Disclaimer: standard--see chapter one.
"Have you seen the new teacher?"
"Which one?"
"The one to replace Mrs. Donaldson."
"Not yet."
"It's terrible what happened to Mrs. Donaldson, it's it? A heart attack. And she wasn't very old."
Harry wove his way around the slow-walking groups of gossipers. Personally, he wasn't too upset that they wouldn't be having Mrs. Donaldson for a teacher any longer. That didn't mean he'd wanted her to die, of course... Shaking the terrible thought away, he doubled his pace. He'd left for school well before Dudley, and he hoped to be in his class before he ran into any of his cousin's gang.
Harry jogged up the steps to the school and pushed the large door open. It was only a couple weeks into his fifth grade year, but the smell of new books and dormant hallways had already left the building. Replacing it was the stench of cafeteria food and the musty odor of mildew from the gym and changing rooms.
Slipping into the empty classroom unnoticed, Harry breathed a deep sigh of relief as he sank into his seat. Now just as long as the teacher got to class before Dudley and Piers...
Harry hated being in the same class as his cousin. It didn't happen very often, but, as there was only one fifth grade class, it couldn't be helped. Fortunately, he didn't have to sit anywhere near Dudley. By virtue of last names, they were at opposite ends of the room. That didn't stop Piers Polkiss from kicking the back of Harry's chair and poking him in the head with his pencil, but it was better than what Dudley would have done with the same vantage point.
Harry took out his homework--which he hadn't managed to finish the night before due to extra chores--and passed the time working over several difficult math problems.
As the minutes ticked by on the clock, and students trickled into the room, Harry felt himself grow more and more nervous. Mrs. Donaldson might have been a nasty old bat, and she might have been the most irrationally mean teacher at the school, but at least she always got to the room early enough to keep Dudley and his friends from bothering Harry before class started. This new teacher was being very worrying, and she wasn't even there yet!
Suddenly, a robust voice began to sing from the doorway, "Potty, oh, Potty! We all know he's dotty!"
Piers, who was following close behind Dudley, laughed. "Mad as a Potter, all right," he chuckled.
Not even bothering to drop off his bag by his own seat, Dudley made a bee-line for Harry. "What happened this morning, Harry? I thought we were going to walk to school together."
"Had to get in early to do my homework," Harry mumbled, trying to stuff his homework into his desk.
Piers snatched the paper out of Harry's hand. "I think you got that one wrong, Potter," he sneered, peering at the scratchy writing. "And that one, too. I think you got them all wrong, actually." He tore the paper in half, in quarters, then in several pieces, and dropped them on Harry's desk.
Dudley laughed stupidly as the starting bell rang. Lumbering carelessly, he walked over to his seat. It took a moment to squeeze himself behind his desk, but just as he did so, the classroom door opened and the headmaster walked in looking very harassed. There was a tall man with dark hair and a scowl following him.
"Everyone, everyone! Settle down. This is Mr. Williams. He will be taking over for Mrs. Donaldson."
Still lamenting his homework, Harry barely registered anything but the man's name, when he looked up and saw two heavy, piercing eyes staring directly at him. Startled, Harry knocked his pencil case onto the floor with a loud clatter.
The headmaster shot Harry warning glare.
The class tittered, looking at Harry and whispering. Piers gawfed.
When the headmaster had returned to his introduction, Piers took the moment of inattention to kick the back of Harry's seat. The chair legs screeched across the floor, and Harry made a slight gasping sound when the edge of the desk rammed suddenly into his gut, once again drawing the headmaster's glare and enticing giggles out of the class.
"S-sorry, sir," Harry stammered.
"Well, Mr. Williams, I shall leave them to you."
Mr. Williams nodded slightly as the headmaster left the room, then turned dark, penetrating eyes on the students. "I'm very sorry to hear about the loss of your teacher."
Harry reflected for a moment that he did not sound at all sorry.
"However, we are still here, and we still have things to learn. Take out your math homework while I call the roll."
His attention brought back to his torn paper, Harry sighed and pushed the pieces into his book bag, annoyed at the drop his already-borderline grade would take by report time. It wasn't that Harry was a poor student. He was at least average. But, because of Dudley, he hardly ever got to turn in his work without it being ripped, scribbled on, or whited-out. (On one particular assignment about plants that Harry had done in third grade, Dudley had whited-out letters in the paper so it appeared that Harry had written several, random strings of curse words in the middle of his essay. That had not only earned him a fail, but a detention and lectures from his teacher, the head, and the Dursleys.)
"Now that that is finished, on to work. We'll go up the rows. I want you to stand, give the answer, and remain standing until I tell you to sit. Make sure to be marking your papers as we go." Looking at the blond girl in the first row by the door, Mr. Williams said, "Bartlet, the answer to question one."
She stood up. "Forty-two."
"Yes, sit. Carlson, number two."
"Eighty-nine."
"Sit. Dursley, number three."
