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HRA# Chapter 22: Professor McGonagall Feels Something's Amiss and Sees a Bleak Future
🕑 Added 2025-01-20 07:10:05 +0000 UTC“Weasleys never back down from a Malfoy! The honor of the Weasley name rests squarely on my shoulders!”
Even though Ron’s face was swollen like a pig’s head, it couldn’t hide his exhilaration.
This was a rush he had never experienced before, a moment of attention he had never known—even Fred and George had praised him just now. Many other Gryffindors, ones he didn’t even know, had commended his bravery.
His bravery! Ron Weasley’s bravery!
And it had nothing to do with his brothers!
The feeling of being in the spotlight and receiving praise was something Ron had never experienced. At home, he was usually the one who got the least attention.
But now?
Confidence? Ron felt so triumphant that he imagined savoring this memory well into old age.
“That’s right, Harry, don’t say things like that!” Neville mumbled through his own injuries.
Harry shook his head, unsure of what to say. Still, he had to admit—he was rather pleased.
These kids were pretty great.
Sure, the Gryffindors were known for being calm and kind, but brave Gryffindors didn’t shy away from conflict either.
Harry knew he could fight because he understood his own strength. But Ron, Neville, and Hermione joining in? That was pure loyalty, a refusal to tolerate injustice.
It was because of the slur mudblood. Because Harry made the first move.
As the trio who initially engaged, Ron and Neville had taken quite a beating. Double fists couldn’t fend off four attackers, and even Hermione hadn’t escaped unscathed. Though her injuries were lighter because, as an eleven-year-old girl, some of the attackers had hesitated to go all out.
Speaking of Hermione...
“We’re going to be expelled for sure! Expelled on the first day of school! My dream of studying magic—gone! Completely gone!” Hermione sobbed uncontrollably.
This was the same girl who had confidently proclaimed during Divination class that she would never cry. Now she was crying so hard she’d completely forgotten her earlier vow.
“I’ve never even been in a fight before! We’re doomed! The professors will write to my parents, and they’ll come to take me away! Waaaaahhh...”
“Don’t worry, Hermione,” Ron said, his face still swollen and his words muffled. “If your parents are Muggles, they can’t exactly come to Hogwarts to get you.”
“Is that the point?!” Hermione shrieked. “We should’ve been calmer! No matter what, we shouldn’t have fought!”
“I really appreciate you all,” Hermione sobbed harder. “Even though I don’t know exactly what mudblood means, I know they were insulting me—and you all got dragged into it because of me! Now we’re all getting expelled!”
Her tears turned into a torrential downpour.
“Yes, fighting was indeed wrong,” a voice chimed in. Someone bound up in ropes wriggled closer. The speaker was another redhead, looking just as furious. “But what’s worse is not listening to the prefect! I told everyone to step back, but someone had the audacity to sucker-punch me!”
Earlier, Ron had introduced this person as one of his brothers—Percy Weasley, this year’s Gryffindor prefect.
To be fair, Percy had initially tried to separate the brawling students. But after a punch knocked his glasses off, he’d been dragged into the chaos. Truthfully, Percy suspected the first punch had come from a Gryffindor—probably George, or maybe Fred.
The scene had been too chaotic to remember clearly.
A Gryffindor hitting their prefect? Impossible. But... maybe?
This was precisely why Percy now looked so grumpy and indignant. He hadn’t found the culprit, had been scolded by Professor McGonagall for failing in his prefect duties, and was now tied up like the rest.
“Don’t worry, kids. We won’t be expelled,” Percy said, attempting a comforting tone. His bruised face undermined the effect, but he tried. “It’s just a fight. And with this many students involved, Hogwarts won’t expel everyone.”
“Exactly,” another Gryffindor chimed in nonchalantly. “Last year, when the sixth and seventh years had that brawl in the hallway, it was way worse. Full-on spell dueling! The hospital wing ran out of beds, and Professor McGonagall nearly lost her mind.”
“Hogwarts is this chaotic?!” Hermione looked completely dumbfounded.
“Oh, young lady,” the Gryffindor laughed heartily, “there are things more important than house points and detentions.”
“That’s right—Gryffindor’s honor!” Fred—or maybe George—shouted excitedly as he wriggled closer. “We won this time! Those stupid snakes were beaten to a pulp! If Professor McGonagall hadn’t shown up, not one of them would’ve been left standing!”
“Exactly, Hermione, don’t sweat the small stuff. Let’s celebrate!” Ron added enthusiastically. “You don’t even know how filthy that word they used to insult you was. And they were the ones who started it—right in front of the professors!”
“Not to mention, they insulted my horns. That’s species discrimination,” Harry said, trying to comfort the still-terrified Hermione. “You know, right? Discrimination is horrible.”
Hermione glanced at Harry’s horns and decided to say nothing.
“Exactly!” Fred—or George, who could tell?—shouted again. “Those stupid snakes dared to insult our mighty Minotaur! Harry, you’re a born Gryffindor! The word ‘courage’ was invented just for you!”
“You’ll be the future Lion King!”
“Wait, why not the Minotaur Lion King?”
“Minotaur Lion King? George, that’s brilliant. What a magnificent title.”
“Minotaur Lion King! Minotaur Lion King!”
The chant quickly gained momentum. At first, it was just Fred and George shouting. Then the entire box joined in. Soon, the chants echoed across several boxes.
The kind of noise that could make Professor McGonagall faint.
Ah, youth—a time of energy, rebellion, and sheer vitality.
As for punishments and detentions... well, that could wait until they got back to school.
