Title:

… and sit a while with me …

Author:

Mrs. Trabi

Timeframe:

1944 and 29 A.C.

Summary:

AU/Realization can be a hard thing and when it hits Hereweald Hrothgar, he's not too happy about it. Through an accident, he and his student, Jamie Novak, fall back to the year 29 A.C. to meet Jesus of Nazareth and His disciples – what will he, the dark and tough man from a different time learn from a man that knows him better than he knows himself? And what will the child learn from a man his parents have always said won't care about him because he has no worth?

Disclaimer:

Well … I do not own anything written in the Bible, neither the words nor the persons, places, or happenings – the words are God's words and any other things are the attests of witness from people who lived about two thousands of years ago, or rather the translations of their testimonies … I'm just borrowing things from that book, and even though I promise that I won't misuse anything written in the Bible, that I won't dishonour God, His name, His words or our belief in Him – I nevertheless do apologize for the chaos I might create in this story … I promise, I will bring it in as much order as is possible for a chaotically inclined writer … thanks for your understanding …

Rating:

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

Author's Notes:

Here, I'd like to say that this story isn't meant to discredit the Bible, God, His word, Jesus, or anything we believe in. God is and remains our first and most important priority – or at least that it is what should be. I am writing this in the hope that I'll live up to the responsibility every author has even though I am aware that this here will be very difficult.

I will be trying to handle the subject as delicately and as seriously as possible, I promise, and I do hope that not only I won't be flamed for this, but that also I'll find one or another of my readers who'll gain a new view and understanding … and that you'll like this one as much as you do my other stories, even though this concerns a different – and in my opinion much more important – book … thanks …

Warning:

Story will contain bad language and swearing.

Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence. It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.

Story will contain references to child abuse.

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever - of once having been abused, then try to help … there are too many people in our world who are or have been mistreated.

This does however not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me - I am …

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

… and sit a while with me …

Part one – of teachers and pupils

Chapter two – Prologue – the calm before the storm

September 17th 1944, Sunday – Hathaway Academy

Viewpoint of Hereweald Hrothgar

With a heavy sigh of annoyance, Hereweald Hrothgar leaned back in his chair, stretching stiff muscles after sitting at his desk for hours – and it wasn't even the first day of school. No – this particular and rather unpleasant happening would present itself tomorrow forenoon when the students began to arrive. A thing he cursed each year anew.

The students.

Little annoying snots between ten and eighteen years of age, who were holding a yearly – and yearlong – competition about who'd drive him mad first, about who'd get into most trouble, and about who'd get himself – or others – killed first. Because if anyone was thinking that these bloody idiot brats were here to learn anything – no, this was wrong thinking. These damn children were here because no one wanted them, because they were troublesome and difficult children, children without parents or with parents unable – or unwilling – to handle them. And so they ended up here, at this school, at Hathaway Academy, the only home most of them knew.

Of course, no one would ever say it openly, and of course these bloody snots indeed had a home – and a rather luxurious home even – and they were to return there for each summer holidays – but that didn't automatically mean that this home was their real home. For most, it was just a place they went to for ten weeks during the year, eight weeks in summer and two weeks for Christmas, nothing else.

Not that it was any different with him, surely not!

He was perfectly at home here too, he was – kind of unwanted and difficult too, but well, he'd never asked for this bloody post, and honestly, if it weren't for Hendrik – and of course for Elliot, then he would have left years ago already. That at least was what he told himself. Truth was that he just had come here as a child, when he'd been ten, just like all the other little snots, and he'd simply never left – except for the summer holidays of course. But each year after, he'd come back here, he'd come back home – just like he still did, thirty years later.

He hated this school, he hated teaching, and most particularly he hated the students.

He wasn't a patient man and he surely wasn't an understanding teacher either. He didn't like the students, he didn't like children in general, but well, that was a mutual thing because – the students didn't like him either. They simply endured each other because they had no other choice.

However, whether he liked them or not – once again it was the middle of September and tomorrow was the day the students would arrive, a new term would start, and he was not looking forward to teaching the idiot simpletons who would annoy him to no end during the entire year, and who would cause his early death.

He was forty-seven now – but he was sure he wouldn't celebrate his fiftieth birthday. Not that he celebrated any birthday – or anything else at all – no! To celebrate anything would require socializing abilities, which he didn't have, or at least the wish to socialize with others – and that was the last wish he'd ever have for his entire life. He'd die before he'd socialize with anyone at all! In other words – there were no parties, no celebrations, no meetings except for a staff meeting every month and no tea times or coffee parties. Once in a while he indulged in a glass of whiskey together with Hendrik, but that was the farthest he'd ever go concerning any kind of social meetings.

But well, he had – one way or another – no other choice than to stay here and teach.

First, there was Hendrik VanHarkins, the only teacher here he accepted – and who accepted him just by the way – and who was, kind of … a –'friend'. Most likely the only – well, 'friend' he'd ever had – except for Olivia, of course, but that was a different story and he was not ready to think of her right now – preferably not ever.

Hendrik – well, Hendrik was also a teacher here now, and a teacher who was – just like him – a stern and a strict teacher, easily controlling his students without the need to become loud, but he also was – the only teacher here, the only person at all, whom he trusted to begin with. He didn't mind though, as already mentioned he was not a man who easily socialized in the first place and one 'friend' was clearly enough for him.

