot; something that most people just took for granted these days. Although Newt had never liked this part of her, he knows that Leta isn't arrogant without reason. After all, she had always been a pretty girl whom puberty has turned in to a stunning young woman. She was magically gifted and hailed from an old and noble family. Anyone in her situation would have the tendency to look down on others.

"Whatever," Leta lets out a small breath and stands up, her hands automatically straightening her uniform skirt as she did, "It's been fun Newton, but it is time for me to make my exit."

Newt looks at her in confusion before glancing towards the Slytherin table where a bunch of Leta's Slytherin friends were gesturing her over to sit with them.

"It's only been 10 minutes," he says softly, hoping that was enough to make her stay with him a little longer. During diner, she usually takes pity on him and sits with him for at least 15 minutes - just in time for him to finish eating - before leaving.

"10 minutes is already long enough," Leta gives him a small condescending smile before adding, "I do have other friends, you know."

The comment hits him like a slap in the face.

"S…Sure," he forces a smile, "Sorry to have kept you."

Leta pats his cheek like a person would with a pet before turning on her heels and making her way to her own House table, not even deigning Newt with a second look.

Newt tries his best not to feel hurt by her actions and instead concentrates on finishing his diner.

The next day, Newt finds Leta in the courtyard, relaxing under a tree, a textbook resting on her lap. Upon seeing him, the girl smiles and invites him to sit next to her, acting as if she hadn't cruelly dismissed him the evening before.

Newt does so because despite his hurt and misgivings, Leta is still his only friend here at Hogwarts and someone who hasn't called him weird for his love of magical creatures. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he was willing to put up with her caustic words and uncaring attitude.

"Hi Leta," he greets her, voice soft. He sits down, using his empty bag as a makeshift cushion.

"So," Leta glances him, her gaze calculating, "Have you talked to him yet?"

This time, he doesn't even bother to pretend not knowing who she was talking about.

"No," he shakes his head, "I don't have Defense until Thursday and it would be weird to intrude upon him just to say hi."

Leta doesn't seem at all impressed by his logic.

"Newton dear," she says, her voice sugary-sweet, staring at him in the eyes. "Are you a moron? He has office hours you know. Just go to one of them. In fact, the next one, according to my syllabus, is in 15 minutes. If you go now, you can definitely make it on time. Besides, maybe after talking to him, you will feel less of a need to stare at him from afar like some kind of stalker."

"Excuse me," Newt huffs in indignation, "I don't stalk him. And I don't stare at him."

"Whatever gets you through the day," Leta sighs and turns away.

Newt suddenly feels a ball of anxiety slowly making its way up his throat.

"Do I really stare that much?" he asks hesitantly, "Do you think he noticed me looking from time to time?"

Leta picks up her textbook and flips to a page she had bookmarked before answering: "Why are you asking me? Shouldn't you know this better then anyone else?"

She begins to read, ignoring Newt next to her.

"Well, it's not-" Newt tries to say but was interrupted.

"Go talk to him Scamander," Leta orders, eyes blazing with annoyance as she looks up from her reading, "Look. If you don't have anything to ask him, you can take my question and ask it for me."

Newt feels his body relax at that.

Maybe Leta is right; maybe this is a good opportunity to establish contact.

"You will do that for me?" he asks dubiously.

"I will do anything for you," Leta replies in her don't-be-naif-you'll-owe-me-big-for-this tone.

Newt nods in understanding and Leta digs out a piece of parchment from her bag.

"I've written down some points he touched upon in class regarding different types of magical shielding spells, but I would like some more details. Here are the questions and make sure you actually take down his answer and not just gawk at him while he speaks."

Newt carefully stores the parchment in his pocket and casts a tempus spell.

"10.15," he says a little unsteadily. "I better go."

Leta doesn't reply, her focus back on her textbook.

Newt gets up and dusts off his robes. He hopes he looks somewhat presentable.

"Wish me luck," he says.

"Whatever."

Newt sighs and starts to make his way back to the school proper.

Despite having never been to Professor Evan's office, Newt still finds it pretty easily after a fellow Hufflepuff told him to look for the door with the huge line of students in front.

He really hadn't been kidding when he had put a big emphasis on the word huge.