--
A group of soon-to-be-punished individuals had at least been freed from the ropes binding them when they got off the train.
Let’s just say Professor McGonagall was extremely reluctant to do this, and considering that first-year students needed to cross the lake by boat to reach the castle, she gave Harry and his group a stern warning not to cause trouble while aboard.
Harry didn’t take it to heart. It seemed Professor McGonagall regarded him as some show-off brat, but Harry knew he wasn’t like that.
A Minotaur only does what needs to be done, regardless of what others say.
“Duck!”
From the front boat, Hagrid shouted the command as the flotilla passed under a bridge. Truth be told, the bridge’s height only required Hagrid himself to duck.
As they emerged from beneath the bridge, Hogwarts suddenly came into full view for all the young wizards.
A truly magnificent castle. But that description didn’t quite do it justice. It was more accurate to say that the entire lake, the surrounding forest, and this whole region belonged to Hogwarts—including the wizarding village of Hogsmeade mentioned in the books.
Harry found the castle rather charming. Many fairy tales had painted such castles as magical and full of wonder.
And, of course, in the realm of adventures, castles often promised treasure. Simply delightful.
“Legend has it that a thousand years ago, the four founders of the school traveled along this very path and built Hogwarts atop the cliff,” Hermione spoke up, momentarily forgetting her tears. Her eyes shone with admiration as she gazed at the castle under the moonlight. “...I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.”
“This is probably part of some enchantment,” Harry mused, looking at his hand. “Since earlier, I’ve felt a sort of invisible magic surrounding us.”
“What do you mean?” Ron asked, bewildered.
“I mean, walking this path—the very route the founders took when they established the school—is likely a ceremonial magic. My guess is that it serves as a protective ward or curse repellent. After all, this is a school for training young wizards,” Harry explained thoughtfully. “And isn’t there supposed to be a Sorting Ceremony coming up?”
“Oh, right,” Ron nodded. “But no one will tell me how the Sorting works. Fred says it’s really painful... terrifying. Neville, any news from your side?”
“No,” Neville shook his head nervously. “Gran wouldn’t tell me anything either. She just said to be careful... Honestly, I’m probably going to be the first student ever sent home for failing the Sorting Ceremony.”
“Oh, that won’t happen, Neville,” Ron reassured him. “Don’t forget today’s achievements. You’re definitely a brave Gryffindor!”
Ron’s words seemed to calm Neville significantly.
As for Hermione... she was already quietly reviewing her knowledge points.
After disembarking the boats, the group followed Hagrid to the castle’s grand entrance, where Professor McGonagall was waiting. She walked straight up to Harry.
“You’ve done something truly impressive, Mr. Potter,” she said, her gaze sharp as a blade. “Before you, no first-year student had ever caused such a commotion before even starting school. Frankly, I should break your wand and send you home. Perhaps only then you’d learn what caution and obedience mean.”
“I’m sorry, Professor! If someone has to be expelled, let it be me! It’s all because of me that—” Hermione broke into tears before Harry could respond, her voice trembling with guilt.
The young girl firmly believed the fight had started because someone had insulted her.
“It wasn’t Hermione’s fault. They provoked us first, Professor. I don’t think we should be punished,” Harry replied calmly, unfazed by McGonagall’s words. “They called Hermione a Mudblood, hurled slurs at me, and mocked my horns.”
“If anyone should be expelled, start with all the Slytherins in that compartment. Otherwise, I’ll write to the Daily Prophet and let the wizarding community decide for themselves.”
Professor McGonagall took a deep breath.
“This isn’t your fault, Miss Granger,” she said kindly to Hermione, the quintessential model student. “Don’t worry, you won’t be expelled. What I want to address now is Mr. Potter’s behavior.”
She had already heard from Dumbledore about the Boy Who Lived insisting he was a Minotaur and had mentally prepared herself.
But some things were still hard to endure.
“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said gravely, “I must remind you that human transfiguration is incredibly dangerous. It can lead to irreparable harm—especially for someone like you, with limited knowledge and undeveloped magical reserves. You’re lucky this time.”
It was a well-intentioned warning.
McGonagall could tell that Harry’s horns weren’t the result of transfiguring his body but rather a spell to attach actual bull horns to his forehead.
Even so, this was highly advanced for a first-year student.
“I don’t know what you mean, Professor,” Harry said sincerely. “Minotaurs naturally have horns. It’s completely normal for us.”
McGonagall closed her eyes.
She felt this year would bring her nothing but trouble—huge trouble.
Difficult students, mysterious disappearances of house points, stress-induced hair loss, and an insatiable craving for tranquility.
The House Cup... oh, my House Cup...
She had already mentally assigned Harry to Gryffindor. With everything he’d done, who would believe he wouldn’t end up there?
McGonagall kept chanting to herself: Geniuses are eccentric. Geniuses are eccentric... Albus Dumbledore’s peculiar habits often seemed mad to others. And based on everything so far, the Boy Who Lived was undoubtedly a magical prodigy.
She reopened her eyes.
“Hand over your hammer and shield, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said with great effort. “Hogwarts does not permit weapons.”
“Of course, Professor,” Harry complied without hesitation.
But as McGonagall took two steps forward with the items, she swiftly turned back and shoved them into Harry’s arms.
“Absolutely no pointing weapons at your classmates again! Understood, Mr. Potter?” she said furiously. “Or I really will expel you!”
Harry agreed far too quickly.
The swiftness of his response made McGonagall uneasy. From her decades of teaching experience, students who repented so fast were often the most incorrigible, the kind who never learned their lessons.
The repeat offenders. The troublemakers!
