Learning the Hard Way

She'd been assigned fifth year.

It wasn't the age she wanted (she wanted the little ones), but she had convinced herself enough times that when she arrived at Magnolia Crescent Primary School, she believed it would be for the best. Whether she actually wanted to teach children that age or not, it didn't matter. It was a real teaching job at a real school, and she could only do what she could do. That meant that she had to be prepared. Unfortunately, that meant that she had to go to the Headmistress's desk to make an appointment with Deputy Headmaster Winthrop to be briefed on school policies and procedures, and handed her roster.

She frowned when she recognized the name of the Headmistress's secretary.

Hilda Bristol.

The name alone was enough to make her lose sleep for two weeks.

As a young child in her own fifth year, she'd spent far too much time in front of Ms. Bristol's desk. She'd broken Harvey Lancaster's science project--a ceramic pot-full of dandelions--over Angus Figg's head for calling her fat. She'd broken Susan Branford's nose the next week. By accident that time, because the girl's friends had put the class mascot--a rat named Hugh--in her book bag. Her arm went flying up, and Susan's nose was unfortunately in its place. There were loads of other times she'd been in trouble, and every time, she sat fidgeting in the uncomfortable, plastic orange chair. Ms. Bristol would look at her sternly over her papers and give her a disapproving glare if she moved too much for her liking.

"If you want more detention, Ms. Kent, just go ahead and keep that up," she threatened. "I'll make sure you'll be staying after for the rest of your days here."

Paula always stiffened for a few seconds, but then found a reason to fidget even more than she was before.

Fortunately, before Ms. Bristol could say anything, Headmaster Dunwoody opened his office door and waved her in.

As she retold the story to her best friend Emily the night before, it might as well have happened yesterday.

"Ever since then," Paula finished, "well...let me put it this way."

Emily encouraged Paula to continue with a nod.

"You know how most people have an irrational fear of spiders or heights or small places?" she asked.

"And why shouldn't they?" Emily answered.

"Well...I have that same kind of fear about Head Offices," Paula answered meekly.

"Because of that woman?" Emily asked.

Paula nodded with a wan smile.

"That was twenty-five years ago," Emily reminded her. "It's time to face your inner-demon."

"My inner-demon can stay in," Paula answered. Then sighed in defeat. "But I'm an adult now."

"Technically speaking," Emily cut in.

"She's my colleague." Now Paula was convincing herself more than continuing the conversation with Emily.

"Also technically speaking," Emily repeated.

Paula grabbed her keys, started her car, and made her way to her old school.

The car might as well have been a time machine. Never-mind that she had her own house and her own bank account now. Never mind that she wore a power-suit and pumps that dug into her heals and would likely leave blisters at the end of the day. Never mind that she had earned a college degree from a prestigious university. As soon as she stepped out of that car, it was not twenty-five year old Paula Kent that stepped out of her Honda, it was nine-year-old Paula Kent, and she had broken something, so she was going to Ms. Bristol's office.

"I'm an adult," was her inner-mantra, "I can handle this."

The school hadn't changed much since her days as a student there. There might be new equipment in the playground and the fence might be wire now instead of wooden, but it was still fundamentally the same.

She didn't know why, but all of a sudden, she felt like a small child who was entering forbidden territory.

"Well," she thought to herself as an attempt to cheer herself up, "At least I know where this place is."

"Maybe she'll be out sick today," her inner-optimist piped up.

"Morning, Hilda!" chirped a wiry redhead in the general direction of the familiar stern face at the secretary's desk.

Paula's stomach fell to her feet.

All the colleagues were on a first-name basis at the school--everyone from the Headmistress right down to the caretaker. But Paula didn't know if she could bring herself to call the woman in the Headmistress's office Hilda.

"Yes?" Ms. Bristol barked when she noticed Paula.

"Er," she stammered, hoping that her voice wouldn't suddenly start squeaking. "I'm here to see the Headmistress." Then almost as an afterthought, "I'm Paula Kent. I had an eight o'clock appointment."

"Very well, Ms. Kent. Have a seat," Ms. Bristol snapped, eying her dubiously. She was thus far showing no signs of recognition, and for that, Paula was extremely grateful.

But the relief soon gave way to dread when she saw it.

That ugly, orange couch--the same couch she sat on when she'd gotten in trouble nearly two decades before.

She shuddered, but she couldn't help laying her hand over the bare patch on the chair's arm where she'd picked off the covering. She resisted the urge to deface it further. Oh, there were tons of other new blemishes on the ugly orange upholstery. Children had declared their loves, insured their immortality, and bore their pencils inside it so hard that it now resembled a very orange, chair-shaped Swiss cheese more than it did a couch. There was one rather disturbing doodle etched in pen rather recently, or at least, an attempt hadn't been made to clean it off. It was a stick-figure sketch of a boy with an unusual lightening-bolt scar, two X's where the eyes should be in the middle of circular glasses, and another boy standing triumphantly over the obviously conquered stick-figure, standing in front of bigger stick-people, a man and a woman whom she assumed were his parents.

It's just a doodle, she told herself. Kids can be cruel sometimes.

