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

Previously in … and sit a while with me …

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.

… and sit a while with me …

Part one – of teachers and pupils

Chapter four - Let the battle begin

September 18th 1944, Monday – Hathaway Academy

Viewpoint of Hendrik

Standing by the window of his office, his blue eyes lingered on the boy when he watched him slowly and unsurely walking along the path, and even though he had never seen him, he knew very well who he was – Jamie Novak, because he was the walking image of his brother, Elliot Novak, when he had been that age – only smaller, and Elliot had already been small. Casting a quick glance at the distant black limousine that had stopped at the other side of the large gates which stood open widely, he frowned at the realization that Carmichael Novak had not changed from the day he had brought Elliot here – on the contrary. Back then the man had at least accompanied Elliot through the gates and to the headmaster's office, while Jamie Novak was on his own and the black car was just driving away. No one had gotten out of the limousine except of the child, no one was going with the boy, and no one seemed to care, most likely it wasn't even Carmichael or Michelle Novak bringing their child but their chauffeur.

Not to mention – where was Elliot?

It was the first day of the school year and Elliot was not with his brother – who was clearly too young to attend Hathaway to begin with anyway, and who was too young to being sent alone, too, and he wondered, why had Garcia even permitted the boy to attend here?

Alright, with his – barely – seven years the boy had learned the basics about how to read and write, or how to solve basic arithmetic problems, but surely had he not perfected any of these abilities yet after one year of school only.

Well, Hereweald would be – very unhappy about it, to put it mildly, and he prepared himself for handling a very grumpy Chemistry Professor for the next few weeks.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Viewpoint of Hereweald

Said particular Chemistry Professor, Professor Hrothgar, on the other hand – even as he clearly didn't care about why the boy would come alone, without being brought by his parents – was dealing with two overlaying emotions, anger and worry. Anger at a child he didn't know because he knew that the boy would cause trouble at every turn he would take, and worry about a child he was missing, about Elliot Novak who wasn't with his brother. But well, of course the younger of the two would be brought by a chauffeur even, important to his parents as he was, while Elliot maybe was just about to arrive with the train and the bus.

Standing by the window of his own office, his dark eyes lingered on the boy who just now, after looking back at the limousine that just drove away, took a few unsure steps towards the stone stairs that led to the entrance hall of the large building, his dark eyes filled with loathing.

Jamie … Novak.

Flashback

The soft flickering of the flames in the fireplace of his private study felt calming and he watched the dancing flames while he allowed his mind to wander. It was the middle of September and surely it was not necessary to start a fire yet, he'd done anyway, because he knew that the dancing flames would calm him, and because he knew that the warmth would be welcomed by not only his old bones but his mind too – and yes, he was damn old, even though he was forty-seven only. But well, it was the middle of September, and tomorrow the school would be filled with students once again.

The students.

Hereweald sighed.

Tomorrow evening the peace and quiet of the summer holidays would be over and he would have to deal with new fifth grade students, something he was so very much looking forward to. For a moment he sneered at his own sarcasm. The fifth grade students were the worst in general. The sixth grade students already knew how to avoid him best and the older they got the more peace he had from them.

The only students he did not mind teaching were the eleventh and the twelfth grade students. They had finally gathered some sense in their heads and seeing that from tenth grade upwards a teacher could refuse a student in his class – well, he had to teach only those of them who showed an exceptional or at least an excellent performance, those who really wanted to learn.

And this year he would have to deal with Jamie Novak, Elliot's brother – Jamie Bloody Novak, a third grade. He'd prefer even as idiot stupid little brats as Julian Fitzgerald and Bryan McKinney who would be attending Hathaway this year, and who both surely would be as stupid as their fathers had been.

Fitzgerald and McKinney Senior, both had been students at Hathaway Academy during their youth, and even though they had been two or three grades above him, he anyway knew them – and therefore he knew that their intelligence wasn't too – developed. They had always managed to get what they wanted with violence rather than with thinking and he was sure that this hadn't changed over the years – or generations. And so he was also sure that their sons wouldn't be any different.

And then there was the Novak brat, of course. In other words – no, his only gleam of hope for the year was Elliot who would be back too, and his godson who would attend this year, but except of that – no, he did not really look forward to this year of teaching idiot little snots.

End flashback

So, Elliot's brother had arrived at Hathaway – and he looked like his brother too, Hrothgar noticed with a curl of anger in his upper lip, only smaller. But surely he – contrary to every other teacher at Hathaway who would fuss over their youngest student – would not go soft on that brat, and clearly, he did not look forward to having the brat in his lessons – nor in his house. Yet, he wouldn't be able to avoid it, now, would he?

