Title:
… and sit a while with me …
Author:
C. 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 …
"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.
… and sit a while with me …
Part one – of teachers and pupils
Chapter six - Some truths revealed
September 19th 1944, Tuesday – Hathaway Academy
Viewpoint of Jamie
The next morning came and Jamie woke early, and after a few moments he got up, knowing that he was too nervous anyway to go back to sleep, even though the clock on the wall showed that it was just half past five. So he quickly grabbed his clothes, left his room, and then crept over the corridor toward the bathroom.
Well, this way he'd be the first one to take his shower anyway and he'd be finished before the others came – at least he hoped so.
He just as quickly took the shower and then got dressed in the black jeans and white shirt everyone was wearing here, ignoring the fact that both were too small – he was used to that anyway, and then he went back to his room to wait there until everyone awoke, sitting on the floor and leaning with his left shoulder against the wall beside the door, because going to sit in the living room? Even though the others had sat there too, last night, it was a living room anyway – at least it looked like one, and he would have been in real trouble had he sat down in his mother's living room at home. He could sit down at the kitchen table, or at the other side of his father's desk if his father needed a word with him, something that was better to be avoided anyway, but never, ever, could he sit at their living room table or at their dining table.
Sighing he realized how many things seemed to be different here, because here he could sit at the dining table in the canteen, it was even expected of him. Professor Hrothgar had made himself quite clear, after all, he had to be present during meals, even though he didn't really like that, not knowing how he could deal with this new situation – but then, he couldn't help it anyway, and so he just would be there.
Professor Hrothgar, Jamie instantly knew, was not one he should cross lightly. Not that he wished to cross him at all, but he just knew as well that whatever he did, he never did it right. He always made mistakes. And he feared he would sooner or later – most likely sooner than later – get into trouble like he always did at his parents' house. And he cringed at that thought.
But then … that as well he just couldn't help. He just would have to take it, as he took it all the time when he somehow managed to upset his parents. There really was no difference so it wouldn't be any harder than at home. Yet – he had seen the loathing and the hate in Professor Hrothgar's dark eyes and he thought that – yes, maybe he could be worse than his parents had been.
"Oi, look whom it is." Jacob Graham called when he saw Jamie peering out of his room while sitting on the floor beside his door. "It is Novak. Did you sleep well, last night?" The blond boy asked in a mocking voice and Bryan McKinney too turned his head away so he did not have to look at him, even though the other boy didn't look as nasty as did Jacob Graham. He rather looked as if – as if he followed Graham's lead because he didn't know how to act otherwise.
"Any troubles here?" One of the older boys asked, and recognizing the prefect, Jamie groaned inwardly. Just what he needed, trouble on the very first morning.
"No, Freeman." Jacob answered with a smirk on his face. "He just cried like a baby last night, I've heard it through the wall."
Jamie pressed his lips together but gave no reply. Why should he even? There was nothing he actually could have said. So he just grabbed his school bag and then got up, wincing slightly at the movement and slowly made his way toward the dining room downstairs for breakfast.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
Viewpoint of Hereweald
During breakfast Hrothgar watched his table as he always did. His students – the older ones at least – knew perfectly well that nothing escaped his eyes. And the younger students would soon enough learn the very same.
But today he watched his students even more closely than he normally would have done, especially the tableside where the younger ones sat, including Novak, and his eyebrow rose with even more displeasure than yesterday evening during dinner. But now, like the evening before, Novak just sat there, head and shoulders bent and his hands hidden in his lap ... and ... as unmoving and perfectly still as he had been sitting there yesterday – ignoring the perfectly fine food, the bloody brat!
His eyes wandered to Jacob and his lips curled up in what seemed to be meant as a small smile. He'd known the family for years and he – had agreed to be the boy's godfather, even though he didn't really know why he'd done such a stupid thing, and even though the little brat was spoiled. His parents granted him every single wish and whatever they gave him, it was brand new and the best of the best. Money was irrelevant for the Grahams. Yet, what he did not get from his parents ... was love. Anthony Graham was a hard and cold man who expected the best from his son and heir, and Melissa Graham was not much better.
Well, he had talked with the boy yesterday evening and he even had taken him to the infirmary in the main building, just in case. And he had been glad that the boy had been well. A bit overexcited, but well. Brian McKinney and Julian Fitzgerald were sitting opposite from Jacob – and he could easily see that they were as spoiled as his godson was. Yet – they clearly possessed no manners, nor intelligence. And he, by now, knew enough of them that he could say both of them had a pleasant home life.
Bishop was sitting opposite Novak. The boy seemed tired today.
Hereweald knew the older Bishop well enough, so that he could say he was an evil man. As evil as Snyder Senior was.
For a short moment his gaze went to the dark haired boy that sat between two other seventh grade students. Benjamin Snyder. He also looked tired. Yet, Hereweald knew Benjamin would recover during the next few days at school. He already had sent the boy to Goodwin yesterday afternoon, as he always did when he came back to school. Benjamin would not follow his father's company and footsteps by ripping people off their money, what made his life at home rather difficult.
Bishop – he did not know if the boy was well. But he showed no outward sign of neglect or abuse, he only looked tired. But he knew he would have to pay very special attention and he knew he would have to be very careful when he talked to the boy later. At least he did not trust Bishop Senior to be an understanding and caring father.
He would have liked to send the boy to Goodwin yesterday evening, as he always did with Snyder, Yates, Ortega, Foley, and Constantin. Yet – he knew when he rushed things, he would have trouble gaining the boy's trust after the summer holidays. He would have to approach the matter carefully, like always.
When finally student after student left the dining table and their house to visit their first lessons, Hrothgar approached Novak.
"Seeing that we have no primary grade at this academy, Mr. Novak, I expect you to partake in lessons together with the fifth and sixth grade students." He coldly said and handed him a note before he left for his office, preparing for the upcoming lessons today. It wasn't that this was the first time, after all, that younger students were taught together with older students. It was a common thing and Novak would have to get used to it. Fifth grade students were learning together with the sixth grade students, the seventh and eighth grade students were too, as were the ninth and the tenth grade students – only the eleventh and twelfth grade students were on their own.