"Ms. Kent?" The Headmistress said. She was a severe-looking woman whose nose took over her face. She remembered the woman from her interview a month earlier. Her name was Iris Leicester. "Er, Paula, is it? We're on a first-name basis here." Paula had been so deep in thought that she hadn't realized the Headmaster's office door opened. She jumped.

"Where are my manners?" Paula said. "My goodness, quite a first impression I'm making, aren't I?" She gave a nervous smile and shook her new boss's hand.

"This way, please," Headmistress Leicester directed, and Paula followed, pushing the doodle out of her head to focus on the task at hand.

* * *

"As you know, you'll be teaching fifth year," the Headmistress said. "I can't tell you how grateful we are that we have someone to fill the position on such short notice. We were so disappointed to lose Linda. She was a fantastic teacher, but I'm sure you'll fit right in." She paused to hand Paula a tall stack of files.

"Now, most children at this school, I'm happy to tell you, aren't any trouble at all. There are, of course, a few every year who get sent to my office on a regular basis, however."

Paula looked down while the Headmistress rambled on, barely listening to what she was saying. She was surprised to see the file itself, because as a rule, files weren't generally kept on students. The top of the file bore the name Harry Potter. She didn't have time to give it a further glance before the Headmistress continued.

"I'm thrilled that you called ahead of time to get your roster, because I was going to set up a time for us to have a little chat." Paula stopped glancing at the file now. "I wanted you to be prepared.

"Be prepared for what, Headmistress?"

"Please, dear, call me Iris."

"Er...Iris. Of course I should be prepared. A good teacher is always prepared."

"That's the spirit, Paula!" Iris beamed. "But I think you want to be especially prepared in this case."

"What case?"

"The file I just gave you."

"This is all one file?"

Iris nodded in the affirmative.

"To be precise, four years' worth of files on one student."

"Not that I don't appreciate the advice," Paula said more icily than she intended, plunking the stack on her desk with a resounding thud. "But I'd like to form my own opinions about my students before I teach them. Why does this student have a file?"

Iris heaved a harassed sigh, and picked up the stack. "I don't normally like my teachers to have pre-conceived notions of a student, but in this case, his guardian and I have agreed that you should be aware of what you are getting into."

"Guardian?" Paula asked, curiosity now getting the better of her. She took the stack out of the Headmistress's hands, and began to browse his initial file down at the bottom.

"An aunt. His mother's sister, from what I understand. The boy's parents died in a car crash when the child was an infant. I suppose that explains quite a bit of his behavioral issues, but..." she sighed heavily. "We can only justify so much, Paula, before his actions speak for him."

"I don't under..."

"Harry Potter has a penchant for trouble. I do not like to label any child as 'bad,' but Harry Potter certainly has, er, lost his way. At first glance, he's just an ordinary boy, Paula. But between you and me, he's headed for Saint Brutus's next year. Don't let on. As far as Harry's aware, he's going to Stonewall High next year, but I'm sure you're aware that only the worst lot go there. I recommended the school to his aunt, and she quite agreed."

Paula wondered briefly if this Potter boy was the one who drew the rather gruesome doodle on the dreadful orange chair.

"Take the files home for your own perusal, Paula," Iris said in such a way that gave Paula the impression that it wasn't an option. "You'll thank me later."

"I'm sure I will." Paula said absent-mindedly, unable to stop reading the file. Her eyes widened when she came across a particular incident. She hoped that she misread it. "Did I read that correctly? He turned a teacher's hair blue last year?"

Iris nodded. "Poor Mrs. Dursley swore up and down that she had no bluing at all in her household. She was quite puzzled as to how the boy got a hold of some. But Ms. Caulfield's hair still has blue roots if she's not careful to go to the hair dresser's."

"Is there any way to prove it was him? I mean, couldn't she have just dyed her hair by accident?"

Iris shook her head as if this was the most preposterous suggestion she'd ever heard. "He was the only one who would've had the gall to do such a thing."

Paula frowned, subconsciously running a finger through her own mousey-brown hair. "I see. Head...Iris? Would it be possible to see the roster for my class? I'd like to get in touch with my students' parents and guardians before the year starts if I may."

Iris beamed, ushering her out the door. "Certainly. Just let Hilda know on your way out, and she'll have it ready for you tomorrow."

Paula winced. She'd have the school hooligan for one of her students. She wouldn't be half-surprised if the previous teacher resigned because of the boy. She made a mental note to search again for other employment tomorrow, but she braced herself to ask Ms. Bristol to prepare the roster for her tomorrow just in case she came up empty-handed.

She didn't care what the policy was. She'd never call that woman Hilda, and she wasn't going to let someone like this Potter kid cost her the job, either.

* * *

Paula went home, made herself a turkey sandwich, dialed Emily at work, and relayed the morning's events.

"Well, I hate kids," Emily said after a thoughtful pause. "The whining and the bodily fluids just put me off sex entirely."

"Someone's whined about sex with you?" Paula blurted out in the midst of a fit of giggles.

"Er, no," Emily answered with an exasperated sigh. "I meant the whining and bodily fluids from a product of sex. So at any rate, I'm not the best person to seek out for advice on this subject. But if I were you, I'd just watch the Potter lad like a hawk, and set out to be The Cool Teacher. Nobody misbehaves in The Cool Teacher's class, you know?"

