She'd been assigned fifth year.
It wasn't the age she wanted (she wanted the little ones), but she had convinced herself enough times that when she arrived at Magnolia Crescent Primary School, she believed it would be for the best. Whether she actually wanted to teach children that age or not, it didn't matter. It was a real teaching job at a real school, and she could only do what she could do. That meant that she had to be prepared. Unfortunately, that meant that she had to go to the Headmistress's desk to make an appointment with Deputy Headmaster Winthrop to be briefed on school policies and procedures, and handed her roster.
She frowned when she recognized the name of the Headmistress's secretary.
Hilda Bristol.
The name alone was enough to make her lose sleep for two weeks.
As a young child in her own fifth year, she'd spent far too much time in front of Ms. Bristol's desk. She'd broken Harvey Lancaster's science project--a ceramic pot-full of dandelions--over Angus Figg's head for calling her fat. She'd broken Susan Branford's nose the next week. By accident that time, because the girl's friends had put the class mascot--a rat named Hugh--in her book bag. Her arm went flying up, and Susan's nose was unfortunately in its place. There were loads of other times she'd been in trouble, and every time, she sat fidgeting in the uncomfortable, plastic orange chair. Ms. Bristol would look at her sternly over her papers and give her a disapproving glare if she moved too much for her liking.
"If you want more detention, Ms. Kent, just go ahead and keep that up," she threatened. "I'll make sure you'll be staying after for the rest of your days here."
Paula always stiffened for a few seconds, but then found a reason to fidget even more than she was before.
Fortunately, before Ms. Bristol could say anything, Headmaster Dunwoody opened his office door and waved her in.
As she retold the story to her best friend Emily the night before, it might as well have happened yesterday.
"Ever since then," Paula finished, "well...let me put it this way."
Emily encouraged Paula to continue with a nod.
"You know how most people have an irrational fear of spiders or heights or small places?" she asked.
"And why shouldn't they?" Emily answered.
"Well...I have that same kind of fear about Head Offices," Paula answered meekly.
"Because of that woman?" Emily asked.
Paula nodded with a wan smile.
"That was twenty-five years ago," Emily reminded her. "It's time to face your inner-demon."
"My inner-demon can stay in," Paula answered. Then sighed in defeat. "But I'm an adult now."
"Technically speaking," Emily cut in.
"She's my colleague." Now Paula was convincing herself more than continuing the conversation with Emily.
"Also technically speaking," Emily repeated.
Paula grabbed her keys, started her car, and made her way to her old school.
The car might as well have been a time machine. Never-mind that she had her own house and her own bank account now. Never mind that she wore a power-suit and pumps that dug into her heals and would likely leave blisters at the end of the day. Never mind that she had earned a college degree from a prestigious university. As soon as she stepped out of that car, it was not twenty-five year old Paula Kent that stepped out of her Honda, it was nine-year-old Paula Kent, and she had broken something, so she was going to Ms. Bristol's office.
"I'm an adult," was her inner-mantra, "I can handle this."
The school hadn't changed much since her days as a student there. There might be new equipment in the playground and the fence might be wire now instead of wooden, but it was still fundamentally the same.
She didn't know why, but all of a sudden, she felt like a small child who was entering forbidden territory.
"Well," she thought to herself as an attempt to cheer herself up, "At least I know where this place is."
"Maybe she'll be out sick today," her inner-optimist piped up.
"Morning, Hilda!" chirped a wiry redhead in the general direction of the familiar stern face at the secretary's desk.
Paula's stomach fell to her feet.
All the colleagues were on a first-name basis at the school--everyone from the Headmistress right down to the caretaker. But Paula didn't know if she could bring herself to call the woman in the Headmistress's office Hilda.
"Yes?" Ms. Bristol barked when she noticed Paula.
"Er," she stammered, hoping that her voice wouldn't suddenly start squeaking. "I'm here to see the Headmistress." Then almost as an afterthought, "I'm Paula Kent. I had an eight o'clock appointment."
"Very well, Ms. Kent. Have a seat," Ms. Bristol snapped, eying her dubiously. She was thus far showing no signs of recognition, and for that, Paula was extremely grateful.
But the relief soon gave way to dread when she saw it.
That ugly, orange couch--the same couch she sat on when she'd gotten in trouble nearly two decades before.
She shuddered, but she couldn't help laying her hand over the bare patch on the chair's arm where she'd picked off the covering. She resisted the urge to deface it further. Oh, there were tons of other new blemishes on the ugly orange upholstery. Children had declared their loves, insured their immortality, and bore their pencils inside it so hard that it now resembled a very orange, chair-shaped Swiss cheese more than it did a couch. There was one rather disturbing doodle etched in pen rather recently, or at least, an attempt hadn't been made to clean it off. It was a stick-figure sketch of a boy with an unusual lightening-bolt scar, two X's where the eyes should be in the middle of circular glasses, and another boy standing triumphantly over the obviously conquered stick-figure, standing in front of bigger stick-people, a man and a woman whom she assumed were his parents.
