Chapter 2

As Elio had expected, Hogwarts was indeed quite different to any of the other wizarding schools he had attended in the past. While it did lie way up in the north of Scotland, was made of rough stone and looked rather imposing and repellent from outside with its high walls and many towers, that didn't keep Elio from feeling at home the second he stepped foot into it. Everywhere seemed to be light. Huge window panes ran along the outer hallways and where natural light was not enough, an infinite amount of torches, candles and chandeliers enlightened the corridors. The first days after his arrival Elio spent most of his free time with simply wandering through the countless hallways that made the castle more labyrinth than school, and looked at the many paintings that framed the walls. It reminded him of the Alhambra he had visited with his parents a few years ago. Endless corridors made of stone, bearing so much wonders to stare at. Well, if you had the chance to actually take it all in. Where it had been tourists at the Alhambra who had robbed Elio of his last nerve, at Hogwarts it were the students chasing each other about the corridors. And if it weren't students, there always was the risk of being disturbed by one of the castle's ghosts. The most bothersome being Peeves. But even with all the hectic and loud residents of the school, Elio had to admit he liked it. He didn't love it yet, but it was way better than he had expected.

On his first day, he had been sorted into one of the four houses, Gryffindor, and the people were bearable. A bit too upbeat and energetic for his liking, but definitely better than those he had seen in Slytherin. He had even made some friends already. Murray, one of the chasers in the Gryffindor Quidditch-Team, had taken it upon him to show Elio around and introduce him to everyone. Although Elio wasn't really keen on all the Quidditch-talk he had to suffer through when being in Murray's company, he appreciated the introduction to Murray's circle of friends. Most of them were girls and to his relief, they did not talk about Quidditch non-stop. Rather, they were interested in everything he could tell them about Southern Europe, which he did, because he liked the attention.

"But how come you're not more sun-tanned?"

"Oh, don't be so superficial, Amanda! It's just his natural skin colour! Is it true that it can get to up to fifty degrees in the shadows in summer?"

"In how many countries have you lived so far?"

"What exactly is it that your parents do?"

Elio knew it was only natural that their fascination with him would cease after a while, but until then he enjoyed being welcomed into his new house with so much interest. School itself was alright too. While the most subjects were overall quite similar to those he had been taught in before, what really excited him were the elective classes. In music class he could get his hands on actual muggle instruments. While the others fought over the magical instruments, Elio claimed an acoustic guitar and a dusty piano his own. And what excited him even more was that he had access to the room outside of class too and therefore could play some music in his free time whenever he wanted. But as intriguing as music class was, as disappointing was the course he had been rooting for the whole summer.

Art history, usually his favourite subject in his free time and the few other schools he had had the chance to take it in, turned out to be a major let-down. And that was all because of one person.

Oliver.

Oliver was the only other person next to Elio, who the girls talked about the whole week and at first Elio didn't quite understand why. Until he sat in class and watched him stroll in.

"He is so handsome!" Amanda whispered under her breath. "He's American, you know. He only arrived in June of last year. He's filling in for Professor Belmor, our actual art history teacher. He's doing some research this year, so we have Oliver instead. And he is…so…handsome!"

He was handsome, that much Elio had to admit. 6'5'' tall, blond, a smile that revealed shiny white teeth and apparently the only reason, why three quarters of the course had chosen the class. Elio didn't need long to figure out that most of his classmates were not interested in the course at all, but only in the teacher. And the way the American responded to the thirsty looks he was receiving, was enough to make Elio want to leave immediately. He wasn't just acknowledging them, he was encouraging them, flirting with the female students even. In contrast to most other teachers he didn't wore a robe, but a big blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the first two buttons undone. There was a casualness emanating from him that did not fit at all to everything else Elio had seen so far of Hogwarts.

"I see we have a new face. Why don't you introduce yourself?" The American asked, as he sat down on the edge of his desk and everyone turned their head to look at Elio. Elio kept his gaze firmly on the teacher.

"Elio. Elio Perlman."

"Nice to meet you, Elio. I'm Oliver."

Elio narrowed his eyes. "Just Oliver?"

