A RESTLESS NIGHT
Professor McGonagall glared harshly at Harry who unsuccessfully tried to stifle his fifth yawn in as many minutes.
Shaking his head sharply, Harry attempted to force his tired mind into a state of alertness. Or at least something a kin to one, which would hopefully prevent McGonagall from putting him in detention for not paying attention in class.
On one side of him, Hermione looked a him scoldingly, while on the other side, Ron, appeared a mixture of bemused and concerned. They had both said at breakfast how tired he looked.
"Well, then," Professor McGonagall's distinctive Scottish lilt said, "Who would like to reiterate 'Roland's Doctrine Of The Transfiguration Of Sentient Beings' which we have covered today?"
She said the last bit with emphasis, clearly stating her intent towards anyone who didn't know.
Harry's stomach sank as he knew what was coming next.
"Mr Potter?" she asked, shrilly, fixating him with a gaze.
Harry was sure he was exhibiting a remarkable impression of the deer caught in the headlights. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione straining to hold her hand as high as it would go without her actually standing. Despite her clear eagerness however, McGonagall did not advert her gaze from him. She raised a curious eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, obviously willing to wait for whatever answer he was going to give.
"Well," he stalled, wondering if perhaps in some moment of inspiration the answer would come to him, "Roland's Doctrine Of The Transfiguration Of Sentient Beings' is.....".
No, his mind was still blank.
"Well, it says that.....you......you shouldn't......", he offered, racking his mind to try and decide what a fourteenth century witch would have had to say about transfiguration.
He guessed that the 'shouldn't' part was right at least. All these rules seemed to be connected to what you shouldn't do. It seemed as if they spent far too much of their time learning what they weren't allowed to do.
"Shouldn't what?" McGonagall prompted.
Harry grimaced and took the plunge. "Do it?" he said, more a question than a statement.
A mixture of suppressed giggles from other students, and the frosting of McGonagall's stare convinced him that maybe that wasn't right.
Wordlessly, she turned her gaze to Hermione, "Miss Granger?"
"Roland stated that the transfiguration of sentient beings, which are not aware of what is to happen to them, is dangerous because the stress and shock is enough to kill," Hermione stated, parrot fashion, as if she had committed the class to memory, word by word. She probably had.
McGonagall smiled, pleased, "Yes, quite."
Then the bell thankfully rang for the end of class.
Harry hurriedly collected his things together, hoping to slip away in the anonymity of the bustle of other students. Ron seemed to have the same idea in mind, because he was doing his best to stand between Harry and McGonagall, hoping that if she couldn't see him, she'd forget. But it wasn't to be.
"Mr Potter?"
Harry's face screwed up in a grimace, as though he'd just been stung, and he turned slowly to look at McGonagall.
"A moment please," she said sternly, beckoning him to her desk as she sat behind it.
Ron gave him a sympathetic look, tinged with a hint of 'rather you than me'. Hermione's face simply said 'well what do you expect?'
By the time Harry had slowly trudged over to her desk, the classroom had emptied. He stood there in trepidation for a few tense moments, believing he might be the one to die of stress if she didn't speak soon.
Finishing reading the paper in front of her, McGonagall raised her eyes to peer at him over the top of her glasses.
"If you insist on falling asleep during the day, Mr Potter," she said slowly, "May I suggest you use your lunch hour, not my class."
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
Her face was stony, "You will be if you fail your exams because you were not paying attention in class."
That sent a bolt of fear right through Harry. If he failed, he'd have to leave Hogwart's. And then where would he go? Back to the Dursley's for good? The prospect had never occurred to him before. While he might endanger his place here in other ways, he'd never considered the possibility that he might simply fail. What would people think of the great Harry Potter then?
McGonagall seemed to sense his distress because she softened slightly. "Is something troubling you? Perhaps Quidditch is too much on top of your studies," she suggested.
"Oh, no," Harry immediately protested, afraid she might stop him playing if she thought that, "I just.....I didn't sleep very well last night, that's all."
Make that 'didn't sleep at all' and he'd be telling the truth. The figure in the tower had soon disappeared from view and, shivering, Harry had returned to bed. It was late and he was tired.
