I interrupt this (ir)regularly scheduled KBOW programme for a quick sidebar to explain Where Flint Went. If you don't like sidebars and/or Flint, don't read. Just be patient until the weekend for a new chappie :)

"Oopps, who just had a spill! Let's tip you back up, sweetie." Flint was helped back onto his feet, his arms and legs still swamped in his giant robes. "Oh look who's been into the dress-up box," cooed the Kindergarten teacher as she bent down on her knees to regard the toddling child. "That dress is just enormous on you. How adorable!"
"They're my robes," Flint declared. "I'm a wizard."
"I'm sure you are."
Flint bristled. A Muggle. He was in a Kindergarten with a Muggle woman who didn't believe in magic, let alone that he was actually a teenager trapped in a child's body. Well then he'll prove it to this moronic Muggle. Flint fumbled for his wand, lost in the great expanse of loose robe. Eventually his chubby fingers seized it on and he drew it out in front of the woman's face.
"You will be."
His demands were hurriedly cut off as the teacher stood up and snatched his wand from Flint's fingers with the speed of a swooping hawk. "Now, playing with sticks is very unsafe. You could poke your eye out."

As soon as I get my wand back, let's see whose eyes-

Miss Beckman crossed over to the bin, overflowing with scraps of cardboard from their cutting activity that morning. She snapped the twig in two and dropped it ceremoniously into the rubbish.

Flint stared agog for several moments. Then his bottom lip wobbled and tears sprang to his eyes. He stormed off, pushing into a little girl playing with her teddy. She wailed with the ferocity of an emergency vehicle.

"Come back here, Mark," demanded Miss Beckman.
"Make me," Flint muttered.

All his life he'd been bigger and stronger than other children. He was the boss and the bully and no-one stood up to him. Even this young unmarried teacher looked like she'd snap if he hit her, just like she'd snapped his wand. Yeah, that would serve the dumb bitch right. Flint balled his fists – in fact, he should just-

In a move very much like flying, Flint was hauled through space under Miss Beckman's arm and plonked in front of the crying girl. "Just because you are unhappy doesn't give you the right to make everyone else miserable. Apologise."
"No."
Miss Beckman narrowed her eyes. "Apologise or you can spend the rest of the day in the Toddler room helping Mrs Dian clean up babies' nappies."

Flint stared up into Miss Beckman's mountain-like height and saw she'd already turned, ready to propel him into the horrifying Toddler room. He tensed and tried his weight to pull away from her. The grip on his wrist was not tight, but it was firm. He assessed her threat as serious. "Fine," Flint huffed. He spun to the snotty crying girl. "Sorry," he snarled.
Miss Beckham slapped a box of baby wipes in his hand. "If you don't want to use these nappy wipes, you'd better say it like you mean it."
Flint looked at his feet, all puddled in his Hogwarts robes. "Sorry," he muttered.
"For what," Miss Beckman prompted.
"For pushing you."
"How do you think she felt?"

Flint didn't give a damn how people felt, especially Muggle children. Miss Beckman, a consummate reader of children's minds, guessed as much, and began tugging Flint towards the room full of squalling drooling babies. Flint squirmed. "Surprised."
"And?"
Flint struggled for empathy. Or to name other complex emotions. "She'd feel sad," he finally supplied.
"So should you do it again?"
He was guessing with all this fuss that it would be easier not to. "No."
"Tell Amy that."
"I'm sorry for pushing you... Amy... and I won't do it again," Flint promised. He was released and he stropped off to a corner ready to plot his next move. On his way he passed a boy playing with model cars. With a quick look to see if the teacher woman was looking (she was bent over a kid's painting, praising it), he gave the car a vicious kick.

"Right!" Miss Beckman called from the other side of the carpet, her eyes never leaving the kid's painting. "Toddler room for you, young man."

She guided him into the toddler room and charged him with ferrying dirty and clean nappies to the change station. "You might feel more at home here, with the tantrums and the two-year-olds."

She shut the door behind her with satisfaction.

Miss Beckman had met more unpleasant challenges in her Kindy room than that new child and she'd had them sorted out within a few days. He'll learn, she thought neutrally.

A/N: Ah, childhood memories. Been a while since I've been in Kindergarten, so hopefully that's still an accurate portrayal. Kids still get to be kids and play with toys at that age, right?