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Viewpoint of Jamie Novak

Jamie Novak didn't notice all the expectation in the gazes he received from the different tables scattered through the room when he entered the canteen for dinner and lingered in the doorway for a moment until Mr. Garcia pointed at the table in the far right hand corner. He only tried to concentrate on setting one foot in front of the other, taking step for step, slowly, and to reach the table without stumbling. But then he stopped, in the middle of the room, unsure of what would come next, and even though he now noticed that everyone in the canteen seemed to be staring at him – and that everyone in the canteen was much bigger than him, too – he wasn't able to take another step forwards.

The headmaster, Mr. Garcia, had told him that he had to be at the canteen at seven, and if he knew one thing, then he knew how to read the clock. His mother had taught him how to read the clock and his mother could be – quick to anger. Well, and then Mr. Garcia had told him that he had to be acknowledged by his Head of House, by Professor Hrothgar. A very complicated name, he thought, but it would be easy for him anyway to remember it, because Elliot had told him about Professor Hrothgar this summer.

This summer had been different than all the other summers before, he thought, allowing his mind to strive for a moment.

This summer his father had not given him sweets and his mother hadn't told him how much she loved him either.

Not that they would do so during the year, they never did, always only during the summer holidays when Elliot was at home. He didn't know why they would hate him all year long and then love him during the summer holidays, but he had always been so happy then, even though he had soon learned that it was short lived anyway – and even though he'd always had a bad conscience towards Elliot, because they seemed to hate his older brother during the holidays as much as they hated him during the year.

And sure, after the holidays they were always even angrier at him than they had been before, even though he had never understood why they would be angrier after the holidays than before them, either, but he had anyway so much enjoyed their love for those short few weeks.

However, this summer holidays when Elliot had come home, they had brought him down to his cellar, too, and they had locked both of them up down there. Not that he minded, he mostly lived down there anyway, over and over again, whenever he was bad, and he was often bad, but Elliot had been startled – and he too, because normally they wouldn't lock the door. They wouldn't allow him out of the cellar, sure, but they wouldn't lock the door during the year, only if he'd been really bad, but now they had done so this summer holidays too.

Of course he had a room in the house, but he was sure that he had been more often down in the cellar than in his room. His room was a large room, and with an adjoining bathroom even. It was up the large staircase in the entrance hall of the house, and then he had to go right and along the wide balustrade – his father's and his mother's studies were there, and the rooms from one or another servant. The guest rooms were to the other side of the balustrade, to the left after having climbed the stairs.

However, he had then to go through a large door that led to the east wing, and then it was the forth door to his left down the corridor. Elliot had his room just beside his, it was the third door to his left, but he'd never ever seen Elliot in there, because – well, because Elliot had been at school during the year, and when he'd come home for the summer holidays – he was sure that his parents had put Elliot into the cellar then, because whenever he'd been back in the cellar after the summer holidays, then he'd found traces of his brother living there, then he'd found a paper here which he hadn't left, or a cup there, or a pencil.

And one time he'd gone into Elliot's room, and that had been really scary! Because everything in there had been covered in a fine layer of dust, like in a horror story.

Well, and he'd always been back to his cellar rather soon after the holidays, because his mother used to put him down there if he'd done something bad, or if he'd not done something he should have done – or often just because she was angry at him, even though he didn't always know why she was angry at him, or because he was in the way. He was then down in the cellar for a few days before his mother let him out, and he'd gotten used to it with the time – except for the darkness, and except for the coldness when it was winter. But he didn't mind the spiders anymore, and he'd learned to play with the rats.

But then these holidays had come and his mother had put Elliot down there too, and he had learned a lot then from Elliot, after his brother had gotten used to the cold and the darkness, and the spiders and the rats like he, Jamie, was. He had learned things about this school and about Professor Hrothgar and about other things too, like how to do a bit more math things than he had learned by the picture books he had in his room and in the cellar so far. Elliot had also told him that never mind what, he needed to trust Professor Hrothgar and he needed to stay at this school for as long as possible, and that he needed to be strong.

Until …

"What is it, boy?" The man with the dark hair and the dark eyes who was sitting at the appointed table with the other children asked, his voice as dark as was anything on him and so – he was sure that this couldn't be Professor Hrothgar. Because Elliot would have told him, had he been so dark, wouldn't he? But it was the table Mr. Garcia had pointed at when he had come to the canteen.

Mr. Garcia had said that he would be called to Professor Hrothgar's office, but Professor Hrothgar hadn't called him, and so he had come here on his own because he had to be present here at seven. And so, well, he couldn't be sure that this was the correct table, could he? Because no one had brought him here, and because no one had shown him. It was just that, Mr. Garcia had pointed at the right hand corner and there was only one table in the right hand corner.

