The heavy oak doors of the castle swung shut behind them, cutting off the sounds from the grounds and sealing the three of them in a tense, echoing silence.
Professor McGonagall didn't say a word. She simply marched ahead, her back ramrod straight, the sharp clicks of her heels on the stone floor the only sound besides the frantic thumping of Harry's heart.
Harry, walking beside Adam, was pale and sweating. He kept shooting worried glances at McGonagall's back, his mind clearly filled with visions of packing his trunk and being sent back to the Dursleys in disgrace. He was certain they were about to be expelled.
Adam, however, was surprisingly calm. His mind was racing, but not with fear—with calculations. He had replayed the events in his head a dozen times on the short walk. The original story had been derailed, that much was clear. But as he thought about it, a new theory began to form, and with it, a surge of opportunity.
Okay, he thought, his eyes fixed on the professor's tartan robes ahead of them. So she didn't go straight to the Quidditch pitch. That's a deviation, but it's a logical one. She can't be seen rewarding such blatant rule-breaking, not in front of the whole school, especially the Slytherins.
Of course. She has to maintain her reputation as a strict disciplinarian.
He reasoned that she would take them to her office first, deliver a terrifying lecture to scare them straight, and then, once her duty as a teacher was done, her passion as the Head of Gryffindor would take over. Then she would bring up Oliver Wood and the Quidditch team.
A thrill of anticipation, cold and sharp, cut through him. This is my chance. I couldn't have planned it better if I'd tried. A perfect, high-speed catch, right in front of her window.
He had seen Harry's raw talent up close. The boy was a natural, no doubt about it. But Adam was the one who had secured the Remembrall. He had the advantage.
She saw it all, he thought, a confident smirk almost touching his lips. She saw my skill. Harry's good, but I caught it. If she's being fair, the Seeker position should be mine. The only question is... will she be fair? Or will the 'Boy Who Lived' get special treatment?
The thought sobered him slightly. That was the one variable he couldn't control. He could only hope that the evidence of what she had just witnessed—a display of skill and control that even she had to admit was impressive—would be enough.
He was so lost in his strategic thoughts that he almost bumped into Harry when Professor McGonagall came to an abrupt halt in front of her office door. She pushed it open and gestured inside with a look that promised no mercy.
Adam and Harry stepped into the office, and the door clicked shut behind them with a heavy, final sound. The room was warm and tidy, with a fire crackling merrily in the hearth, but the atmosphere was anything but cozy. It felt like a courtroom.
Professor McGonagall walked past them without a word, her long robes sweeping across the floor. She sat down behind her grand, claw-footed desk, folded her hands, and stared at them.
For a full, agonizing minute, the only sound was the ticking of the clock on her mantelpiece. Adam's carefully constructed theories began to feel very thin under the weight of that silence.
Finally, she spoke, her voice dangerously quiet. "Well? Explain yourselves." Her sharp eyes narrowed. "And where, in all of this, was Madam Hooch?"
Harry, unable to bear the tension, burst out first. "It was Malfoy, Professor! He had Neville's Remembrall, he was going to hide it in a tree! We had to get it back!"
"He's right," Adam added, his voice steady and factual. "Neville Longbottom had an accident at the start of the lesson. Madam Hooch took him to the hospital wing."
Professor McGonagall listened, her expression unreadable, her lips pressed into a thin, hard line. She let them explain the entire story—Neville's fall, Malfoy's taunts, the theft of the Remembrall, and the challenge. When they finished, the silence returned, heavier than before.
"I see," she said slowly. "So, in response to Mr. Malfoy's bullying, you both decided to take matters into your own hands. And I suppose Madam Hooch gave you permission to fly around however you pleased to settle this?"
Adam and Harry exchanged a quick, doomed glance. "No, Professor," they both mumbled, their eyes fixed on the patterned rug.
"Tell me," McGonagagall said, her voice now dangerously soft, leaning forward slightly. "What were Madam Hooch's exact words to the class before she left?"
Harry swallowed hard, his own voice barely a whisper as he recited the fateful command. "...she said... she said we'd be out of Hogwarts before we could say 'Quidditch'."
"So, a direct order from a professor, with the penalty for disobedience being immediate expulsion," McGonagall summarized, leaning back in her chair. Her face was like a stone mask. "Then I see no alternative. It is only logical that I expel you both."
The words hit them like a physical blow. The color drained from Harry's face, and he looked like he might be sick. Adam's carefully maintained composure finally shattered, his mind reeling as he saw all his plans, his entire future, evaporating in an instant. A look of genuine horror spread across his face. The clock on the mantelpiece seemed to tick louder, each second an eternity.
After a long, torturous pause, watching their horrified faces with her piercing gaze, McGonagagall continued. "However..."
They both looked up, barely daring to breathe.
"...since it was I who witnessed this flagrant breach of rules, and not Madam Hooch, then I believe I, the head of your house, am the one who is best suited to determine the punishment." She let that sink in for a moment. "You will be spared expulsion."
A massive, shuddering wave of relief washed over them both. Harry felt his legs go weak, and Adam let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding.
"But rest assured," she added, her voice turning to steel, all traces of mercy gone. "A proper detention will be given. You will be hearing from me about the details. Do not think for a second that you are getting away with this."
Overwhelming relief flooded through Adam and Harry. They had been dangling over the edge of a cliff, and now they were back on solid ground. It was dizzying.
"Thank you, Professor," Harry stammered, his voice filled with genuine, trembling gratitude.