Well, he'd attended this very school when he'd been one of those bloody snots himself, together with Hendrik, and soon he had learned that here you either were ready to smash your fist in your opponent's face or you would have his fist in yours. And just because it was a different generation now, it didn't mean that it didn't happen anymore.

However, Hendrik and he had become friends rather soon back then, both of them being loners, and as much as Hendrik had kept his back free for years, he had kept Hendrik's back free as well. They had watched out for each other and they had supported each other – just as they did now too, even though it was now less successful than it had been back then because the circumstances had changed with the years.

And second – and one of these circumstances – well, Juan Garcia, the headmaster of this school, somehow had him on his toast.

It wasn't that he'd killed someone, surely not, but well, he'd done his fair share of things when he'd been younger, things he'd rather not think of right now, and yes, one of these things had cost someone's life.

Sighing, he – like so often – realized that, yes, if he was honest with himself, then he had killed someone. It had been kind of a mistake, and he'd been a child himself back then, but he'd killed someone, and he could be glad that he wasn't in jail for the remainder of his life. Garcia had kept him out of jail, and that was the reason as to why Garcia had him on his toast and he couldn't do anything against it.

Well, and then, a few years later he'd stricken someone dead again, out of pure rage and fury after the guy had killed –

Closing his eyes, he again forced himself away from this particular line of thinking. He poured himself a glass of whiskey while he forced himself to not going down this damn road, not tonight, not when the students would be arriving tomorrow forenoon, because he knew, if he allowed himself weakness, then he would end up with an entire bottle of his strongest whiskey – and then he wouldn't be presentable by tomorrow forenoon.

However, back to Garcia – that bastard just wanted him at this bloody school of his because barely any person was ready to teach here. This school did have a reputation and this reputation was – even though this was one of the better and clearly more expensive schools for 'difficult' children – a bad reputation. A teacher at this school needed to be not only hard and tough, he also needed to be prepared for mischief that would be annoying, frustrating, and tiring to no end in the best case, and could kill in the worst case.

Well, Hathaway was an academy for the rich, for the rich who had children but no time for them due to either their job or travelling around the world where their children would be a hindrance to them only, and so they sent them – most of them difficult children due to their parents never having had any time for teaching them manners, respect, discipline, or anything else – here, paying a sum that was horrendous, rather than taking care of their little snots they had sired and produced. Well, they just didn't care about the money because they had their children out of the way so that they could work or travel in peace and freedom. It was as easy as this, nothing new here.

Scowling, the Chemistry Professor looked back at the piece of paper in front of him, reading through the names.

Julian Fitzgerald, Bryan McKinney and Jacob Graham – they would be his new fifth grade students. He didn't have any information about Julian Fitzgerald and the folder in front of him at the desk, bearing the name Bryan McKinney didn't hold much information either. Jacob Graham, that boy he knew and for a moment the corner of his lip curled into what could be considered as a tiny little smile, because he knew the family and therefore he knew the child – a spoiled child who was his godson, but a child that bore manners if nothing else and he was sure that Jacob Graham Senior had sent the boy here just because he, Hereweald Hrothgar, was teaching here.

Jeremy Haynes, Marvin O'Dough, Gideon Moore and Jimmy Bishop – well these four were his students for two years now and they were in seventh grade now – twelve year old little pre-teen monsters, but he had managed to work with them fairly well during these past two years.

Jeremy Haynes wasn't really a criminal. That boy wouldn't harm anyone. He just sometimes – took things which didn't belong to him. Not because he wanted to have them, but because he thought he needed them to survive – and mostly food. And yes, even the children of the rich could fear these things. Fear of starvation wasn't reserved for the poor only, he soon had realized that upon living here. However, the boy had started – at one point or another – to realize that he would get enough food here at the school and then it had gotten a bit better, but sometimes – and especially shortly after the summer holidays – he feared he wouldn't, and then self preservation and instinct took the upper hand.

Marvin O'Dough wasn't really a criminal either.

That boy was just not listening to anyone because he'd been forced to care for himself after his mother had died when he'd been really small. His father hadn't been able to care for the brat after his wife's untimely death and soon one nursemaid after another had cycled through the household of the owner of a renowned bank in New York. And these nursemaids, they hadn't cared about the boy either, but only the money they got – and he was sure about that, because otherwise they would have done a better job – and in the end Marvin had been forced to learn how to care for himself – what had made him independent, and he, Hereweald Hrothgar, soon had learned that it was best to allow the boy his independence. It came along with less trouble than if he were to force the boy to listen and depend on him, his head of house. If the boy was to do things by himself, then so be it, as long as he cleared away the mess he had created in the act afterwards, which he always did.

He wouldn't say the same about Gideon Moore and Jimmy Bishop. Neither boy cared much about anything at all, and they acted accordingly, even with violence if necessary.

It was getting better later into each school year – but upon coming back from the summer holidays it was always the same again, they just didn't care because at home no one cared either. Where Jeremy wouldn't get enough food at home and where Marvin wouldn't get enough love and care at home – he shuddered at alone the thought of the word love – there Gideon and Jimmy didn't get enough attention at home. Their parents didn't care about anything they did, never mind if it was a criminal act or just a stupid thing they were performing, and he was sure that they wouldn't even care if these boys were to murder someone one day – and so the two boys did one stupid thing upon the other just to – try and get the adults around them to act, one way or another, they didn't care about positive attention they received or negative attention, as long as the adults around them provided them with any kind of attention in the first place.

