Harry sat in the chair, clenching his jaw in a way that was nowhere near, helping his headache, as he watched Professor McGonagall read Umbridge's note with very pursed lips.

"Well?" she said, rounding on him. "Is this true?"

"Is what true—" Harry asked rather more aggressively than intended— "Professor?" he added in an attempt to sound more polite.

"Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?"

"...Yes," said Harry.

"You called her a liar?"

"Yes." His headache was getting worse now.

"You told her that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?"

"Yes."

Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk, frowning at Harry. Then she said, "Have a biscuit, Potter."

"Have—what?"

"Have a biscuit," she repeated impatiently, indicating a tartan tin of cookies lying on top of one of the piles of papers on her desk. There had been a previous occasion when Harry, expecting to be caned by Professor McGonagall, had instead been appointed by her to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And as he stood up and helped himself to a Ginger Newt, he found that he was feeling just as confused and wrongfooted as he had done on that very occasion.

Professor McGonagall set down Umbridge's note and did not ask him to sit back down. Instead she took the glasses from her face and very shakily placed them on top of her head, looking at Harry very seriously.

"Potter, you need to be careful," she said. Harry paused on his mouthful of Ginger Newt and stared at her, stunned at how low her tone of voice reached; anxious and almost softer than the way he was used to—"Misbehavior in Dolores Umbridge's class could cost you much more than House points and a detention."

Harry made sure that he swallowed the Ginger Newt down before he spoke, "Professor, she looked like she wanted me to get angry."

"It is most likely that she did," muttered Professor McGonagall venomously, though not at all toward Harry, "You know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting."

Harry chewed and silently scowled at the floor.

"It says here she's given you detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow," Professor McGonagall said, looking down at Umbridge's note again.

"Every evening?!" Harry repeated, horrified. "But, Professor, couldn't you—?"

"I cannot," said Professor McGonagall flatly.

"But she was the one who said—!"

"Potter, use your common sense!" she said with an abrupt return to her usual manner. "For your own sake, and that of Cedric!"

Harry immediately closed his mouth but could physically feel the steam letting out through his nose, "So I just let her and the Prophet spread lies about us?"

"She is your teacher and retains every right to give you detention. You will go to her room at five o'clock tomorrow for the first one."

"But I was telling the truth!" said Harry, outraged. "Voldemort's back, you know he is, Professor Dumbledore knows he is—"

"For heaven's sake!" said Professor McGonagall, straightening her glasses angrily—she had winced horribly when he had used Voldemort's name—"Do you really think this is about truth or lies? It's about keeping your head down and your temper under control!"

She stood up, nostrils wide and mouth very thin, and he stood too.

"Have another biscuit," she said irritably, thrusting the tin at him.

"No, thanks," said Harry coldly.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. And so he took one, biting it angrily before suddenly he came to a realization—

"Did I hurt him again?"

"Pardon?"

"Did I hurt Cedric—" Harry said, suddenly looking very ragged—"Did I hurt him with this… outburst?"

"Yes," she said, suddenly looking very thoughtful, "Yes, it may be possible."

Harry sighed. He scratched the back his head and flung himself down in the seat with a face held just as tight as his teachers in front of him.

"Mr Diggory is not delicate, you know—"

"I know!" Harry said, immediately regretting that he had talked over her, "Sorry—I know."

"He's had all the opportunity to betray us, and you..."

"What are you talking about?"

Professor McGonagall watched him closely.

"His return to being a Prefect and Hufflepuff's Quidditch Captain would have been instituted easily if he had just agreed to publicly renouncing you," she could barely hide her contempt, "Professor Umbridge was rather upfront about it being in whatever letters we sent out to him."

"Oh," Harry said, in soft surprise. Oh.

That's why he was angry that first night.

Harry raised his head as the sound of the bell rang for the end of the period, and overhead he could hear the elephantine sounds of hundreds of students on the move. Silently, Professor McGonagall waved her hand and pointed him out the open door of her office.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, standing up. He leant down to reach for his bag but then realized that he had left it in the classroom. Drat.

"Potter?"

"Hm?" he swung around to see that McGonagall had faced away, the back of her chair leaning against the desk.

"It would be a shame if someone took the tin without my knowing," she said, not turning back. A few seconds of silence passed before loud chatter and whoops of celebration began, reverberating in the hallway. Then she heard the door to her office close—followed by the familiar rattle of a Ginger Newt jar, as well.