Looking down at his hands he made sure that it was really the right hand corner.

He'd always had trouble telling his right hand from his left one, but he had a scar on his right hand, where his mother had thrown a cup at him one day when she'd been angry because he hadn't cleaned the table quickly enough, and he had cut his hand when he'd cleaned the floor from the shards afterwards. He'd been kneeling at the floor to pick up the shards just when his mother had given him a kick in the back and he'd fallen forwards, and when he'd looked next there had been a shard sticking out of his hand.

It hadn't been the first time that he'd had a cut somewhere and so he'd known what to do. He had finished picking up the shards, trying to not look at the shard that was sticking out of his hand, and then he'd gone to the bathroom where he had pulled it out. He'd cried, and he'd really felt ill after that, but he'd known that his mother wouldn't help him with that, that she'd rather scream at him that it was his own fault because he hadn't done his job and had therefore caused her anger and had made her throwing the cup. He had taken the dressing to cover the cut, and then he'd continued with cleaning the table.

So – it was the right hand, he knew it, because his crying had gotten him into even more trouble and had earned him another few days in the cellar, because his mother "couldn't hear his damn crying anymore". But well, even though it weren't his right hand, it had to be the correct table anyway, because Mr. Garcia had pointed at it, and it was the only table with a free place to sit also. But maybe the free place on the bench was for another child who hadn't arrived yet? Maybe he had no place in any house here?

And Mr. Garcia had said that Professor Hrothgar needed to acknowledge him, and that it was important that he acknowledged him as his student for being in his new house, but Professor Hrothgar still hadn't yet. He looked over at the man who was sitting at the table.

What would he do if he didn't have a place at this school, he wondered, feeling the panic rising in his chest. What if they had decided that he couldn't come here because he was too young? Elliot had told him that he would be too young, after all. But he couldn't go back home. He couldn't go back home to his father. Elliot had made sure that he could come here, that his mother would send him, and even though Elliot had told him that he didn't know what house he would be in, Elliot had made sure that he could leave home and now …

Year for year, as far as he could remember, had they taught him that he was worth nothing, and year for year they had punished him for the slightest mistakes he had made, and they had always found one thing or another they could blame him for. And now – now he was standing here, about to … about to attend a boarding school that would keep him away from home, far away from home and his parents, a place where he could feel safe. Elliot had said so.

Maybe this was just a dream and at any moment he would wake up down in the cellar. He would wake up and he would be at home, and …

They had been able to smell the food, even down there in the cellar, but no one had come to let them out, because their mother had forgotten them. That was what Elliot had said. That their mother just never thought of getting them for lunch, or for breakfast. Their father had come to the cellar to let them out in the evening, sometimes. And then he'd taken them to the adjoining dojo where they had to help in the training of … of a –'special training thingy' or something like that, a group of five guys their father couldn't teach during the day. And it had to happen in secret too. They had to prepare things and they had to be quick about it. And then they had to wait for new orders, until they could put the things away and get other things. What he hated most was, if their father used them to show the other guys how one thing or another was done, because they always had new bruises after that and Elliot had even had a bone broken, and maybe even more than once. At least Elliot had told him, later, when they'd been back in the cellar.

They had gotten dinner from their father if he hadn't been too angry at them then, but if they hadn't been good, then they hadn't gotten dinner. On the contrary, then the only thing they had gotten had been a beating before they had been locked back in the cellar. And sometimes their father had been so angry that he had thrown them down there without allowing them to use the bathroom even.

Shuddering he remembered the dreadful, dark and cold place where they had been hungry, and cold, and scared. He had often cried, because he'd been scared and because he'd been in pain, and because he'd wet himself, but Elliot had always been there. At least always during the summer holidays and that was all that was important, all the dark nights before didn't count, only that Elliot had always been there during the holidays, until …

"Would you finally come here, boy, or do you need an extra invitation?" The dark man hissed at him angrily and quickly he obeyed and took another step towards the table and the empty place while listening to his own wild pounding heart, unsure of what to do next and for a moment he dared an unsure and questioning gaze at the black clad man sitting at the head of the table, unmoving, with an expression impossible to read while his black eyes seemed to cut through him physically. He even could feel the anger and the hate the man radiated, physically.

When the silence became too much and Jamie wished to just vanish, wished he wasn't there, wished the stony floor beneath his feet would just open up and devour him – finally this man nodded his head at the bench with a pointed look at him and slowly Jamie sat down.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Viewpoint of Hereweald

There had been some whispered comments when the boy had entered the hall because surely, none of them had seen a student at this school that was so small, not to mention that there weren't many new students this year anyway, but now the whispers were gone and silence had erupted within the canteen, a silence so heavy – it was nearly unbearable.