Not that he would believe in any of these psychological nonsense theories which had come up lately! He was Hereweald Hrothgar, dark and tough teacher, the most hated teacher at Hathaway Academy even, and the only things he did, were handing out detention, bad marks, and extra essays for the idiots to write. Should Hendrik take the little snots by the hand, he refused to do such a stupid thing and ruin his reputation in the act!

There wasn't much to say about Benjamin Snyder and Tyrone Yates. Both were eight grade boys of thirteen years and his students for three years now. They were just the sons of rich people who cared more about one trip around the world upon another – just like Nathan Ortega and Michael Foley, ninth grade fourteen year old little snots. They were the sons of managers, hoteliers and bankiers.

Well, Johnny Constantin and Reginald Freeman were the next on his list, and his oldest students. They had turned seventeen years old at one time or another this spring and summer and were twelfth grade students now – and therefore, it would be their last year at this school. They would have to leave next summer when they turned eighteen – to find work, to start an apprenticeship, or to rot on the streets. He'd make them prefects for the year and after that they wouldn't be his concern anymore.

Frank Benson had been the prefect from his house last year, but the boy had left this summer. The brat hadn't just found work, but had even been able to start an apprenticeship at the garage down the road, not far away from the police station. He just hoped that the boy wouldn't drop out before his time.

Not that he cared.

He was Hereweald Hrothgar, the most hated teacher at this academy and he cared about nothing and no one, not even about the students in his own house. No – he just made sure that they started an apprenticeship or a job so that they wouldn't destroy his reputation. He was known for being a strict and demanding teacher, expecting the best from the students of his house and expecting them to not land with their lazy butts on the streets, but to take their lives into their own hands. He'd have their hides if they didn't and they knew it, because he'd never lost a student to the streets and he wouldn't allow any bloody idiot to destroy this statistic.

Frowning he read the next – and last – two names: Elliot and Jamie Novak.

That made fifteen students – again – while normally a teacher at this academy was the head of a house for ten students only. Not to mention that – to his knowledge Elliot's brother was seven only and a second grade student now, while this academy was for fifth and higher grade students between the age of ten and eighteen years … and – not to mention that the name Jamie Novak didn't wake the best of memories.

Elliot Novak was his student for four years now, would enter his fifth year by tomorrow forenoon – and he was surely one of the most complicated students he'd ever had. The now fifteen year old had somehow always been … the one he'd kept two eyes on instead of one only. He liked the boy – and that meant a lot as he didn't like anyone. Except for his godson, maybe, a little bit. He was a misanthrope, truly and honestly, and sometimes he didn't even like himself. Yes, sure, he was – kind of – friends with Hendrik, but that didn't automatically mean that he liked the other man. He was just one of the few, one of the very few, which he didn't dislike – or even hate.

And children, even the students in his own house, he did dislike very much. Not that this was a bad thing, because the students from the other houses he disliked even more, actually loathed them and he was a master in showing them this little fact – where he came back to the, for him, pleasant knowledge that he was the most detested teacher at this school, a bastard – but he was very satisfied with his reputation, because that meant less trouble. Those bloody little snots feared him – and so they freely obeyed his orders, never mind if these orders were about lessons, homework, detentions, or other things.

But well, this boy, Elliot, he'd always liked him. Maybe because he'd been so much more in need of his help than all the other little snots, he didn't know. Maybe because somehow he'd reminded him of his own childhood, he didn't know that either. Maybe it was just because that boy with his open and childish ways had always clung to him, from the first day he'd set foot into his house and this very office, never mind what he, Hereweald Hrothgar had done – as annoying as it had been.

It was a cold office, cast in just as cold neon light that gave neither warmth nor friendliness. White walls that were cold, too, gave the impression of a sterile room and the only warm colour was the brown of his desk, the shelf that stood to one wall and the sideboard to the other. Well, and the dark wooden planks of the floor. Alright, and the large window that faced the part of the campus grounds where the bloody children met for their breaks too, the schoolyard and the lawn. Maybe his office wasn't as cold as he wished it to be, causing the little snots to think he could be friendly too, idiot little horrors. He always gave out an added portion of detentions, just for compensation and teaching the little snots that he wasn't friendly at all.

However, he always called the students of his house – one by one – to his office upon arriving at school, to have a few words with the older students, about their holidays, about troubles at home. Not that he cared, he just wanted to make sure that they were alright and wouldn't have trouble with their concentration during his lessons, but surely he didn't care, no. Well, not to mention that he needed to remind them about his expectations anyway, and to get his rules down to the younger and new students, knowing that it was in vain because they would get into trouble sooner rather than later anyway.

And so of course he had called Elliot Novak to his office too, back then, four years ago – and so his own private horror had begun.

Flashback

The knock on his office door was a clearly shy and timid knock and he could hear that it was a fifth grade, but well, he'd told the student who'd been here before for his yearly 'after-summer-conversation', Warren Jennings, to send Elliot Novak, the only new student and the youngest of them to his office and the new fifth grade students always were shy and timid in their knocking at doors – at least in the beginning.

The conversation with Warren Jennings hadn't been too pleasant. The boy had killed another boy during the holidays.

He didn't know how Jennings Senior had managed to keep his son out of jail, most likely somehow – probably with money – convincing the officers that it had been an act of self-defence. But in their conversation, Warren had told him that it hadn't been self-defence. The boy had been angry and in his anger he'd shoved the other boy down the stairs. It had been an accident, but an accident that had caused the death of another child.