Despite this, he'd lain there awake for most of the night, wondering who it could have possibly been and what they were doing. When he did momentarily manage to drift off, he had nightmares of imposing figures in black cloaks stealing into the room and raising their wands to strike him down. Finding himself frozen in place, he cried out for help but everyone around him just slept on as if they hadn't heard him. Or didn't care. Just as the figure was about to strike, he awoke with a start, sweating and heart pounding.
In the early hours of the morning, he had resolved to tell Ron and Hermione about it that day. Perhaps even go to Dumbledore and report it to him. Those thoughts were somewhat of a comfort to him.
But, as with all things, the sun rose and chased the shadows cowering into the corners, and suddenly what had seemed so frightening the night before began to look stupid.
He didn't know what that tower was used for. It could have been some sort of worker going about their nightly work. Perhaps it was where they kept some strange animal for Care Of Magical Creatures, and the thing simply needed feeding.
In any case, the notion of going to Dumbledore faded from his mind. What would the venerable wizard think of Harry if he ran to him at the slightest thing? That he was a coward who needed reassurance? That he couldn't take care of himself? Or, worst of all, that he thought himself important enough to warrant being danger from some sort of dark force?
Even the idea of telling Ron and Hermione seemed stupid. They'd only tell him he was over reacting. They'd probably think he was losing it or something. That last year's run in with Voldemort had really done him in.
So he'd stayed silent. Not that he really felt any better for it.
"May I suggest then, that you get an early night tonight, hmm?" McGonagall said, in that stern tone which managed to somehow betray a hint of kindness.
He nodded, still in his own thoughts and began to move away.
"You're a good student, Harry," she said, making him stop in his tracks, "You have a sharp mind and a developing talent. It's your duty to yourself to make the best of it."
Harry smiled. Praise like that from McGonagall was hard to come by. She never said anything she didn't mean.
"Thank you," he said quietly, a little embarrassed, moving away again.
"Oh and Mr Potter?" she called after him, returning to her marking once more, "A foot and a half report on Roland's doctrine on my desk by Friday, please."
He should have expected it really. McGonagall was always hard but fair.
"Yes, Professor," Harry said with a small sigh, hurrying to reach the door before she could give him anything else to do.
Professor McGonagall glared harshly at Harry who unsuccessfully tried to stifle his fifth yawn in as many minutes.
Shaking his head sharply, Harry attempted to force his tired mind into a state of alertness. Or at least something a kin to one, which would hopefully prevent McGonagall from putting him in detention for not paying attention in class.
On one side of him, Hermione looked a him scoldingly, while on the other side, Ron, appeared a mixture of bemused and concerned. They had both said at breakfast how tired he looked.
"Well, then," Professor McGonagall's distinctive Scottish lilt said, "Who would like to reiterate 'Roland's Doctrine Of The Transfiguration Of Sentient Beings' which we have covered today?"
She said the last bit with emphasis, clearly stating her intent towards anyone who didn't know.
Harry's stomach sank as he knew what was coming next.
"Mr Potter?" she asked, shrilly, fixating him with a gaze.
Harry was sure he was exhibiting a remarkable impression of the deer caught in the headlights. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione straining to hold her hand as high as it would go without her actually standing. Despite her clear eagerness however, McGonagall did not advert her gaze from him. She raised a curious eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, obviously willing to wait for whatever answer he was going to give.
"Well," he stalled, wondering if perhaps in some moment of inspiration the answer would come to him, "Roland's Doctrine Of The Transfiguration Of Sentient Beings' is.....".
No, his mind was still blank.
"Well, it says that.....you......you shouldn't......", he offered, racking his mind to try and decide what a fourteenth century witch would have had to say about transfiguration.
He guessed that the 'shouldn't' part was right at least. All these rules seemed to be connected to what you shouldn't do. It seemed as if they spent far too much of their time learning what they weren't allowed to do.
"Shouldn't what?" McGonagall prompted.
Harry grimaced and took the plunge. "Do it?" he said, more a question than a statement.
A mixture of suppressed giggles from other students, and the frosting of McGonagall's stare convinced him that maybe that wasn't right.
Wordlessly, she turned her gaze to Hermione, "Miss Granger?"
"Roland stated that the transfiguration of sentient beings, which are not aware of what is to happen to them, is dangerous because the stress and shock is enough to kill," Hermione stated, parrot fashion, as if she had committed the class to memory, word by word. She probably had.
