Chapter Text
On the first day of September at 10.45 am, Auror Javert, carrying nothing but a small black leather suitcase, arrived punctually at King’s Cross Station. He made his way straight towards the barrier between platforms 9 and 10 and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes when he saw a group of people, presumably a family, gathered in front of it already. The two children both had trolleys packed with luggage, and the older one, a boy of about 16 years, went through the barrier first. The girl looked much younger − she was probably a first-year − and seemed a bit scared of the idea of running full speed towards a brick wall. While her parents tried to encourage her, Javert took the opportunity to walk past them and cross the barrier himself, only to find himself surrounded by a huge horde of young witches and wizards, their families and their pets again. A cat sprinted across the platform, startling several people. Hundreds of children were chattering, bickering and laughing and all in all being revoltingly loud.
Platform 9¾. It had been a long time, a timespan that felt like a lifetime, since he’d last been here. Javert looked at the same old steaming engine of the Hogwarts Express and decided that he indeed hadn’t missed any of this.
He quickly weaved his way through the crowd, leaving animals, children and their respective hopelessly and appallingly sentimental guardians behind and boarded the train. He was pleasantly surprised when he found a still vacant compartment. Closing the door behind him, he finally felt that a bit of peace and tranquility had returned to the world. Only the occasional bump or muffled voice outside reminded him of the fact that he was very much not in his usually preferred solitude. He put his suitcase on the luggage rack and sat down.
At 11 o’clock sharp, the engines hissed and the Hogwarts Express started moving. Javert had already taken out several reports folders and a quill, planning to do some paperwork to distract himself from an overly long trip in a train full of noisy children. But since he hated paperwork, it didn’t quite manage to distract him. On the contrary, if he even so much as glanced at the stacks of paper in front of him, he felt bored out of his mind and a slight throbbing began to build at his temples.
Just when he was about to stuff everything back into his suitcase, there was a light knock on the door.
In Merlin’s name, no, Javert thought.
“Excuse me, are there still seats left in this compartment?” A girl’s voice followed the knock.
Javert looked around his empty compartment.
No, there are no seats left, get lost, was what he was going to say.
“Yes, there are five vacant seats,” was what he said instead.
“May we come in, Monsieur?” The girl asked again.
We? Javert lifted one eyebrow. He resisted the urge to cast a Colloportus at the door.
But before he could open his mouth again or cast any spell, the door was pulled open and Javert saw three children standing in the corridor. The girl who opened the door looked about 13 years old, was tall for her age and had a head of wild black locks. She wore a dusty, washed out robe and held a pet rat in her hand. The small boy standing behind her was obviously her little brother. He was clad in the same kind of hand-me-down outfit and had a mischievous grin on his round face that vaguely reminded Javert of someone he’d seen before somewhere and didn’t find exactly reassuring. Next to them there was a skinny, timid looking brunette girl. Her hair was neatly combed into a braid and she wore a warm grey wool sweater and a pair of black trousers. She had a book in her arms, one closer look and Javert noted it was The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3. Javert surmised that both girls were probably third-years, and the boy − judging by that almost mad excitement in his face − most likely a first-year.
“Sorry for the disturbance, Monsieur, but there weren't any other seats left on the train,” the brunette girl said, shifting a bit uncomfortably on her feet.
Javert said nothing but simply nodded and his eyes darted back to his own paperwork again, finding it immensely interesting all of a sudden. Or at least suitable enough to feign interest in, just in case one of the children should even think about trying to talk to him.
The children took the seats opposite of Javert and the compartment suddenly felt terribly crowded.
“Are you a professor, Monsieur?” The boy asked and Javert felt validated in all his worst fears.
“Yes,” he replied without looking up, “I will be teaching N.E.W.T.-level DADA this year.”
“That's so cool!” exclaimed the boy. “What do you do in class? Are there any spells you can show us?”
“That's not possible,” said Javert. “You will need to have passed your O.W.L.s to attend my classes, which I'm very sure none of you have.”
“Gavroche, just shut up,” said the boy's sister, rolling her eyes. She dropped the rat on his lap. “Look after Jondrette, will you?”
“But I don’t want to!” Gavroche complained loudly. “He’s your rat, not mine. I don’t like him anyways, his name is stupid. I told you, you should’ve called him Don Alvarès.”
Javert was incredibly close to just drawing his wand and casting a silencing charm on that kid. He had to tell himself that it was just a couple of hours he had to endure in their company and after that these brats would be none of his business anyway.
“Shush, Gavroche,” the brunette girl laid her hand on Gavroche’s shoulder and said in a gentle tone. “I’m sure Professor, um,” she stopped and looked at him inquiringly.