He wouldn't tell anyone.

They had one rule here in his house – you lie to me, and you'll be in trouble, you never lie to me and I'll do what I can.

He would work with the brat so that one day he would tell someone himself, but until then the boy had to live with what he'd done – like him. He hadn't had the same luck back then, when he'd been a student here. Sure, his head of house, Juan Garcia, had kept him out of the story, hadn't told anyone, sure, telling him he'd be executed should the police find out and had it looking like an accident, but instead of giving him a chance to see his mistake he'd used it against him from the beginning on.

Closing his eyes to shove away old memories, he took a deep breath before calling in his new – and at the moment only – fifth grade, Elliot Novak.

He'd seen the boy when his parents had brought him this late afternoon, Carmichael and Michelle Novak.

Carmichael Novak was the owner of a large dojo with other studios all around the states and his wife Michelle had a few just as well running beauty salons in Davenport, in New York, London and in Paris – in other words, again business people who didn't have enough time for their son. However, the boy was small and upon studying the file Garcia had given him, he was sure that there had to be more to that, he just couldn't place a name to it.

Looking up upon the door opening - he nearly groaned when the boy came in – wearing a white button down pyjama with brown bunnies and a stuffed bunny in his arms even though it wasn't bedtime yet.

"Sit down, Mr. Novak." He said, pointing at the chair opposite. "Any explanation as to why you are wearing your pyjamas before curfew? It isn't even lunchtime yet."

"Uhm, dunno, sir." The boy said, unsurely, watching him with large dark brown eyes in a pale face.

"How eloquent." He huffed at the little imbecile. "We will need to work on that. For now, however, I expect you to ban words like 'dunno', 'wanna' as well as other similar expressions from your vocabulary. You are a ten year old student at a renowned academy and no pre-school toddler anymore – and therefore I expect more from you than speech like you have just displayed."

"Oh, alright. Sorry, sir." The boy said, sounding honest, and he scowled down at the little imp. The bloody brat was swinging his legs because he couldn't reach the floor with them and he was still cradling his bunny in his arms.

"Now again – is there any explanation as to why you are wearing your pyjamas before curfew and before dinner even?" He asked, watching the little idiot child coldly while leaning back in his armchair and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Well, I'm tired, sir?" The boy asked, still looking up at him with his large eyes.

"Was that a question or a statement, Mr. Novak?" He asked barely able to keep himself from sighing. Little imbecilic and snotty toddlers, he hated them the most. The younger they were the worse they were.

"Uhm, a statement, sir?" Came Novak's answer.

"Then I expect you to have it sounding like a statement instead of like a question." He growled.

"Oh, alright." The boy said again, starting to smile at him, the bloody little horror! At him! That idiot child actually dared smiling at him! Hereweald Hrothgar! He would show him, the little snot! He'd have him in detention even before his first dinner at this school!

"Very well, Mr. Novak." He started, getting off his armchair and rounding his desk, leaning against the table. "As long as you are a student at not only this academy but of my house even, I expect you to give your best." He started with his usual speech to the new students. "I expect the best behaviour from you, always, and I expect the best efforts in your studies, always. You will handle not only the teachers but the older students too with respect and honour. You will regard curfew which is at nine p.m. for you, and you will be present during each meal which will be held at eight a.m., noon, four p.m. and at seven p.m. You will visit all your classes – no exceptions, and you will do your homework. Any contempt regarding these rules, and you will get into detention – with me. Any questions so far, Mr. Novak?"

"No, sir." The boy said, quickly shaking his head and – nearly hopping on his chair.

"Very well." He sighed. He knew that – questions or not, the idiot child would surely get into trouble because of the rules he had just set sooner or later, and most likely it would be sooner than later even. They all did, Novak wouldn't be an exception. "There are three more rules which concern this house. Number one – never lie to me, never mind what or you will learn how unpleasant a consequence can become. Second – never go against your own, in other words – you won't fight with any student of your own house. It is enough that the students of the other houses go against this house, I don't need you fighting amongst each other too. And third – never, absolutely never, shame your house or your head of house – or again, you might learn how unpleasant your situation could become while being a student at this school. Any questions so far?"

"No, sir." The idiot child repeated, again quickly shaking his head and he growled angrily at the display of childish behaviour.

"Then you are dismissed." He growled at the bloody brat. "See that you get yourself presentable for dinner. Jeans, shirt, t-shirt if you don't own a shirt and shoes instead of – socks." He said, looking down at the idiot child's feet which were dangling midair, dismissing him with a wave of his hand and turning to get back behind his desk.

"Sir?" The damn, bloody child asked and for a moment he gritted his teeth before turning back and glaring down at the little monster.

"What is it now, Mr. Novak?" He asked, taking a deep breath. He'd always told Garcia that he couldn't handle children, from the beginning on he'd told him!

"Uhm, I just … I just wanted to ask … well, can I take Bunny with me, sir?" The little bothersome horror had the nerve to ask and for a moment he actually … that damn, idiot, bloody imbecile wanted to take …

Bunny!?

"I do not know if you can, Mr. Novak, but you may not." He finally said. "Your toys will remain in your room which I expect to be presentable, always."

End flashback

Well, alone the downtrodden face Elliot had made back then, finally not smiling at him like an idiot, had been worth the horrified conversation he'd had with his newest student, and he'd enjoyed it. Alright – he hadn't really enjoyed it, but it had been satisfying that the brat had thought he'd enjoy it. Once anew he'd secured his reputation.

