tradition

04

In the bustling corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, students navigated their way through a maze of stone walls and arched doorways, eager to attend their first classes of the day. The air was charged with an electric buzz of excitement and anxiety, as clusters of young witches and wizards hurried along, their footsteps echoing off the cold, hard floors. The hallways were a vibrant tapestry of color and movement, alive with the chatter of friends reconnecting after the summer break, the distant clang of metal as students jostled their way through the throng, and the occasional shout or laugh punctuating the din. Amidst this cacophony of youthful energy, Professor Minerva McGonagall made her way with her usual imposing grace and unyielding determination. Her emerald-green robes billowed around her as she moved, and her sharp, discerning eyes scanned the chaotic scene with a mixture of disapproval and concern.

McGonagall's authoritative voice cut through the clamor with ease. "History of Magic is upstairs, ladies, not down!" she bellowed, her tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. The group of girls she addressed, momentarily taken aback, quickly adjusted their course with hurried apologies. The professor's gaze shifted to a young boy who had just wandered into a nearby lavatory, only to be met with a disapproving shake of her head. "Mr. Davies! That is... the girls' lavatory," she said with an exasperated sigh, the frustration clear in her voice. It was an unrelenting task, guiding the lost first-years and corralling the more wayward older students.

As McGonagall weaved her way through the corridor, her attention was drawn to a pair of familiar figures leaning nonchalantly against a richly decorated stone wall. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley stood there, seemingly at ease amidst the turmoil of the bustling hallway. The professor's gaze narrowed as she approached them, her voice slicing through the ambient noise. "Potter," she called out, her tone commanding and clear. Harry, momentarily startled from his casual stance, pushed himself off the wall with a groan and made his way toward the professor. McGonagall's stern expression softened slightly as she beckoned him to follow her to a quieter corner of the corridor, away from the swarm of students.

"Enjoying ourselves, are we?" McGonagall inquired, her eyes scrutinizing Harry with a mix of curiosity and mild reproach. Harry looked around, taking in the chaotic scene around them before meeting her gaze. "Well, I had a free period this morning, professor," he explained, attempting to justify his leisurely demeanor. McGonagall raised an eyebrow, her tone tinged with both skepticism and a hint of disappointment. "So, I noticed. I would think that you would want to fill it with Potions or is it no longer your ambition to become an Auror?" she inquired, her words laced with the weight of expectation. Harry sighed deeply, running a hand through his perpetually messy black hair, his expression reflecting both frustration and resignation.

"It was," Harry admitted, his voice tinged with a note of uncertainty, "but I was told I had to get an 'Outstanding' in my O.W.L." His brow furrowed as he spoke, clearly perturbed by the high standards set before him. McGonagall's expression softened slightly as she considered his words. "So you did when Professor Snape was teaching Potions. However, Professor Slughorn is perfectly happy to accept N.E.W.T. students with 'Exceeds Expectations,'" she said, her tone conveying both reassurance and a hint of encouragement.

"Brilliant, um, well I'll head there straight away," Harry said with a note of determination, clearly eager to make amends. McGonagall nodded approvingly and turned her gaze toward Ron, who had been watching a group of girls with an unmistakably pleased expression. "Oh, good, good. Potter, take Weasley with you, he looks far too happy over there," she instructed, her tone carrying a hint of both amusement and practicality.

As Harry and Ron made their way toward Professor Slughorn's classroom, Ron's voice was tinged with a mix of annoyance and frustration. "But, I don't want to take Potions! Quidditch trials are coming up and I need to practice," he complained, his words punctuated by a sigh as they continued down the corridor.