Hereweald Hrothgar watched the Novak boy as he slowly and hesitantly moved over to their table, his dark eyes never leaving the small and slightly trembling figure, and he did not even listen to the speech Garcia delivered. Not that it would have made any difference if he listened or not as it was the same, as small as it was, but word for word, as each year.

He raised his left eyebrow, his head lowered to his right, when the Novak boy had made his way to his house table but did not sit down onto the bench. As if it wasn't bad enough that the younger brother from Elliot had arrived at Hathaway Academy early – and without his brother even … no … he had to be in his house too. In HIS house!

He would be responsible for the Novak brat from now on! While at the same time he was more than just worried about where the heck Elliot kept his sorry behind! He'd give the boy a good piece of his mind the moment he finally arrived, having him worrying so much! He'd have the boy over his knees! That was what he would be doing!

And why did that bloody brat not sit down but remained standing beside the bench instead? Once again lowering an unsure and questioning gaze at him? Maybe the brat was dim-witted somehow? Slow? Stupid?

With an annoyed sigh of frustration and impatience he gestured the boy to sit down.

Well, he would do his job as he did with every other student. And he would teach the brat some manners and respect. He would cast a close eye on Novak. Maybe not all was lost on this Novak due to the lack of respect his father had surely taught him, spoiling the brat rotten instead. But at first he would have to take a word with Adam Goodwin, the school medic. The Novak boy was just too pale and too thin and small for his liking. He looked more like a four or five year old scarecrow than like the seven year old boy he was, even though he was barely seven. Not that he cared, but he could not afford a student who was not well at all. The brat had the nerve, arriving here while being ill!

He let his gaze wander over the rest of his students. First over the elder students who already knew the table manners he expected from them … and then over the younger students which – of this he was sure – would yet have to learn and to re-learn what he expected of any students from his house because they had forgotten his expectations over the summer holidays, before his eyes came to a halt at the Novak boy again. The brat had half-long, uncared for, black hair and Hrothgar's eyes went even colder. Was that child not even able to wash his face? And to brush his hair? Not to mention the atrocious clothes the boy was wearing!

He noticed that the bloody brat was sitting at the outmost edge of the bench, as far away from Jacob who was sitting beside him as possible without falling off the bench. He took in bent shoulders and a bowed head as well as hands that were resting in his lap.

Jacob, with his half-long but clean and well cared for bright blond hair, sitting at Novak's side with his black hair, held out his hand to greet the other boy, but Novak just gazed at it without taking the offered hand and then looked aside. What was it that he could see in his face before it quickly went blank? Hrothgar wondered, his eyes narrowed at the boy. He just could not name the expression. Was it fear? Uncertainty? Shame? Even pain? He could not really tell but then … he could understand the fear, the damn brat was at a new place where he would have to live without his pampering parents and without the servants he was used to, no question – but why in heaven's name should the Novak brat feel uncertainty or shame? Or even pain? The boy surely had been pampered by his parents like a prince!

Well, maybe he recognized that now he would be treated like every other student within Hathaway and no parent would come to aid and pamper him here. That he would have to bend to rules. That he was not better than the others were.

With a curl of his upper lip he noticed that the Novak brat felt even too fine for the food the other students had. He had not touched anything, not even the cup with tea that was served for dinner in the evenings. He just sat there, unmoving … disturbingly unmoving … just shaking his head when Jacob asked if he weren't hungry. Hrothgar was rather used to the restless movements of children in general, as annoying as these restless movements were. Here a scratch at the nose, there a bounce with the feet and other such fidgeting … but surely not … a perfectly still child.

When the children were finally finished with their dinner and all the students were to leave to their respective houses, the younger students being led by the older students, Hrothgar watched his house leaving and then left himself when he was sure that his students did behave well during their departure – clearly noticing the slice of bread the Novak boy quickly had taken, had hid beneath his shirt before leaving the table together with the others. He would deal with it later, or preferably tomorrow after he had learned more about the brat.

Unlike most of his colleagues he was not one to allow any lack of manners from any student and above all not from the students of his own house. They would land themselves in detention before they even would be able to count to one, and Novak would learn that stealing, even though it was only stealing food, was not acceptable, he thought while he turned to leave the main building which held the canteen, the teachers' and the headmaster's offices, and the classrooms, to walk along the narrow path that led along the masonry and towards the several houses on the campus.

