Punished

Harry had never seen his Head of House look quite this angry, he realized as McGonagall tugged him most insistently by the wrist toward her office. Then again, he had only been at Hogwarts a few months. A sick feeling of dread was uncoiling through his stomach. He knew he should not have let Malfoy provoke him. He knew it. But it was Neville's Remembrall, and he was so tired of watching everyone else bully Nev. Even some of the Gryffindors did it. Perhaps it wasn't as malicious as Malfoy and his cronies, but he knew it still hurt. He knew Neville still cried at night, when he thought everyone else was asleep. Harry had been bullied. He vowed it would never happen again. Not even to "toughen him up," as he'd heard a fifth year laughingly tell his friends. They hadn't known he was around, or they might not have said it. Then again, they might have. He was the Boy Who Lived, yes, but he was also only a scrawny, too-thin first year with startlingly green eyes and hair that looked like a rat's nest.

"In here," McGonagall directed, pushing him down onto a bench in front of her desk. He had never been in here before and if it were not for the terror racing through his thoughts, he would have found the place quite interesting.

"What were you thinking?!" his Transfiguration professor exploded, looming over him. Harry swallowed hard and had to carefully restrain himself from flinching.

"I wasn't, Professor," he said very quietly, his voice wobbling the slightest bit. He wasn't afraid, he told himself. Not of her. He couldn't be. She was...she was his Head of House, for Merlin's sake.

"That much, Mr. Potter, is obvious," she snorted, finally taking a seat. Her hands absently picked up a quill and just as absentmindedly snapped it in half. Harry swallowed hard.

"I realize, of course," she continued in an almost conversational tone, however slicked over with anger it was, "that you were provoked, Mr. Potter. I realize that you are not entirely to blame for this incident and it is for this reason that you are not in the Headmaster's office. But by Merlin's beard, Mr. Potter, you need to learn how to think. First year or not. It is not impossible to ignore a school mate's taunting. And do think, Mr. Potter, of what would have happened if Mr. Malfoy had broken Mr. Longbottom's Remembrall, hmm? The professors at this school are not remiss in their duties. He would have received the appropriate punishment and Mr. Longbottom would have received another Remembrall.

"Instead..." she pierced him with a furious glance that made him fidget on the bench, wishing fervently that he was anywhere but there. Even falling into the lake off his broomstick seemed a preferable choice. "Instead, you choose to follow him into the air when you have never been on a broom before. You are very lucky, Mr. Potter, that you do possess your father's natural skills at flying, or you may have found yourself in the Hospital Wing right next to Mr. Longbottom. Mr. Malfoy has been flying most of his life. He was indeed, immeasurably stupid and I have no doubt my esteemed colleague, Professor Snape, is assuring him of that right this moment. You however, Mr. Potter, had, again, never been on a broomstick before. I realize that one of the traits of Gryffindor House is bravery, but let me assure you, it is not meant to cover rampant stupidity."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry whispered. He felt like there was no other answer he could offer. Particularly not without outraging her further. And what could he say? Technically, she was right. He had been lucky. Malfoy at least already knew how to fly. And if Harry had just waited, Madam Hooch would have come back and gotten him into trouble.

Of course, then everyone in both Houses would have viewed Harry as a pathetic coward, but it's not like Professor McGonagall was all that concerned with that, was she. Not right now.

"Under other circumstances, had your flying talent been discovered naturally in the course of class, you might have been offered a chance to be a reserve on the Gryffindor Quidditch team," Professor McGonagall mused to herself. "That may still come next year. Now, however, there is the matter of your punishment." A feral smile crossed her face, reminding Harry unpleasantly that her Animagus was a cat.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked, afraid of the answer.

"A month of detention," she said, almost brisk. "To be served with Professor Snape."

Harry's mouth dropped open.

"With Snape?" he blurted out. "Why?"

"Professor Snape," she rebuked him. "And because you will be sharing them with Mr. Malfoy."

"You can't be serious," Harry groaned, slumping down on the bench. He felt like he might be sick.

"I am very serious, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said sternly. "And might I remind you that you and you alone are the one responsible for this predicament.

"Your first detention is tonight," she added, rising from her chair as a discreet signal the meeting was over. "Eight o'clock, in the Potions classroom. Do not be late."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry muttered and sped off to dinner. As if he could eat, knowing what was going to come next. It would be a living hell, and he had no doubt that Professor Snape would have taken Malfoy's side anyway. He always did. Always would.

Harry sighed. This was not going to be a fun month.