"Oh another one?" says a girl when Newt takes a place behind her in line. She seems to be Newt's age, with curly brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. She did not look happy to see him. "Do you have a question or are you here to make nice with Professor Evans."

Newt nearly chokes on thin air.

What kind of question was that?

"W…What?" he stutters and the girl sighs, taking pity on him.

"Look, you don't have to be embarrassed. Most of the students lining up are here for Professor Evans and not for Defense," she explains, her tone much less hostile, "Professor Evans hadn't been voted the most eligible bachelor in Hogwarts for nothing."

"He has?" Newt blinks. When did people have time to organize and vote for that? After all, they were only 2 month in to the term.

"Yes he has," the girl answers before looking about herself like she was searching for eavesdroppers. Once satisfied that no one was paying them any attention, she moves closer to Newt and whispers, "But that's not the whole story. Apparently, there have been rumors that Professor Evans is not muggle-born as he claims to be, but actually a descendant of one of the Founders."

Newt's eyes widens in surprise.

That had not been what he had expected her to say. A founder's descendant? Really? Where do people come up with ideas like this? Who would be naif enough to think that someone called Evans could actually be related to one of the founders?

"Hah," Newt pretends to nod in interest, "That's interesting. Do they have any proof?"

He would probably die of shock if they had.

"Who knows," the girl shrugs, looking unconcerned by his reaction or lack thereof, "It's a rumor after all. But it is enough for students already of marriageable age to try to ensnare him in to proposing."

"Surely not," Newt chokes out. All that based on a rumor?

"But don't get your hopes up," his companion says, misreading his expression, "Professor Evans is notorious for rejecting anyone who has propositioned him so far. He says it's because he feels uncomfortable dating a student regardless of whether such relationships were allowed."

"That's…understandable," Newt forces a smile. "Thank you for telling me, but I'm not here to try to date him. I'm in his Thursday class and I really do have questions to ask him regarding the material."

"Oh!" the young witch blushes a fetching shade a red, and takes a step back, looking horrified at her own presumptions. "I'm so sorry. I thought-"

She doesn't finish her sentence because at that moment, the door to the office opens and the man of the hour steps in to the corridor.

Professor Evans looks startled by the large turnout but recovers remarkably in a matter of seconds.

"I'm not sure if I should feel flattered or offended that so many of you have shown up to ask me questions," he laughs and the crowd of students laughs obligingly with him. "Unfortunately, I only have an hour and if I want to give each student at least 10 minutes, I can't attend to you all."

This led to a chorus of disappointed groans from his adoring public.

Newt is disappointed as well and wonders if all the courage he had build up to come here would be wasted. If he cannot speak to Professor Evans today, he doubt he'll be brave enough to attempt another meeting any time soon.

Professor Evans must have misread the source of everyone's disappointment because he turns to his left where a black haired young man had appeared, books in hand.

"Everyone, this is Jonathan. He's my assistant. He will be helping me answer some of your questions so be assured no one will be left out."

"But Professor," a blonde student protests from the line. "We came here to see you."

A huge number of students behind her echoes her sentiment while Newt actually flushes in second-hand embarrassment at her forwardness.

Luckily, Professor Evans remains calm and collected, like a politician in front of a crowd of media personnel.

"That is very kind of you to say, Ms…"

"Johnson," the girl answers, "Anna Johnson. I'm in your Wednesday class."

Wednesday, Newt thinks, that means she's a Gryffindor. No wonder she is so blunt with her thoughts.

"Well Ms. Johnson, I hope I don't dissapoint too many people by proposing a lottery system."

"A lottery system?" the crowd asks.

"I will think of 6 numbers between 1 and 100. Each one of you will try to guess it. If you get it right, you get to see me. If you get it wrong, Jonathan here can help you with your question. Is that okay?"

"That sounds fair," Anna agrees and immediately guesses, "77."

Professor Evans shakes his head to indicate that the answer is wrong before turning to the next person in line.

Ms. Johnson, to her credit, doesn't even try to pretend she was actually here for schoolwork because the moment she was told she won't be able to see Professor Evans, she leaves in a huff.

After her, 14 other people who got the answer wrong left as well, making a nearby Jonathan shift awkwardly.

Then it was Newt's turn.

"Hello there," Professor Evans says, coming to stand in front of Newt. The young man looks up at him, heart pounding, unable to believe that he was finally in front of Professor Evans.