Besides himself, the only other teacher who was as demanding and as strict as he was, was Hendrik VanHarkins, head of a house himself, and that was one of the reasons he did respect the other teacher and always accepted his opinions and viewpoints. Yet, even if none of the students dared to really anger VanHarkins, he probably was softer than was he. Alright – scratch that, VanHarkins was definitely softer than was he, not just probably. But well, at least VanHarkins was not as cold as was he.

The other teachers, well, most of them lacked the strict hand the students needed, most of all Garcia himself who had often – much too often Hrothgar thought – a strange liking of the students that made him elide unmannerly behaviour from them without punishment, without even telling them off.

Well, he – Hereweald Hrothgar – would not tolerate lack of manners or respect, and he would make sure that the Novak brat was one of the first to learn this.

"You're Professor Hrothgar, the Chemistry Professor, aren't you?" Someone asked from behind and he stopped mid-step, turned to face a middle aged man.

"Indeed." He coldly answered. He was on his way to his house and he neither had the time, nor the patience and surely not the wish to hold a conversation with anyone.

"Mellard Martin." The other man said, offering his hand and he scowled. "Not Martin Mellard, but Mellard Martin, English teacher."

"Nice, and now that the introductions are done – if you excuse me, I have a house to care for." He said, already turning back to the entrance door that led to the wide staircase and the front yard of the school.

"I just wanted to ask – do you have a brother?" Martin asked and he turned back to the man, regarding him with his darkest scowl possible. "You know, I'm from Speakston, Nebraska, and you know, there's a young man that looks like you, and he's a scientist too."

"I have not and if you would now excuse me, Professor Martin, then I would like to see my house, good evening." He growled, brusquely turning towards the door and striding away from the new English Professor. Elton Moreland had been the English Professor until last year, but the man had quit during the summer holidays due to a health problem – and now they had this guy, Mellard Martin.

Great!

A brother! He!

That was absurd!

He had neither family nor friends – at least not anymore – and that was a good thing indeed!

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Just like every year he had to greet his students, and while he normally would have called them to his office, one by one – well, he'd just needed more time to get used to the little fact that he would have to deal with the younger Novak this year. And so, well, he hadn't called them during the afternoon but would just now talk to them in their common room where they would reside in the evenings anyway.

And so he entered the last house to his left hand, went through the large hall that led to their dining hall and then to the living room and then he went downstairs to the basement, knowing that he would find his students gathered there as it was constructed to serve as their common room, and with a few long and swift strides he crossed the room and then stood in front of the students who had gathered in their common room like he had known, his hands clenching the backrest of an armchair that stood in front of him, Reginald Freeman, his prefect, getting up to approach him and he gestured him to stand beside him.

For a few moments he said nothing, just looked his students over, every single one of them.

Jeremy Haynes was sitting in one of the large armchairs, his legs crossed, his arms laying comfortably at the armrests and he was answering his gaze with his own, calmly.

Marvin O'Dough and Gideon Moore were sitting at one of the sofas, together with Jimmy Bishop and Benjamin Snyder. Hrothgar noticed that Marvin and Gideon looked slightly nervous. Bishop was hard to read, yet – he guessed that the boy was alright while Benjamin Snyder had the sharp and careful gaze he always showed upon coming back from the holidays. He knew the boy's father, and so he also knew that the boy's features were much friendlier than those of his father, his eyes nearly warm – and he also knew that his holidays had surely been anything than pleasant.

Tyrone Yates, Nathan Ortega, and Mitchell Foley were sitting at another sofa, while Johnny Constantin was standing behind them, leaning his upper body over the backrest towards the other boys. All of them seemed to be in a good mood and in a good condition too – something he couldn't say each year, but this year they seemed to be alright and he was grateful for it. He would have a private word with them during the next few days anyway.

And last but not least, Jacob Graham and Julian Fitzgerald were sharing another armchair opposite Jeremy while Bryan McKinney was leaning over the backrest towards the other two fifth grade students and all three of them seemed to be alright too – tired, but otherwise alright and healthy.

Reginald Freeman was standing beside him, seeing that he was his prefect, together with his deputy, Johnny, and so – well, there were two students left – the two Novak brothers and one of them hadn't arrived yet.

His eyes wandered through the room and fell onto a small figure standing beside the mantelpiece, and he lifted his eyebrow in annoyance. The damn brat seemed to be too fine even to sit with the other students!

"You will find strict rules, whilst you visit Hathaway Academy." Hrothgar finally began in his usual low but strict voice, bringing down his ground rules to not only his new fifth grades, but to all of them, just to remind them again. "Hathaway is no primary school and not even a common secondary school. Hathaway is an academic institute and as such, it is a privilege being allowed to visit Hathaway. Thus I expect you to mind this privilege with outstanding respect and behaviour." Again his eyes darted from student to student.

