Jack, not Jackson

Chapter 35: Class

(Jack's classes will be taught to all four houses at once (one year at a time, 7th years 1st)
The class is taught over two separate classes per year back to back. Dumbledore pretty much planned this as a practical application period and a bookwork period. We'll see if Jack does what he's told)

Jack Frost POV:

Utter silence.
-
Four words into my first class and I'm already greeted with silence. I was suddenly realizing that maybe such an open ended question wasn't the best opener and decided to elaborate.

"I was told that most of the older students were part of a battle that took place here last school year. So, how are you doing?

Finally, a girl in red answered me with another question, though she sounded completely bewildered, as if she didn't believe what she was hearing.
"Are you asking us if we're okay?

I stopped moving around and sat on the top step up to where my desk is and leaned my back against the desk, trying to appear relaxed. I felt too removed and above them to connect when I was up there, so sitting seemed a better way to meet their eye level.

I was quiet, gauging the reaction of the rest of the class.
"No. I'm not asking if you are okay. You've been in a battle, I know you're not okay. I'm asking you all if you're having trouble coping."

Immediately a boy in green started stifling sobs. In seconds, his eyes were spilling over and his hand was clenched across his jaw as if he was scared to let it out.

My week of cram schooling magic had taught me that mind magic was possible. My encounter with the sorting hat had taught me that I was good enough at it to use it.

So I did the same thing for this boy that I had done for the hat. I pulled open the dusty cabinets on my memories and searched for comforting ones to share.

I pulled out each speech that Chiron had given me in private. Each kind word of a colleague going through the same loss, each time I fell asleep to the sound of waves, each commander saying I'd done all that I could when things had gone wrong and I drifted them to the crying boy.

At first he stiffened and his head shot up, tears flowing fast and thick from his wide grey eyes. He knew these memories weren't his. Then his gaze met mine and he relaxed, the tension leaving his body as the memories I was feeding him sank in.

The tears started up again but they were different this time. I had quickly learned the difference between bitter tears, tears of regret, and tears of relief. These tears were somewhere between regret, and relief.

"I'm sorry."
He warbled out, his voice thick and watery from emotions he probably hadn't meant to show in public.

"It's okay. Take your time. No one here is going to judge you."
I had approached his desk and squatted in front of it as I spoke and he looked at me with a mix of hope and doubtful apprehension.

I smiled gently at him, seeing he needed another little nudge before he opened up and released whatever was weighing so heavily on him.
"If anyone understands what you're going through kid, it's the other people in this room. "

My words were enough. He took a deep breath before picking over his opening like he was holding back tears, gathering his remaining emotional strength. Like he was waiting for his classmates to hate him for what came next.

My name is Wendell Jaymes Carrow. My da was a death eater at the battle of Hogwarts. I.. I could't face him. In the battle. I wanted to. He was right thar in front of mae. To make him pay for hitting mah wee sister. But I could nae do it. "

He spoke slowly at first but his voice picked up speed and thickened Scottish accent as he went. Like a dam that broke and he had to rush to get it all out before he collapsed. Then he paused. He sank back into his seat a little and shrunk his body into itself.
When he spoke again it was a whisper.

"He was rhight thair. But I jus thought. I cannae kill me own da. It's no right. an..An e' killed Lani while I stood there. Jus shot er with the killin' curse. I coulda stopped et. But I was too much of a coward."
He pulled his knees up and hid his face from view. He was trembling in a way that had nothing to do with the cold weather.
"She-she fell. an I dinae try an stop 'er. She was alreade gon."

I made sure to consciously check that I wasn't going to freeze him before I put a firm, but gentle hand on his knee. He startled like he expected to be slapped.

"It's not your fault Wendall. Your father's actions are not your own and it wasn't your job to stop him, or to keep him from hurting anyone. No one should ever make you feel guilty for not taking a life."

Wendall' stormy grey eyes darted around the room, looking for hate or disgust. He didn't find much of it. What he found was a bunch of seventeen and eighteen year olds stifling their own tears and pain, some with clenched fists and stiff postures, others with deep breaths and closed eyes.

Wendall looked both confused and relieved, though I could tell he still blamed himself for Lani's death. I had to go deeper into his scars if he had any chance of healing from this emotional trauma.

"Wendall." I said softly, knowing exactly how much this could hurt. How badly this could go. "Who was Lani?"

The air was sucked out of the room.
For a good two minutes it was utterly quiet. Then, Wendall looked at me and the moment broke.

"She was me best friend. We always did everything together even though she was a year younger. People always thought we made an odd pair but we nay listened to that. It dinae matter. She was jus sixteen."

As I searched my brain for the memory files labeled happiness, I seemed to have misplaced them. It took about thirty seconds before a kid in blue reached out, then five kids in yellow. Then the entire green of the class and red joined too.

Suddenly every single one of my students was standing or kneeling or crouching by Wendall. I heard several students taking turns telling a memory of Lani. Sharing the good times with one another as if it would make her memory itself last longer.

Who knows? Maybe it would.