He knew what was written in the note, seeing that he had written it himself - 'Mr. Novak, ten o'clock this morning, infirmary, there you will meet the school-medic Adam Goodwin, no excuses' – and he had watched Novak closely, easily noticing the hesitance before he had taken the piece of parchment with hands that had been shaking when the boy had unfolded the note with rather clumsy movements.
When he had taken a short look at Novak's face, he'd nearly been startled when he'd noticed the silent groan. He had not heard it, but he had seen it. He had seen the brief closing of the dark eyes while the boy's entire features were about to slacken before he had quickly regained his self-control.
But what remained and startled Hrothgar, was – even if a restrained face once more – a face that was as pale as death itself, a mask, a mask he only knew too well from other students like Elliot. However, finally Novak had clenched his jaw and had left the house without a word, that blasted and imbecilic little snot.
But – as he now had Hrothgar's attention – the Chemistry Professor easily noticed the slight wince when Novak got up from the bench he was sitting on and he noticed the slow and careful movements with which he made his way to the wooden entrance door too. And he recognized both, the wince and the slow and careful movements at once, as pain. He often enough had seen the same from one or another student in his house after they had come back from eight weeks of holidays.
Not that he bothered much, but as Novak was in his house from now on, he was under his care as well. He was responsible for Novak, and never mind how much he loathed him for being the cause for Elliot's ever growing pain and sorrow over the years, he surely would take this responsibility seriously, he always did.
No, he did not really bother. He just wondered. His curiosity had set in.
Novak at least seemed to be in pain. But on the other hand, why should he be? And why should he not tell someone and get help?
'Because they never do.' A small voice in the back of his mind whispered. Well ... he would get to the bottom of this riddle. And with a curious look on his face he got up and left his office, left the house to go to his own lessons.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
Viewpoint of Jamie
Jamie went straight to the classroom near the entrance hall where they would have arithmetic. It was Professor VanHarkins's subject, he knew, and he wondered what kind of teacher he might be. Elliot had told him that he was a head of a house too, and that he taught physics as well, and was a friend of Professor Hrothgar, so he surely was as harsh and as unkind as Professor Hrothgar was, wasn't he? Professor Hrothgar, he knew, taught chemistry and biology and all of it seemed severe and difficult subjects.
He knew that Professor Oswald taught geography and history, and Elliot had told him that they were easy subjects if one just listened close enough and took notes, and he'd also told him that Professor Oswald was very a very kind teacher. He hadn't said anything about Professor VanHarkins though. On the other hand, could anyone be as nasty as Professor Hrothgar was? Maybe … he was at least not ready to try him by coming too late, and so he hurried up to get to the Professor's classroom.
He made sure he got a seat at the last table in the classroom – trying to ignore the other students who sat there, the three new fifth grade students from his house. At other tables sat a few other fifth grade students from other houses, and a few sixth grade students too, and nearly sighing with relief he sat down onto the long bench behind the long table, and took a few seconds to just sit there, glad that he sat but frustrated with himself. Why wasn't he able to control his tiredness and his weakness today? Why wasn't he able to just ignore the pain like he did normally? It just was annoying, unnerving. He just had to show more strength – because no one could know! No one was to know his secret, or they would laugh at him, and they would view him as weak!
When Professor VanHarkins entered the classroom the chatter died down and he cast stern glances over them all. When his gaze fell onto Jamie he noticed that the teacher's eyes seemed to linger longer over him than over the other students and he quickly cast his eyes down and stared at an ink dot somewhere on his desk.
"We will repeat basic arithmetic operations before we will start with tables." Professor VanHarkins finally said in a stern voice. "We will for now do mental as well as written arithmetic. At the end of this year I expect you to know the multiplication table by heart. If you have troubles keeping up in your studies, Mr. Novak, then I expect you to address either me, your head of house, or an older student."
He gave the Professor a short nod, glad that the man's voice was as low and as calm as Professor Hrothgar's but without the sneer and disdain in it.
"So, please get out your exercise books and your pencil case." He ordered and Jamie's head shot up, even though he immediately regretted it because of the headache that started to get worse at this sudden movement. Had the professor really said ... 'please'? But he was an adult. Jamie wondered. Why would any adult ever say please when ordering something?
But then … why did he even care? He knew he would be in trouble soon enough, as always. And then, well this as well would change then. No one would say 'please' anymore. And besides … wondering about that right now would only worsen his headache anyway.
"Today we will start with how to write more digit numbers beneath each others so that you can easily add them." Professor VanHarkins said, showing them at the blackboard how it worked, and what they had to pay attention for and then they set to work while the teacher slowly paced through the class, correcting a number here and telling a student there to write his numbers more legibly.
One and a half hours later Jamie however was more frustrated than ever – as were the other fifth grade students which sat at the same desk – and he tried to ignore their constant ranting and raving whenever he had to erase his work, each time setting the entire desk to vibrating which caused the other students to stop in their own work until the desk stood still again. But still he hadn't managed to add his numbers, let alone write them on the paper in a legible manner, while every one of the others had. He was not even able to draw them in the exercise book Professor VanHarkins had handed out to all of them, and once again he felt the frustration washing over him. What if they decided he could not belong here when he would not be able to do numbers? What if they sent him back home then? What if …
"Novak!" Graham called out angrily when he next erased what should look like a six but rather looked like a nine or an eight, or a three, or a zero, anything but a six. It was a round – something.
"Just stop this annoying erasing!" McKinney said, sighing. "Scratch it out or leave it but we'd like to do our work!"
"Would you please let me see how you are doing, Mr. Novak?" Professor VanHarkins's voice interrupted their quarrelling, lured to their table by the noise, and startled he raised his head and cast a quick glance at him. Slowly he put his hand off the exercise book, slightly turning it so that Professor VanHarkins could see – the nothing he had done so far, and the few lines he had tried to draw.
"You actually need to write down the numbers." Professor VanHarkins said, gazing down his nose at him. "You will have to practice this, Mr. Novak." He then added, gazing intently at Jamie before he turned and left his desk, brusquely turning towards his own desk in the front of the class and his eyes as well as his voice made clear that there were no excuses.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
Tiredly Jamie leaned on the stony wall for support before he entered the canteen. He was tired. Not to mention the headache and the dizziness he felt. For to be true, his entire body seemed to hurt much more than yesterday and the fear of being sent back home because he was not able to accomplish the tasks his teachers expected him to do, did not help matters at all. He'd manage getting away from home, being sent back home would mean his death warrant.