"As you have the misfortune of being in my house …" Hrothgar finally continued. "I expect nothing less than the best behaviour from all of you – and always so."

O'Dough, Moore and Bishop on the sofa put their heads together and started whispering, and so he paused and cast another stern look over the younger students.

"Would you mind to enlighten me about the importance of your conversation, Mr. O'Dough?" Hrothgar sneered coolly, his sharp eyes on the brown haired boy.

"Well, who would – by free will – be living in Castilla's house or in … Kermit Frogman's … Professor Hrothgar …" The boy answered, a sneer on his face at the mention of Frogman.

"As I notice, Mr. O'Dough … " Hrothgar said, his dark eyes fixed with his stern glare at the boy and his voice was deadly calm. "… you have expanded your grammar over the holidays, and have learned some sentence structure, very good."

Again O'Dough snickered lightly by Hrothgar's – 'compliment'.

"You should however have learned by now, Mr. O'Dough, that I will not tolerate disrespect against the other teachers." Hrothgar answered. "It is Professor Castilla and it is Professor Frogman. Every teacher at this academy has his own qualities-" as little as they might be, he added in his mind, "-and you will respect them. And therefore, if I declare you are students of my house, then I only indicate to you, as my students that you are, I expect you to act like a student of mine – with outmost respect and with some sense in those little brains of yours, mind that, Mr. O'Dough." Hrothgar locked his dark eyes into the light brown ones of O'Dough until the boy cast his gaze aside and Hrothgar continued, addressing the rest of his house.

"Well, you soon will find out, that there are some rules which all of you will follow if you wish to avoid punishment like detention, extra essays to write, bad marks, or even removal from school." He drawled with a voice as cold as possible. "Your first rule is to show strength to others and loyalty to your own. I do not tolerate my students fighting one of his own house. You all have soon enough learned that the other houses avoid and fear you, even despise you, just because you are my students – what does not mean that I will change my behaviour towards other students not in my house. Therefore it is essential that you all act as one, that you can trust each other, and that you help each other. I expect you to stand your ground as one unity, for no other one will aid you with help or understanding."

Knowing that most other houses could make it really hard for his students, knowing that a lot of students from the other houses would go against his students just because they were his students – it was important that they stood as one. He wasn't loved like VanHarkins was, or like Frogman, even though he wasn't unhappy about that. Frogman was an idiot and the students held no respect for him. He would most likely quit his job the moment he was put on one step with Frogman. No, he was hated, and therefore his students too were hated and often the subject of cruelly when other students tried to take revenge on them because they had been in detention with him.

"Your second rule is to behave politely and show respect for teachers and older students." Gazing at O'Dough again he added. "Never mind which houses they come from. I expect you to show brains and common sense in studying and in dealing with others. The younger students will ask the older ones for help in their studies should there be need, and the older students will have a watch over the younger ones to make sure that no one is left behind. Study groups will be held every evening. Curfew is at nine o'clock for the lower grade students and ten for the upper grade students – it will be eight for you, Novak." He added with a groan of frustration, realizing that there would be more of those moments where he had to regard the much younger student. He hadn't thought about curfew for the much younger student and he had to make the decision out of the blue, and he knew, it wouldn't be the last decision he would have to make like this.

"Your third rule is – no pain. Whenever one of you is in any pain, or else unwell, then I wish to know about it so that I can help. Should I learn that one of my students is hiding his pain from me, believe me, you will not be pleased with my reaction. I expect you to mind your health, never mind what – and that includes partaking in meals, bed time, as well as hygiene. All students have to be present on time for breakfast in the dining area of our house, as well as for lunch and dinner in the canteen. No excuses." Hrothgar continued while casting a stern glance at the Novak brat. He would not allow such ridiculous behaviour as an eating disorder, and surely not from a seven year old little snotty brat. Could the boy play his games with his parents, but surely not with him! "The shower in the bathroom upstairs has to be used every morning and every evening, as I am sure every one of you will by now have learned how to use such – and I expect you to be quick about it. Neither will I allow any disrespect of your school shirts and any other clothing – or your rooms which are upstairs." With these words he cast another stern and cold gaze at Novak who visibly flinched. He had seen the state his clothing was in – much too small and with holes and gaps in them, dirty, and – well, just intolerable. Surely a five year old would be able to care far better for his clothing than Novak did.

"Your fourth rule is – no lies." He said, glaring at the children. "I do not tolerate any lies, no matter how small they are. Be honest, always, and I can assure you, you will have my help. Lie to me, and you will not like the consequences. Stand up to what you have done with responsibility, always, and I will do what I can to keep you safe to the best of my abilities. Any questions thus far?" He asked, his voice low and calm but with a cold sneer.