Until dinner.

Dinner he'd met the boy again – and again the child had been smiling at him happily, as if he hadn't hurt the boy's feelings before. But well, he wasn't here to regard their feelings. It was his job to teach them something and to prepare them for life out there, nothing else. However, the brat had smiled at him again just an hour later, during dinner!

And like this – it had been like this for four years now – never mind what, this damn little horror was smiling at him happily whenever he met him, never mind what he was doing, never mind what he was saying, never mind anything! At first it had been annoying, then he had gotten used to it, after that it had become somewhat bearable, and finally he'd actually missed the little snot's smiling during the summer holidays after the first year. Not the little snot's clinging habit! No! Never that! But he – secretly of course – admitted that he'd missed the idiot child's damn and happy smiling at him.

Of course he'd soon learned that there was more to this child.

Leaning back in his armchair he took a deep breath and crossed his arms.

Elliot was the child of an unhappy man who thought his son had to be as good and as strong as was he himself and as were all the young men he taught at one of the best combatant sport schools of America – and if the child didn't fit his expectations then he tried to toughen the boy up with beatings and by screaming at him, by telling him how worthless he was – as if that would help. But well, he always had to handle such idiot parents – more or less. Most of them neither answered any information he sent out nor visited parent–teacher conferences, and upon trouble at school, the accusation of child abuse or child neglect, whatever, they reacted by just sending their lawyers instead of facing him, nothing new here – again.

What made him so angry right now was – Elliot's brother, Jamie.

That boy, had been the reason as to why Mr. Novak Senior had stepped up the child abuse, verbally as well as physically, making it clear to his older son that he was worth nothing and that his younger brother would live up to his expectations because he hadn't been born with a weak heart. For years, Elliot had come back from his summer holidays with new horror stories about how his little brother had been loved and got everything while he got nothing and was only beaten.

And yes, he'd found the marks soon after the very first conversation he'd had with the boy back then, when Elliot had come to Hathaway, a stuffed rabbit in his arms – the only thing the boy had ever gotten from his parents, while his little brother had boxes of stuffed animal at home. The boy had fallen asleep at the table during dinner in the canteen and back then he'd had a nice view of the boy's neck when he'd leaned forward and his head had lain atop his arms. He'd then taken the boy to the school medic, to Goodwin, and from there to a hospital where they'd documented each bruise and each other injury, including a broken rib even.

He'd then informed the boy's parents, but of course there hadn't come any reaction except for – the appearance of their lawyer with a story about … how the boy had fallen down the stairs, how the boy had visited his father's dojo without his permission and had tried some of the training equipment and had fallen, how the boy had accidentally burned his hand when he had built a fire in the garden without his parents' knowledge … and more such nonsense. Of course he knew that it was nonsense, he wasn't stupid and he knew very well what the bruising from falling down the stairs looked like, and what bruising from a beating looked like. But well, it was the same story all the parents told upon the accusation of child neglect and child abuse.

However, he'd soon learned the truth from the boy, even though he'd clung to him, crying, smearing snot and tears all over his black shirt, he'd told him about his father calling him weak and beating him and about his mother forgetting him and sending him away, and about his little brother who got everything and was loved. To his knowledge Elliot had loved his little brother anyway, but after this one conversation where Elliot had told him everything, the boy had been very miserable and depressed for days, for weeks. It had cost him some time and effort to get the boy back to the smiling idiot he'd been before – even though he had liked the depressed and silent Elliot who had left him alone more than the smiling idiot.

But well – ever since he'd been better after that, Elliot had clung to him like a leech.

And now Jamie Novak was to visit this academy.

So – no, he was really not happy about that.

Not only did he not look forward to the next twelve years, having a spoilt and most likely arrogant brat in his house, a child that would be jealous about anything his brother would get here as he had no intentions continuing with the evil concept their parents had started years ago upon the birth of Jamie Novak, but also did he wonder why they would send their younger – and clearly beloved – son too.

Admittedly, this school did have the best reputation as an educational academy – for difficult children. But surely Elliot's brother was no difficult child. Admittedly, the boy was surely not easy to handle, most likely spoiled rotten, seeing that he'd gotten anything he wanted for the past about six years, but clearly not a really difficult child.

And the next question was – why would they send the boy to attend Hathaway, a school for children between the age of ten and eighteen years, when he was just seven years old? And he doubted that the boy would turn even eight during the beginning of this upcoming school year, because the birthday that was listed behind the name did not sound as if the little imp would turn eight anytime soon, let alone ten, his birthday had been September fifteenth, just two days ago.

Flashback

"Professor?" Elliot asked, looking up at him unsurely, like so often – his dark eyes large and questioning as if he wanted to ask: "Why would you do such a thing?"

"It is your birthday, Elliot, isn't it?" He asked, while sitting down so that the much too small boy wouldn't need to look up at him. He wouldn't do such a thing normally, should the brats look up at him, that was alright, but he did with this particular child, whatever reason for. He wasn't one for sentimentality. Sentimentality was something for the weak, and the stupid, and he was anything than weak – nor stupid.

It was different with this particular child anyway.

Elliot had been handled badly for all his life so far, and each year the boy had to go back to his yearly hell some people might call a home. He wouldn't treat the child the same. Not to mention that, well, the boy had somehow curled him around his fingers – and he knew it, the bloody little bother!