“Javert,” Javert said, cringing internally at the honorific.
“I’m sure Professor Javert is trying to work. We shouldn't disturb him.”
Javert, with all his faux-attention still fixed on his reports, raised one eyebrow in slight astonishment. It was rare for teenagers to have any kind of common sense.
And the girl’s words worked like magic, for Gavroche fell silent, only shuffling around in his seat a bit, contenting himself with looking out of the window and poking his sister’s rat from time to time.
But unfortunately this hint of calm didn’t last for too long, because just a couple of minutes later, the door was pushed open again.
“Anything off the trolley, dears?” The Trolley Witch asked. Javert shot a glance at her and noticed it was the same witch that pushed the Honeydukes Express back in his schooldays. She hadn’t aged a day.
“Merlin, yes!” Gavroche jumped up to inspect the cart thoroughly. “Can I have a chocolate frog? And Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans? And Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum?”
“Gavroche, we only have one Sickle,” said his sister.
“Don’t worry, I’ll buy some and we can share,” the other girl said before she turned towards the Trolley Witch. “I’d like to have three pieces of everything, thank you.”
She handed the witch a handful of Sickles and received a huge amount of sweets in return. Javert closed his folder. The last thing he wanted was a chocolate frog jumping onto his report sheet leaving messy chocolate marks all over it. He knew from experience that there was only one thing more unappealing than unfinished paperwork, and that was unfinished paperwork with creases and food stains.
The children started munching away on the sweets. Gavroche opened a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and was fascinated even or better especially by the gross flavours like dirt and earwax, as he made it very clear whenever he came across one of those.
Javert must have looked less intimidating and more lost than he thought because when he stopped writing and started looking at the scenery through the window, the brunette girl suddenly asked him shyly if he wanted any of the sweets.
“No,” Javert answered curtly and looking back at the drab meadows and dreary willows outside, didn’t utter a single word more.
Javert strode out of the wagon the moment the train opened its doors at Hogsmeade station and made his way to the coaches. He then heard someone calling his name from behind and turned to discover it was Professor Bienvenu, the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Professor Bienvenu was a short, plump old man with soft, gentle features. His white hair shone even in the dim light of the evening.
“Professor Javert,” he said merrily, tilting his head up to look at Javert who was much taller, “it’s so good to see you. I hope you had a pleasant journey?”
“Just ‘Javert’ would be fine, Headmaster. I’m not used to the ‘Professor’ title,” Javert answered rather uncomfortably. He didn’t feel as bothered when the children back on the train called him that, but hearing Professor Bienvenu, whom he’d known as Headmaster ever since he’d been a student himself over twenty years ago, bestow that honorific onto him felt more than strange. He was no professor anyways. This was just a temporary arrangement that hopefully was going to end as soon as possible. “And the journey left much to be desired, I dare say. The children in my compartment were rather… loud. It made it difficult for me to get my work done.”
They boarded a coach together.
“Oh but you could’ve come to the staff’s compartment, surely we’d have enjoyed your company, Professor Javert,” Professor Bienvenu said, simply ignoring his first request, a kind twinkle in his eyes.
“There’s a staff’s compartment?” Javert blinked, unable to believe his ears. He had only taken the Hogwarts Express as a student so far, so he relied solely on his memory and apparently walked right into hell.
“Well of course,” Professor Bienvenu smiled, “but I have to say, Professor Javert, that you are working too hard. The next time you should simply enjoy the ride. The Scottish scenery is always a marvelous sight.”
“Not at all, I had to get some paperwork done that I had previously neglected,” Javert insisted, pointedly disregarding the Headmaster’s comment on the Scottish scenery. “Well, I’ll have to finish it tonight after the Welcoming Feast.”
“Do as you wish, my friend. But do remember to get enough sleep,” Professor Bienvenu said right as they passed the entrance gates.
Javert hummed noncommittally as a response and they spent the rest of the ride in comfortable silence.
When they arrived the Great Hall was already half-full with students and more of them were rushing in every moment. Hundreds of candles floated in the air, and Javert noticed that the ceiling was showing the Alpha Aurigid meteor shower. Professor Bienvenu patted Javert’s back before he went to his seat in the middle of the long table facing the students. Javert sat down at the very edge of the High Table and tried his best to avoid eye contact with any and all living things in the hall.
Soon, after everyone had taken their seats and only a steady but not obnoxiously loud chattering sounded in the room, the doors on the opposite end of the hall opened. Professor Myriel, the sister of Professor Bienvenu, came inside with the new first-years. Javert quickly spotted Gavroche from the corner of his eye. The boy was almost shaking with excitement and kept falling out of line as he walked towards the long table.
