Chapter Text
A young boy with an inscrutable face and a slightly outgrown military haircut was slouched in the uncomfortable chair of headmaster Gale Nolan’s office. Outside, snow swirled in the courtyard, and students were throwing cold ammunition at each other and laughing. Upon hearing footsteps approaching the door, the boy straightened up in his chair, and the headmaster took place in the armchair across the wooden desk.
“Good morning, Mr House. As you must know, your father met with me earlier this month, and explained your… situation. As he himself attended Welton academy, he asked me to take you in. We both expect you to do honour to this school and its motto,” started Mr Nolan, a severe look in the eyes.
“Yes Sir, my father told me: Tradition, Discipline, Honour, and Excellence. I will do my best to live up to your expectations.” Gregory recited the school's four pillars his father engraved in his mind, hoping most of all to sound earnest. Truth be told, while he could abide by the last ones, he couldn't care less about tradition.
“Good, then you can take your belongings and go to your bedroom, it's on the first floor, third door to the right. You're sharing the room with Mr Perry as his previous roommate Mr Anderson had to leave due to health reasons.” There was a pause, not quite long enough to invite questions.
House nodded. “Thank you for having me here Mr Nolan.” He waited to be told to leave, and the door softly clicked shut behind him. So much for a warm welcome.
He slowly climbed up the stairs, heavy luggage in hand, and knocked on the indicated door. A tall student with hazelnut eyes opened the door and greeted him with a smile. “You must be Gregory House, welcome to your new home.” Neil Perry held out a hand, and House shook it with a faint smile.
“Just Greg will do. You're Neil Perry, right?” Neil softly chuckled at the casualness, this roommate was going to be an interesting one.
“In flesh and blood,” he replied as he stepped aside to let him inside.
Greg tossed his coat on his desk and lay on his bed, shoes still on, crossing his ankles.
“So, Greg, who paved the way for you? Brother? Dad?” Asked Neil, sitting on the edge of his own bed.
“My father. Spent his teenage years here before enrolling in the Navy.”
Judging by the curt reply, Neil guessed his father wasn’t someone he liked to talk about. It seemed to be a common pattern here, he didn't particularly like his father either. Deciding not to bother his new roommate, he took a latin textbook from his desk and started reading the lesson for tomorrow morning.
After a quiet lunch, they headed to arithmetic with Mr Hager, where House was expected to introduce himself to his classmates—his first chance to make an impression, whether good or bad.
Twenty bright young lads were waiting in the corridor when Perry and House arrived, House’s bag slung over one shoulder. Neil greeted Knox, Charlie, and Steven, while House stayed back, leaning against the wall, flipping through the arithmetic textbook. He tried his best to focus on the words in front of him, but he’d always had a keen ear, and scraps of conversation kept slipping through.
“— your Thanksgiving holidays? Yeah, great—Awful, father left—belt buckle…”
Greg stiffened when one of the boys mentioned their father — too close to home. He exhaled softly, relieved, when an old, greying man finally unlocked the classroom door.
When all students sat at their desks and opened their textbooks to page 394, Mr Hager adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “Before we begin today’s lesson, we have a new student joining us. Gregory House.”
Twenty pairs of eyes turned.
Greg sighed inwardly, and stood up with little urgency, clearly unimpressed by the formality. He walked to the front, glancing up at the crucifix, then the blackboard. He turned to face the class.
“Gregory House,” he said, standing with a loose posture. “New. Not by choice. My father thinks Welton will teach me character. Or Latin. Possibly both.”
A few muffled laughs, mostly from the back rows.
“I’ve been told I’m clever, which usually means I talk too much in class. I’ll try to do less of that here. Unless the lesson’s dull. Then no promises.”
More laughter now — this time with more genuine interest.
Mr Hager gave him a long, thin-lipped look. “Thank you, Mr House. Please take your seat.”
House made his way back to his desk with the same lazy gait, flopping into his chair like he belonged there already. He didn’t meet any gazes, but he felt a few linger.
Neil leaned over. “Do you always make that kind of entrance?”
Greg didn’t look at him. “Only when I’m bored.”
The rest of the day passed slowly, and after dinner, House was more than glad to have some spare time. Most of the students returned to the dorms — either to study, play cards, or sleep — and the remaining ones went for a walk, chatting excitedly about the Christmas holidays. House dropped his bag on his bed, put on his coat, and headed for the snow-covered courtyard.
The cold wind bit his cheeks, and he regretted not having brought a woolly hat, considering how short his father made him cut his hair. His feet dug holes in the snow as he circled the main building, until he found a corner in a blind spot from the teachers’ tower to light a fag. Before his father sent him off to Welton, House made sure to steal a cartridge of his favourite brand — partly out of spite, partly because he liked the taste.
It also came with the added perk of keeping his hands busy enough to hide the stimming John House hated, and didn't hesitate to criticise whenever he had an opportunity. Sometimes, Greg caught himself wondering if concealing all the things that made him him would make his father like him better. But then he remembered that he made no effort to get along with subordinates, and wouldn't make an exception for his offspring.
Greg took a long drag, the smoke filling his lungs, and looked at the darkening sky as he exhaled. Seconds stretched out into minutes, when he heard footsteps coming his way. Shit. Without thinking, he dropped the remains of his cigarette and hid it with his foot. When he lifted his head, Neil looked at him, a smile playing on his lips.
“Caught in the act!”
“That’s two dollars’ worth of spite you just interrupted,” replied House.
“Absolutely not!” Neil offered him a big smile, feigning innocence. He never smoked, but he did know that when you were a student it was expensive.
House rolled his eyes, and without saying a word, extended an arm.
“You strike me as a peppermint tea kind of rebel, but maybe I'm wrong.”
Neil didn't answer, but slid a cigarette between his lips and stood closer to House, back against the stone wall. He lit his cigarette and they both looked up at the stars — a comfortable silence settling between them.