Chapter Ten – There Should Be Quidditch in This Chapter

(A/N: I'm depressed. This has turned into another crack!fic. When I didn't want it to. My new fic looks like it might go on that path, too. I just can't keep away from humour, can I? I REALLY WANT TO WRITE A NON CRACK!FIC FIC.

In other news, would you believe I created a hopefully canon-accurate colour-coded timetable for Harry in this fic?)

Last time...

And thus, Harry exited the greenhouses feeling nothing but boredom and the need to take a shower. And it is on this rather mundane note that this chapter ends.

Lunchtime. Time to prove himself to Marcus Flint.

But first, lunch.

It was really a pity there was no toast at lunch, Harry mused as he sat down in the Great Hall. Lunch would be so much better if there was toast. Dinner, too, as a matter of fact. Harry speared a sausage and munched on it thoughtfully.

He was thinking about writing an official letter of complaint to the Headmaster about toast at meals other than breakfast when an owl swooped down in front of him. It wasn't Hedwig.

Harry untied the letter from the owl's leg curiously and it promptly flew away. It wasn't expecting a reply, then. He slit it open and read:

Your detention will take place at one o'clock today. Professor Flitwick will be supervising your detention in his office.
Prof. M. McGonagall

Harry blinked. Wow, McGonagall worked fast. He looked at his watch.

12:46, it read. Plenty of time. Harry turned back to his lunch.

Harry was slightly nervous about his detention. He'd had detentions before, of course, because he always seemed to get into so much trouble in primary school, but this was a Hogwarts detention, a place with magic, a place that still used quills and parchment, a place that seemed really, really old, and Harry had no idea if he was going to be tortured on the rack or some other medieval thing. Even if it was only a detention.

Harry, chewing another sausage, casually glanced at his watch.

12:57, it read, immediately blinking to 12:58. Harry jumped. He was going to be late! Professor Flitwick's office was all the way up on the sixth floor.

He leapt out of his seat and ran.

Harry arrived, panting, three minutes later, at the door of Professor Flitwick's office. Checking his watch again, he realised he was one minute late and hoped that either Professor Flitwick wouldn't mind or that Hogwarts wasn't as medieval a place as he thought.

He knocked on the door and was greeted with a cheerful, 'Please come in!' He pushed the door open and poked his head inside first, because that's what people in movies always do.

'Ah, hello, Mr Potter. Here for your detention?' Professor Flitwick chirped.

Harry nodded. 'Yes, Professor Flitwick.' He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and surreptitiously glancing around Professor Flitwick's office.

Hmm. Nothing that looked too harmful. A desk. A chair. Some paperwork on the desk. A candlestick and holder. Quills. Ink. Just the necessities, really.

Except…was that a 'Senior Marksman' trophy on the top shelf?

'Well, Mr Potter!' Professor Flitwick's voice abruptly drew Harry away from his paranoid thoughts. 'I hope you realise the seriousness of what you did.'

'…But I really didn't do it, sir.'

'Now now Mr Potter, there's no need to tell falsehoods,' Professor Flitwick said, gazing at Harry sternly. 'Really! It's one thing to deliberately attempt harm on another student, but to lie about it as well?'

Harry waited for the inevitable 'I expected better of you, Mr Potter' that always came with that sort of speech. It always happened in movies.

Professor Flitwick conjured a chair, levitating it towards his desk. 'You may work here, Mr Potter. Your detention will be to write lines. You are to write one hundred times, I will never again try to harm another student on purpose.'

Harry was tempted to say, 'I was taught that honesty is the best policy, Professor,' but he held his tongue, figuring it would get him into more trouble. Technically, it hadn't really been taught to him anyway; he'd learned it from, again, movies. From when the Dursleys would go out. Mrs Figg used to let him watch movies sometimes. They were usually weepy romances, as per Mrs Figg's preference, but Harry tried to ignore the…er…kissy scenes (good thing they were usually just at the end) and focus on handing Mrs Figg tissues.

Instead, he just said, 'Yes, sir,' and sat down in the conjured chair, hoping it wouldn't suddenly disappear for some reason.

'Do you have parchment and a quill?'

'Yes, sir,' Harry replied, got those out, and ink, and set to work. Professor Flitwick sat down across from him and started marking essays.

There was no sound in the office except the scratching of quills.

'Mr Potter…Mr Potter! Wake up, Mr Potter!'

Harry muttered something and turned his head the other way, waving irritably at the source of the noise.

'Mr Potter!'

Harry's eyes snapped open and he jumped, startled.

'Thank you, Mr Potter. It's nice to see you've finally consented to join us.' Though the words could have been sarcastic and harsh, there was an undertone of amusement.