Well, arithmetic had not been working out too well, nor had physics. There as well he had been unable to answer questions like – 'on a hot day, a lake is likely to be: cooler than nearby land, hotter than nearby land, the same temperature as the land, or the cause of the heat', or questions like 'the sun transfers thermal energy to the earth by: conduction, convection, radiation, none of the above'. Of course he knew that on a hot day a lake surely would be cooler than the nearby land and he also knew that the sun transferred thermal energy to the earth by radiation – but all the questions wanted explanations too, and how … just how could he have given it? He'd yet again failed, as always in his life and with a desperate sigh he finally pushed himself off the wall and entered the canteen for lunch.
Slowly he made his way to the table and took his usual seat beside Graham at the high end of the table with a low sigh, trying to hide the trembling of his fingers and trying not to watch as every one around him stared and whispered. He did not care that the other fifth grade students openly ignored him. On the contrary, he was glad for it, because as long as they ignored him, it gave him a little bit of peace and he forced himself to keep his eyes on the plate in front of him.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
Viewpoint of Hereweald
Hrothgar kept a close eye on his house – like already mentioned, as he always did.
After all, he was the head of his house, and their behaviour was in his responsibility. Would they not show table manners, then it only would come back upon him and he wouldn't have that. He expected nothing less than the best of manners from the students of his house, as his students knew. And … they knew that nothing ever escaped his sharp eyes.
Nor had the fact escaped him that the Novak boy had not … NOT … been visiting the infirmary either as Adam Goodwin had informed him just before lunch. The boy just sat there at the table in the same way he had been sitting during the past mealtimes. Head and shoulders bent, his hands resting in his lap and avoiding to even gaze at the food in front of him. He was sure that the brat would take a slice of bread or two, like he'd done after breakfast, and like he'd done yesterday evening after dinner.
The only difference was that this time he looked even paler than he had yesterday evening and this morning, and the fact that he could note the ever slightest tremble from his features.
No wonder! Hrothgar thought darkly. He neither ate nor slept properly.
Yes, Freeman had visited him this morning in his office and told him that Novak had been awake early in the morning, at half past five already, after having slept restlessly, crying even, according to Jacob – not what Hrothgar would call a refreshing sleep and he lifted his eyebrow.
As it seemed, it was time to have a little conversation with Novak – even though he did not look forward to that – sooner than he had planed. He had set the appointment with the boy at the latest time possible, which would have meant at the end of the week. Wasn't it enough that the brat was in his house and he, Hrothgar, therefore, was responsible for him? No, apparently it wasn't enough … he had to cause him as much trouble as possible too, as it seemed.
Mitchell Foley, one of his ninth grade students approached the table, approached him and handed a small note at him before sitting down beside Nathan Ortega and Johnny Constantin and for a moment he scowled at the boy – not only because he was late for lunch but also because he'd gotten a note from one of his teachers – Martin or Castilla, seeing that the ninth and tenth grades had had English and Spanish this morning. And a note from a teacher always meant trouble, otherwise they wouldn't gain a note from a teacher.
Still scowling he unfolded the piece of paper and read: 'Dear Hereweald, would you please be as kind as to bring Mr. Novak to the infirmary at 3 p.m. just to make sure that he will not miss this time. Adam Goodwin' and his scowl deepened, his face darkening while he gave a short glare at the Novak boy.
Alright, not Mitchell had gotten into trouble, but Novak was in trouble – and caused trouble. Just like he had thought – just as much trouble as possible, as if he'd had nothing else to do than guiding Novak to the infirmary. Never before had he guided any student there. Never …
Well, yes. Of course he had. But that was different. They were not this particular Novak, damn!
Not to mention that Elliot had not arrived yet and he wanted – no, he needed – answers. One of his students was missing for more than twenty-four hours now and he was plain worried.
"Are you all right, Hereweald?" Hendrik's stern voice got him out of his dark thoughts when the students – and therefore the other teachers too – prepared to leave the canteen and he turned his head, forced his face into a calm and cold mask as ever while looking at the man who had just approached him with his eyebrow raised.
"Of course, VanHarkins. I just was thinking." He answered, getting off his chair and taking a few steps to the side to have a moment of privacy with the other teacher.
"Obviously!" VanHarkins chuckled and he scowled at the man. "Well, Hereweald, may I suggest that you rather would not think of such dark thoughts – as you apparently did – during lunch? I am sure you will have enough time to growl about – Jamie Novak – during lessons so that you do not really have to expand such to meals? It's unhealthy, eating while being so moody."
"I'm not moody!" He growled at the man angrily. He was – dark and cold, and he was tough, but he was – not such a thing as moody!
"Novak is in my house and therefore I am responsible for him." He answered, his voice short-tempered. He never had been able to fool Hendrik. He rather would be able to fool Garcia, but not Hendrik. "And he is barely even twenty-four hours here and already causing trouble."
"Trouble?" Hendrik shook his head, casting a short but worried glance at his table. "You surely cannot mistake homesickness and nerves for trouble, my dear Hereweald."
"Homesickness …" Hrothgar sneered, his eyebrow raised.
"Of course, homesickness, Hereweald." VanHarkins insisted and he huffed. "You just look at the poor boy. He is not eating and I heard he'd had bad dreams last night and cried. And during arithmetic and physic lessons he was not even able to concentrate and answer the questions so nervous was he." Hendrik explained. "Just give him time and be patient with him, Hereweald, will you? That boy is your youngest student and he needs your help right now."
Hrothgar groaned under his breath. As if he ever had been blessed with patience or such.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
When the students began to leave the canteen one by one, Hereweald went back to his table, approaching the youngest brat in his house before he, too, could go to his afternoon lessons.
Novak still sat there without moving and Hrothgar's face went even darker. It was half past one now and he had an hour and a half until Adam Goodwin awaited them. He would make sure that Novak did not escape the infirmary this time. He would have a talk with the brat until then. Coming to a halt beside him he darkly glowered down at the spoiled brat who flinched when he noticed him standing beside the table.