"H…Hi," he mumbles, unable to look at the older man in the eye.

Professor Evans doesn't seem to be offended by this and says: "I don't believe we have ever been introduced. What is your name?"

Newt is too distracted by the teacher's close proximity to even notice the special attention bestowed upon him. However, a few students waiting for their turn behind Newt notices and in response, starts to whisper among themselves, their half-envious and half-intrigued gazes fixated firmly on Newt.

"Newton Scamander," Newt manages to answer without stuttering. His heart is still pounding loudly in his ears but he's happy to note that he was no longer feeling as if he was about to faint any moment now. In fact, he even manages to add: "I am a member of your Thursday class."

"Nice to know," Professor Evans nods, actually sounding as if he had meant it. "And what is your guess Newt?"

Newt blinks at the abrupt change in topic.

"The number," the teacher clarifys and Newt could swear he heard someone laughing in the background.

"Oh. Ehh…" Newt clears his throat. "7, sir."

Professor Evans beams at him.

"That is a good guess Newt. You may join the other 4 in front of my office door."

Without another word, Professor Evans moves on to the next person in line and Newt makes his way to the front dazedly.

The first student to enter the office leaves after 6 minutes. The second leaves after 7. The third after 8, the fourth after 9 and the fifth after 5.

When Newt enters the office, it was barely 35 past 11.

"Mr. Scamander," Professor Evan greets him with a smile, looking absurdly handsome and regal in his seat behind his huge mahogany writing desk, "Please do sit down. You must be tired after standing outside for so long."

Newt is indeed a little tired but he hides it behind a shy smile.

"Of course not," Newt replies quickly, taking the offered seat, unable to believe that he was actually in the Professor's office, talking to the man with a familiarity that a first meeting shouldn't, in theory, allow. "Thank you for seeing me sir."

"Call me Harry," Prof-no, Harry says and waves his right hand in an elegant arc.

Two tea cups immediately materializes in thin air and Newt gapes a little at Harry's effortless display of wandless magic.

Although Newt knows a few other wizards - Leta for example - who can do some form of magic without the usage of a magical focus, he had never seen it done on such a large scale. Before today, Newt had thought that being able to summon a quill wandlessly was impressive. Now, he could see how laughable that belief was.

"Tea Newt?" Harry asks, as if he hadn't just turned Newt's world upside down.

Newt nods numbly.

"I like Black tea most of all," Harry admits, taking a box of tea leaves from his desk drawer, "But green is good too. What do you prefer?"

"Green is fine," Newt says quickly, "Thank you."

"No need to be so formal Newt," Harry smiles and gestures for the teapot to start pouring piping hot water in to the cups. "I like to provide my students with an easygoing environment in which they can feel free to tell me anything."

"That is a novel approach," Newt remarks, thinking of the other teachers and how they insist on creating this divide between them and the students.

Harry nods his head in agreement.

"I try not to do things by the book."

He takes a sip of his beverage, spluttering and cursing when the liquid burns his tongue.

"Merlin's balls," Harry hisses and Newt stares in shock before unable to resist a snort of laughter.

"I'm sorry," he says quickly, hoping he had not offended the older man, "I didn't mean to-"

"Oh posh," Harry says, swatting the apology away with a hand, "Don't apologize if you don't mean it. And besides, it's my fault for forgetting myself for a moment."

He sighs deeply.

Newt blinks in confusion but does not ask for a clarification.

"So Newt," When Harry turns to look at him again, Newt notices that his green eyes were almost luminescent under the warm light of the overhead lamp, "What questions have you brought me today?"

"Oh!" Newt hurriedly extracts his notes from his pocket, "I…um…have a question about shields."

"You want to know more then what I covered in class?" Harry sounds surprised. "Do you want to be an Auror, Newt?"

"No," Newt admits shyly after a moment's hesitation, "That…um…is not something I see myself doing."

For some reason, Harry nods in approval, as if that was the answer he had been looking for. It doesn't really make any sense in Newt's mind. Shouldn't all DADA teachers want their students to become Aurors?

"And what is something you want to do once you graduate?"

"A magizoologist," Newt answers and waits for the confused look that would inevitably pop up on his interlocutor's face whenever he uses this word.

Harry, once again, does not fall in to the norm.