"Thirteen."
"Sit." On it went, uninterrupted, until Mr. Williams said, "Potter, number eighteen."
Unsure if he should stand or not, Harry said, "I don't have it."
"Do you follow directions? I said to stand before answering."
Harry stood up. "I don't have it."
Mr. Williams looked at him over the top of his answer sheet. "Why not?"
Dudley was glaring a deadly warning across the room at Harry, and Piers kept poking the back of his leg with the toe of his sneaker.
"I didn't do it," Harry answered softly, looking down.
"Is this a habit of yours? Not doing homework?"
"No."
His arms folded behind his back, Mr. Williams strolled across the front of the room until he stood at the head of Harry's row. "No homework, and no manners." The tall man walked up the aisle until he stood mere feet from Harry. Mr. Williams towered over the boy. "You will address me with respect, am I clear?"
"Yes."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir."
After a lingering stare, Mr. Williams walked back to the front of the room. "Smith, number eighteen. Do not sit down, Potter," he ordered sharply, not looking up from his answer sheet.
Harry, who'd been about to drop back into his seat, stood up straight, his face going crimson. He could hear Piers snickering behind him.
Angie Smith cast a pitying glance over her shoulder at Harry before saying, "Thirty-four, sir."
"Sit. Swift, number nineteen."
"Twelve and a half."
"Sit. Thompson, number twenty."
"Three-eighths."
"Sit." Mr. Williams dropped the answer sheet on his desk. "Make sure your name is on your paper and pass it forward. I want a neat pile on Mr. Thompson's desk." He looked at Harry. "Sit down, Potter."
His face still burning with humiliation, Harry sat.
Harry sighed and tried to massage out the numbness that was growing in his legs. He'd been cramped behind the trash dumpster by the cafeteria for the last twenty minutes, and he was beginning to lose all feeling in his limbs.
It had started at the beginning of recess. After walking out to the play field, Harry was more than mildly concern when he heard Gordon announce that it was time to go Harry Hunting. Sneaking away before any of Dudley's gang saw him, Harry had squeezed himself into his best hiding place and hadn't moved. He was very grateful that there were only ten minutes left until they got to go back inside.
Footsteps on the gravel drive approached Harry's hiding spot. He tensed.
"Where did he get to?" It was Piers.
"I don't know. Poor sport, he is. We only wanted to play," Gordon complained.
Dudley and Piers laughed.
The three leaned against the side of the dumpster, Dudley's foot only inches from Harry's shoe. If any of them looked down...
Harry tried to push himself farther behind the dumpster, but only managed to slide his foot even closer to Dudley's. He sucked in a sharp breath, holding it until he was sure none of them had noticed.
Crisp steps suddenly echoed in the narrow space behind the cafeteria. "What are you three doing back here?" Mr. Williams's voice demanded. "Out to the play field. And if I find you sneaking out of sight of the field monitor again, it'll be a detention."
"Yes, sir."
"Sorry, sir."
The three boys hurried around the side of the building.
Mr. Williams stood by the dumpster for several seconds before saying, his voice amused, "Cozy, Potter?"
A mounting feeling of doom swelled in Harry's chest as he sat, silent, praying for his life to just end. Of all the people Harry ever hoped to never have find him cowering behind a trash dumpster, Mr. Williams had to be somewhere very close to number one.
"Come out here, Potter." The amusement was gone, being replaced by a cool, even tone that betrayed none of the man's thoughts.
Untying his numb legs, Harry crawled out from behind the dumpster. His face went bright red as he stood up, pulling his baggy T-shirt back into place on his shoulder. Staring at Mr. Williams's expensive-looking shoes, he waited for his punishment.
"An explanation, if you please, Potter."
"Sorry, sir?"
"Why were you hiding?"
"I wasn't hiding. I was just...sitting."
"Behind a dumpster?"
"Yes, sir," he mumbled, feeling very stupid.
"Back to the play field, Mr. Potter," Mr. Williams ordered, not unkindly. He rested a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder, directing him around the corner. The field was empty except for the monitor and two students who were running towards the doors carrying soccer balls.
The field monitor for the day was Mrs. Hales, Harry's old first grade teacher. She walked towards the two. "Is everything all right, Mr. Williams?"
"Everything is fine. I'm just collecting my student."
The hand on Harry's shoulder suddenly seemed heavier. A minute later, when he walked into the classroom, Mr. Williams still directing him, Harry thought he would die at the look of joy on Dudley's face. It was obvious that he thought whatever Harry had been up to, had gotten him in trouble. And wouldn't Dudley just love to be the one to go home and his parents about Harry getting in trouble with the new teacher already? And twice in one day, at that.
Mr. Williams let go of Harry and went to his desk. "Now that you're fed, watered, and exercised, let's get back to lessons. Pens and paper out for notes." He turned and started writing on the chalkboard in a heavy, cramped scrawl.
TBC