"Follow me, Novak." He ordered and then went to the large double winged door leaving the canteen, heading towards the west wing of the main building and straight to his office.
Turning angrily when he didn't hear the boy's steps on the stony ground anymore he gave an annoyed sigh when noticing the brat far behind, and folding his arms in front of his chest, he impatiently drummed the fingers of his right hand on his left arm. He sneered down at the brat as the boy came closer. Yet, he noticed the weary, nearly exhausted movements which seemed to be even painful to Novak and again he raised his left eyebrow, curiously.
Novak lowered his gaze at the ground when he finally came up to him and Hrothgar's eyebrow tilted even higher as he noticed hidden fear in his appearance. Hrothgar was not for nothing a man who had survived one situation or another, kept alive by his ability to detect one thing or another - just as the fear and the pain the boy now tried to hide from him.
Once more growling darkly he turned and got on heading towards his office, reaching out to unlock and push the door open when they finally reached the dark wooden entrance. He entered as quickly as he had hurried along the corridor.
"Sit!" He just ordered when passing his desk, pointing at a chair in front of his desk while he remained standing behind the writing table, his fingertips touching the wooden surface of the tabletop, waiting until Novak had done as he had been told, while watching him closely – and angrily.
Novak sat at the chair in front of the desk, head lowered and shoulders bent as always, his fingers being intertwined into each other, but nevertheless Hrothgar easily could make out their shaking, even though the brat still tried to hide it and even as he disliked Novak, he grew worried as he watched him.
The boy sat in front of his desk, slightly trembling, and Hrothgar shook his head in further annoyance. Novak was so thin he looked as if he would snap in two pieces in a gust of wind. Yet – he was not eating as he should. He was not eating anything at all, damn that bloody brat. At the same time there was the apple and the slices of bread the boy so far had nicked, swirling in the back of his mind, something that reminded him of Jeremy Haynes who'd do the same each year shortly after the summer holidays.
"If my memory serves me right, and I am sure it does, then you were ordered to the infirmary today at ten o'clock, Novak." Hrothgar announced in his calm but dark voice to get his mind off the comparison between the two, still observing the boy in front of him. The brat cringed at the words but did not answer, not even look at him, he just nodded his head.
"You were not there, Novak. Explain yourself!" Hrothgar demanded.
For a few seconds the boy lifted his head and cast a fearful glance at him and he opened his mouth – only to close it immediately and lowering his head once more, he gazed at the stony floor beneath his feet with a helpless shaking of his head.
"I did ask you to explain yourself, as to why you were not in the infirmary today at ten o'clock, when you clearly were ordered to go there, Novak, and I expect an answer from you."
Hrothgar could even feel the fear rising into panic when Novak again lifted his head, cast a quick glance at him that reminded him at something close to despair before lowering his eyes yet again onto the stony surface and he shook his head. Yes, as the cold and dark Chemistry Professor and the most hated teacher at this academic institution, he surely was frightening and scary, yes, he knew that. And surely he was the cause for every fifth grade student to burst into tears at least once during the first term, but no student ever had gotten into a panic attack because of him. At least no student of his own house.
"Surely your parents did teach you how to speak, Novak." Hrothgar growled and he – again – got just a short nod as an answer. This time Novak did not even lift his head – or just his eyes – to look at him.
And again the only resemblance he had for this kind of behaviour, and above all the brat's appearance, were some children which he had met over the years and which had been neglected and abused by their parents – or other family members – but he knew that this was ridiculous, because Novak was spoiled and cherished by his parents. Again, just like the day before, and this evening, there was a small knock at the back of his mind, trying to tell him something that seemed to be wrong but he ignored it and pushed it aside.
"Get your head up and look at me, Novak." Hrothgar demanded and the boy did, even though it seemed to the Chemistry Professor that it cost him all his will and strength to do so and to keep his gaze steady. Frozen in his seat, Novak was as tense as was a hamster in an owlery.
"Now, if your parents had been teaching you how to speak – as you admitted earlier – then would you be so kind as to give me an answer to my question as to why you did not go to the infirmary this morning?"
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
Viewpoint of Jamie
Jamie cringed at the sharp tone in Professor Hrothgar's voice. He knew very well that the teacher wanted an answer from him. But just how should he give him one? And besides of that, what should he even say?
'I am sorry, but my dad was beating me and I don't wish for anyone to see that.'
He could imagine what kind of respond this answer would gain and he flinched at the mere thought of it. But even if he would be ready to give Professor Hrothgar this particular answer, he could not. He just could not. He did not even know how. And unable to control himself anymore he just lowered his eyes back down onto the floor, knowing that he really was in trouble now, and he did the one thing Elliot had taught him during this summer holidays, the one thing Elliot had said he should do when reaching the end of his rope – which he clearly had reached right now, he knew that.
'Dear Lord Jesus, take my hand.' He thought. 'I'm going to a foreign land, one not ruled by king or preacher, but someone by the name of teacher. My brother said that I'll have fun, I'll sing and skip and play and run, but I am scared 'cause I don't know, just what to do and where to go. So please, Lord Jesus, hug me tight, and keep me in your loving sight, for with you by my side today, I know that I will be ok.'
He nearly waited with breath, but nothing happened. no Jesus came to hug him tight, no Jesus came to get him out of the Professor's office, and no Jesus came to explain anything and to speak up for him. Nothing happened – and maybe his parents were just right? And Jesus didn't care about him? But on the other hand, Jesus hadn't come when he had been down there in the cellar, when he'd been alone with Elliot, when he hadn't known what to do anymore. And so – maybe Jesus would never come? If this was so, then he just needed to make sure that no one knew what he was thinking, or he would be in even more trouble than he already was.
After all, Elliot had taught him this rhyme, had told him that he would be safe at school, that he would be alright and that he should think this rhyme whenever he was scared at school, but he had known that his parents better never learn of it or he would be in hell for the remainder of his life, like Elliot had been when his father had heard him telling him this rhyme, until …
"I told you to look at me, Novak!" He heard the teacher barking at him and he cast a quick glance at the man, not really because it was demanded of him but rather because – he just needed to know how safe – or rather unsafe – he was and he needed to know how angry the Professor looked.
