Work Text:
The atmosphere was very tense.
Professor Bellum was late to class by more than twenty minutes. It was not an unusual occurrence for him to be late, of course. Not unusual at all. But…
Viktor held back a sigh. The upper years may have been used to Professor Bellum's... unconventional teaching methods, but this was an introductory module. Nearly everyone (including himself) had not turned thirteen yet. This meant that –
a) No one knew how to deal with the more… sanity-challenged Professors
b) Everyone's power reserves were relatively low due to not having yet matured
c) Professor Bellum could not push them to the extent he pushed the upper years
d) He thus had to find new and creative ways to find his entertainment
e) As a result, most lessons were equal parts educational and terrifying (or, as Professor Bellum would describe them, amusing)
f) Finally, all this meant that their professor's tardiness was almost definitely a twisted new test for them.
Just when Viktor was about to volunteer to check the staff room (it had really been too long), the doors to the auditorium slammed open.
A figure who was distinctly not Professor Bellum strode in. He was dressed in peculiar robes, ones Viktor felt were rather… scandalous.
The outer robe was so short that it barely reached his thighs, and his trousers hugged his legs such that the shape of them were fully visible. At the very least, he'd worn a proper waistcoat under his robe so he didn't look completely naked, but his cravat was distressingly thin and strangely tied. And, Viktor noticed with horror, he only had on a single layer of robes.
However obscene the man's choice in clothing, the fact remained that he was not Professor Bellum. And as long as Professor Bellum was not there, they were still moderately safe from any unpleasant surprises.
The entire class watched with bated breath as he stepped to the blackboard and wrote the words ‘Mr Smith’ in a neat scrawl.
“My name is John Smith. You may address me as John, or Mr Smith. Whichever is more comfortable for you.”
It was such an obviously fake name it was almost funny. Viktor noted that the man had a strange accent – it sounded like he had a potato in his mouth and he was trying to speak german around it.
“Professor Bellum,” the man said, “is indisposed at the moment.”
His lip curled as he spoke, as though… as though...
Mlynár raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“Sir, is Professor Bellum dead? Did you kill him?”
The lip curled further.
“He will be just fine, don't get too excited. I am simply going to be teaching his classes until I prove a point.”
That was ominous.
“What point are you trying to prove, sir?”
Mr Smith winked.
“Now that would be telling.”
As it turned out, Mr Smith was a supremely engaging teacher, patient and understanding and knowledgeable in all the right ways. In a competition of pure teaching ability, Mr Smith would easily outclass Bellum.
It wasn't that Professor Bellum was a bad teacher, per se. As harrowing as his classes tended to be, they weren't as bad as some of the bad Durmstrang professors.
He tended to be relatively tolerant of any language barrier issues, and generally understood that children tended to be woefully misinformed on many matters (he found it entertaining). He was even rather skilled at breaking down complicated concepts to make them easily understandable.
But he had a way of smiling that made Viktor remember the man had a kill count. And regardless of their effectiveness, his teaching methods definitely fell under the umbrella of ‘trial by fire’.
Mr Smith, on the other hand, used something called the Socratic method to teach. It was not a medieval torture technique, nor was it used purely to add to the comedic potential of the class. It was an honest to Circe teaching style. He'd invite dialogue and discussion, and get everyone to give their two cents on the topics they were covering. He invited debate and encouraged hands-on learning. All in all, a very strange and novel experience in Durmstrang.
Mr Smith was friendly (not Bellum-Friendly, he was actually friendly), kind, and great at explaining magical theory.
Viktor decided he liked Mr Smith.
Most professors after encountering Viktor's taciturn personality called him aloof, reserved. Arrogant. (Bellum had once affectionately called him a quaffle, though Viktor had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Was it because he played quidditch?)
After their second lesson together, Mr Smith had pulled him aside and asked if there was a reason he was so shy. If there was anything he could do to help Viktor participate more in class.
Viktor was flabbergasted, and had assured him that he was not shy, thank you very much. He simply felt uncomfortable around other people and found it difficult to speak up in large groups.
