Chapter Text
“Repeat after me, boys: amo, amas, amat.”
There was a confident chorus of: “Amo! Amas! Amat!”
“Amamus, amatis, amant.”
The returning, “amamus…amatis…amant,” was significantly less confident.
“Again, boys. Amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatis, amant.”
It was the first day of summer term and by far Edwin Payne’s least favourite day of the school year. His First Year boys had forgotten all of the Latin they’d learned last term and more than half the class were gazing longingly out the window, wishing they were back in Rome or Switzerland or wherever wealthy families whisked their children away to during the Easter holidays these days.
Georgie Hastings in the front row stuck his hand up. Edwin suppressed a sigh: what Georgie lacked in brains, he more than made up for in cheek.
“Yes, Master Hastings?”
“Sir, why do we have to learn Latin? It’s a dead language.” Georgie was evidently very pleased with himself for having learned and retained the phrase ‘dead language’ over the Easter break. He looked around the classroom surreptitiously to check that the other boys were suitably impressed.
“Well, Master Hastings, I’d hope that if nothing else, this school would give you an appreciation for dead things.” That got a few chuckles from the classroom. “But, to answer your question, we learn Latin for two key reasons. Firstly, because a solid understanding of the Latin language and grammar will enable you to pick up the modern Romance languages with ease. And secondly, because almost seventy percent of spells and hexes are written in Latin.”
That got the class’ attention. The boys weren’t trusted to start on the occult sciences until Third Year, which made any mention of them terribly exciting. Edwin only wished his older students retained that enthusiasm.
St Augustine’s School was, for all its faults, a very special faculty. It was a selective boarding school, which was not in itself unusual - but the selection criteria at St Augustine’s were a little different. They tested not only for the ability to string basic sentences together, but also for low-level mediumship. Since all of the teachers were ghosts, that was something of a necessity.
Edwin set the boys ten words for a spelling test next week, though from their reaction, one might assume he’d set a twelve-page essay on Pliny the Younger. It was, thank the gods, lunch time, so he followed the boys out and made for the staff room.
The staff room was the best room in the school by a long shot: a glass conservatory filled with books and strange plants, looking out over the Devon countryside. There were many things about the modern world that Edwin found confusing and overwhelming, but these rolling hills were timeless. He sighed contentedly and sank down into his usual chair in the corner.
Charles didn’t even look up at his arrival. He’d wedged himself precariously between a bookshelf and the windowsill and seemed to be staring fixedly at something over the wall of Marlborough Ladies College. Edwin cleared his throat pointedly, but there was no reaction. “Charles” and “Whatever are you doing?” likewise garnered no response, so really there was only one option.
Edwin clicked his fingers: in an instant, he was perfectly disguised as the Night Nurse, headmistress of both the boys’ and the girls’ school, and all round terrifying person.
“Mis-ter Rowland” he boomed out in an astonishingly good Scotch accent. Charles jumped so high he tripped over his feet and crashed onto the floor beneath Edwin’s chair. Satisfied, Edwin clicked himself back to his usual, charming, personage.
Charles grinned up at him. “Alright, mate?”
Edwin sighed and extended a hand to help his ‘mate’ up. “Now, will you please tell me what is so fascinating to you in the garden?”
“A girl,” Charles replied dreamily.
“Yes, Charles, Marlborough Ladies College is a girls’ school. I understand that there are several dozen girls currently in attendance.”
“This one’s different. Look.” He pointed at a young woman, about the same age as Charles and Edwin, leading a class of lunchbox-wielding adolescents up the garden.
“So there’s a new teacher. What’s interesting about that?”
“Well, for one thing, she’s gorgeous.”
Edwin turned away from the window disinterestedly.
“And, for another, I don’t think she’s dead.”
Edwin span back round and pressed his nose to the window. “What makes you think that?”
“Look, she’s about to open that door to let the children through. There! I haven’t seen her glide through anything. And, Eds, I saw her eating lunch with the students.”
Edwin scrunched up his nose. “Why on earth would the Night Nurse hire a living teacher? She’ll just have to replace her when she dies.”
“I’ve no idea, mate, but I can’t wait to find out.”