"Oh," the teacher says, looking delighted and perhaps just a tad fond, "So you like magical creatures."

"Yes I do," Newt looks at him in amazement, "You know what a magizoologist is?"

"Isn't it fairly obvious?" Harry looks confused by his response, "A zoologist who deals with magical creatures."

"Most people don't react like that," Newt admits, a small blush on his face.

"And how do they react?" Harry asks, intrigued.

"They tell me to stop inventing words," Newt replies. "And once I explain to them what it means, they tell me to pursue something more acceptable in today's society."

"Well that's just hogwash," Harry suddenly stands up, indignation coloring his next words, making them louder, "Don't listen to them Newt. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. If you believe this is your destiny then go for it. Screw what other people think. What do they know anyways?"

Newt is unsurprisingly taken aback by the magnitude of Harry's reaction. Not even his own mother had been so angry on his behalf, he thinks, more then a little touched.

It encourages him to continue talking.

"Even Theseus claims it's stupid," he says, "And he's my brother."

"Ah, yes of course." A flash of recognition passes through Harry's face. "The war hero."

The War Hero. The only thing people nowadays think of when they mention Theseus Scamander's name.

The War Hero. The wizard who, despite all odds stacked against him, had managed to save an entire town from enemy fire; all during a war started by muggles, whom most wizards and witches, unintentionally or not, saw as the inferior race.

"I don't think that title is something Mother likes to hear. Mother hadn't been too happy when he told us about his decision to enlist," Newt admits quietly, not knowing why he is telling a teacher about something so personal but somehow feels it is something he could say in this strange bubble of intimacy they have created. He takes a shuddering breath before continuing. "and when he left, she just broke down. It's been a few month since the start of hostilities and consequently my brother's deployment and she still cries sometimes, already thinking that she had lost him for good."

Harry, to his credit, only looks understanding and sympathetic instead of awkward and uncomfortable as most people do when the topic of death is brought up.

"I can understand her pain," Harry response quietly, in the tone of someone who has already suffered much and was doing all they can to survive each day, "Losing a loved one is a terrible experience."

He pauses, gaze distant and Newt waits patiently for him to return to reality. He wonders, at that moment, just what kind of past Professor Evans is hiding. Does he also have relatives fighting in this war; a solider on the front lines, risking life and limb for a cause they barely understand?

"War is a terrible thing," Harry says finally, returning his gaze back to Newt. His tone lightens up remarkably as he says: "But personally, I think her grieving is a little premature. From what I've heard of Theseus, he's an incredibly powerful wizard."

Although Harry had not been here long enough to have taught Theseus personally, Newt isn't surprised that the older man knew about his big brother's achievements from his Hogwarts days. After all, Theseus Scamander was the pride of many teachers here in school; a natural born leader; a rare magical powerhouse; a intellectual savant; a trusted friend. No matter whom you asked about Theseus, they all had wonderful things to say about him.

"He is," Newt agrees, feeling a little better, thinking of the many Dueling competition trophies that still decorated his brother's bedroom. If there was one person Newt knew that could survive a war then it was Theseus. The man was like a cockroach in the best way; no matter how much you try to step on him, he will always come roaring back, stronger then ever. "That's what I've been telling Mother as well. Theseus is strong and resourceful. He won't die that easily."

"That's the spirit," says Harry, looking slightly relieved that Newt was no longer looking so solemn. He claps his hands to clear the air and continues. "But back to our original topic - yes Newton, don't think I've forgotten because of your little attempt at changing the topic."

Newt blushes at his teacher's accusative words.

"It wasn't-" he tries to protest but stops when he realizes that Harry was just messing with him. "Hah...funny."

Harry chuckles, leaning back in his chair, the very image of a young lord holding court.

"What I have been trying to get across to you, Newt, is to not give up on your dream just because people can't see the merit in it."

"I believed that once," Newt sighs, giving in to the flow. "But with so many people saying otherwise, I am beginning to doubt myself. Sometimes, I find myself thinking "Maybe I should I follow Theseus' example and-"

"Don't even think of that," Harry interrupts, an almost panicked look in his eyes. "Being an Auror is who Theseus Scamander is. Being a Magizoologist is who Newt Scamander is destined to be. Don't mess with Destiny Newt. Bad things can happen."