McGonagall smiled, pleased, "Yes, quite."
Then the bell thankfully rang for the end of class.
Harry hurriedly collected his things together, hoping to slip away in the anonymity of the bustle of other students. Ron seemed to have the same idea in mind, because he was doing his best to stand between Harry and McGonagall, hoping that if she couldn't see him, she'd forget. But it wasn't to be.
"Mr Potter?"
Harry's face screwed up in a grimace, as though he'd just been stung, and he turned slowly to look at McGonagall.
"A moment please," she said sternly, beckoning him to her desk as she sat behind it.
Ron gave him a sympathetic look, tinged with a hint of 'rather you than me'. Hermione's face simply said 'well what do you expect?'
By the time Harry had slowly trudged over to her desk, the classroom had emptied. He stood there in trepidation for a few tense moments, believing he might be the one to die of stress if she didn't speak soon.
Finishing reading the paper in front of her, McGonagall raised her eyes to peer at him over the top of her glasses.
"If you insist on falling asleep during the day, Mr Potter," she said slowly, "May I suggest you use your lunch hour, not my class."
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
Her face was stony, "You will be if you fail your exams because you were not paying attention in class."
That sent a bolt of fear right through Harry. If he failed, he'd have to leave Hogwart's. And then where would he go? Back to the Dursley's for good? The prospect had never occurred to him before. While he might endanger his place here in other ways, he'd never considered the possibility that he might simply fail. What would people think of the great Harry Potter then?
McGonagall seemed to sense his distress because she softened slightly. "Is something troubling you? Perhaps Quidditch is too much on top of your studies," she suggested.
"Oh, no," Harry immediately protested, afraid she might stop him playing if she thought that, "I just.....I didn't sleep very well last night, that's all."
Make that 'didn't sleep at all' and he'd be telling the truth. The figure in the tower had soon disappeared from view and, shivering, Harry had returned to bed. It was late and he was tired.
Despite this, he'd lain there awake for most of the night, wondering who it could have possibly been and what they were doing. When he did momentarily manage to drift off, he had nightmares of imposing figures in black cloaks stealing into the room and raising their wands to strike him down. Finding himself frozen in place, he cried out for help but everyone around him just slept on as if they hadn't heard him. Or didn't care. Just as the figure was about to strike, he awoke with a start, sweating and heart pounding.
In the early hours of the morning, he had resolved to tell Ron and Hermione about it that day. Perhaps even go to Dumbledore and report it to him. Those thoughts were somewhat of a comfort to him.
But, as with all things, the sun rose and chased the shadows cowering into the corners, and suddenly what had seemed so frightening the night before began to look stupid.
He didn't know what that tower was used for. It could have been some sort of worker going about their nightly work. Perhaps it was where they kept some strange animal for Care Of Magical Creatures, and the thing simply needed feeding.
In any case, the notion of going to Dumbledore faded from his mind. What would the venerable wizard think of Harry if he ran to him at the slightest thing? That he was a coward who needed reassurance? That he couldn't take care of himself? Or, worst of all, that he thought himself important enough to warrant being danger from some sort of dark force?
Even the idea of telling Ron and Hermione seemed stupid. They'd only tell him he was over reacting. They'd probably think he was losing it or something. That last year's run in with Voldemort had really done him in.
So he'd stayed silent. Not that he really felt any better for it.
"May I suggest then, that you get an early night tonight, hmm?" McGonagall said, in that stern tone which managed to somehow betray a hint of kindness.
He nodded, still in his own thoughts and began to move away.
"You're a good student, Harry," she said, making him stop in his tracks, "You have a sharp mind and a developing talent. It's your duty to yourself to make the best of it."
Harry smiled. Praise like that from McGonagall was hard to come by. She never said anything she didn't mean.
"Thank you," he said quietly, a little embarrassed, moving away again.
"Oh and Mr Potter?" she called after him, returning to her marking once more, "A foot and a half report on Roland's doctrine on my desk by Friday, please."
He should have expected it really. McGonagall was always hard but fair.
"Yes, Professor," Harry said with a small sigh, hurrying to reach the door before she could give him anything else to do.