"I wasn't The Cool Kid. How in the hell am I going to be The Cool Teacher?"

"Get the popular kids to like you. Then you're The Cool Teacher."

"How do I get on their side?"

"Just be yourself," Emily answered frankly. "And then if that fails, use bribery."

"How am I supposed to control this Potter kid? He's supposed to be some kind of a punk!"

"Hell if I know," Emily answered. "Weren't you in trouble a lot when you were in school? How did they keep you under control?"

"They didn't. I was sent to the Head Office."

"See there. That's your answer!" Emily answered triumphantly. "If he's really, really bad, send him up to the Head!"

"Emily, you don't understand!" Paula wailed. "He turned a teacher's hair blue!"

"So he turned a teacher's hair blue," Emily answered. "Isn't that today's style?"

"Only if you're also wearing a lot of leather and happen to be a rock star. Blue hair is not exactly what I'd call professional."

"You'll be fine," Emily assured her. Paula wished that she could believe it. "Just keep a level head and don't take any of their crap. See you when I get home."

With that, Paula hung up the phone and drove to the neighborhood newsagent's to find the school supplies she needed for the first day.

* * *

Paula hated using public toilets, but her back teeth were starting to float, and the Potholes from Hell on Privet Drive (which was on her way home) would certainly be murder if she didn't make a pit stop before she made her way back.

With a push of her hand, the door swung open.

She heard someone sniffling softly.

"Hullo? Is everything alright in there?" Paula called out.

She heard a startled gasp. She heard a little squeak, and she looked down to find boys' trainers belonging to someone in the second stall and from even the bit that was viewable from Paula's spot, she thought that the jeans might have been big enough for two legs.

Maybe it's a girl wearing her brother's trainers, Paula hoped.

Then she heard a painful-sounding thud and a splash, and someone, a decidedly male someone, loudly whispered, "Gross!"

"Look," Paula said. "I've REALLY got to go, so if you don't mind, would you please be decent and give a girl a little privacy?"

"I can't," came a small voice from the second stall. It definitely belonged to a small boy.

It seemed incredibly odd to Paula to relieve herself with a small boy alone by himself in the next stall. It didn't matter how much she needed to go. She just couldn't allow the boy to hear her.

"I promise, nobody is going to get you if you come out of there," Paula said. "I'll give you a lolly." She fished around in her pocket book. "All right, I lied. I don't have a lolly. I have a piece of gum, though. A very old, linty piece of gum...but...you can have it if you come out of there right now, alright?"

"Dudley will," the boy answered, opening the door to the stall. She noticed he had glasses that had been repaired with tape and the cuffs of his jeans were sopping wet, and he left a trail of water behind him.

"Dudley will what?" Paula asked.

"Get me," the boy answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Who's Dudley?"

"My cousin."

Then Paula asked: "Are you waiting for your mum? Maybe she can sort this out."

The boy's unruly mop of jet-black hair moved with his whole head as he shook it back and forth. It was then that she noticed a red, lightening-bolt scar on his forehead.

Paula frowned. "I know children grow up fast these days, but aren't you a bit young to be a Peeping Tom?"

"I'm not a Peeping Tom!" the boy said, pouting. "I told you!" And then he lowered his voice to the loudest whisper that Paula had ever heard. "I'm hiding from Dudley."

"What makes you think this Dudley boy is going to get you?"

"He and Piers wanted me to give them the money that my aunt gave me to buy the groceries to get me into trouble. They're not far behind."

"Can't you just explain what happened?"

The boy shook his head.

"If I don't come back with the groceries or the money, I'll be stuck in the cup--in my room--forever."

Paula suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with the state of her bladder. It was as if she'd just discovered his dirty little secret

"Why does your aunt send you grocery shopping?" she demanded, when it suddenly occurred to her that this was an odd thing.

The boy, eyes still downcast, shrugged. "I don't mind. The owner gives me lemon drops if he has them about."

"Maybe the owner has some lemon drops. Would you be a lamb and find out? There are certain things that need doing in this room and you shouldn't even be in here in the first place!"

Just then the boy's eyes widened--and then she realized why when she heard the thunder of several pairs of footsteps.

"WE KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE, SCAR-HEAD!" shouted one boy.

She winced as the door to the men's restroom slammed against the tiled wall.

"SHOW YOUR FACE OR YOU WON'T HAVE ONE BY THE TIME I'M DONE WITH YOU!" shouted another one.

Paula tried to say something, but before she could, the boy was gone.

She hoped the boy made it home all right, but she was extremely glad she could finally do her business in peace.

* * *

Paula didn't sleep much the night before the first day of class.

She was surprised she hadn't driven Emily crazy rehearsing her first lecture, but she had to be perfect.

"How do I look?" Paula asked Emily as they headed out to Emily's car.

"Like a teacher," Emily answered distractedly as she dabbed her lipstick.

Paula frowned. "The teachers I knew all wore those frumpy cardigans with cutsie little embroidered things sewn on them."

"Like a cool teacher," Emily revised.

Paula didn't feel like one.

"What if they hate me?" Paula blurted out as they both were getting ready for work.