Newt blinks up at him, not knowing whether to be happy or a little disturbed by his words.

"How about we make a bet?" Harry suddenly offers when Newt doesn't immediately say something.

"A bet?" Were teachers even allowed to bet with students? None of the other teachers have ever suggested something as ludicrous as this so unless Newt spends the next few hours going through the Hogwarts rule book, he'll probably never know the answer.

"A bet."

Newt cocks his head in confusion.

"What kind of bet?"

Harry grins, looking more like a playful child then a man in his mid-thirties.

"Easy. I bet you that in the future, Scamander will be a household name not because of Theseus Scamander's accomplishments but because of what Newt Scamander has contributed to society."

Newt shakes his head, laughing a little. And here he had thought the teacher was serious.

"That's impossible," he says with the confidence of someone who has never been the subject of anyone's pride, "If I agree to bet with you, you'll lose for sure. I can't see any conceivable way I can become famous."

He takes a deep breath before continuing, "But thank you for believing in me. Not many people do."

Harry looks unperturbed by his reaction.

"Of course I am not going to stand by and let you walk on this road alone," he says, gaining momentum, "I'm going to help you."

"What?" This situation, thinks Newt, has officially gone out of hand.

"I'm going to teach you some spells that will help you in your quest to become the best Magizoologist the world has ever seen."

By the way Harry had said that last sentence, Newt can't help but feel there was a cultural reference in there he wasn't getting.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and return them to the focus of Harry's words.

"You're going to tutor me?"

"Yes Newt," Harry answers, winking at him, "But this has to remain between us. Technically, I am not supposed to be teaching you things not approved by the Board but I can't bear to see so much potential gone to waste."

What potential? Newt thinks in confusion. A few minutes ago, Harry hadn't even known who he was and now he's saying that Newt had some hidden potential? How in Merlin's name had Newt managed to convince him of that?

Harry, obvious to Newt's inner monologues, claps his hands and everything on the table vanishes except for a piece of parchment.

"This is a charmed parchment," he explains, handing the item to Newt. The young man takes in the intricate runes drawn on the yellowed surface and can't help but be impressed, yet again, by Harry' advanced knowledge of magic.

"What does this do?"

"It's a communication device," Harry explains, taking out a similar parchment from his pocket, "It's charmed so that when you write something on your side, I will see it on mine. The reverse is also true of course. We can set up our sessions in this way."

"Eh...thank you?" He hadn't meant for it to come out as a question, but his confusion made it so. Was it Harry's habit to randomly offer tutoring sessions without going through the Headmaster? Newt selfishly hopes that no, it wasn't and that this is an exception just for him.

He's probably delusional though.

"My pleasure Newt," Harry replies and looks up at a clock he had hung on the wall, "Oh dear, look at the time. You better go before you miss lunch."

Newt immediately stands up, a little embarrased by how long he had stayed, even if none of this was his fault.

"Thank you for seeing me sir," he says politely, manners having been ingrained in him since childhood. He even adds a small bow for good measure. Some teachers seems to appreciate it. Harry on the other hand simply looks amused by the overly formal gesture.

"How adorable," he laughs and Newt flushes pink and straightens up. Harry doesn't give Newt anytime to regret his actions before continuing, "Don't be so formal. None of my students are this polite to me. You'll make me feel old."

Newt nods in understanding, his heart rate a more steady beat in his rib cage. He picks up the charmed parchment and carefully put it in his book bag, in a pocket separated from the rest of his school supplies. He wanted to make sure to keep it wrinkle-free and safe until the time comes to use it.

"I'll be leaving now," he says once that was done.

"Have a good day," Harry replies cheerfully but doesn't get up to send him off.

Still in a daze, Newt pushes the door open and was about to close it behind him when a student - one he has never seen before - comes running up to him.

"Scamander" he asks when he is close enough to be head. Newt nods and the boy relaxes. "The Headmaster sent me to find you. Your friend Leta Lestrange told me where you were."

"Is something wrong?" Newt asks a little worriedly. The Headmaster don't usually ask to talk to students unless they have done something worthy of his time. Newt really can't remember ever doing something like that.

"I don't know," the student admits, shrugging slightly. "Apparently, you received some mail from your brother that didn't arrive in time for the morning mail distribution."

TBC.