Start of term. Or as he remembered it, hell.
Having made a point to get to the classroom early, Holmes almost revelled in the noise outside of the stone walls. Shouting and shoving, older students exerting far too much energy on intimidating their youngers. He could have dragged out their wait outside, having left the door closed with no invite in- and of course, the students would be late. Perhaps it was start of term etiquette to miss half of your first class, just to make an impression; or maybe Hogwarts held some very lazy and ill-mannered students.
The last bell sounded, and so it was with some dread that he pulled himself from behind the desk and over to the door. He listened for a moment- most of the students were chattering away about their summers, each more boring than the last. The few that were speculating on his teaching were less concerned on the classwork and practical elements- save for combat- but rather exactly how much time would be wasted on homework over the course of the year.
Swinging the door open, he watched as the students filed in- a redhead and his two friends, an Irish boy all but screaming about turning water into rum, and other oddities. The class sat, watching him with bated breath as he slammed closed the door and strode up the aisle. Quickly as he could, he wrote his name on the chalkboard.
"My name," he started. "Is Holmes. Your names will be read out shortly. This is Defence Against the Dark Arts, it is the first day of term, and I can assure you right now that you will never be bored during or after one of my classes."
Some of the class snickered but for the most part, they stayed silent. He scanned the class list, matching each name to a face. Thomas, Granger, Goyle, Malfoy, Potter, Zabini… There were more that he recognised, but those ones stuck out. For different reasons, of course. The Slytherins would be the most trouble, Granger would be asking every question possible, and Potter- Potter would sink into his chair every few minutes and wait for the ground to swallow him up.
Poor Potter. Someday the poor boy would have to suck it up.
"This year will be the most difficult and possibly most enjoyable of your school career. The fifth year is the year that determines your future, your NEWT courses and whether you're cut out to survive in the- Is there something you would like to add, Malfoy?"
The muttering boy's head snapped up, a look of glee on his face. "I was just saying- in terms of being cut out to survive, that is- is it because you failed your NEWTs that you went to live with the muggles?"
The class was expectant, no doubt. Well, he wasn't going to disappoint- if you were going to do a job, you had to at least do it properly; and prepare your students for their futures of being teased in the workplace.
"In fact, Malfoy, I was trying to find a position that would cater to your NEWT results. My NEWT results are now meaningless- I'm a teacher, correct?"
Malfoy nodded, irked rather than embarrassed. It was the simple things in life that made you smile, and having your class snicker at the well-known bully was oddly satisfying.
"Each and every one of you is capable of achieving high grades in the class- however, some of you will find it less easy than others. You will have to think. I will not tolerate talking in this room. I will not tolerate slacking off. And I will not tolerate failures."
He moved back to the board from the aisle, pausing to watch the class. They sat straight and quiet, and save for the shuffling of feet, you could have heard a pin drop. Control was what he had, and control he would keep- unless Anderson's spawn had somehow made its way into the castle.
Now that would have been a tragedy.
"I, as you may have heard, have spent many years in the muggle world. It is, if you open your eyes, a fantastic place- and I made it my job to help those without our… gifts. It is a sad truth that many of our people see those without magic as weak- it is clear that they overlook most muggle history and focus only on their own, more doctored one. Anti-muggle slurs will not be tolerated in this classroom either."
Again, they stared.
"To begin," he began. "We will read. Start from the beginning of your book, and at the end up chapter one, you will answer the questions that I have written on the board. No talking. I want these by the end of the class, and- yes, Granger, we will be practising spells next class."
The bushy haired girl gasped, but quickly nodded and bowed her head to the parchment. The scratching of quills soon filled the room, but it was even quicker that the first voice was raised.
"Sir," the juvenile Irish voice piped up. "The chapter and the questions-"
He stood, silencing the young boy. "Correct, Finnigan. Must the questions relate to the assigned reading? Of course not. Carry on."
And so they did. And as they did, he watched them- particularly the few that he didn't know. Muggle borns, he guessed. Granger, diligent and studious- and yet friends with Potter and Weasley, two souls less confined to books and academia. Finnigan, a walking disaster zone. Brown and Patel, giggling at the back of the room. Thomas, clearly speculating everything that he could- lost, in a sense. The Slytherins, an altogether nasty bunch who were best left to stew in their hatred.
Potter.
Potter sat with Weasley, occasionally looking up at the board for the questions. He ignored half of the red-head's nudges and prompts, instead muttering not now and other avoiding phrases. He was in his element, this was clear- and yet, he didn't seem to know what he was doing in the classroom.
Well, they had mentioned his Quidditch abilities. Accident-prone and frankly rather violent, the boy had probably taken a few knocks to the head.
The class continued to work in silence, save for the occasional mutter and flicking of pages. It was peaceful, but with nothing to do but observe, it was easy to become bored in such a mundane setting. The only decorations that he had so far added to the room were numerous skulls, adorning the window ledges and every shelving unit that he could find. They stared upon the students, keeping them in check.
It was a surprise when the bell sounded, a harsh and frightening sound within the silence of the classroom. The students jumped and scrambled from their desks, muttering and nodding goodbyes and thank you's as they hurried from the room. Potter was one of the last, half being dragged along by Granger, and Weasley following.
Well, no one could object—he certainly had them working until the last minute.
The rest of the days classes dragged, each group of students proving more difficult than the last. While he didn't raise his voice even once, there were some students more deserving of extra work than others, and some who would certainly benefit from some time spent with Anderson or anyone else from Scotland Yard.
But if he couldn't, then they certainly wouldn't.
Dinner was skipped, spent in the relative quiet of his quarters. Without a violin to provide music, he was relying on the wireless set, old and worn with a limited choice. But he was grateful for the noise- a merge replacement for John, Mrs Hudson, even Lestrade. With a book in his hands and only half the candles in the room lit, there was a sinister feeling in the air. An owl would occasionally swoop past the window, dangerously close and seemingly about to collide with the glass.
The day had been as expected, if not slightly worse- there was no response from London, not that he expected one. But no response was still a little discouraging, and it was somewhat disappointing that she hadn't gotten back to him.
Alone was at least waiting with open arms.
The night was black, clouds blocking the stars and moon from view. The forest was almost invisible against the night sky, the village hidden behind that. A wander was what he desired, but perhaps it was better to focus on something attainable. But there was no marking yet, not on the second night back. The texts were old and familiar from even his days as a student, never changing and provoking boredom .
It was good to be back. Even once you left, there was always a part of you that missed the hallowed calls and flaming torches of the old stone castle.
Yeah, it's short. But it's finals week now, so I should probably revise. Sigh. See you maybe next week, I think!