Emily let out an exasperated sigh. "There are twenty kids in the class. Odds are, one of them is going to like you."

"It's seven already!" Paula panicked. "I have to be there in half an hour! I'm going to be late!"

"The school is three roads away, Paula, but go if you need to. Break a leg!"

Paula gave her friend a weak smile, grabbed her tote-full of school supplies and purse, shut the door behind her, started her engine, and prayed to whatever deities might be listening that day that today would not be a disaster.

* * *

The chalk squeaked against the coal-black blackboard as she wrote her name in giant, uncharacteristically neat cursive letters. She couldn't get her heart to stop pounding in her ears. She took a deep breath as she went to get the textbooks for the class.

She placed a textbook on every desk. It was going to be maths first. She hated maths, but at least it would be out of her way first. Maths were the reason why she wanted the younger children, because all you had to do at that age was count to twenty. But now she'd have to teach them word-problems and fractions. She would be more comfortable teaching cross-stitching to a bunch of apes.

But it was too late to back out now, because they were all filing in. The first parent to arrive was a blonde-haired woman who appeared to be all-neck.

"How do you do? I'm Petunia Dursley," she said hastily, looking around at the classroom.

"I'm Miss Kent," she said in the most cheerful voice she could muster. Paula got the distinct impression that she was going to be graded.

"Oh good. You're not too fat," Petunia Dursley said, almost absently, examining the selection of books on the shelf. "Are you married?"

"No ma'am."

The woman snapped around to eye her suspiciously. "You're not one of those..." she lowered her voice to a conspiratory whisper, "lesbians...are you?"

Paula shook her head as she pretended to cough to stifle a laugh.

"Then do you live with your boyfriend?"

"My college roommate, miss," Paula said with the fakest smile she could muster, and in a saccharine-sweet tone. "I'm sorry, but I don't quite know what that has to do with my ability to teach your child."

"My Diddy-kins deserves the best. Can't have him being taught by inappropriate role-models, you know."

"Diddy-kins?" Paula asked, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Oh! I forgot! He hates it when I call him Diddy-kins at school. I've had him all to myself all summer long, and it just slipped! Dudley is his name. Dudley Dursley."

"Then you must be Harry Potter's aunt, then?" Paula said, remembering the name from the file.

Petunia sighed heavily, and nodded as though Paula had just found out a dirty little secret.

"The headmistress prepared you, then?"

Paula nodded.

"Then I don't need to tell you to keep your eye on that one. Dudley won't give you any trouble at all, but Potter?" She clicked her tongue and gave her a sympathetic nod.

"Mrs. Dursley," Paula said, getting an idea, "perhaps we can enlist Dudley's help in insuring that Mr. Potter won't get into any trouble while he's in my classroom?

Mrs. Dursley gave her a look that clearly indicated Paula was out of her mind. "My husband and I had hoped Dudley would rub off on that boy in the beginning, but it was obvious from day one that the boy is just a...bad seed. He's abnormal, Ms. Kent, no doubt about that."

Just then, a chubby little girl with brown hair and freckles came into the classroom, leading a very harassed-looking elderly woman. "Gran, hurry up! I want to go play outside before class starts!"

"I'm too old to hurry, Laura," the grandmother answered. Paula gave Mrs. Dursley an apologetic grin. "I'm in the right class-room, aren't I? Laura Henderson is apparently one of your students."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dursley," Paula tried not to sound as relieved as she felt to have an excuse to be rid of the woman. "I've enjoyed our little chat, but the other students are arriving."

"I'll leave you to it, then," Mrs. Dursley said in a sympathetic tone-of-voice.

"Can I come in now?" An oddly familiar voice said just outside the door.

"Very well, boy."

Paula's eyes widened. Who addresses someone like that? She wondered.

"I'm finished here. Just don't start anything, or you'll be paying for it when you get home. Your new teacher and I have worked an agreement out, and I will know about it." Mrs. Dursley gave Paula a pointed look from across the room.

"Madam, I'm sure Laura and I are going to have a great time today," Paula said. Then she happened to look up.

It was the boy from the ladies' toilets the other day.

"I'm sure we're going to have a wonderful time," she said distractedly. Then she went over to him.

"Are you lost?" she asked.

The boy shook his head, as a look of recognition crossed his face, and then he made a study of his trainers.

"I'm Harry Potter," the boy mumbled.

Paula felt her heart drop to her feet.

She gave him a nervous smile. "I'm Miss Kent," she said gently. "There's a desk in here with your name on it, and I'm sure we're going to have a wonderful time."

Harry just nodded, still unable to meet her eyes, and took his seat.

The rest of the children filed in when the bell rang, including a portly boy with three other children about the same size. They all made it a point to glare at Harry when they saw him at his desk, who stuffed his hands in his pockets and made a study of the wall.

* * *

In an hour, it would be time to go to lunch, and the day was surprisingly going well.

She even managed to get through the day's maths lesson without any troubles. She just let the children who seemed ready with the answers give them. Thank God for know-it-alls, she thought as the children were taking their practice test.

It was time for reading now, and once they got their books out, she nodded at Harry.

"Harry, why don't you read us the section on page three?"

