𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨-𝙧.𝙖.𝙗

37-wishes

MCGONAGALL STARES. JO SWALLOWS.

"I am beginning to doubt," McGonagall starts, glare severe and lips tight, "that you fully understand exactly what it is that a Healer does, Potter."

Jo wiggles in her seat. It's been a fair few hours since she left Crouch spitting up blood on the corridor floor and she's honestly surprised that it took McGonagall this long to track her down. She bites down on her bottom lip. She has spent far too much time in this office over the past seven years. "They, erm, they heal people, Professor."

The sigh that falls from McGonagall comes from deep within her and it's so efficient in making Jo feel like an absolute git. "Oh, good. I was beginning to worry from your behavior that you believed you'd have a future career in causing the injuries."

"Well, Crouch, he deserved it," Jo insists, a sudden conviction in her voice, and it's less that she believes this excuse will work on McGonagall and more that she is firm and passionate in this belief. "He's been a horrible twat all year, really."

McGonagall intensifies her glare, and Jo's palms go a bit sweaty as she realizes her mistake. "Oh, erm, sorry. I mean he's been, not, not nice. Is what I meant to say."

"I'm sure you did," McGonagall replies, unimpressed. She sighs once more, pushing her glasses up on the slope of her nose. "One month," she tells her, mouth in a tight line and unblinking.

Jo tilts her head. One month is what she got last time from McGonagall. Normally she likes to double her detention times. "Just one month?"

"Is that insufficient? Would you like me to add another one?"

"No," Jo says, now standing up from her chair. "One month is good. Yeah, it's good, thank you. Do you, erm, do you need anything else, Professor?"

"As much as I do enjoy your company Potter, no. Run along now."

Hestia is there to greet Jo as she steps out of McGonagall's office. She grins at the sight of Jo, hooking her arm around her elbow at once. "Emmeline said you absolutely mauled Crouch," she says, leading Jo away from the office and down the corridor.

A smirk works its way onto her lips. Jo cannot resist the feeling of pride she gets. She did absolutely maul Crouch, and he did absolutely deserve it. And normally Jo doesn't give two shites about what anyone has to say about her, but she does feel a big smug at the idea that people whispering about how Crouch's nose cracked and broke and bled under the force of her fist. "Aye, suppose I did."

Hestia playfully bumps her hip against Jo's. "Might've been just a bit mad of you, but I've got to say I love seeing arseholes like Crouch getting what's theirs." She sighs wistfully, a smirk that matches Jo's on her lips now. "How much trouble did you get in?"

"Only a month's," Jo shrugs. "Guess McGonagall wanted to clobber him as badly as I did."

Hestia lets out a bark of laughter. "Who doesn't?"

The two walk, arm and arm, down the corridor, and giggle about the way Crouch tripped over his feet and landed right on his face, about the grunt that left his lungs when Jo shoved her foot in his back. And perhaps it is a little bit crude, a bit violent, but it's nice to feel like she's got one up on Crouch. It's nice to feel like he got what he deserved. Or at least, a fraction of it.

A low rumble comes from Jo's stomach. "Ugh," she groans, "I'm starved. You haven't had dinner yet, right?"

"Nope."

"Good. Let's go then. Merlin, I'd kill for some chicken right now," she mumbles to herself, and tries to pull Hestia back towards the Great Hall, but her feet remain planted. "Jones, c'mon. I'm dying over her."