Eidos • Zarry AU

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During the week, Harry's mornings usually start in the same way. He wakes up and gets ready for the day, has breakfast with his mother and then leaves for his job. The walk is fairly short, just down the road and up the hilly street to the edge of town where there's a small building in mild disrepair which serves as the town's school. Their little town is a far cry from a city like Athens.

Harry teaches the younger boys and there's only six of them this year. They don't even have classes every day but Harry does help out the old teacher with gumnastike since he's so old that he'd hardly be able to show the older boys how to properly handle a spear or a sword. The pay isn't glorious and neither are the resources they work with but at least they can teach the children how to read and write.

As with any other day, Harry arrives at the school to all the boys sitting down under the tree where they usually hold their lectures. Such a simple sight, wholly mundane but it still makes Harry smile. They're all still young enough to appreciate someone their senior lecturing them. Oh, how he dreads when that changes as they grow out of being children.

"Good morning, everyone," Harry greets them. He gets a chorus of the same greeting and continues into the schools only building to get his supplies for the day. Six styluses, six wax tablets and two scrolls of writing.

"Keerie Harry, what are we doing today?" Ophelos asks as Harry hands him the tablet and stylus.  The dark-haired boy has always been a diligent student. It's quite gratifying to see a young soul value their education.

"Poetry, my dear Ophelos," Harry replies with a smile, taking a seat on a chair under the tree where they congregate. The information is received with a collective groan. "Oh, stop it. Greek is such a beautiful language. Do you know how little people know of the great works of Sapphó, Euripides or Erinna?"

"But they're all about love," Haemon frowns. Similar down-turned smiles can be seen on all his boys.

Harry laughs, shaking his head at his students. "Not all of them. Many are about history, about great Kings and Queens. About Gods." At the mention of Gods, Harry stops, drawing a deep breath as his heart skips a beat. "However, love is a beautiful thing. Just you all wait until you find someone who will make you want to write sonnets to them. Then I will have a good laugh."

The kids collectively "ew" at Harry's statement.

"Alright, alright," Harry raises his hands up in surrender. "Fine, love is disgusting and we will all die alone. You lot are much younger than me but I will make sure to stay alive long enough to wait until you are all old and bitter, sitting on a bench on the street and gossiping. I will see to that."

The boys laugh cheerfully and then Eliud asks with eyes full of foolish hope: "So that means no poetry for today?"

"Absolutely not," Harry gasps with faux obscenity. "I will read a few poems to you and then, every single one of you will try to write a verse. Just four rows, nothing hard. But it will have to rhyme."

Despite numerous protests, Harry reads the boys three poems and then, along with a repeat of the instructions, lets them write their poems. To make it a bit easier, they could write about anything and not just love, as many of the boys feared.

Harry leaves them alone under the tree and walks to the school building. He returns the scrolls and decides to tidy up the stacks a little because he would be lying if he said he had an easy time finding the right scrolls this morning. His mind wanders as he tries to sort through them and his thoughts somehow get to his lover. He hasn't seen Zayn in a fortnight now and despite trying to be hopeful, Harry starts to accept the fact that their little romance is as good as dead and buried.