Hereweald Hrothgar barely raised his voice. And the older students already knew the lower his voice became, the more dangerous it was. There just was no need to raise his voice. He always had been a teacher who had his students under perfect control without any efforts, without any blaring. His entire appearance made sure of that.

No one asked and Hrothgar sneered again. He knew the questions would come soon enough, at the latest when the first new students had been in trouble and in detention.

"By tomorrow morning a schedule will be made up for a conference with every student in my office during this week. Apart from this meeting I am present, and I request you to come and speak to me should there be problems, any problems. As your head of house I am responsible for you, for your education and for your well being. So I expect you to address any difficulties that may occur to me. Added to this, there will be a meeting held every Saturday morning at nine o'clock right here, and I expect every lower grade student to visit this meeting – no exceptions and no excuses. Any questions now?"

Again none came and Hrothgar nodded, casting one last and severe gaze over his students.

"Then, I guess, I have made myself clear." He finished, leaving the common room without a glance back and went upstairs to his study.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Viewpoint of Jamie

This evening Jamie made sure he was the first one to use the shower before every one else could do so.

He could just imagine how the rest of the students would react when seeing his scars and welts, and his bruises. Never would he allow that. No one was allowed to know. No one was to see them! He just couldn't allow it!

They would laugh at him, would call him weak, and they would taunt him that he did deserve it for being so weak. And they would ask what he had done to be beaten thus. What would he tell them? What could he even tell them? That he hadn't done anything? They would not believe him and would call him a liar, too. But he hadn't done anything except of – sighing he realized again that, he didn't know what he had done, except of not being good enough.

He knew that he did deserve all the beatings. He really did. Not because he had done anything, he never took anything without permission, not even touched anything without permission, and he never failed to be polite. He always did his best to please his parents in the hope that they would love him one day. He didn't even get into fights with other children – because there were no other children, he'd always been alone when he wasn't to do his chores, alone in either his room, or down there in his cellar.

But he did deserve them anyway. His father had said so, and his mother too, he did deserve them because he was weak. Too weak to help his father in the dojo without crying, too weak to ignore the pain and too weak to ignore the hunger he felt, too scared when he was alone in the dark cellar and too weak to take his punishments without crying, too … he was just too weak to do anything …

Not to mention the small fact that his father would beat him to death if he ever found out that he had told anyone. This group his father was teaching in the evenings was secret, and no one could know about it. So – he just had to make sure that he was the first one who took a shower, before anyone else would come in.

For a moment he flinched when the first jets of water touched the bruises and welts which were not healed yet, and he had to suppress a stifled cry of pain, had to lean against the wall for support for a moment, but then he got used to the – actually comfortably warm water and slowly he began to nearly relax a bit, to enjoy the shower, to enjoy the chance to – closing his eyes he took a deep breath. How often had he been denied the bathroom? His father being so angry with him that he'd locked them in the cellar without allowing them to use the bathroom first? And how often had he wet himself down there? Being dirty and smelly, wishing that he could use a shower? Now he could, now he could use the shower, and two times a day even, and alone that was like a small fortune to him.

And – luckily no one came in, too.

After the shower he got dressed into his sleeping shirt and silently he crept out of the bathroom and into the corridor, tiptoeing along the long hallway he hoped he would find the rooms for the students. None of the other children had noticed him so far. They had been too busy with talking to each other and telling stories about their holidays, or with playing games.

A small sign was attached to the first door at the right hand that read 'Johnny Constantin, Reginald Freeman'. The next door to the left hand held a sign that read 'Nathan Ortega, Mitchell Foley' and after that came a sign at the right hand door with 'Benjamin Snyder, Tyrone Yates'. The next two doors to his left and right each read 'Jeremy Haynes, Marvin O'Dough' and 'Gideon More, Jimmy Bishop', and he realized that there were a lot of students. And there were still doors left, weren't that more children than he had seen downstairs?

Then there was one door to his left with three names on it: 'Julian Fitzgerald, Brian McKinney, Jacob Graham'.

And finally he came to the last door to his left, and for a moment he needed to take a deep breath when he read 'Elliot Novak, Jamie Novak'. For a moment he stood there, rooted to the spot before he gritted his teeth cast a short glance at the sign 'Professor Hereweald Hrothgar, Chemistry Professor' that was attached to the door at the very end of the corridor, and then he slowly pushed the ajar door to – what he hoped would be his room – open.

There were two beds in the large room, two nightstands, two cupboards and two desks with a chair each. There were shelves above the desks and all the colours were held in different soft brown. Slowly he approached the bed by the open window and he imagined the slight wind coming through, and the sun shining onto the bed. Often enough had he slept in a room without a window, because the cellar had not held one.