Harry nodded, and began reading the passage. When he stumbled over a few words, one of the know-it-alls, a red-headed girl named Sarah Meade, giggled and scribbled something on her notebook. Paula had the suspicion she was passing a note to one of her friends, who started giggling, too.

Paula marched up to Sarah's desk and confiscated the notebook.

Harry kept reading, showing no outward sign that he had been aware that any of this was happening.

She glanced over to see Harry dodging something coming from the opposite side of the room. He was holding his own pretty well, and he even caught one before it managed to hit him.

"TEN POINTS IF YOU GET HIS GLASSES!" Dudley shouted.

"Thank you, Harry. That will be all," she said curtly, not wanting to put the boy through any more humiliation. Then she directed her attention to Dudley and his friends. "Last I heard this was not target practice," Paula said in her best stern voice. "And Sarah, while I'm thrilled that you have developed a keen interest in writing, this isn't the time for it. You will all write lines during lunch."

Everyone was too busy glaring at Harry to concentrate on the rest of the lesson much.

So much for being The Cool Teacher, Paula thought miserably.

* * *

By the time lunch-hour rolled around, no less than seven people--that was almost a third of the class--were writing lines for lunch.

It wasn't long before the Headmistress rapped her fingers on the door while the children were in art with Mr. Burke.

"Beg pardon, but may I speak with you for a moment, Paula?"

"About?"

"You didn't have a very big head-count for recess after lunch."

Paula gave her a wry smile. "Well, I couldn't just let them continue to disrupt the class. Punishing them by making them write lines during lunch seemed to be the solution."

"You shouldn't have allowed them to disrupt the class in the first place," Iris informed her.

"I didn't allow it. That was the point of the punishment."

"What I meant was, you shouldn't have given them the opportunity to do what they did to earn the punishment."

"You mean I shouldn't let Harry read allowed in class again?"

"That's not what I said."

"That's what you implied."

"Harry isn't someone I'd call popular. But the boy's popularity is irrelevant. They should've been interested enough to not need distractions. They act out because they're bored. Boredom is a bastard-child of anger. They shouldn't have been given the chance."

"I'm doing the best I can, Iris," Paula replied.

"That's what worries me," Iris grumbled.

With that, she left. And Paula felt about ten centimeters tall.

Paula didn't have long to feel sorry for herself, however.

For not a second later after the Headmistress left did she hear shouts coming from outside.

"What's going on?" she wondered aloud.

She followed the collective gaze, and realized what they were looking at.

"Is someone..." she took a closer look. As far as she could tell, she could only see a spot of dark hair, as the building was several stories high. "...on the roof?" she asked the student next to her.

"Oh, that's Harry...causing trouble again," he replied.

"HARRY, GET DOWN FROM THERE THIS INSTANT BEFORE YOU HURT SOMEONE!" Iris was shouting.

"I'D GET DOWN IF I COULD, HEADMISTRESS! BUT I CAN'T FLY!" Harry shouted back.

"YOU GOT UP THERE, DIDN'T YOU?"

"I DIDN'T! I JUST SORT OF...GOT HERE."

Paula just followed the sound and made her way through the crowd. He was her responsibility, after all. The least she could do was help get him down.

Dudley Dursley, his cousin, and his friends weren't far behind.

"What happened?"

"We're, er, not sure, Miss Kent," a boy called Piers piped up.

"Why is that boy on the roof?"

Dudley shrugged.

"He was teasing us...gloating for not getting lines like we did, and then the next thing we knew..." Dudley pointed upwards.

Paula frowned.

Knowing what she knew of Dudley Dursley and knowing what she knew of Harry Potter, she rather doubted that scenario.

"Oh, Lord," she said more to herself than anyone else, squinting into the sunlight.

"That's high," said a third-grade teacher called Ellen Oglesby.

"Thank you, Ellen, for stating the obvious," Iris snapped.

"Shouldn't we call the fire brigade?" Paula asked. "Don't they have ladders...or something?"

"That boy is going to need more than a fire brigade by the time certain parties are through with him," another teacher muttered.

"Paula," Iris hissed. "I have a meeting with the board of governors in thirty minutes, and seeing as he's your student, you should handle the situation. And make sure he's in my office when I get back."

"He didn't do anything wrong!" Paula protested.

"He is disrupting class and is endangering his fellow pupils. I won't have it."

"Endangering!" Paula's eyes went wide. "Iris, I..."

Iris turned on her heels so that she was nose-to-nose with Paula. "Handle it."

He can't come down from there on his own...Paula thought wildly, ringing her hands through her hair. He needs...

"I need a ladder!" Paula shouted.

"Well, you'll not make one with yer hair," said an odd, short man (he was shorter than Paula, which was saying a lot). "No more than I can pull one out o' me arse."

"That's not the most, er, professional language I've ever heard, sir," Paula said, eying him dubiously. "Who are you?"

"I'm the new caretaker."

"We're in a bit of a situation here. Surely, they have a ladder of some description for maintenance."

"Think they would, eh?" the man shrugged. "We've got the one, but it ain't goin' ter reach."

"Can't someone call the fire brigade?" Paula shouted.

"And wait all day?" the new caretaker snorted. "Not bloody likely."

"Well how bloody else are we going to get him down from there?!" Paula sighed. "That wasn't very professional, was it?"