But well, it wouldn't work anyway, he knew that, because he was not good enough for Jesus to care for him. His brother had told him different, but his brother … his parents had told him that he was not good enough, that he never would be good enough so that the Lord Jesus would care about him, never mind what Elliot had said, because his parents were older, weren't they? And so they had to know better also, hadn't they?
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
Viewpoint of Hereweald
Hrothgar on the other hand now truly grew worried when he recognized Novak finally and definitely had reached the level of panic, when he saw he was no more able to control his shaking, nor his breathing that came much too quick for his liking and he walked past the desk, leaning against the wooden furniture, his eyes still watching the boy in front of him. His sublimal guess couldn't be right, now could it? Surely not. The boy's parents were out of question as Novak had been cherished and spoiled by them.
Yet, Novak's entire body spoke a language of its own as it went rigid when Hrothgar had come closer and he had held his breath only to release it when he had stopped his approach, when he had leaned on the desk instead. And the words Hendrik had said to him earlier came to his mind. "You surely cannot mistake homesickness and nerves for trouble, my dear Hereweald."
"I told you to look at me, Novak." The Chemistry Professor once again demanded.
The boy obeyed, even though his shaking got any worse and his face lost all the remaining colour that had been there until now and Hrothgar's face got even darker instead.
"Good." Hrothgar growled darkly not leaving an eye off the boy in front of him. "And now I wish to get answers to my questions, Novak. And no lowering of your head or your eyes. You will keep looking at me when I speak to you. Did I make myself clear?"
The boy nodded, even though Hrothgar easily could make out his uneven and meanwhile ragged breathing. The boy's body was tense, and there was undisguised panic in his eyes.
"So, Novak, are you able to speak? To use your voice? In any language, that is?" He finally asked, nearly fearing the answer. That was not the Novak he had expected to be the spoiled and cherished brother who had made Elliot's life at home a living hell. Rather he had a boy sitting in front of his desk that bore every sign of child abuse – and child neglect too, if he was honest with himself, a boy that reminded him so very much at Elliot, it was startling. But how could that be? Because he knew what Elliot had told him every year after the summer holidays, and he knew that Elliot had not lied to him.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
Mixed viewpoints from here on
Well, had he really expected any thing else?
No, if he had to be true, then he had to admit that he only had pretended to think otherwise while in truth it had been clear what would happen from the beginning on and lowering his eyes again in shame he shook his head. What else could he do?
It had just been too good – being away from his parents, and from that dreaded cellar as well, the cellar he had learned to hate since that summer, since … but that would now be past, because surely he would have to go back home immediately. How could he have been so stupid and depend on something that was never his?
Hereweald Hrothgar's face remained calm, but inwardly he was nearly shocked and for a moment he now was speechless. The boy really could not speak? Actually not? Not at all? But why had Elliot never told him of that? And how had he been able to communicate with his parents? Sign language? Maybe Novak should be sent back to them and rather visit a different school other than Hathaway. But then … there was the small little knock on the back of his consciousness, again.
"Eyes up, Novak." He ordered, but yet again – Hrothgar grew frustrated now – the boy just again shook his head, bending even more forwards, and hugging his arms around his midsection as if in an attempt of self-protection.
Hrothgar had seen the shame in the boy's eyes that mixed up with the fear and the pain, but he did not really understand why there would be shame. "I said eyes up, Novak." He repeated. "I wish to look into your eyes if I speak to you. Now!"
And this time Novak really managed to raise his gaze. Only to flinch back with a low gasp of horror as the Chemistry Professor lifted his hand to rub his forehead and Hrothgar stopped his movement midair, eying the child in front of him suspiciously. Somehow he had been right. He noticed Novak kept looking at his hand warily.
But how? And who?
Slowly he lowered his hand, watching Novak whose eyes never left his hand until it was resting at the wooden surface of the desk behind him. Only someone who feared a hand would react in such a way, and only someone who had been beaten would fear a hand in such a way. But yet again – how? And who?
And, what could he do now? He had to find out why the blasted brat acted as strangely as he did. And he had to know if there was any chance that he was able to speak – or where his brother kept himself. He just had to know.
"Are you able to use sign language, Novak?" He asked, forcing his voice to sound calm despite what he felt.
He himself did not know all the signs, it had been a long time since he had last needed them, many, many years, but he could remember some and he was sure he could read them if Novak used them.
Yet – again – Novak shook his head and Hrothgar had to suppress a sigh of frustration. His gaze darkened and raising his eyebrow he folded his arms in front of his chest, making sure that he was moving slowly. He would – if he wished or not – have to try to speak to the brat – with patience – and soundlessly he snorted. As if he were one whose qualities lay in talking patiently to his students. He!
"Now you listen to me, Novak." He slowly began, his eyes narrowed and his voice growling softly and he knew that his only chance was a shot in the dark. "I know that you surely have been beaten, and by your behaviour I guess it is not a one time occurrence but quire regularly." He started, lifting his hand when the boy looked up to shake his head at his statement. "You just do not wish to admit it because the one who did, your father, I guess, forbade you to tell anyone. No …" He added when the bloody brat began to shake his head once more. "Do not dare lie to me, Novak." He growled darkly.
Never leaving his eyes off Novak, Hrothgar clearly noticed the flinch at his last comment and he reminded himself that he should be more calm if he wished to get anything out of the boy. After gazing a few mere seconds at him, watching him intently while Novak himself sat there as unmoving as ever, he finally pushed off the desk and went behind the table, opened a drawer and took out a piece of paper and a pencil, placing both at the desk, in front of Novak.
"As you are unable to speak, Novak, I expect you to write down your answers." He said. "Your brother did not arrive at school together with you yesterday evening and even if he had travelled here by public transportation, then he should have arrived shortly after noon at the very latest – yet, he is not here. Where is he?"
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
Jamie gazed at the paper in front of him, the butterflies in his stomach more and more tumbling through his entrails.
He knew what Professor Hrothgar expected of him, but he could not. How could he? He just could not.
