(no subject)
Oh my god you guys I have no idea what I have done here. Also I know nothing about writing children, especially British ones, and all historical inaccuracies are my fault. (I wanted Gene's dad to be a draft-dodger, but I'm not sure how terribly feasible that would've been by 1944.)
Gene was pretty sure he hated school. He'd only been there for a matter of hours, but it was a general principle sort of thing. Actually, he hated all schools on principle, but there was a special hatred reserved in his heart for this poxy school and everybody in it. It was too rich for his blood - any boarding school would've been too rich for him, to be fair, with his dad pissing all their money into the gutter during peacetime - but, no, the kids at this school had Family Traditions (the sort of family traditions that included grinding all of Gene's relations under the heel of their well-cobbled boots).
The only reason why his mum had finally agreed to let him go was because of the bombing in Manchester (and, he suspected, because she wouldn't have to report that he'd gone away, leaving her with an extra ration card to help stretch their meager larder). He was here on scholarship, of course, which meant that everything he had was second-hand (still one or two hands better than what he usually saw). He'd asked the man who'd turned up to tell him about the school what sort of work he'd be made to do there. (Nothing was free, not even scholarships, and Gene knew he was hardly scholarship material.) The man had laughed and winked at him behind his spectacles, telling him it was all taken care of - that and his long hair made him look a bit of a fairy, but it wasn't the sort of thing you said to a man who also looked like his nose had been broken before, because that was a bloke who probably knew his way around a brawl (most likely due to being called a poof). He'd wanted Stu to go, too, to get him out of the city, but he was too young - not down in the book, the man had said, though he hadn't explained how Gene got in this book. (He rather wanted to be out of it.)
It was ridiculous, he thought, the number of candles they had here (not electric, or even gas), bloody great chandeliers lighting up the place - their local air raid warden would've had a fit if he'd seen the lights, probably visible all the way to sodding Berlin by this point. Nobody here seemed to care about the war in the slightest, though. He wondered if their dads and uncles and brothers were off fighting somewhere in France. They'd mentioned something about "troubles on the Continent" that weren't likely to bother them here, a sure sign they all had their heads in the clouds.
Gene folded his arms and scowled at the hat on the stool in front of him. The wrinkles in the battered old thing made it look almost like it was frowning back at him, though he was pretty sure that was absolute bollocks, even from what he'd seen so far. "Put it on!" a wizened old man to the side hissed, and Gene thought about making a rude gesture at him. It wasn't as if the prospect of being punished before school even started bothered him - hell, maybe if he misbehaved enough, he'd get sent back home, where he could properly keep an eye on his mum and brother while his dad was gone. But the man who'd come to fetch Gene just looked at him with those penetrating blue eyes - if he'd known any better, he'd've thought he was reading his thoughts - and laid a long finger next to his nose and winked again.
(Gene normally had an unreserved hatred for people who winked at kids; winking typically meant, in his experience, that an adult was lying and trying to be nice about it. He didn't want them to be nice about it, he wanted them to tell him the bloody truth, which explained why he usually kicked them in the shins till they gave in.)
Finally he jammed the hat on his head, mainly 'cos he wanted to block out the sight of all the other kids whispering and pointing at him. It smelled of damp kid - probably the chubby girl who'd fallen in the lake and had to be fished out - and faintly of humbugs, and he'd only had it on for a matter of seconds when a voice cried out "Gryffindor!" and one segment of the hall went up in cheers.
Gene had no idea what he was about to get himself into, and he didn't like that at all.
Gene was pretty sure he hated school. He'd only been there for a matter of hours, but it was a general principle sort of thing. Actually, he hated all schools on principle, but there was a special hatred reserved in his heart for this poxy school and everybody in it. It was too rich for his blood - any boarding school would've been too rich for him, to be fair, with his dad pissing all their money into the gutter during peacetime - but, no, the kids at this school had Family Traditions (the sort of family traditions that included grinding all of Gene's relations under the heel of their well-cobbled boots).
The only reason why his mum had finally agreed to let him go was because of the bombing in Manchester (and, he suspected, because she wouldn't have to report that he'd gone away, leaving her with an extra ration card to help stretch their meager larder). He was here on scholarship, of course, which meant that everything he had was second-hand (still one or two hands better than what he usually saw). He'd asked the man who'd turned up to tell him about the school what sort of work he'd be made to do there. (Nothing was free, not even scholarships, and Gene knew he was hardly scholarship material.) The man had laughed and winked at him behind his spectacles, telling him it was all taken care of - that and his long hair made him look a bit of a fairy, but it wasn't the sort of thing you said to a man who also looked like his nose had been broken before, because that was a bloke who probably knew his way around a brawl (most likely due to being called a poof). He'd wanted Stu to go, too, to get him out of the city, but he was too young - not down in the book, the man had said, though he hadn't explained how Gene got in this book. (He rather wanted to be out of it.)
It was ridiculous, he thought, the number of candles they had here (not electric, or even gas), bloody great chandeliers lighting up the place - their local air raid warden would've had a fit if he'd seen the lights, probably visible all the way to sodding Berlin by this point. Nobody here seemed to care about the war in the slightest, though. He wondered if their dads and uncles and brothers were off fighting somewhere in France. They'd mentioned something about "troubles on the Continent" that weren't likely to bother them here, a sure sign they all had their heads in the clouds.
Gene folded his arms and scowled at the hat on the stool in front of him. The wrinkles in the battered old thing made it look almost like it was frowning back at him, though he was pretty sure that was absolute bollocks, even from what he'd seen so far. "Put it on!" a wizened old man to the side hissed, and Gene thought about making a rude gesture at him. It wasn't as if the prospect of being punished before school even started bothered him - hell, maybe if he misbehaved enough, he'd get sent back home, where he could properly keep an eye on his mum and brother while his dad was gone. But the man who'd come to fetch Gene just looked at him with those penetrating blue eyes - if he'd known any better, he'd've thought he was reading his thoughts - and laid a long finger next to his nose and winked again.
(Gene normally had an unreserved hatred for people who winked at kids; winking typically meant, in his experience, that an adult was lying and trying to be nice about it. He didn't want them to be nice about it, he wanted them to tell him the bloody truth, which explained why he usually kicked them in the shins till they gave in.)
Finally he jammed the hat on his head, mainly 'cos he wanted to block out the sight of all the other kids whispering and pointing at him. It smelled of damp kid - probably the chubby girl who'd fallen in the lake and had to be fished out - and faintly of humbugs, and he'd only had it on for a matter of seconds when a voice cried out "Gryffindor!" and one segment of the hall went up in cheers.
Gene had no idea what he was about to get himself into, and he didn't like that at all.