"Wouldn't Hilda be able to call someone?" Ellen asked.

"Right," Paula said, suddenly feeling like she'd swallowed a bowling ball. "MS. BRISTOL!" she shouted.

"Could you call the fire brigade for me, please?" she said, once she found her in the crowd.

Ms. Bristol gave her a nasty smile. "I'm not sure why you seem to assume that this is my problem to fix."

"That boy can't stay up there forever!"

"No, he can't," Ms. Bristol replied. "But, as I've said, not my problem."

"It will be your problem if I inform Iris that you were the reason class couldn't resume because you wouldn't make a simple phone call out of spite," Paula seethed.

"Is that a threat?"

"No," Paula said more bravely than she felt. "It's a promise."

Ms. Bristol released a harassed sigh. "Don't expect another favor from me in the near future." And with that, she left.

"Paula," Ellen said, "I have a free period right now; I can look after your class until you've cleared this up."

Paula nodded a thanks.

"Alright!" Paula shouted "The fire department is being called. Show's over. Teachers, gather your students and return to class. My students, follow Mrs. Oglesby back to class. Harry, sit tight, the fire brigade is on the way."

Within minutes, the fire brigade arrived, and Harry was safely down from the roof. Paula fought down a sigh of relief.

When Harry came down from the roof, she told him to go directly to the Headmistress's office.

"But I didn't do anything!" Harry shouted back.

"That doesn't matter, Harry," Paula answered stiffly, hating herself for having to be the bad guy. "You endangered the lives of other students and you disrupted class. Whether on purpose or not, you can't just get away with that."

Then Paula had an idea.

"Harry?" she said, stopping him on his way down the hall. "We'll talk about it when you come back, alright?"

Harry nodded.

She went back to her classroom trying to work out what to say to the boy when he returned.

* * *

It was the next day before Harry set foot in her classroom.

It was apparent that Mrs. Dursley made Harry write a letter of apology, which Paula passed on her way into her classroom the next morning, because Iris had placed it where everyone could read it in the main hall.

"What happened?"

"I'll be standing out in front of the Head's office all week," Harry said gloomily.

"Well, at least you weren't expelled, right?"

"I could've been expelled for that?!" Harry said, wide-eyed.

Paula nodded. "There was a boy when I was about your age who managed to get on top of that very same roof and got expelled for a week and then had to stand out for a week. The Headmistress was easy on you. He also got an angry letter sent home to his family."

"The secretary was typing the letter to the Dursleys when I left yesterday," Harry said.

"Are your Aunt and Uncle good to you?" Paula asked suddenly.

"They don't hit me, if that's what you mean," Harry said, getting defensive. "They don't starve me, and they don't let me go around starkers."

"No," Paula said. "That's not what I mean. The way your aunt treated you when she dropped you off..." Paula was thinking aloud now. "Do they ever make you feel bad?"

"That's just the way they are," Harry said, shrugging.

"The way they treat you and the way that they have been allowing your cousin to treat you is starting to effect my classroom. Would you like it if I asked that you not stay with the Dursleys anymore?"

"You can do that?"

"If you want me to," Paula answered.

"Where would I go?"

Paula frowned. "You'd be going off to live with someone else."

"What if they're just like the Dursleys?"

"It wouldn't hurt to ask people to look into things, would it?"

Harry shook his head.

"Don't tell anyone just yet, Harry, all right?"

Harry nodded.

Paula watched him leave.

The janitor stopped her in the hall on the way to the Head Office to address the matter with Iris.

"Ye think it's bad enough to make it official?"

Paula nodded, wondering why the janitor was concerned.

"Oy. What a mess," was all he said. Then before Paula could answer, she thought she heard a small pop--like a car backfiring. She turned around to see if she could tell where the noise came from, and turned back to ask the janitor why he was so concerned for her student,

* * *

"Iris?" Paula said, rapping on the Headmistress's door.

"Yes?"

"I've come to speak to you about Harry Potter."

"He's to come to my office every day for the next two weeks, Paula. Please see that he does."

"I will. But that's not what I wanted to speak with you about."

"Oh?"

"I have reason to believe that the boy is being abused," she said the whole sentence as though it were all one word.

"That's a rather serious allegation, Paula."

"Which is why I think we should notify social services straight away. He needs to be out of that situation as soon as possible."

"You can write them if you like, but I will not recommend to the Little Whinghing Social Services that the boy be removed from his current environment," Iris told her.

"Excuse me?"

"The Dursley's are an upstanding family. They provide for the boy. He has a bed, he's not starved, and he has clothes on his back. Nor is he bruised any more than a normal ten-year-old boy. He's not ready to blow himself up as a result of their treatment. I will not put a good family like them through such an ordeal. You're on your own on this, Paula."

"I saw Mrs. Dursley berate him in front of me. I know that they encourage their son to bully the boy--or at least they don't do anything to punish him. I can't stand by and do nothing."

"Of course you can stand by and do nothing. And you will." Iris said it as though there was nothing more to be said on the subject.

"Dudley Dursley's behavior towards his cousin directly affected my entire class--the entire school, even! I can't allow it to continue."