He could not tell anything. He would be dead if he did. He just knew. His father would kill him the moment he set his foot back into his house. Not to mention – how could he write down anything? And more and more he was sure that he would be expelled because he was too young for this school, like Elliot had said, because he could not speak, because he could not … and now he was …
Slowly the mask he had been playing crumbled and more and more he felt himself falling into a dark abyss. He could not go back, he would not survive going back, he would …
Hrothgar lifted his eyebrow even higher when Novak's trembling increased to a point where he feared the boy would just fall apart, but he did not reach for the pencil and his impatience threatened to gain the upper hand. Why in all names of heaven did he –HE! – have to deal with this brat? Why not VanHarkins? Or one of the other more understanding and patient teachers?
Sighing heavily he leaned forward, leaned his elbows onto the surface of his desk, eying Novak who had drawn his arms around his mid section again, as if to prevent himself from falling apart, as if to protect himself.
"Your answer, Novak." He growled darkly, not really caring anymore about startling the brat. He wanted answers. He needed answers. "Right now!"
Slowly the boy reached for the pencil – but then he narrowed his eyes when the bloody idiot brat didn't write down his answer, but started drawing a picture, and what a bad drawing it was even!
A few lines that looked as if it was a bare room with a single door but no window and then the brat added lines that looked as if the walls were done of stones, brick stones maybe.
"You surely have learned how to write in the primary school you visited, Novak, haven't you?" He asked dryly, not able to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Yet he was shocked when the brat in front of him cast a quick, fearful glance at him and then lowered his gaze in shame back at the paper and a barely visible shaking of his head was the answer.
Hrothgar took a moment to understand what the boy's headshaking meant. But then he got up once again and turned around the desk, once more leaning against the furniture, his arms folded in front of his chest. But still it took him a few more seconds until he was able to voice his next question and his voice was nearly threatening.
"Are you really telling me, you never learned to write, Novak?" He then asked. That was just absurd. It was not possible.
But the Novak brat nodded. Barely visible, flinching at his threatening tone, and his eyes still lowered at the white paper. But he nodded.
How could a seven year old not be able to write? What did the brat do in his primary school? How had he been communicating with his parents? How had he been able to communicate at school? With friends? How had he been able to communicate at all? Angrily he shook his head, while he once more reminded himself that he should keep a clear mind and a calm tone. He had the feeling that there was more behind all this than he was able to see now, that maybe it had really something to do with the boy's parents.
But that was …
Elliot would never have lied to him, absolutely never – not to mention that he had seen the signs of abuse and neglect on Elliot. How often had he held the crying child after he had come back from the summer holidays because of the unfairness of all this? Because his brother had been cherished and loved and spoiled in front of him while he got nothing other than beatings?
Yet – the neglected clothing, the thin and small, nearly starved appearance, the fearful and jumpy behaviour, the fact that he seemed to be in pain, that he could neither speak nor write, not even knew sign language, the nicking of food. When separately regarded, surely nothing to bother about, but taking it all together …
"Your brother, Elliot." He indicated, pointing at the paper, having him continuing the – drawn answer, but that wouldn't have been necessary, because he realized – as frightened as Novak had been of taking the pencil in the first place, of giving him an answer at first, never mind in what form, now he seemed to be eager, as if suddenly he needed to get rid of everything – like Elliot four years ago had been eager the moment he had first learned of the boy's abuse.
There was a nearly round thing that got a horizontal line, and then the line got four lines that stuck out of it – a stickman! A stickman that was laying on the floor of what seemed to be – a cellar maybe, and beside it was a dark spot that, considering its form, could be read as blood. Did this mean that this stickman was Elliot? If so, then was he still at home? In the cellar of the house? Hurt and clearly in need?
"This is your …?" He started followed by a "What the hell are you …" But he was interrupted by the need to draw a breath when the idiot brat had drawn a cross next to the stickman.
Did this mean that Elliot was –
"You are saying that – Elliot is dead?" He asked, the words more choked out than anything else. Because that couldn't be! Not Elliot!
But the Novak-boy nodded his head, looking sick himself, looking –
"What does this cellar have to do with it?" He asked, his voice barely steady, even though he already knew the answer, because Elliot had more than once told him how his mother had forgotten him down there in the cellar, how his father had locked him down there. Forcing himself to get back control over himself, over his breathing, he watched Novak drawing another stickman, sitting beside the one that was laying on the floor in what seemed to be the cellar.
"You were there too?" He asked, his eyes narrowed at the brat who nodded. "All the times? During all the holidays?"
Flashback
"I see no reason as to why you should do such a thing." He growled darkly. "I do understand that you want to keep Mr. Pyjamas, that you won't have your parents taking him away, and I have no problem with safekeeping him until you are back from your summer holidays, Elliot, but I see no reason as to why you would keep him safe for your brother, he has toys enough if I am not mistaken."
Like each year, just before leaving for the summer holidays, Elliot had come to bring him Mr. Pyjamas, the bunny that wore a white button-down pyjama with bunnies on it, for safekeeping.
Elliot had taken the bunny he had brought here four years ago, for his very first year at Hathaway, the only thing he'd ever gotten from his parents, home when he had left school for the first summer holidays. Maybe the boy had thought that now, after he'd been away for a year, his parents would have missed him, would love him more than they had done in the past. And so he had been happy to go home, and to take "Bunny" with him, maybe even to show his parents that he'd kept the stuffed animal safe.
He had come back to school without the damn thing.
He had later stumbled over a stuffed animal that looked like a bunny in a white button-down pyjama with bunnies on it, just like the pyjama Elliot had been wearing back then, when he'd come to his office for the very first time, and he had bought the bloody thing for the brat. Not to make the boy happy, just to stop his snivelling.
Not that Elliot had snivelled about his bunny having been destroyed and thrown away by his parents, the boy rarely did, but that was the excuse he had given himself for such a foolish act like buying a stuffed animal for one of his students.
However, this year the boy had told him that he wanted to leave his bunny – "Mr. Pyjamas" – here for safekeeping so that his little brother could have him one day, something that seemed ridiculous to him.
"Maybe." Elliot answered, looking thoughtfully.
"Explain your self, Elliot." He said, his eyes narrowed at the boy.
He had soon learned to – he'd never admit it though – see the boy as something like, a son he'd never have. He loved that bloody little brat and he had learned that the boy rarely did anything without a reason.
"I haven't paid too much attention to it in the past, but each time I'm in that cellar at home, I find more things." The boy said, sitting down at the sofa, Indian style, hugging the bunny to his chest even though he was fourteen years old now.
