CHAPTER FOUR: FLEE
In the few days remaining before the start of term, Hazel spent much of her time preparing for her classes. She finalized scripts with the help of her new class rosters and used a simple Copying Charm to duplicate scripts enough for all her students. The Polyjuice Potion, which she had begun in Dungeon Three, was coming along nicely; there really wasn't much to do until the lacewing flies had completed their twenty-one days of stewing, but the mammoth cauldron she'd borrowed from the school's potions stores hadn't been disturbed and the mixture within was gently simmering each time she checked it.
The morning before term began she awoke to a clear morning and a folded piece of parchment on her bedside table. Hazel unfolded the parchment to read its contents – detailed directions to the new Hogwarts theatre that would be her teaching space.
The door to the theatre had been installed in an obscure nook on the first floor, just outside the Great Hall. The only indication of the door's contents was a small carving of the comedy and tragedy masks just above Hazel's eye level. She admired it for a few seconds, as it was very well done, then eagerly turned the knob and walked into the theatre.
Seven rising rows of plush purple chairs surrounded the stage to the left, right, and center, gradually ascending row by row halfway up each wall. The stage itself was ground-level, the floor plain unfinished wood slats to allow for easy painting without guilt. There were floor entrances from each of the theatre's four corners, and a door leading into the balcony area cut into the walls which surrounded the room on all four sides.
Exploring further, Hazel found that all the entrances were connected by a backstage tunnel that ran the perimeter of the theatre space, connecting to a wide staircase at the back which led to the balcony door.
The tech booth was located behind the front audience section.
It was perplexing. There was no light board, no sound system. The room contained a desk that spanned the width of the room beneath the large windows that allowed a view of the entire theatre space, and two plush purple chairs, but there was none of the equipment Hazel would have expected in a Muggle theatre's tech booth.
"Professor Farren?" She could hear someone calling through the thin glass of the booth window. Looking up, Hazel saw Professor Dumbledore standing in the middle of the stage. She slid open half of the large window to answer.
"Yes?"
"Ah, so you have found the place." He clasped his hands behind his back, looking like an extremely self-satisfied, affable Keebler Elf. The Headmaster was, Hazel realized, as excited about the project as she. "What do you think of it?"
"It's an amazing, lovely space . . ." he beamed at her, "but honestly, Headmaster, I'm confused about its technical capacities." She gestured helplessly to the tech booth, empty except for its long desk and two chairs.
"I thought you might want to know about that." He gestured to the room's rafters. They were crowded with rows of authentic stage lights. "These lights have been enchanted to produce the lighting best suited for the mood and effect of each scene performed. The sound system," the lights focused on large speakers hanging from each corner of the room, "works much the same way, and will channel students' voices through a process similar to the Sonorus Charm used by most sports announcers and MCs."
"Professor, thank you," Hazen began uncertainly. "This system you've worked out is amazing. But in the interests of education, I'd really prefer the students to learn how to design and run lights and sound themselves – on light and sound boards in the tech booth."
He smiled. "Of course. The space is attuned to your preferences and needs. You will probably find the equipment you desire next time you return here."
He was right. The light and sound boards were spread on the desk of the tech booth when she returned, operational and humming gently.
Hazel found the banquet celebrating the beginning of the new school year fascinating. She'd known the students were separated into Houses based on abilities and personality, but she gasped along with the First Years when the long rip in the Sorting Hat opened as it began its song.
The warmth and pleasance all the teachers had shown during her first week at Hogwarts only increased at the arrival of the students. Hazel knew that most of them had felt as she did, a bit small and uncomfortable rattling around in the huge castle. But now they were almost all grinning openly, talking amongst each other about the students seated at the four long wooden tables before them, speculating and gossiping freely.
"Miss Bernhardt and Mr. Jones are at it again," the normally-chipper Professor Flitwick observed resignedly over his shepherd's pie. Hazel followed his gaze to two of the Seventh Year Ravenclaws, quarreling over their respective dinners. On either side of them, their friends looked abashed. "It hasn't stopped since their first year," the professor continued. "Mr. Jones instigates a ruckus, Miss Bernhardt tells him off, he reaches for his wand, and staff and students scatter. They've caused more trouble in the Ravenclaw common room than anyone else in my years here."
"Both are exemplary students," added plump Professor Sprout from Flitwick's other side, loading her plate with a heaping spoonful of spotted dick. "And your Ravenclaws are usually so well-behaved, Filius. Shame they can't seem to get along."
At the Ravenclaw table, Miss Bernhardt had finally pulled her wand on Mr. Jones. The professors all shared a small chuckle as the girl nearest Miss Bernhardt, a pretty Asian seventh year girl, wrested the wand out of Miss Bernhardt's anger-tightened fists before she could do any damage to the boy beside her.
Something bothered Hazel about the fighting Ravenclaws' close proximity. Weren't Ravenclaws supposed to be known for their intelligence? "Then why are they sitting next to each other?"
"Their friends," piped Olivia Vector at Hazel's other elbow. She, Sprout, and Flitwick shared a covert grin. "All the Ravenclaws know Beryl Bernhardt and Basil Jones would be a charming couple. They compliment each other well. They're the only students who aren't aware of it, so the Ravenclaws keep pushing them together, trusting they'll eventually solve their problems." She took a shockingly large bite of her steamed carrots. Hazel never had to fake amazement at the amount of food Olivia could consume, or jealousy that none of her vigorous eating ever seemed to affect her slim body. "And they'd like to stop the Friday night curse-throwing in the Ravenclaw common room," she added, chewing thoughtfully.