Mr Smith had patted his back with a sympathetic expression on his face, and Viktor had thought that would be the end of things.
But after that, Mr Smith mysteriously always needed Viktor's help in passing out class materials, helping with demonstrations for spellwork, and infusing practice-arrays with magic. Viktor found himself interacting more and more with his classmates against his will, and somehow managed to make three new friends in the process.
“I thought you were scary because you're always frowning,” admitted New Friend Markus, “Turns out you just… look like that. Even when you're happy.”
Viktor wasn't sure what exactly he looked like, but he enjoyed having lunch with Markus and didn't feel like talking so he nodded in agreement before taking a bite of his gyuvech.
“Why don't you ever demonstrate spell-magic, Mr Smith?”
“Hey, I thought this lesson was supposed to be about parallel arrays, not my personal life! Who here thinks my lack of spell-demos is more interesting than parallel arrays?”
The entire class raised their hands, causing Mr Smith to let out a surprised chuckle. He ran his fingers through his hair, something Viktor noticed he'd do every time he wanted to appear casual.
“I guess I should have seen that coming, huh?”
That was the nice part about his classes: no one felt too intimidated to make little jokes like this. Viktor rarely felt anxious about surprise tests when Mr Smith was around.
“Okay then! Why do you think I don't demonstrate spell-magic? Mr Viorst?”
Poor Viorst looked severely put on the spot, but regardless bravely ventured his guess.
“Well, uh. Perhaps you want us to figure out the spell-work for ourselves?”
“Oh? And what makes you say that?”
“Well, um, I guess because… you said it's better to learn hands-on? And you called us up to do the demonstration in front of everyone? And, um, get us to give each other feedback until we get it?”
Mr Smith hummed.
“I demonstrated array drawing today though, didn't I? Aren't arrays something you can figure out for yourself too?”
Viorst swallowed and looked to his table-partner for guidance. His partner was unfortunately Viktor, who shrugged.
“What do you think, Mr Krum?”
Mr Smith had zeroed in on him now, eyes crinkled in a smile. And yet, Viktor did not feel overly distressed. This type of gentle prodding was something Bellum would never be able to do – the type that made classes feel less like a battlefield and more like a big discussion. In Mr Smith's own words, there was no such thing as a wrong answer during these discussions. It felt…free.
Viktor cleared his throat.
“Perhaps… you are forbidden from performing magic within 100 feet of school-children? Professor Bellum said he had such restrictions put upon him when he was first hired here, though he did not follow them.”
Mr Smith's eyes widened. He covered his mouth and turned away from the class. His shoulders were trembling as he spoke next, in a shaky voice.
“Let's…let's unpack that, shall we? Are you saying that because I'm substituting for Bellum, I have commited all the crimes he has committed?”
Was he crying?
Viktor sputtered.
“No, no! I meant, it is a possibility that you are under a similar restriction. I brought up Professor Bellum as a relevant example.”
The tremors on his shoulders had finally subsided. Mr Smith turned back to them and nodded resolutely.
“Well, that does seem to be a plausible reason for me to not perform spell-magic. Shall we go with it?”
“I am right?” Viktor asked in disbelief.
“Oh, not at all,” Mr Smith said reassuringly, “I've barely killed anyone, why would the school ban me from doing magic in front of students?”
“Then why…?”
“Well, Magnus was badgering me about having a believable cover story . Now I finally have an excuse to teach without using magic and gloat about – Yes, Johansson?”
“But why do you not use magic when you teach, Sir?”
“Oh, that,” Mr Smith waved his hand dismissively, “I'm a nomaj. Any other questions, this time pertaining to the lesson, if you please?”
The baffled silence following his matter-of-fact statement made him frown.
“Are you not familiar with the term? I suppose NonMagique, Muggel, Moldu or Dreuzel are more familiar? It refers to someone born without a magical core in the Mundane world.”
“We know what Nomaj means, Mr Smith.”
“Ah!” He chuckled, “That's good, I was getting worried about your grasp of general knowledge. Anyway, back to class. Last call if you have any questions whatsoever on parallel arrays. Yes, Mr Mülner?”
“We have seen you activate arrays.”