"What kind of things?" He asked when the boy didn't continue for some time. There were of course things in a cellar, every kind of things even, and he didn't see what that could have to do with his younger brother.
"Nothing much, and nothing important." Elliot slowly answered. "At first it was just a paper here, and a pencil there, or a small picture book, a toy car. But then, in later years I've found a glass and then a plate, and last year there was a blanket laying in a corner – as if all the years before there had been someone cleaning up things but forgot small items, as if last year they hadn't cared about cleaning things away entirely. I don't know, but I don't feel good when I think of it now. I fear that something will happen, Hereweald. And something really bad. I'm worried, really."
"I could try to keep you out of the house, Elliot." He seriously said, sitting at the table opposite the boy, having the boy looking at him. "If you are really worried, I could try to get child protective service into it. At least they would have an eye on the situation."
"No." Elliot said, shaking his head. "You know what my father is capable of, and he'll be really angry if they visit. I'll just need to be more careful than normally."
"You cannot be careful if you are living in a house together with your violent parents." He reminded the boy – and not for the first time. "You know as well as do I that only child protective service can help."
"And you know as well as do I that this won't work." The boy shook his head. "They won't take Jamie and me away without proof of real violence and my father will be very careful to avoid that proof. He will just be angry upon them visiting."
"The injuries I see on you each year are proof enough for violence and child abuse." He growled even though he knew – it wasn't enough proof, and it wasn't real proof. The boy was right, of course, because he had tried just that, he had sent child protective service to Carmichael Novak's house a few years ago, in the beginning, but the only thing that had happened upon their visit was – well, they had presented them with the same story as their lawyer had presented him, and school – the boy had fallen down the stairs, the boy had stumbled, the boy had …
He ignored Elliot averting his eyes at the mentioning of the words 'child abuse', knowing that still, after years, Elliot had trouble admitting that it was just this, child abuse – but they all had trouble with that, most of them being even unable to say the word themselves and rather denying that it was just this.
"Won't be enough." The boy softly said, his eyes still averted.
"I know." He sighed, knowing that he could do nothing. "I will be very worried until you are back here safely, boy." He then added, getting off the table and taking the bunny out of the boy's hands, placing the bloody thing at the shelf beside the sofa. "I'll keep an eye on Mr. Pyjama until then and now let's go for breakfast. I expect you to eat as much as possible and to take something to eat with you too."
End flashback
He had left their house together with Elliot and the others, and even though he had made sure that the boy had eaten as much as possible, had hidden a few apples and a few slices of bread in his backpack, he had known anyway that it wouldn't last long, that it wouldn't make a difference in the boy getting starved at home, getting neglected and forgotten in the best case, and beaten up in the worst case.
He had then embraced the boy before sending him on his way, had folded the brat in his arms – and now he seemed to be … dead …
"We will continue this later, Novak." He softly said, still shocked to the core and not really knowing how to deal with this new information, not really ready to believe Jamie Novak's words, not really ready to believe that Elliot was dead. "Now it is time to meet up with Adam Goodwin. If you would follow me, please."
Again he pushed off the desk and was about to turn, just when he noticed Novak shaking his head, a pure look of horror on his face, his eyes wide with fear, and he stopped, his eyes narrowed.
If he was right, and his parents had something to do with this, which he was sure about by now, then he knew why the boy refused to go to the infirmary. He feared he would get into trouble if anyone found out what happened at home. Surely his parents had forbidden him to talk about this – and with good reason so – and surely he feared his parents would find out he had.
As a Head of House he had gotten more than just one abused child into his hands when they first arrived at Hathaway. And it was always the same. Sighing heavily he went back to the boy and for a few seconds just gazed down at him.
He easily could see the tiredness and the hunger as well as the exhaustion in the boy's black eyes, eyes that reminded him so much of Elliot Novak, just darker, and gritting his teeth he slowly knelt in front of the boy, still watching him very closely. Damn that blasted brat for having his brother's eyes.
Of course he could notice tiredness and hunger in those damn dark eyes. The brat hadn't eaten much since he had arrived at Hathaway, only the apple and a slice of bread here or there he had nicked, and he surely wasn't really sleeping too well either, most likely having nightmares about his brother dying and …
And suddenly he realized that – it was true. Suddenly he realized that – most likely – this was what had happened. Jamie Novak had been together with his brother in that cellar, whatever reason for, during all the summer holidays, and he had been with him when he had died, too. The barely seven year old boy had been forced to watch his older brother dying – and suddenly he also realized all the seriousness of the situation.
Elliot was indeed dead.
And this child here could most likely be happy that he was alive still.
Novak flinched when he knelt in front of him, coming within his personal space, but Hrothgar forced himself to ignore it as well as to ignore the fact that the boy stiffened and tried to draw back from him.
"If I am not mistaken, and I am sure I'm not, then your father has forbidden you to tell any of what has happened at your home. Am I right?" He asked in a low and as kind as possible voice – and very slowly, unsurely, the boy nodded.
"Well, then let me assure you, Novak, your father will not find out about this. This is a school internal matter and it will not leave the walls of Hathaway. Do you understand?" Again the boy in front of him nodded, slowly, hesitantly. Of course it wasn't a school internal matter, not anymore, not with the death of a child, but there was no way that he could explain all that would be happening now to the boy without upsetting him more than he already was and so, for the first time in his life, he withheld the truth from one of his students.
"Good. Then if you would follow me please … to the infirmary … there are some things I wish to be cared for." Slowly, without waiting for an answer he took the boy's file Garcia had given him three days ago, got to his feet, and held his hand out towards the door, indicating that there was no way the boy could escape the Chemistry Professor's wish.
And slowly, hesitantly, with nearly careful movements, Novak rose from the chair he was sitting on, but he couldn't move further in his half-panic, most likely a nauseous feeling rising in his chest, in his stomach, and Hrothgar stopped suddenly at the gasp that was heard from the boy as he opened the door. A gasp of fear, and as he turned he saw the boy slowly retreating towards one of the bookshelves until his back was pressed against the wooden shelf, his head slightly shaking no and his dark eyes large, larger than they should be.