Harry's eyes went wide as he realised where he was and jumped again. 'I'm sorry, Professor Flitwick!' he exclaimed, looking to where Professor Flitwick was standing in front of him (on the table). 'I didn't mean to fall asleep – it's just that…I didn't get much sleep last night. It won't happen again, sir.'

Instead of berating him as a not-so-nice professor would have, Professor Flitwick said sympathetically, 'Couldn't get to sleep? Homesickness, was it? I know how it feels,' and patted Harry on the back.

Harry blinked. 'Er…yes, Professor Flitwick.' Feeling the need to elaborate to make it look more authentic, he added, 'I know it's stupid, but…'

'Not to worry, Mr Potter!' said Professor Flitwick cheerfully. 'I see you've almost finished your lines – we'll stop here, then.' Harry looked down at his lines. He was up to number sixty-seven, which was hardly 'almost finished', but he wasn't going to complain.

'Thank you, Professor Flitwick,' he said, getting up and trying to stretch discreetly.

Professor Flitwick smiled at him. 'Now, I believe it is almost the end of lunchtime – you'd better get your things for your next class, Mr Potter!'

'Oh, I have my things, sir. I have double Charms.'

'Oh,' said Professor Flitwick, blinking. 'Well, you can wait in the classroom then, Mr Potter.'

'Yes, Professor,' said Harry, walking out the door. 'Thank you, Professor Flitwick,' he said again, before he closed it.

Sitting at his usual desk in the Charms classroom, Harry felt wide awake. Perhaps it was because he'd just slept for a bit (in detention!), but he felt like he could take on anything right then. Extra homework from McGonagall? Okay! Triple Potions with Snape? Bring it on! Voldemort, the evil man who had killed his parents and a lot of other people without even pausing to think about the lives he was ending? That could probably wait for another time; Harry could be patient when he felt like it…

He'd much rather go fly on a broom again, though…that had been fun, in the first flying lesson, except for the part where he'd earned himself a detention with Snape.

Yes, flying on brooms was fun…and this sport, 'Quidditch', played on brooms…Harry didn't know how it worked, but if it was on brooms, it would probably be pretty fun!

Quidditch…hey, Hogwarts had Quidditch teams. Maybe he should try out for the Slytherin team.

Wait, first-years couldn't get on Quidditch teams. Harry saddened slightly at this.

Wait, he was on the Quidditch team. Harry brightened at this. Great! He could play Quidditch!

…Well, after someone explained the rules to him. Perhaps the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team would. Who was it again? Harry had met him before, he knew. Oh yes, Marcus Flint. A rather nice person, if a bit lacking in personal hygiene.

Harry wondered when he could get Marcus Flint to explain the rules of Quidditch to him.

Wait, hadn't he scheduled something with him for just that reason? Or was that to test his flying skills?

Well, either way, Harry knew he'd scheduled a meeting with Marcus Flint for something about Quidditch. He wondered when it would be. Harry thought hard.

Hmm. Harry had only met him just that morning…lunchtime, did he say? Yes, lunchtime…Harry checked the clock on the wall.

It was 1:28…when did lunchtime end again? Oh yes, 1:30. Yes, that was right, there were already students in his Charms class trickling in…

So…he'd scheduled a lunchtime meeting with Marcus Flint about the Quidditch team, but he'd had to miss it because of his detention.

Oh…hang on.

Well, that wasn't good.

Sensing a sudden 'I'm here, bow down to mighty me' aura from the door, Harry looked up. Malfoy was standing there, flanked as usual by Crabbe and Goyle. He was smirking.

Malfoy walked over to him.

'I didn't do the quill thing,' Harry said, rather tired of this.

Malfoy looked annoyed. 'I wasn't going to say anything about that, Potter. I've got my revenge. I just wanted to give you a message. Immediately suspect the worst of me, why don't you.'

'Okay,' Harry agreed. 'I will, thanks.'

Malfoy looked even more annoyed. 'Shut up, Potter. Flint asked me to tell you that because you didn't show up, he had to spend half an hour waiting on the Quidditch pitch for you. I don't know what he was doing waiting for you, but I won't bother myself with stupid details. He said to tell you that he'll kill you first chance he gets. Watch your back, Potter.'

With that, Malfoy smiled/smirked pleasantly and made his way to his seat.

Harry just sat there in shock.

Well, that wasn't good, then.

'Good afternoon, class!' Professor Flitwick chirped.

(A/N: Harry's so screwed. (snickers)

Review, plzkthx. :P

And you know? This new review reply system sucks. I can't remember which reviews I've replied to and which ones I haven't.)