"As I understand it, Potter brought the situation on himself," she fired back. "I know you have good intentions, Paula, but this is not your concern."

"Iris, I thought that as a teacher, looking out for my students' best interest was my job."

"And it's in the boy's best interest to move him from foster home to foster home for the next seven years? Harry Potter is a troublemaker and a ten-year-old. The likelihood that he will be adopted is nonexistent. Tell me, Paula, is getting insulted and beat up on a regular basis better for a growing boy than a life of uncertainty? Or worse still, life in an orphanage? You would do well, Ms. Kent, to look at the bigger picture."

Paula opened her mouth to tell her how wrong she was. That Harry deserved better. That if she had the funds, she'd adopt him herself, but the words wouldn't come.

She slammed the door behind her and started to storm past Ms. Bristol's desk--which was empty at the moment.

She made sure that nobody was in the hallway.

She found a box of school stationary lying on the desk, took a sheet of it along with an envelope, and found the stamp of Iris's signature. She quickly blotted the stamp with the ink sitting next to it, blotted the end, and blew on it on her way to the car-park.

She had a feeling she wouldn't have a job next week, but at least she could make the week worth it if she could help someone.

She had the oddest feeling that she was being watched.

And on the way home, she was sure she was being followed, even though she was alone on the street.

"You're just nervous about getting caught," she tried to convince herself.

But somehow she couldn't.

For one thing, it looked as though there was a gray tabby cat trailing her car.

And it was...reading the street-signs?

Yes. That settles it, Paula decided. I'm losing my mind.

The suspicion that she was going crazy was not alleviated by the appearance of a large barn owl in broad daylight rapping on the window of the teacher's lounge just before she left to get her things.

She heard someone outside whistling.

" 'Salright, Rosie," the caretaker was saying from the other side of the window. "She doesn't understand. I'll make sure she gets it."

She hoped that she was just imagining things, because the owl seemed to understand what the caretaker was saying, and flew off.

On her way out, the caretaker stopped her.

"This arrived for you, miss," he said. "I don't usually get the mail, but, it must've gotten in me 'ands by mistake"

Before Paula could reply, the caretaker disappeared.

"I wish he'd stop doing that," Paula muttered. But she soon forgot the caretaker when she read the envelope written in what appeared to be very old paper.

Miss Paula Kent

Magnolia Crescent Primary School, Teacher's Lounge.

She didn't bother reading the rest. She tried to shake off the feeling that she was being watched, and tossed the envelope with her unread letter into the bin. She made sure she still had the letter and envelope with the school logo, and made her way to the car-park.

She couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched.

The feeling wasn't alleviated on the way home. She was almost positive she was being followed.

But she knew she wasn't going batty because there was a grey tabby cat following her and she could've sworn it was...reading road signs? It had been following her the whole way, darting through yards and crosswalks.

"My current definition of 'not paranoid' is that I am beyond positive that a grey tabby is following me and apparently reading road signs?" Paula muttered to herself. "Yeah, I'm losing it. Definitely losing it."

* * *

"Do we have any tuna around?" Emily asked Paula when she came home.

"Don't think so, why?"

"There's this cat outside. And I just thought..."

"Oh no. We do NOT need a cat. Besides, it might not be much longer before I'm saying clean-up, aisle five and wearing an apron and a funny hat. So we can't afford vet bills."

Emily fished around in the cabinet and took out a can of tuna. "You just found a job as a teacher! Was it really that bad today?" With a pop, the can was opened, and Emily was listening distractedly as Paula recanted her first day on the job.

"Paula," Emily said as soon as Paula finished explaining what happened, "I think I missed something. Why is it worth losing your job for this?"

"I don't want to work at that school, anyway," Paula answered. "Aaaaaargh!" she screamed, "it's just not fair! I thought I would be a good teacher. I thought I would help people. I thought I'd make a difference."

The piece of school stationary had been sitting on the kitchen table since Paula came home. She picked it up and put it in an ancient typewriter that Paula's grandfather had owned once.

"You're still making a difference," Emily said, gesturing at the piece of paper, which was now ready to be typed upon. "Being incredibly stupid, but still making a difference."

In the end, Paula wrote to the social services, recounting in vague details the kind of things she'd heard from Harry about the Dursleys. She had to make sure it was only a page long, and was strong enough to warrant an investigation.

It was around midnight before it was finished. It had been a long day. Her eyelids were extremely heavy, and sleep would come easily that night.

She put the letter in the school envelope, sealed it, and started to turn off the light, when she noticed a letter written in red paper.

Was she imagining things, or was the letter...smoking at the corners?

It made a whistling noise when she opened it.

She screamed back.

"It has to be one of those letter-bombs," she thought wildly, feeling a mixture of guilt and relief when she saw Emily in the doorway.

"The letter's possessed!" Paula screamed. "Or it's a letter-bomb! I don't know...something's not right here."

"No more coffee for you," Emily said dryly.

Emily went over to the table where the sealed envelope decorated with the Magnolia Crescent School logo was lying, and opened it.

"Doesn't look possessed to me." Then she spotted the red piece of paper in a few feet away. "What the..."

"That's the letter that's possessed," Paula said, swallowing hard and pointing to the red piece of paper on the kitchen floor.