Sighing and bracing himself for what he knew would come, Hrothgar took a step towards his student, just as Novak slid down the bookshelf as if to make himself as small as possible.
The boy shivered and hugged his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth and slowly Hrothgar circled the desk and neared the boy as cautiously as he would approach a wild animal, crouching down next to him to be on eye level with his student. He scowled angrily as he took in the boy's terrified expression, pained and panicked where only minutes ago it had been a mask behind which he had hidden his emotions so well, the pale face having been a mask that had stood in contrast to his body language.
Kneeling with one knee on the floor he didn't need to search in Novak's eyes, the boy's entire body was screaming his fear and desperation.
"There is no need to fear a visit in the infirmary, believe me, Novak." He said, shoving his dislike and his anger to the background in order to appear as approachable and as open as possible. He waited a moment for a response and receiving none, he slowly and carefully grasped Novak's shoulder, ignoring the boy's flinch, but knowing he now had his attention.
"Novak … Jamie …" He started, the boy's given name sounding strange and wrong on his tongue. "You are safe here, and your father will not learn a word of this conversation. But I will not allow any student of mine to be injured or harmed in any way."
The boy still trembled but stopped himself from rocking back and forth, instead he tried to squirm away from the Chemistry Professor's touch, tried to become even smaller, to hide himself away.
"Come along now, Jamie." He said, his voice as even and low as possible, trying to get the boy off the floor. "It is time that Goodwin has a closer look at you. I guess that …"
He was not able to finish his sentence. As soon as he had tightened his grip to pull the boy off the floor, Novak gave a startled scream away and kicked his leg at the teacher, the panic clearly and visibly written over his face. And as if this had hit a trigger, the panic-attack was there full blown. The boy stiffened for a split second, as if realizing what he had done, but then he tried to pull away from the Chemistry Professor's hand on his shoulder and the moment Hrothgar increased the grip he had on him, he again kicked at him, tried to push him away, tried to squirm free one way or another as if his life depended on it – and most likely that was what the boy in this moment felt.
However, Hrothgar was prepared, and with one swift movement he placed the file at one of the lower shelves behind the boy so that he had both hands free and gripped the small wrists with a firm, yet gentle grip, turning the boy at the same time so he could gather the small body into his arms, pressing him with his back against his chest so that he could harm neither himself nor the Chemistry Professor.
He wasn't angry at Novak. He knew, the boy only tried to somehow defend himself in his fear, and he only had to wait until the boy got tired, until his moment of strength had left him. He did not like such actions, but he nevertheless had them often enough after school began so that he knew what was to be done. He wasn't even surprised when the boy suddenly pulled his head forwards before he hit his head back against his chest forcefully, and even though he had to catch his breath for a moment, he anyway reacted immediately, took advantage of the boy getting weaker in his struggling and with a swift movement he gathered both of the small wrists in one hand so that he had his other hand free which he placed at the child's forehead, pressing the child's head against his chest securely to prevent him from doing the same again.
"Just calm down, boy." He growled. "I know you are scared right now, but I assure you, I will not harm you. You just calm down, and I will release you. I will not hurt you. I promise."
He observed the boy in front of him, noticed the moment when the small body in his arms got rigid for a moment before he nearly went limp with exhaustion and tiredness.
"That's it, child!" He softly growled, releasing Jamie's forehead and placing his hand instead at the damp cheeks, the brat clearly having cried. "I know exactly what you feel, Jamie." He growled in his still low and deep voice into the boy's ear. "You fear your father will find out you told us what happened at home. You are not the first student coming from an abusive home and landing in my care. Thus, I know exactly of your fear." Hrothgar doubted Novak even understood what he was saying, yet – he had at least to try. "But believe me, Jamie. You are perfectly safe here. I know how to handle such situations and I can assure you, your father will not find out what events had taken place here and now."
Well, Novak Senior would – but he would be in jail then, unable to harm any of his children ever again – or rather, unable to harm his remaining son again because his other was dead and again he closed his eyes for a moment at that realization – Elliot was dead, the one student he had liked, was dead, the one student he had waited for after the holidays, was dead.
Finally the boy seemed to consider his words for a moment and the Chemistry Professor could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He knew by the look on his features that he began to accept what he had said as the truth.
"That's fine. On your feet now, Novak." Hrothgar sighed, feeling suddenly very tired – mentally tired, tired of such situations, because after all, Novak was not the first student he picked up from the floor after a mental breakdown and a panic attack. They all reacted similar to mentions of the infirmary, child abuse, or their parents, and he knew that in most cases only his firm and demanding presence in the infirmary would keep the children under some control and from running off again, depending on how deep their fear went – he knew that he always had to be prepared for nearly anything when it came to handling abused children.
Turning he grasped the boy's file just when a book caught his eye and he frowned, trying to remember when he had last taken this one off the shelf – 'American sign language for beginners'. It was years ago and he didn't even remember having it in his possession still, but right now it was just what he needed and without a second thought he took it from the shelf – just at the very same moment when the alarm for an air raid went off and another moment later he had again a boy at hand that was about to get into a panic attack at the loud and apparently unknown noise while he knew – he should get not only the brat, but his other students too to the cellars … while at the same time he realized that – a cellar, Jamie Novak being locked up in a cellar together with his brother whom he had watched dying down there …
What a fun the next few hours would surely become.
Without thinking he pushed the book into the boy's backpack, together with the file Garcia had given him, and he knew – giving the boy the backpack would be out of question, the brat was gone too far in his newly risen fear at the alarm and so he grabbed both, the backpack and the boy's shoulder without further ado.
A moment later there was a loud crash, an explosion close by, followed by the scraping of stone against stone and he could feel stone-splinters passing him, could feel the pain of something hitting his shoulder when he turned to shield the brat from the source of the explosion what was surely the impact of a bomb – wherever this one had come from.
It was a moment later that he realized – he, as well as Novak, whom he still was holding, weren't in the classroom anymore, that he wasn't even – in a building anymore, that he was … he didn't know where exactly he was, except that it was not where he should have been and he was sure that somehow the building – or at least part of it – had been hit by a bomb. Just how the boy and he had survived this impact, he really didn't know.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
To be continued
Next time in … and sit a while with me …
The viewpoint of Peter on things – and how he was to deal with one young lad or another
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 …