He'd been sleeping in his room sometimes during the year and he'd always been sleeping in his room during the holidays for several years, whenever Elliot had come home, and only this year, while he'd been in the cellar with Elliot together, had he learned for sure that his brother had been put into the cellar while he had been allowed in his room during all holidays without being locked away once upon doing a mistake like he would be normally. But after the holidays he'd always been put back to the cellar sooner or later and for days … only this year, well – this year he hadn't been to his room at all, and nor had Elliot been.

Throwing himself at the bed he allowed himself to cry for the first time since the past few days, allowed himself to give in to the emotional pain that seemed to rip through him, that seemed to rip him to pieces even though he knew very well that crying wouldn't help, that crying would only get him into trouble, that his father had taught him how bad crying was.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Viewpoint of Hereweald

Hereweald Hrothgar had been sitting in his study for nearly an hour now, filling papers and going over lesson plans for the upcoming week while at the same time keeping an eye on the students.

Jacob and the other two fifth grade students had shortly after his welcome speech come to say 'good night' and had then left for bed. He had noticed the Novak brat going upstairs and the boy had not come back down yet, most likely having gone to bed without saying 'good night' even. Not that he wished getting a 'good night' from that particular brat, no – he was glad if he didn't have to face him, but it was only one more proof about how spoiled the little snot was. Well, if the brat thought that he would go upstairs and tuck him in later, then he was clearly thinking wrong, because he wouldn't!

He would have a look on the brat, like he did on the others on his way to his own private room, making sure that they were not whispering but sleeping, but he would not tuck him in. He didn't even like the fact that the brat was in a room adjacent to his own, but Elliot had always been in the room beside him and he was sure that the boy would like to remain in his room while at the same time Garcia had made sure that he was not to separate the two brothers – even though he was sure that Elliot wouldn't be too happy about being in the same room with his younger brother who'd always gotten him into trouble either. But well, Garcia was the headmaster and so he would – for now – do as he had demanded. He would deal with the housing of the two brothers at a later time and on his own.

However, and later on his four seventh grade students had left – after they had stuck their heads through his open office door to wish a good night – and all the time he had worried about Elliot.

Elliot had not come together with his brother and he was sure that the boy was forced to travel here with public transportation while his younger brother had been brought with the family limousine and by their chauffeur even.

For a moment he frowned, deep down knowing that there was more to it, knowing that there were a few things that didn't fit into the picture he had built up in his mind, knowing that the boy didn't look spoilt, that he didn't look like a prince, that he – quickly he shoved his thoughts aside and took the telephone receiver, dialling the number of Elliot's home.

He waited for some time, but there was no one who answered the call and with a scowl he dialled the number of the nearby travel agency.

"Hrothgar from Hathaway." He said when a young woman answered his call. "One of my students is missing. The boy is most likely travelling by public transportation from Davenport, Iowa to Whitechapel Mount, Indiana."

"One moment please, Mr. Hrothgar." The woman at the other end of the circuit answered, not too friendly, but considering that it was late night already and the woman was still at the office – he guessed that it was no wonder that she was grumpy meanwhile. Most likely she had been on her way out off the office already, after working overtime, when he had called.

"Night, Professor." Benjamin Snyder and Tyrone Yates both said, sticking their heads through the door and he nodded at them, knowing that they wouldn't go to sleep as they still had an hour left until they needed to be in bed, but most likely they wanted to relax, to unpack, or to read in bed, both boys being happy with being back here at a place where they got attention and had someone who looked after them, who helped them with their all-day troubles – or someone who just was there to talk to.

"Mr. Hrothgar?" The woman on the telephone said and he focused back on the conversation.

"Yes?" He huffed. Of course he was here, he hadn't put the receiver down or she would have heard the busy signal.

"I fear that your student is stuck somewhere in Bloomington, Illinois." The woman said and he nearly groaned. "He will need to wait until tomorrow morning before the next bus starts to leave the state.

"Thank you, Madam." He growled and put down the receiver without even waiting for another explanation from the woman. He got off the armchair behind his desk and began to pace his office, his anger flaring anew. How could those bloody parents be so damn idiotic as to have a child travel through three states on his own? Admittedly, the boy was nearly fifteen years old, but fifteen was no age to …

They could have just as easily brought both boys together, seeing that they'd had to drive – or send a limousine – anyway. This way, they just showed how much they hated their eldest son and he didn't dare imagine the state the boy would be in when he arrived at school sometime tomorrow afternoon.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

To be continued

Next time in … and sit a while with me …

Peter, James and John – and their human viewpoint on things

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 …