"Maybe the stress of the new job is getting to you...but I'd definitely say lay off the..."

Emily's voice was quickly drowned out by a shrieking sound coming from the letter.

"I've had cards that sang Happy Birthday to me...but this is a bit on the creepy side."

Emily picked up the note. Her eyes opened wide when she'd finished reading it.

"Paula...call the police. I'd say you've got a stalker," Emily said shakily.

"What?"

"It's addressed to Paula Kent, Number 7 Wisteria Walk, in front of the typewriter at the desk in the den."

"They're watching outside our window!" Paula said, aghast.

"There's no window in the den," Emily realized suddenly.

"Should we open it?" Paula asked.

Very gingerly, Emily peeled the flap open as if a ticking bomb were inside (and for all she knew, there might well be).

A car alarm, a drill in a dentist's office, and nails scraping a chalkboard combined did not begin to compare to the horrible voice that was coming from the letter.

DO NOT SEND IT!

Emily and Paula both stood dumbstruck for what seemed like eternity.

"Do not send what?" Paula finally asked timidly.

"Kind of cryptic, you know?" Emily said. "If they wanted us not to do something, why didn't they just include the specifics?"

Paula took a deep breath to steady her nerves. "It has to be some kind of elaborate gag."

"What kind of person plays a prank like that?" Emily asked.

"I don't know," Paula said, "but I somehow have the feeling that the mailman won't be picking up any out-going mail at our house today."

"Maybe you should just wait on getting that letter sent," Emily suggested.

"I'll sneak it into the secretary's office before school starts in the morning. It'll go out with the rest of the mail there."

"How do you sneak into the secretary's office?"

"I did it once when I was ten and Ms Bristol had a letter typed to send to my parents. They haven't changed the locks."

"You little punk!" Emily beamed. And then she gasped. "So that's why you're so stuck on this Potter kid. He reminds you of yourself at his age."

"Possibly," Paula mused aloud. It made sense. The thought never occurred to her before, but now that Emily suggested it, this had to be why she was going to so much trouble for him. "I had both my parents, though. He's just got this horrible aunt and uncle. I've never met the uncle, but the aunt treated him like dirt this morning in my classroom."

"Yep, we'll be living off of instant noodles for awhile," Emily said, getting out the broom. "But do what you've got to do." She handed Paula the broom to sweep the mess that the letter left on the kitchen tiles. "I'm going back to bed."

And with that, she left Paula alone.

* * *

Paula didn't get much sleep that night.

She tried to put the red talking letter out of her mind, but it was just too disturbing. She was also extremely nervous about getting the letter into the office without anyone knowing about it. She tossed and turned a couple of hours before eventually giving up on sleep altogether.

Hers was the only car in the car-park, when she pulled into the school that morning.

Hairpin in one hand, letter in the other, she worked the lock without much effort.

When she was greeted by an elderly man with a long, white beard in a purple cloak, she jumped, and began to slowly back out of the room.

"Y-you don't belong in here," she stammered.

"Neither do you," said the old man, smiling.

"This is Magnolia Crescent Primary School," Paula snapped once she gathered her wits about her. "Not the Jerry Garcia look-a-like convention."

"I am aware of where I am, Miss Kent," he said. "And I mean to be here."

"How do you know my name?" Paula asked, thoroughly dumbstruck now. "Get out of here before I call the police!"

"The police are hardly necessary, Miss Kent. I am not here to harm you."

"Then why are you here?"

"I am here to stop you."

"Stop me from what?"

"I've been keeping an eye on you since yesterday."

Paula froze, the realization suddenly dawning on her. "It was you! You sent the letters!"

The old man only nodded.

She tried to back up so that she could turn the door-knob and make a run for it, but the man waved a thin, pointed stick, and it wouldn't budge.

"The boy must stay with his relatives. I cannot allow him to be removed from them."

"I don't under..."

"Give me the letter," the old man said calmly. This only made Paula clutch it tighter.

No!" Paula shouted.

"I cannot explain the situation in detail, Miss Kent, but I assure you, it is in Harry's best interest that he remains with his aunt and uncle until he becomes of age."

"Who are you to decide what's best for him?"

"I could ask the same of you," he said, taking the letter out of her hands. "Thank you, Miss Kent. Good day to you."

And before Paula could say anything else, the old man was gone.

* * *

Paula couldn't make eye contact with Harry that whole day.

She didn't call on or speak to the boy at all.

She hoped he forgot about what she had suggested about talking to authorities, because something about the old man that morning told her he was right.

Regardless of the events of the morning, she was relieved to go home. She had to stay late grading the first exams, and she was the last to leave the school.

An elderly, rather severe-looking woman dressed in a long green robe was standing by her car.

"Is it just me, or did I miss Halloween?" She mumbled to herself.

Then louder: "Er, rather hot today to be wearing robes, isn't it?" Paula asked, giving her a nervous smile.

"Thank you," she said simply. The way the wrinkles looked when she did so gave Paula the impression that smiling wasn't something she did very often.

Paula smiled back. "For what?"

"For doing what you could," she started to walk away. "Oh, and also for the tuna."

Before Paula could work it out, the old woman was gone, and Paula was alone.