Harry Potter Oneshots

Preferential Treatment

McGonagall furrowed her brow. The sound of soft cursing and the tumbling of supplies falling to the stone floor hit her well trained ear. With a dissatisfied snap, she dropped the paper she was grading onto her desk and pushed back her chair, striding around her desk and throwing open the door within seconds. She looked around curiously, in search of the student who was out in the halls in the middle of lesson time, disrupting her grading period, and was not surprised in the slightest to see a scrawny teen with a mess of untidy black hair sprint down the corridor.

"Potter!" she called out, crossing her arms.

Harry skidded to a stop and reached out for the corner of the wall to stop himself from falling over. With a somewhat cheeky grin, he pushed his glasses back up his nose and straightened himself into a more dignified position at the end of the hall.

"Professor?" he queried with the air of utmost respect.

"Come here," she demanded. He acquiesced and walked forward, one hand hitching his school bag further up his shoulder. His head was cocked to the side out of curiosity, she could see, not of fear of being reprimanded. Oh, how times change. He really was James' son, she thought to herself.

"What is it, Professor? I'm... er... already late to class," Harry asked, interrupting her reverie.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "I see that. And what is it you were doing to make you so late that you had to sprint down the corridor like a hooligan?"

A faint blush touched Harry's cheeks, but his smile widened. "Just lost track of time, Professor. Sorry."

"I see," McGonagall replied, her suspicions rising for there was no sight of Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley. But then it all became clear to her that, if rumors were true, he might have been losing track of time with another certain Weasley.

A tense silence stretched between them as McGonagall contemplated her options. The strict disciplinarian in her was itching to do something, but the Gryffindor Head of House part of her screamed to not take away points for a simple matter such as tardiness. But more than either of those was the woman in her who had cared for Harry since he was born and for his parents before that and it pained her more than she could say to bear witness to the tense and depressed worry that had often taken over his expression in passing. She had missed that cheeky smile of his, his passion, and his wonder for all things magic in her lessons or even just glancing at him in the halls or at meals. Every time she saw him lately, it seemed that a frown or at least a serious visage was etched into his features. Too much responsibility and too much stress at such a young age, she mused. Of course, she had always refused to mete out any preferential treatment, insistent on the fact that it would only be detrimental to his skills, reputation, and confidence, but all the same--

"Professor? May I go? Snape will already be mad that I'm... " he glanced down at his watch and shrugged. "Actually, at this point, I doubt it will really make a difference."

McGonagall repressed a small grin and turned sharply on her heel. "Follow me, Potter." She marched into her office and heard Harry's steps behind her. Quickly, she found a spare sheet of parchment and scribbled a short note on it.

Severus -- Mr. Potter is tardy solely because of my own doing. We were discussing his future class options and I completely lost track of time. My sincerest apologies for any disruption this may cause.

"Give this to Professor Snape, please," she instructed, handing it across the desk. Harry took it cautiously, and McGonagall saw his eyes widen as he took in its words.

"Let's assume this hypothetical career meeting went better than the last with Dolores," she commented.

Harry grinned. "I can't see how it could go worse."

Now McGonagall did let a small smile crack through her stern facade.

"Off you go. You're already late enough," she said with a shooing motion out the door.

"Thank you, Professor," he said, waving the parchment in the air.

"And not a word about it, Potter!"

"No, of course not," he assured, his lopsided grin still shining as he dashed out the door.

McGonagall sunk back into her seat, shaking her head ruefully. That boy got more and more like his parents every day it seemed. Smitten with a fiery, intelligent redhead like James with all the compassion and cheekiness of Lily. But Chosen One or not, he was still just a sixteen-year-old with an open disregard for rules and too much knowledge of the castle's secrets than strictly required. No special treatment could occur.

But still, a small thought crept into the back of her mind, replacing any self-inflicted rules.

Just like James.

I know my updates have been scarce lately to say the least, but I am off in college now so am writing when I get the chance! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this short but sweet story. I could always use ideas or prompts  so if you have any, please let me know!