Harry winced as a group of Dudley's "friends" barged past him, knocking him into the school gate, causing his glasses to be knocked off of his face. He could hear the laughing and the jeers fading as he warily bent down to pick them up.
Oh, how he wished that he didn't have to go the same school as Dudley; that way Dudley would stop telling everyone how much of a freak he was or, threatening to beat people up for talking to him. Dudley had plenty of people to talk to which always made Harry feel very insecure: what if he actually was a freak?
He could understand Dudley hating him though because they were actually related, although he'd privately wished many a time that they weren't. He would always stop this trail of thought though, because that was disrespecting his Mum and Harry couldn't bear to do that.
Mum. It was a foreign word to him.
For years, he'd been convinced that sleeping in a cupboard and being starved of food was normal until they'd watched numerous documentaries and films on families a few months ago.
It had left him feeling very resentful. Resentful of Dudley who despite his many flaws had two parents who doted on him. What did he have? Dead parents who had died and left him. Harry didn't even know what they looked like. Sometimes, when he was particularly hungry and tired, he wished he'd died in that car crash too, instead of getting this stupid scar on his forehead, like a twisted souvenir.
At least then he would get to see his parents.
Pushing these dwelling thoughts aside, he made his way into school and straight into his first classroom.
Thankfully, he didn't share this class with Dudley or his friends, except for Piers who always stared at Harry like he was something to devour.
Casting his eyes around quickly, he took notice of the small class (which he was thankful for) and, the lack of teacher.
Mr Worth had left the previous Friday which meant they would have a new teacher. Hopefully, somebody who didn't ignore him or treat Harry like dirt on their shoes.
It wasn't that he was stupid, it was he feared what would happen if he got better results than Dudley… The one time he got top of the class, he naively showed Aunt Petunia who immediately brandished him a cheat and accused him of trying to steal her 'Dudder's' limelight. He was locked in his cupboard for the rest of the night.
His internal musings were cut short as he noticed a very tall man stroll arrogantly into the classroom.
The man glared at his students, his penetrating gaze sweeping over him, making him duck his head down unused to the attention.
"My name is Sherlock Holmes and unfortunately for you, I'm the one who is teaching you for the remainder of this term".
He was not dressed like any teacher Harry had ever seen: he was wearing a tight purple shirt, black trousers and what appeared to be a cross between a robe and a dressing gown.
It wasn't only his clothes though that had most of the class staring at him in awe; the man had the most defined cheekbones, he'd ever seen. And, those eyes, they felt like they were stripping you bare, getting rid of Harry's masks. Harry reckoned he was in his early twenties, if not younger. All in all, the man- Mr Holmes, was very intimidating and a tad unnerving.
"What would you get if I multiplied eight by seven" he shouted loudly, making the class jump.
Harry thought hard: eight fives were forty, eight' sixes were forty seven - no eight - so eight sevens were fifty six. He grinned to himself.
Unfortunately, Holmes had noticed too. "You there, the answer" he said, which came out as a demand more than a question.
"Fifty-six, Sir" he replied meekly, not used to the attention being placed on him. He could feel Piers' eyes burning into his back, hoping that Harry would get the answer wrong.
Sherlock - Mr Holmes nodded briskly and then glanced at Harry, staring into his eyes for the first time. As he was staring, he did the most magnificent double take, his eyes widening in utter shock, much to Harry's confusion.
And then, to further his bewilderment, he barked out "Register, it's what you do isn't it" and then proceeded to practically run to the computer.
Calling out the names as briskly as he could, he paused when he got to Harry's name and stiffened.
Turning round, Mr Holmes pulled out some sort of stick and suddenly, everyone seemed to freeze except him.
Harry's mouth had gone numb as he tried to shrink into himself, to get away from that almost feral stare of his teacher. But he couldn't move. How on earth had the lesson turned into this? He'd only been in the classroom for five minutes. Oh, Dudley was right, he moaned internally, it was his fault, he really was a freak.
Oh god, he thought desperately. I've had some illusion placed on me so I can't move and now he's going to kill me. I don't want to die. I really don't. I'm not even eleven yet and I'm going to murdered by some insanely weird guy with a bizarre name!