"Sure." The boy said, still not understanding what he was on about. "But, I've never gotten anything, sir."

"Then it's time that you get your first birthday present ever." He growled darkly.

It was the boy's twelfth birthday today. He hadn't given the boy anything last year. As a teacher at this school it wasn't his duty to give out birthday presents to his students, that was the job of their parents and not even all of them fulfilled this - like Mr. Novak for example. Well, considering that he was the head of a house, then maybe people could say – yes, it's a small house only and so, as the head of the house he was to give a small present to his students. He didn't.

And he only gave one to Elliot because – well, because it was Elliot.

That particular little monster had been through enough and well – he would set an end to this.

A moment later he regretted his decision, however, when he had a handful of boy clinging to his neck, trying to choke him to death while – again – crying and smearing tears and snot all over his nice black shirt.

End flashback

Of course he had folded his arms around the boy back then, had comforted him – just so that the idiot boy would stop smearing his snot all over his shirt of course and for no other reason … and even though, he'd never admit that openly and neither had Elliot, ever. It had gotten better upon the boy's thirteenth birthday and at his fourteenth birthday he'd just barely cried, had only sniffed a bit. The boy had even smiled his usual happy smile at him and it had felt – well, not bad.

Well, the boy would celebrate his fifteenth birthday at the beginning of this school year, October first, and this year he wouldn't get a real present, he'd get an envelope only – an envelope with the appliance papers for the school summer camp.

The school organized such a camp for the students of the upper grades. For the last three years of school they could attend this camp that started the day after school had ended for summer and it ended a week before the new school year would start. In other words, Elliot would have to go home for one week only instead of eight weeks. One week that was less likely to be hell for the boy.

He knew from experience that a child that came home for one week only was met with parents able to endure their child for these few days – sometimes even being happy upon having their son at home for that short time – the abuse normally only started later, after the first or second week of the holidays, when the parents would like to get rid of their children, after the children became bothersome again, keeping them from travelling around the world or similar.

However, now Elliot's younger brother who was cherished at home beyond reason would come to Hathaway – and he didn't understand.

Hathaway expected the children to have finished primary school, to have completed the process of learning how to read and write, not to mention other things like basic arithmetic operations. A barely seven year old surely had attended school for one year only, and therefore had not completed this particular process of learning how to read and write, and he groaned at the realisation that he would have to deal with illegible handwriting and with written mistakes which would drive him crazy.

Well, he would deal with it, just like he had dealt with anything else life had thrown at him during the years – he would deal with this now too.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Viewpoint of Hendrik VanHarkins

"Found your way down here to the canteen, Hereweald?" Hendrik chuckled, pulling the chair beside him from the table and making room. "It's the first time I've seen you here before you absolutely have to be – which usually would be by tomorrow at lunchtime. What happened?"

"An idiot colleague who threatened to visit me happened." Hereweald growled darkly.

"I wonder who'd do such a stupid thing." He mused, a big grin plastered on his face and the other man scowled darkly. His face darkened even more at the Aspirin he was reaching over at him.

"Bloody idiot!" Hereweald huffed, but he took the Aspirin anyway, clearly grateful for someone caring enough to think about such things even though he himself wouldn't.

Hendrik VanHarkins – the bloody idiot – at the same time chuckled at the grumpy man beside him while he filled his plate with the stew and took a slice of bread.

Hereweald Hrothgar was probably the most complicated man on this earth – and the most ill-tempered man also. He was dark, cold, hard – and grumpy, cantankerous. That at least was the picture he always displayed to the world. Well – not that he wasn't each of these things, he really was, but he knew no one who displayed these things with as much care and effort as did Hereweald, always careful to keep up his bad reputation. That man was a real actor, because he not only managed to scare the students, but the teachers also. There were only three people at this school who weren't scared of Hereweald – and they were Garcia, Goodwin, and him.

Alright – no, he wouldn't bet his behind on Garcia. Garcia was a bastard – and a coward. But well, Garcia wasn't his concern, but Hereweald was, because Hereweald was his friend. Not that the other man would ever admit that they were friends, anything but that, not even to himself – but he knew that they were just that anyway or why else would Hereweald stay at this bloody school he hated so much to cover his, Hendrik's back if not because of him?

Smiling, he watched Hereweald taking the Aspirin – secretly smiling of course. He would never dare to smile openly at the dark man, he wasn't stupid enough, after all, to incur Hereweald's wrath. It happened sometimes, whenever he got into an argument with his friend, or whenever he couldn't help himself and started laughing at the dark teacher's antics, but the absolute coldness and darkness, the glare this particular man could display, it was cutting through people like a knife and anything but fun.

And he knew that Hereweald didn't care about whom he was tearing apart, student, teacher, employer, or friend – he just did, and he was damn good in his job. On the other hand, Hereweald Hrothgar was a man who would go through all the fires of hell and back for the people he cared about, if necessary, he would die for the people he cared about – and that was what he valued most, Hereweald was absolutely loyal to his friends.

"Feeling better?" He asked a few minutes later, seeing the other man relaxing his shoulders and the muscles on his neck. A bit at least. He'd never ever in his life seen Hereweald being completely relaxed, even though he was nearly at ease whenever he was visiting him for a tumbler of his better whiskey.

"Hmpf." Was the only answer he got, which was the same meaning as – yes, at least in this case.