At the Ravenclaw table, the two had finally settled down and returned to their plates. More than once Hazel caught one shooting the other a grade-A "dirty look."
When everyone had eaten as much as they possibly could hold, Professor Dumbledore stood from his seat at the High Table. The room quieted.
"Just a few start-of-term announcements. Hogwarts is pleased to welcome Professor Hazel Farren as Professor of Dramatic Art for the duration of this school year." Hazel rose to light applause. "Her class is open to Fifth Years and above. Last minute sign-up sheets are located on the doors of the Great Hall. If you are interested in taking her class and did not register at the end of last term, please remember to sign up before breakfast tomorrow, as timetables will be distributed then.
"Hogwarts is also pleased to welcome back Professor Remus Lupin as our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." The applause for Lupin, particularly from the Gryffindor table, was staggering. "Professor Lupin has kindly consented to return to Hogwarts for another year while we continue our search for a more permanent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
"First Years – and indeed all of our students," Hazel thought she saw Dumbledore's gaze light on Basil Jones momentarily, "would do well to remember that the Forbidden Forest is off-limits to students, unless accompanied by a teacher.
"Third Years may give their Hogsmeade permission forms to their Head of House."
Dumbledore suddenly looked very tired. "If, for any reason, you should need to seek someone out for help or for advice, do not be afraid to go to your Head of House. These are very serious times. Please do not be so selfish as to suffer alone."
After a few moments' pause, his tone lightened. "Your prefects will now lead you to your dormitories. Enjoy your school year!"
The Great Hall erupted into noise once more, the enthusiastic talking of students and staff alike echoing from the ceiling of the Hall as the students filed out after their prefects. After the Slytherins had deserted the Hall, Professor Dumbledore turned to the staff.
"My last note for the students applies to the faculty as well," he said quietly. "Help will be given to those who ask, but if we are unaware we cannot help you. Do not hesitate to speak with Minerva or I."
He smiled and bid them all a good night and good luck during the new term, and rose to leave. Feeling slightly subdued, Hazel left the Great Hall.
Her first class of the week was the Fifth Years.
As they entered the theatre, Hazel was relieved to see that there were only about twelve students in the class. She hadn't expected many to sign up, as it wasn't exactly a necessary magical skill or even a magic-related elective, but the thought of teaching a class of twenty or more students was nerve-wrenching. Hazel's only experiences teaching were the few years she spent as a teaching assistant to several acting teachers at the Currituck Little Theatre when she was a teenager.
It reminded her of her first days at the theatre near her house, checking in, warming up, working with Shakespeare under the watchful, professional eye of Shakespeare and Co. graduate Carmen Mandley.
Hazel wondered if she should allow them to call her by her first name, as Carmen had. It would probably be a good idea. The sooner she broke down the teacher-student barriers and was able to work with them as people, the more effective actors they would become.
They were all sitting in the first two rows of the front audience section. Ah. Audience proclivities. She'd fix that. Hazel plopped onto the floor of the stage, facing the class. "Okay, everyone. Circle up, please." A few of the students exchanged confused glances, but quickly joined Hazel on the stage floor, sitting in more or less a roundish shape. Hazel did a quick head count. Six Gryffindors, three Ravenclaws, and four Hufflepuffs.
Hazel steadied herself and spoke, trying to make eye contact with each of the students in the circle. "We will begin each of our classes with a Check-in. The Check-in is designed to let everyone in the room know how you are feeling, to help everyone be present in the room. Please try to describe yourself with a feeling word rather than a judgment, such as 'good' or 'bad.' Also, please say your name until we become more familiar with each other.
"I'll begin. I'm Hazel, and today I'm a bit nervous."
They continued around the circle, each student surprisingly willing to attempt to put a label on what she or he was feeling. Hazel was starting to feel more comfortable.
"Please find a space on the floor where you can lie on your back, hands at your sides, without touching anyone else. You may want to remove your school robes." Glancing from side to side uncomfortably, the students shed their school robes and scattered themselves across the floor. She led them through a brief relaxation exercise designed to help them feel more comfortable within their bodies, then a vigorous physical and vocal warm-up. They continued into a few of her favorite improve games from high school.
Hazel checked her watch. Incredibly, the class was nearly over. Hazel called all the students into another circle on the stage floor.
"I like to finish my classes by reinforcing. Reinforcement helps us know what worked and what didn't work about a class, and is a way to commend a job well done over the course of our time together. I'd like to reinforce –"
The bell rang abruptly. Hazel sighed. "Class dismissed. I'll have to leave more time for it at the end of our next class." The students filed out of the classroom. Hazel bent over her bag, collecting her lesson planner and scripts.
"Professor Farren?"
She turned. It was one of the Ravenclaw boys, Edward Gardner. He was clutching his bag rather tightly.
"Yes, Edward?"
"My brother says you're the Hazel Farren who wrote Flee. Is it true? Did you?" he asked anxiously.
Hazel's eyes widened in momentary shock. A wizard boy, who knew obscure Muggle plays? "N-no," she lied. "But she is a relative of mine."
"Oh." The boy's shoulders sagged slightly. "Thank you, Professor Farren."
"You're welcome," Hazel answered quietly as she watched him leave the theatre.