“...yes? That's not really a question, is it?”
“You are not Nomaj. Nomaj cannot activate magical arrays. In the first place, Nomaj cannot draw magical arrays, they do not have the capacity or intelligence to do so.”
Mr Smith tilted his head with a mild smile, resembling Professor Bellum for the first time since they'd met him. The temperature of the room dropped by several degrees.
“You have not been paying attention, Mülner. You do not need a magical core to activate these types of arrays. You need magical blood.”
He grinned and wandlessly made a vial filled with red liquid appear in his palm. The careless display of power was clearly done for intimidation. (Privately, Viktor vowed never to cross Mr Smith.)
“Basic sleight of hand, stasis charm on the bottle, and Bellum gave me enough blood for 3 weeks. Easy. Although,” he frowned. “I have no idea whose blood this is.”
Mülner looked very much like he wanted to crawl under his table to hide.
“Perhaps moving forward you can help me with providing magical blood to activate my arrays. I'll be running out soon, after all.”
The class chuckled uneasily at his words, though his demeanour seemed to imply he was dead serious.
Mr Smith had a penchant for bad jokes, it was true, but this was the first comedic bit he'd done that made no sense whatsoever.
Viktor was beginning to understand that Mr Smith was perhaps not as sane as he had initially assumed. Those plain features only served to make his unstable expressions more striking.
Mr Smith cleared his throat, and the heavy atmosphere suddenly lifted.
“Come on now people! I'm a nomaj, so what? I need to know that everyone understands parallel arrays really well before we move on to the next section.”
After that, it became a running joke of sorts among them to call Mr Smith a muggle. It was so ridiculous, and he leaned into it so well it was almost impressive.
He managed to have a reasonable explanation for nearly every instance he was caught using magic.
Wandlessly and nonverbally shielding himself from a stray curse was ‘all thanks to this shield-bracelet Magnus made for me’. Wandless magic in general was dismissed by calling it ‘sleight of hand’.
He continued to insist that his affinity for blood-activated arrays was due to not having the ability to produce magic in the first place.
"What about the wand you carry in your holster?” Viktor had asked once out of curiosity. “The seniors said they've seen you use it before."
Mr Smith chortled.
"Magnus thought it would be funny to infuse this chopstick with his magic when we went out for Phở a couple months back. It's movement activated, watch.”
He took out his wand and gave it a careless flick. Every chair in the classroom levitated for five seconds before abruptly dropping back to the ground.
Nonverbal. Incredible.
Viktor shook his head in disbelief. He should have known better than to assume anyone who associated with Professor Bellum could ever be weak.
One thing was clear. Mr Smith was an exceptionally powerful mage who somehow enjoyed messing with them even more than Bellum.
Viktor badly wanted to hex or curse Pyotr Kozlov. Unfortunately, he had only insulted Viktor's quidditch team verbally. He had to hold himself back or he would get in trouble. He had to…
A hand landed on his shoulder and gently squeezed it.
“Look, Mr Kozlov. As a Nomaj I know next to nothing about quidditch and even I could tell how offensive that was. Apologise to Mr Krum.”
Viktor felt his throat close up. No one had defended him like this before. No one had cared like this before. Mr Smith really was a one-of-a-kind teacher.
Even if he was still insisting on maintaining that ridiculous comedic bit about him being a muggle.
“Today is a sad day.”
Viktor tensed.
“It will be my last lesson with all of you. I'll miss you for sure, you're adorable kids.”
Sweet Zalmoxis, was he going to die?!
“Professor Bellum will be back for lessons tomorrow. I have proven my point to him, and he wants his job back.”
Mlynár raised a hand, tears welling in her eyes.
“Does that mean Professor Bellum's still alive?”
Mr Smith nodded gravely.
“He is indeed alive, and you needn't look so disappointed about it – you'll hurt his feelings.”
“He has feelings?” Mlynár exclaimed in open disbelief – voicing the general sentiment among the class. Viktor could relate.
Mr Smith laughed and shook his head disapprovingly.
“You know, your Professor Bellum tries his best. He's a good man deep down. A gentle soul.”