It's just a doodle, she told herself. Kids can be cruel sometimes.
"Ms. Kent?" The Headmistress said. She was a severe-looking woman whose nose took over her face. She remembered the woman from her interview a month earlier. Her name was Iris Leicester. "Er, Paula, is it? We're on a first-name basis here." Paula had been so deep in thought that she hadn't realized the Headmaster's office door opened.
She jumped.
"Where are my manners?" Paula said. "My goodness, quite a first impression I'm making, aren't I?" She gave a nervous smile and shook her new boss's hand.
"This way, please," Headmistress Leicester directed, and Paula followed, pushing the doodle out of her head to focus on the task at hand.
* * *
"As you know, you'll be teaching fifth year," the Headmistress said. "I can't tell you how grateful we are that we have someone to fill the position on such short notice. We were so disappointed to lose Linda. She was a fantastic teacher, but I'm sure you'll fit right in." She paused to hand Paula a tall stack of files.
"Now, most children at this school, I'm happy to tell you, aren't any trouble at all. There are, of course, a few every year who get sent to my office on a regular basis, however."
Paula looked down while the Headmistress rambled on, barely listening to what she was saying. She was surprised to see the file itself, because as a rule, files weren't generally kept on students. The top of the file bore the name Harry Potter. She didn't have time to give it a further glance before the Headmistress continued.
"I'm thrilled that you called ahead of time to get your roster, because I was going to set up a time for us to have a little chat." Paula stopped glancing at the file now. "I wanted you to be prepared.
"Be prepared for what, Headmistress?"
"Please, dear, call me Iris."
"Er...Iris. Of course I should be prepared. A good teacher is always prepared."
"That's the spirit, Paula!" Iris beamed. "But I think you want to be especially prepared in this case."
"What case?"
"The file I just gave you."
"This is all one file?"
Iris nodded in the affirmative.
"To be precise, four years' worth of files on one student."
"Not that I don't appreciate the advice," Paula said more icily than she intended, plunking the stack on her desk with a resounding thud. "But I'd like to form my own opinions about my students before I teach them. Why does this student have a file?"
Iris heaved a harassed sigh, and picked up the stack. "I don't normally like my teachers to have pre-conceived notions of a student, but in this case, his guardian and I have agreed that you should be aware of what you are getting into."
"Guardian?" Paula asked, curiosity now getting the better of her. She took the stack out of the Headmistress's hands, and began to browse his initial file down at the bottom.
"An aunt. His mother's sister, from what I understand. The boy's parents died in a car crash when the child was an infant. I suppose that explains quite a bit of his behavioral issues, but..." she sighed heavily. "We can only justify so much, Paula, before his actions speak for him."
"I don't under..."
"Harry Potter has a penchant for trouble. I do not like to label any child as 'bad,' but Harry Potter certainly has, er, lost his way. At first glance, he's just an ordinary boy, Paula. But between you and me, he's headed for Saint Brutus's next year. Don't let on. As far as Harry's aware, he's going to Stonewall High next year, but I'm sure you're aware that only the worst lot go there. I recommended the school to his aunt, and she quite agreed."
Paula wondered briefly if this Potter boy was the one who drew the rather gruesome doodle on the dreadful orange chair.
"Take the files home for your own perusal, Paula," Iris said in such a way that gave Paula the impression that it wasn't an option. "You'll thank me later."
"I'm sure I will." Paula said absent-mindedly, unable to stop reading the file. Her eyes widened when she came across a particular incident. She hoped that she misread it. "Did I read that correctly? He turned a teacher's hair blue last year?"
Iris nodded. "Poor Mrs. Dursley swore up and down that she had no bluing at all in her household. She was quite puzzled as to how the boy got a hold of some. But Ms. Caulfield's hair still has blue roots if she's not careful to go to the hair dresser's."
"Is there any way to prove it was him? I mean, couldn't she have just dyed her hair by accident?"
Iris shook her head as if this was the most preposterous suggestion she'd ever heard. "He was the only one who would've had the gall to do such a thing."
Paula frowned, subconsciously running a finger through her own mousey-brown hair. "I see. Head...Iris? Would it be possible to see the roster for my class? I'd like to get in touch with my students' parents and guardians before the year starts if I may."
Iris beamed, ushering her out the door. "Certainly. Just let Hilda know on your way out, and she'll have it ready for you tomorrow."
Paula winced. She'd have the school hooligan for one of her students. She wouldn't be half-surprised if the previous teacher resigned because of the boy. She made a mental note to search again for other employment tomorrow, but she braced herself to ask Ms. Bristol to prepare the roster for her tomorrow just in case she came up empty-handed.
She didn't care what the policy was. She'd never call that woman Hilda, and she wasn't going to let someone like this Potter kid cost her the job, either.