"You know, some people would call it idiocy, enduring headaches the likes you have instead of taking an Aspirin." He said while dipping his bread into the stew. "Or masochism."

"Headaches?" Adam Goodwin who was sitting to his left asked, leaning over to look at Hereweald. "You've headaches again, Hereweald?"

"Surely not." Hereweald growled, stubbornly, and he couldn't help chuckling. "And even if I had such a thing, which I have not, then it wouldn't be your concern, Goodwin. And you, VanHarkins, stop laughing! That's no fun! Idiot bunch, all of you, worse than those bloody idiot students! And just by the way, you should be careful what you accuse others of, because the display of your own masochism while drawing my wrath over your head by accusing me of having anything similar to headaches was a rather stupid thing to do."

"I'd like to see you in my office after dinner, Hereweald." Adam said, and he rolled his eyes, already knowing Hereweald's answer.

"I'd like to see you in hell – regrettably we don't get what we want, Goodwin." Hereweald answered and Adam shook his head. In other words, Hereweald was very moody tonight.

"Stop fussing, Hrothgar, and do as Goodwin asked." Garcia said, and he leaned back in his chair, waiting for the explosion that surely was to come, because not only was Hereweald not one who'd allow others to tell him off, but also because it was Garcia who did just this – and these two, well … they were like fire and ice.

"I suggest you stay out of this, Garcia." Hereweald hissed at the headmaster, his black eyes fixing the older man coldly and he held his breath for a moment. Garcia was one of the people who expected more than just simple respect from not only the students but from his teachers just as well, and he could turn very nasty if he didn't get it. "Or it might be that – only accidentally of course – I might drop one of my chemicals over your morning coffee … and the funny thing is: no one would even care, Garcia." Hereweald added with a coldly lifted eyebrow at the headmaster. Well, this was surely not what he had planned when he had asked Hereweald to partake in the last common dinner before the students' arrival tomorrow forenoon. But then Garcia just shrugged his shoulders and continued eating, causing him to cast a quick look at Hereweald.

But well, he shouldn't have worried. Garcia had never challenged Hereweald openly, at least not since Hereweald had become a teacher at this school, knowing that never mind how nasty he could turn, Hereweald could turn even nastier if he so wished. No, Garcia would get back on Hereweald when the other man had turned his back on him, he knew, because it wouldn't be the first time.

He dropped the subject, as did Adam, because neither of them was suicidal after all, knowing that Hereweald could tear them apart midair if he was really annoyed at them. But well, at least he had taken the Aspirin and that was more than he had expected. Years ago he would have ignored anything anyone gave for relief, out of the feeling that he wasn't worth it because of one or another thing he'd done in his past.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Viewpoint of Adam Goodwin

Contrary to Hendrik VanHarkins, Adam Goodwin still chuckled silently. He wasn't like Hendrik, trying to not annoy his friend – not to mention that Hereweald wasn't his friend in the first place. He liked the dark and grumpy man, yes, because he had seen the teacher without his mask, even though it was a rare occasion, Hereweald Hrothgar dropping his mask. But well, Hereweald had no friends except for Hendrik and so – no, they weren't friends. Even though the friendship between Hereweald and Hendrik was the strangest friendship he'd ever seen in his life and he was sure that Hereweald wouldn't call it a friendship at all, not ever.

Leaning back in his chair he watched the two men for a moment, like so often realizing that there couldn't be two persons who were as different as were Hereweald and Hendrik.

Where Hendrik had short, blond hair and pale skin with startling bright blue eyes, there Hereweald had long black hair, hard black eyes, and was suntanned. This man just had to look at the sun to get a nice tan.

Hendrik was a man of nature. He was calm and he'd never seen a more serene and patient man than was Hendrik. There was barely anything that got on his nerves and he was always smiling – or at least he was barely angry. He after all had never seen the Arithmetic and Physic Professor angry. He liked everyone, or at least nearly everyone, and especially the students. Hereweald was the entire opposite – ill-tempered, dark, cold, and most importantly, very impatient. He didn't know of one single student who hadn't gotten into detention with the man at least twice a year and the students hated him while they loved Hendrik.

The clothes they preferred were just as different. Hereweald always wore black jeans and a black button-down shirt while Hendrik preferred blue jeans and a white button-down shirt. Both were tall, taller than him, and he wasn't short to begin with, but where Hendrik was well built, there Hereweald was thin and wiry, tough and stringy.

Hendrik was good looking – really good looking – and he was sure that the man was followed by hordes of women out there during the summer and winter break at every turn he took. For a moment he wondered why Hendrik had never taken a woman, but then – what would a woman do all year long while her husband was teaching at a boarding school for boys! Their job was no job for men who wanted to get married. Of course Hendrik had never taken a woman – even though he was sure that he could have had any woman he wanted.

On the other hand – frowning he looked over at Hereweald for a moment, his eyes narrowed in thought, trying to remember. Hendrik had mentioned something once, just a few words spoken out of thoughtlessness, about Hereweald and a woman called Olivia. And if he had understood Hendrik correctly, then they had been married – even though he didn't really understand how any woman could be interested in Hereweald as he was anything than good looking and Hendrik had never ever again told him more than those few words he had spoken out of thoughtlessness back then.