"Yes, thank you, Professor. We won't—" Adam began, but he was already turning with Harry, his only thought being to escape the office before she changed her mind. They took a step towards the door.
"And where do you two think you are going?"
The voice was like a whip-crack, stopping them dead in their tracks. They turned back slowly. Professor McGonagall was watching them, her expression just as stern as before. The brief moment of relief evaporated.
"Did I say you were dismissed?" she asked, raising a single eyebrow. They both shook their heads mutely.
"We are not finished here," she said, her sharp gaze moving from Harry and settling with unnerving intensity on Adam.
"You both still have a great deal of explaining to do." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "Especially you, Mr. Taylor."
Harry looked from McGonagall to Adam, his expression a mixture of relief and utter confusion. What had Adam done?
Professor McGonagall leaned forward on her desk, her attention now solely on Adam. "Mr. Potter's actions, while appallingly reckless, were... straightforward. He saw a friend being bullied and he acted. Foolishly, but with clear intent."
Her piercing gaze seemed to look right through Adam.
"You, however, are a different matter entirely. Tell me, Mr. Taylor," she said, her voice precise and analytical. "Why did you feign incompetence at the start of the lesson? I was watching then. You looked as though you could barely stay on your broom. Yet minutes later, you performed a vertical dive and a last-second swerve with a level of control I have not seen in a student in a great many years."
She let the statement hang in the air, the ticking of the clock the only sound.
"So, I ask you again," she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper that was more intimidating than any shout. "Why?"
Adam's mind raced, searching for a plausible explanation, a way out of the corner she was backing him into. He settled on feigned ignorance, hoping his acting skills were up to the task.
"Professor, I... I don't know what you mean," he said, forcing a look of genuine confusion onto his face. "I've never flown before today. I just saw Malfoy take Neville's Remembrall and I... I panicked. Harry went after him, and I just followed to try and help."
Harry, seeing what he believed was his friend's honest confusion, quickly nodded in support. "It's true, Professor," he said earnestly. "He was just backing me up. We both were."
Professor McGonagall's expression didn't soften in the slightest. If anything, her gaze grew colder, more disappointed. She gave a small, mirthless shake of her head.
"Do not take me for a fool, Mr. Taylor," she said, her voice cutting through their defense. "I wasn't always a professor here. I played Chaser for Gryffindor for years. I know what a natural flyer looks like, and I know what a beginner looks like. You, Mr. Taylor, are no beginner."
She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Adam, dissecting his every move with her memory. "You knew precisely how to handle that broom, yet you let the situation unfold. You allowed Mr. Malfoy to bait Mr. Potter into a dangerous chase."
Her eyes narrowed further. "I even noticed that you could have caught that Remembrall long before you reached my window. You were matching Mr. Potter's speed, not struggling to keep up with it."
She paused, letting her damning observations sink in. Harry was now looking at Adam with a new, dawning confusion.
"So," Professor McGonagall continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "I will ask you different questions. Were you watching Mr. Potter, assessing his skills? Or did you just wish to act as if you were helping for some other reason known only to you?"
Adam stood stunned for a long moment, pinned in place by Professor McGonagall's piercing gaze. His mind, which was usually two steps ahead, was a complete blank. She had seen right through him. The truth was on the tip of his tongue, but then a second, more calculated thought took over. She saw what I did, but she can't prove I've ever flown before. She can't prove what I was thinking. Deny everything.
He forced a look of wounded sincerity onto his face, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. "Professor, I really don't know what you mean. I have not flown on a broom ever before in my life. I'm from a Muggle family. Before my letter came, I didn't even know flying on a broom was a real thing."
He took a breath, letting his voice fill with the remembered adrenaline of the chase. "I was just... very focused on helping Harry. I only thought about catching up to him. Then, when I got a little hang of it up there, I felt... I felt like I could maybe catch the Remembrall. So I just focused on that and nothing else, and... and I caught it at the last moment."
Harry listened to Adam's earnest explanation and nodded vigorously. It made sense to him. In moments of high pressure, people could do amazing things, even he had flown so well even though it was his first flight as well… Still, a small seed of curiosity remained in his mind. Professor McGonagall's words echoed in his thoughts.
Adam could perform so many spells so effortlessly. He could brew a potion so perfectly that even Snape couldn't find a single fault with it. And now, he could fly like that on his very first try? It was a pattern of incredible, almost unbelievable, talent.
Professor McGonagall heard Adam's explanation, her expression unreadable. His core alibi—that he was from a Muggle family—was an undeniable fact. How could she not know that? She, herself, had visited his home to enroll him. She had seen the perfectly ordinary, non-magical house with her own eyes. His parents, very ordinary, kind muggles.
She leaned back in her chair, her long fingers steepling under her chin as she stared at Adam. The boy didn't flinch. He just looked back at her, his expression that of a student earnestly telling the truth.
The story was improbable, a one-in-a-million display of raw, instinctual talent. But was it impossible? In a world of magic, few things were. And she had no proof to the contrary.
After a long, heavy silence, she finally spoke, her voice clipped. "A... remarkable first flight, Mr. Taylor. If all this is true, then I must admit that you are a rare talent."
The way she said "remarkable" "rare" was laced with deep suspicion, making it clear she didn't believe him completely, even if she couldn't disprove his story.
"You are both dismissed," she said, her tone final. "Go back to your classes. As your Head of House, I will determine your punishment. You will be notified of the details of your detention in due course..."