"Just Oliver, yes."

"Isn't that a bit…unprofessional?" Elio challenged.

Oliver chuckled and Elio felt the hairs in his neck stand up. He immediately knew he didn't like him. Everything about him screamed American. But especially his nonchalant aura did not sit well with Elio. How was this man supposed to teach him about art history? He looked like someone who spent more time in front of a mirror or in the arms of women rather than brooding over history books and art works.

"If you feel uncomfortable calling me by my first name, you can of course just call me Professor." Oliver grinned. "But you would be the only one in this class."

Elio leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "I don't mind, Professor."

Oliver cocked an eyebrow. "Whatever suits you, Mr. Perlman… Whatever suits you. Now" he turned back to the rest of the class "if I assume correctly then our literature this year is at least two hundred years old, isn't it?"

Elio watched him pick up one of the student's book and turn some of the pages, without really looking at them.

"Any suggestions where to start?"

Oliver's teaching style was just as different as his outer appearance. Not only was he unprepared, but he also made no notes whatsoever on the blackboard. Instead he just sat on his desk for the whole two hours and let the class decide, which part of art history they wanted to discuss. Elio felt betrayed. Here he was, sitting in one of the only two courses he had been looking forward to the whole summer and the incompetent teacher threatened to destroy everything. He couldn't even spend the time fooling around with his new friends, because they all hung on Oliver's lips as though he was the most interesting person in the world. Which of course he was not. He was unbearable. But that needed a male brain to understand.

"He is so amazing!" Amanda sighed two hours later, when they were having lunch in the Great Hall and Charlotte nodded enthusiastically.

Elio snorted. "If you like arrogant Americans, yeah."

"Oh bugger of! You're just jealous."

"Absolutely not."

"I mean, have you looked at him? He is so tall and handsome and..."

Elio decided to just stop listening to her and turned to the only girl in his new circle of friends who so far had not said a single word about the art history teacher.

Marzia.

She was a French girl, who had switched from Beaubatonx to Hogwarts two years ago and in contrast to her friends she seemed to be not quite as fazed by the pretty Professor.

"What do you think about him?"

Marzia shrugged. "He's alright."

"Alright." Elio repeated and shot a glance to teacher's table at the end of the hall, where Oliver was talking to Professor Longbottom. "Alright…I can live with that."

Marzia nudged him in the shoulder. "Come on, he's really not that bad. Stop thinking about him already."

"I'm not thinking about him."

"Of course you are. You're making as much a fuss about him as the others are."

"I certainly am not! I'm just…I mean, can you believe it? The way he talks to us? In this…casual manner? Like we're all friends?"

"So what? I like his classes."

Elio shook his head. "Just the way he said goodbye to us. Like he has to show he is so much cooler than all the other teachers. Cooler than any of us. 'Later'. Later. Who says that anyway?"

Marzia stared at him in amusement. "I don't know. Americans, I guess? What is your problem with him?"

Elio kept staring at the teacher's table as he answered. "Everything."

As though he had heard him, Oliver turned his head and their eyes met. Elio felt his cheeks redden with anger as the teacher only smirked at him and then, as though Elio wasn't worth the attention, turned back to Professor Longbottom. Elio directed his gaze at the sandwich on his plate. Yes, he hated everything about this teacher. Everything. From his horrid way of teaching to that godforsaken smile that made Elio's stomach churn in a way he could only interpret as disgust. But the thing that made him even angrier was the fact that Marzia was right. Why was he even caring so much? He didn't like half of the teachers so far. Some of them were just plain out boring, but he didn't complain about them, did he now? Oliver in turn… Alone the thought of him stirred a fire on his insides that he could not extinguish. Elio shook his head. He really had to care less.

So that's what he did. In the next art history lesson he decided that if Oliver could do casual, so could he. Instead of sitting next to Marzia, as he did in most classes by now, he took a seat in the very back, far away from all the girls who were fighting for the best seats in the first row. He slipped out of his uniform robes and, not even bothering to take out his notes, he propped his feet up on the table, crossed his arms in front of his chest and waited for the bloody American to arrive already.