The first-years halted and formed a vaguely straight line in front of Professor Myriel, who placed a chair in front of them and put the Sorting Hat onto it.
Javert frowned at the sight of it. His own Sorting hadn’t exactly been a pleasant memory and the songs the Hat chose to sing every year, well. The less said about them the better.
And if sensing his half-hearted disapproval the Hat began to sing at once:
Don’t be afraid to wear me, don’t fret,
I know I’m no pretty bonnet.
But I know more than the shape of your head
when I place myself upon it.
For a thousand years, a bit more, a bit less,
I sorted so many a student
that I may say with the greatest humblesse:
I make the choice that’s most prudent.
Slytherin over all values power,
the strength of the mind, the ambition to learn.
Threats are not to fear but to seize and devour
in the name of loyalty, shown only in turn.
Those whose fate in Ravenclaw lies
know how to bind logic with ethos,
to not just be righteous but witty and wise,
imagination is that which means most.
In Gryffindor the venturous are found,
minds filled with vivacious brave spirit.
Big-hearted, good-humoured, as daring renowned
they brighten a room once they’re in it.
In Hufflepuff all of the traits that are fair
are revered in shades even gentler:
to find strength in softness and courage in care
to be not a divider but mender.
It has been a while since the founders have walked
the halls of this most ancient fortress.
I talk and sort in place where they’d have talked
and sorted, not more and not less.
Everyone applauded when it finished. Javert didn’t stir. He had thought the songs tiresome when he was a child and found his opinion to be utterly unchanged. The only job of the Sorting Hat was the Sorting, singing songs was just grossly inefficient and a waste of time. Not to mention the songs themselves were highly unoriginal.
Professor Myriel started calling out the first-year’s names. One after the other, they were put into their Houses. Gavroche was one of the last children to be called, his last name being Thénardier. Javert frowned; he knew that name too well and could see the resemblance clearly now. The Thénardiers were one of the ancient wizard families with a less than pretty history of illicit activities for decades, who had since then fallen from grace and out of favor with even the other pure-blood families. That would certainly explain the ragged robes the boy and his sister were wearing. Javert himself had had the displeasure of being at Hogwarts at the same time as Thénardier senior, who was, quite frankly, the embodiment of nastiness. The Sorting Hat took a long time to decide, much longer than with any other child. When it finally shouted “Gryffindor”, both the Gryffindors and the Slytherins seemed to be a bit astonished. Javert spotted Gavroche’s sister, who was sitting at the Slytherin table and looking dumbfounded. Javert was quite surprised himself. He’d never heard of any Thénardier being sorted into a House other than Slytherin.
Gavroche himself didn’t seem to care at all. Instead he tore the hat from his head, jumped off the chair and skipped happily towards the cheering Gryffindor table.
The rest of the Sorting went by without any surprises. After the last child had finally been sorted into their new House, Professor Bienvenu stood up for his yearly opening talk.
“Dear students, I want to warmly welcome you to yet another wonderful year at Hogwarts. Before the feast begins and you all dig into the delectable dishes our hard-working house elves prepared for you, I’d like to make a few announcements,” he paused and turned towards the direction of Javert who felt every pair of eyes in the hall shift to him. “First of all, I’d like to introduce Professor Javert, who will be teaching the N.E.W.T.-level Defense Against the Dark Arts classes this year.”
Javert stood up abruptly, nodded, and sat down as fast as he could. Merlin, if he ever had to be looked at again in his life, it’d be too soon.
Professor Bienvenu continued, “Professor Javert is an accomplished Auror and has years of experience in the field. Sixth-years and seventh-years, I’m sure he’ll be able to teach you everything you need to know for your upcoming N.E.W.T.s.”
The students applauded politely, which made Javert only feel worse.
“Then, I'd also like to welcome our new Professor for History of Magic, Monsieur Luc-Esprit Gillenormand. Professor Gillenormand was so kind as to fill in the post of Professor Lindesay, who decided to retire after his long career of enriching student’s lives with the history of our people.”
The student started to whisper and murmur as an elderly, well-dressed gentleman rose and looked sceptically into the hall.
“Thirdly, like every year I have to repeat that students should not go to the Forbidden Forest on their own. Also be sure to stay within the school grounds and don’t leave your dormitories after curfew.
“Last but not least, I wish everyone a marvelous school year and the best of luck in both your studies and your life. Enjoy yourselves and treat each other with love and with kindness.
“Let the feast begin!”