If there was anyone left in class that had any doubts as to whether or not Mr Smith was completely off his rocker, this was the moment those doubts were eradicated.
“Did you miss me?” Professor Bellum was smiling at them in that specific manner that looked exactly like the wanted posters from his serial killer days in the 1950s.
Viktor shuddered. As certifiably unhinged as Mr Smith was, he couldn't hold a candle to Professor Bellum. After all, it took a special kind of insane to have half of Europe live in fear of you and entire books written about your life and crimes.
Speaking of which…
“Come on people, I told you not to look so disappointed! You'll hurt poor Magnus's feelings!”
“Yes! You have indeed hurt my feelings. I will cry myself to sleep tonight. Thank you, John.”
“Now you're overselling it.”
“If anything, I'm underselling it. My students are so fickle that they would switch allegiances from me to you in a heartbeat.”
“That's probably because I'm a better teacher than you, Magnus.”
“The nerve– I've been teaching here since you were a teenager–”
“Experience does not equal skill and you know it, you ancient–”
Viktor tuned out the bickering in favour of observing the two teachers as they stood side by side.
Professor Bellum was… he was casually resting an elbow on Mr Smith's shoulder as they argued. And Mr Smith was completely ignoring the physical contact from the literal Butcher of Ithaca, Scourge of Europe, War Criminal and Serial Killer extraordinaire. In fact, he seemed to be leaning into the touch.
No. Considering the blasè, downright dismissive way he'd talked about Bellum, Viktor shouldn't have been surprised. Perhaps Mr Smith's insanity actually could hold a candle to Bellum’s after all.
The lesson ended up being predictably terrifying, and it was the height of betrayal to see a smiling Mr Smith lounge at the teacher's desk without a word of disapproval at their suffering.
A week later, Viktor passed by Mr Smith by pure coincidence.
The man was hurrying in the direction of Professor Bellum's office and Viktor was relieved to note that he'd finally switched to wearing a proper set of robes. (They were suspiciously oversized and looked very similar to Professor Bellum's robes, but Viktor chose not to dwell on the details)
Viktor, fresh from quidditch practice, felt brave enough to call out to him. Mr Smith stiffened as he turned, but his wary expression melted into a relieved smile when he saw Viktor.
“Viktor! How have you been?”
“I've been well, sir.” He paused. Now or never.
“Sir, may I ask you a question?”
“You already have, but of course you are welcome to ask as many questions as you wish!”
“What classes are you teaching next semester? I want to take them, if I am eligible.”
Mr Smith's eyes widened and he looked rather awkward.
“Oh, I'm sorry Viktor. I really am. But I'm not actually employed at this institution. Technically, I'm not even supposed to exist. It's only because I'm with Bellum that no one has questioned it for this long.”
“Then how…why..?”
Mr Smith sighed.
“Well, it started when I told Bellum that he was a terrible teacher, and that a monkey could do a better job than him. So we made a…well, an agreement where one of us stood to win something of value from the other if we ended up right.”
“....a wager?”
Mr Smith snapped his fingers.
“Precisely. A wager. If I managed to use my own lesson plans and teach what he's supposed to teach better than he did while earning his student's favour, I win. ”
“But… but of course you would win!”
Mr Smith laughed.
“That is very flattering to hear. Oh I know you were insulting poor Magnus, but he knew it too. Still it was a fun wager. I got to see the sights here and meet wonderful students like you.”
Viktor was still supremely confused.
“If he knew it… why did he go through with the wager? Why would he lose on purpose? That doesn't make any sense.”
Mr Smith scratched his cheek. He looked a little sheepish.
“Well, sometimes you can win by losing. That is, my prize for winning was not necessarily a penalty for Magnus. He could win and lose at the same time, if you catch my drift."
Viktor shook his head. He did not catch the drift.
Mr Smith ran his fingers through his hair. It was a nervous tic, Viktor realised.
“How old are you, Krum? Thirteen? Fourteen?”
“Twelve.”
“Ah.”
He smiled ruefully before ruffling Viktor's hair.
“I'll explain it when you're older.”