"Mornin' class!" Oliver's voice boomed through the door and all heads except Elio's turned to watch him stride into the room. Elio raised his chin expectantly, when Oliver turned at the front, but to his surprise Oliver's eyes lingered only for a moment on him in the back, before he broke into one of his charming smiles and asked: "How's everyone doing?"

And class started like everything was normal. Elio felt his ears burn with humiliation at being just outright ignored like this. Not only did Oliver not seem to care about his improper behaviour, but none of his friends seemed to notice either. Their attention was glued to Oliver like flies to candy. Elio had the growing, dreadful suspicion that this was going to be the normal state of this class. Either he would have to fall under the professor's charm like everyone else or he had to bear being ignored by everyone. If Elio hated one thing then it was being ignored. And so, against his own plans, he started to listen.

"…good or bad. You are right, a four year old could have sculptured that, but would he have been able to sculpture it with the same feelings in his mind when doing so? With the same emotions? No, of course not! Just look at these curves and never ending lines. If there is anything we call beautiful then it is something like this."

"I disagree."

The discussion in the front of the classroom quieted down and everybody turned to look at Elio.

"Pardon me?" Oliver asked.

Elio allowed himself a short moment of inner victory, before he repeated: "I disagree."

Oliver crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Then please, enlighten us, Perlman."

"Well, you can't just reduce beauty to some attributes like that. In the end beauty always lies in the eyes of the beholder."

"Clarify." Oliver demanded.

Elio took his feet from the table and pointed towards the copy of a sculpture that was standing on Oliver's desk.

"Well, just because it has certain attributes that you might find beautiful in other art, it doesn't mean, the thing itself really is beautiful. Because what more is art than the meaning that we, the audience, the viewer, the listener, give it? It's just an object without our senses to respond to it. An object can't be beautiful in itself. We are the ones who give meaning to it. And as we all respond different to art, you can't just generalize and say this and that is beautiful to everyone."

To say that Elio was satisfied with the dumb folded reaction of his classmates, was an understatement. He was glowing with pride. There they had it, he knew just as much about art history as that so called teacher. But if he had expected a similar reaction from Oliver, he was mistaking.

"Well, well, well." Oliver said and the sounds of his hands applauding Elio was thrown back loudly from the walls of the classroom. "That was quite an argument you made there, Perlman. I'm impressed." It didn't sound at all as if he was impressed. Rather he was mocking Elio with that smug grin on his face and Elio could feel his ears begin to burn. "Please, do tell us more."

Elio leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine. That was all."

Oliver cocked a brow. "Was it?"

"Yes, Sir." Elio said and he slurred the 'sir' as much as possible.

"Too bad, we could have really used your input in this discussion."

Elio felt the self-satisfied expression drop from his face at the sudden change in Oliver's tone. Because this time he did sound genuine. And finally, Elio understood why all the others craved his attention so much. There was something in the way Oliver looked at people. As if he was not just looking, but really seeing them. As though he actually cared about what they were thinking, feeling even.

Elio felt his throat dry up. But before he could give in to the invitation, Oliver moved on.

"Anyway, back to tracks. Patricia, why don't you give us your interpretation of the piece?"

Elio slumped back into his chair and he could not stop himself from feeling disappointed, as the discussion moved on without him. For a short moment he had felt like this class might have been exactly what he had been expecting of it and more. A place of thoughtful, challenging discussion, where he could shine in front of the others. And then, for some reason he could not explain, he had missed that chance. But he was no one to give up and so he stayed behind when the doorbell rang, with the intention to finish his argument.

"Something I can help you with, Perlman?"

"Yes, about the sculpture-"

"So, now you do have something else to say, huh?" Oliver interrupted him. Amused, he shook his head and walked past him towards the door. "It's lunch time, Perlman. Go get something to eat, you look like you could need it."

"But Sir, I-"

"Later!"

Elio felt his jaw drop, when Oliver just walked out the door, leaving him standing alone in the classroom, his sentence unfinished in the air. Something told him that this was a word he was going to hear a lot from now on.

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