Javert felt exhausted when he finally went upstairs to settle into his quarters at Hogwarts. It was a small, simple one-room accommodation, furnished with nothing but a bookshelf, a desk, a chair and a bed, attached to his new office. Although he had a small apartment in London and could floo back there every night if he wanted to, it wasn’t any different to the rooms he just moved into and therefore too stressful and inefficient. Most of his belongings fitted into his suitcase anyways and Javert viewed himself as a man with simple needs. He didn’t even necessarily need a real bed to sleep. After all, he once slept on his office couch for three months when he had been working on a big smuggler case a couple of years ago.
Javert lit the candles with a wave of his hand and sat down. He took out the reports he failed to finish on the train and stacked the papers neatly on the desk. He stared unblinkingly at them for a couple of seconds. It was the report on the incident that got him into this mess in the first place.
The drumming of his fingers on the wooden desk seemed to mirror the headache that finally set in during the hours of the feast. He sighed and gave into the urge of burying his face in his hands. Unbiddenly the Headmaster’s words came into his mind. It would not do to start on the reports now; he knew better than not adhering to his sleep schedule and potentially underperforming on his first day of teaching.
No, that would not do indeed, he looked out the window, stared at the waxing moon and frowned.
On Monday morning, Javert got up at the crack of dawn and finished one of his less urgent reports before his brain was awake enough to protest the tedious activity. During his breakfast he thought over the setup of his first lesson. He was committed to do his job properly even if he had not agreed to fill out the teaching post entirely on his own volition. His sixth-years arrived rather punctually when Javert was sitting at his desk in the front and going through his notes one last time. Since DADA was a rather difficult subject, there weren’t many students who got an O or even an E in their O.W.L.s, and not all the seats were occupied. Javert considered himself rather lucky under the circumstances to have at least ended up with the older students. It was more than likely that teaching a bunch of first-years what the Wand-Lighting Charm was would have driven him to jump off a preferably high bridge.
Javert closed the door with a flick of his wand when the last of his students had arrived and stood up.
“Good morning. My name is Javert and as you already know, I'm your new DADA teacher. I'm sure you are aware that N.E.W.T.-level classes are much more demanding and I expect you to take notes and practice everything I tell you. I don't like to repeat myself.” He waved his hand and let the chalk write Nonverbal Spells on the blackboard behind him. Most of the students listened attentively, some rummaged around their bags to get out some ink and parchment.
“It is expected of you this year that you learn to cast your spells nonverbally,” he said. “You'll practice this in Charms and Transfiguration as well, so I'm just going to show you the basics for now.”
“As the name suggests a nonverbal spell is produced by a witch or wizard without needing to say the incantation out loud. Most of you have managed to do something similar already, if not on purpose. The goal is now to hone that ability. Being able to wield magic the nonverbal way will give students not only an advantage in duels but help you train the fluidity with which you are able to perform spells.”
And make less noise in general which greatly benefits my wellbeing, he completed silently in his mind. If it were up to him, nonverbal spells would be taught immediately, skill be damned.
“I believe it would be best for you to start practicing with easy charms like levitation or simple summoning spells. That way you are certain to find the fault in the nonverbal and not the spell aspect of the exercise if you should fail.
“Should you feel ready to move on to moderately difficult charms I advise you to practice your shield charms. The size and efficiency of the shield charm may be highly dependent on the skill, energy and intention put behind it, but it is certainly one of the charms that you will benefit most from knowing how to cast nonverbally. From personal experiences I can vouch for their importance in case of a duel or another conflict.”
By the end of his monologue most of his students were peering at him inquisitively as if expecting more details on the importance of shield charms on Auror duty, but Javert, having no intention of talking more than absolutely needed, instructed them to start practicing. He walked through the rows, trying to assist when needed, although most of his advice consisted of admonishing students and explaining that mumbling the incantations or amateur attempts at ventriloquism did not fit the definition of nonverbal. And one of the Ravenclaw students, even though she did not speak, thought so loudly she projected her screaming voice into the mind of the classmate sitting next to her, which may not have resulted in a successful spell, but was frankly an accomplishment in and of itself.
Only a boy with blonde curls who was sitting in the last row next to a bespectacled student was able to cast almost everything straight away and gracefully so. Judging by the badge he wore on his chest, he was one of Slytherin’s Prefects. He had pretty, almost girlish features, but there was something hidden in his eyes, piercing and calculating, that alerted Javert. He knew trouble when he saw it, and that boy definitely meant some kind of trouble, prefect or not. He wrote a mental note and filed it away for later.
About an hour later Javert dismissed the class. He sighed, although his first lesson had not been horrible, he knew that this was going to be a very long school year.