Well, Hereweald too could be good looking – if he so wished. With his deep black eyes, and with his black hair and the dark tan he got while just looking at the sun – he could be good looking. If he ate a bit more so that he wasn't just bones and skin, and if he cut his hair, if he did something about that scar that ran over half of the left side of his face, and if he changed his black clothes into some colourful things for a change, too. Not to mention if he tried to look a bit friendlier instead of his constant dark and angry glare. All in all, it was no wonder that this woman called Olivia had divorced Hereweald rather soon after the marriage.

Anyway, the only thing they had in common was their voices. Both had deep and full voices, smooth and velvet, even though Hereweald could drop his voice even deeper than Hendrik could, and he could make everyone shudder with his voice, especially if he displayed his nearly always present sarcasm. Hendrik could be sarcastic too, but not in the same way, he didn't hurt people with his sarcasm whereas Hereweald didn't care about that, never sparing anyone's feelings but always speaking his mind. And he didn't make a difference between friend and foe. Even though Hendrik never minded Hereweald's sometimes hurtful comments, always chuckling at the other man's antics which made Hereweald even grumpier.

All in all, Hendrik was a very straightforward, well-balanced, and open-minded person whereas Hereweald was very complicated, very unbalanced, and anything but open-minded – on the contrary, he was even more stubborn than the donkey from the farmer at the other end of the small village.

Why these two were as close friends as they actually were, he didn't know, because sometimes they didn't behave like friends. He was sure that Hendrik had never been to Hereweald's quarters, to his knowledge no one ever had. It was rather the other way round and Hereweald was visiting Hendrik every now and then – about once in a fortnight – for a tumbler of whiskey and to exchange views with each other. Sometimes they could be seen walking through the grounds or along the fields and through the nearby woods, but not too often, and honestly, how these two managed to get along as well as they actually did, it was a small miracle to him – as was the question as to how Hendrik managed to handle Hereweald.

The dark man often had headaches or stiff muscles, but did he allow anyone to help? No!

Once, years ago, when he'd started teaching here, he'd given him Aspirin for a very bad headache, and Hereweald had already reached out to take it when he had just said something harmless like "next time, you just come and ask for help before your headaches get as bad as they are right now" and a moment later he had met the other man's gaze, cold and hard, and then Hereweald had pulled back his hand, had lifted his eyebrow challengingly and coldly, and had turned, had walked away, leaving him standing there with his Aspirin.

He doubted that the idiot man had taken anything for his headache later, because in the evening the teacher had been even more irritable and snappy than he was normally, not even the students in his own house had dared to misbehave. It wasn't that Hereweald didn't know a remedy for headaches, he did know that very well – if others had them, like his students for example. He was able to provide them with cold clothes, with peppermint oil or he sent them to bed, if necessary even giving them a painkiller – very much to his, Adam's, displeasure.

Of course, he knew that they had nearly none to nothing adequate when it came to medications for the students. At first America had provided England for nearly a year with not only weapons and ammunition but with medications too, and then, about two years ago, they had joined the Second World War, too. In other words – the little medications they had at their disposal were barely appropriate for children, like Aspirin for painkillers for example – but well, they had to take what they got, and they got barely enough.

He also knew very well that Hereweald was adept when it came to medications and first aid or similar health concerns to begin with, the man was both, a graduated biologist and chemist after all, had more than one diploma hidden in one of the drawers of his desk, actually. But he, Adam Goodwin, he was the doc here at Hathaway and he didn't like it if the teachers started interfering into his trade, because if one started with this, then others would follow, and not everyone was as experienced as was Hereweald.

However, Hendrik was much better at handling Hereweald than he was and mostly he left this lovely task to the Arithmancy Professor – even though he couldn't help asking the darker man into his office, knowing that he wouldn't visit anyway.

Yawning he closed his eyes for a moment.

He would go to bed early tonight. Tomorrow the students would arrive and he would have to deal with the summer flu, with hay fever, with other allergies and of course with other, much worse things – at least knowing Hereweald and Hendrik. Another thing the two of them had in common, contrary to the other teachers at this school, they cared about the students, really cared, even though Hereweald would never admit it, not even to himself, and he would kill anyone who just suggested the idea of him caring about anything or anyone.

Once he'd seen the man handling one of his younger students who'd gotten hurt during a baseball game, the Novak boy, Elliot Novak, and Hereweald had not only held the boy so that he'd been able to care for the hand the boy had broken while falling on the base and trying to catch himself, but he'd also comforted the boy – something he'd never ever before had seen the man doing. And nothing else had it been, Hereweald even patting the boy's back and stroking his hair while giving away nonsense words.

After that he'd of course right out denied that he'd ever done such a thing and he'd threatened him with a lot of very unpleasant things should he accuse him of such an evil thing like comforting someone ever again – or even dare to tell anyone about what had happened – because to comfort someone was reserved for the weak and for the idiots, for the narrow minded of which he was neither. Of course he'd never told anyone – but that hadn't been necessary anyway, because enough students had seen it – and the coach too.

Hereweald hadn't been able to do anything about the coach – but he remembered that back then a lot – and really a lot – of students had been in detention with the Chemistry Professor, and for weeks so. Whenever there had been words whispered about how the most hated professor at this school had comforted a fifth grade student, the entire baseball team was found in detention again, and soon the rumours had stopped and the incident had been forgotten.

Yes, Hereweald Hrothgar had his own ways of ensuring that his bad reputation would never die at this academy.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

To be continued

Next time in … and sit a while with me …

Another time, another place and how other people are living together

Added author's note

thank you for reading – and yes, I would appreciate it if you took the time to review this chapter too, thank you …