A/N: I know this isn't the best story, but it's my first one submitted to fanfiction, and I would appreciate constructive critizism. Please note that my program that I'm using doesn't have spellcheck, so I have to do it manually, and I will miss some things, but I'll do my best. Review?
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That lucky duck J.K. Rowling does. Some characters may pop up later in the story, and they shall be mine. -cackles-
Harry sat up with a jolt and straightened his glasses. He checked his watch; it was quarter till ten. He must've fallen asleep while in detention with McGonagall. She'd made him stay and wipe clean all of her desks after he'd fallen asleep in class that day, which had a rather interesting story to it. . . .
"POTTER!" she'd roared. He sat up straight, suddenly wide awake. "LOOK WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MISS PATIL'S SUBJECT!" Harry looked over at Parvati, who was looking down at a bloody mass on her desk in horror.
"Professor, what happened to her mouse?" he said nervously, immediately sickened by what had fallen into his line of his vision.
Man, he'd never seen her that angry. "YOUR MOUSE KILLED HER MOUSE, POTTER! WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?"
"Er--I'm sorry, Professor, I haven't been getting much sleep, and I--" he started, but she cut across him.
"Well, you can just come back here at nine o'clock tonight and clean up this charming mass of--of--filth," she spat out in a dangerously quiet voice. "And I mean it, Potter, get some sleep in your own bed, in Gryffindor Tower, so that you do not treat my classroom like a saliva pit." He looked down embarassedly and saw a small puddle of drool that, no doubt, he had made.
"Scourgify," he muttered quickly, and the mess vanished.
So here he was, trying to scrub mouse carcass and blood off of Minerva McGonagall's surgically clean desks. She would not let him use any magic; he must work like a Muggle tonight. If she had wanted him to use a spell, she had said, she would have done it herself. "Rubbish," Harry muttered to himself. "Absolute rubbish."
"It's rubbish, is it Potter, that I would not like mice fighting in my class?" Professor McGonagall herself had just swept through the doorway and was looking rigid and disapproving. "It is rubbish that I would not like animals dying in my classroom?"
"No, Professor, I didn't mean--"
"Really? You were not talking about the task I have bestowed upon you, which, by the way, is only half done?"
"Then what is this 'absolute rubbish' that you speak of?" she said in a quiet but dangerous voice.
"I'd rather not talk about it," Harry said, eyes down.
"Is it the reason you have not been getting sleep?" she asked, her tone softened, even somewhat gentle. Harry thought he saw a flicker of motherly understanding in her eyes, but he could not be sure.
"Erm--no," he lied. She seemed buy this, or maybe she just didn't want to press the subject. Either way, he was glad to finally escape to Gryffindor Tower at ten thirty.
Jen: So there you have it, folks. Chapter one. It's a bit short, and I didn't notice that my muses are almost longer than the chapter itself.
Harry: How come I had to drool?
Jen: Because I'm the writer here, and I say you have to drool.
Harry: Just because you're the writer doesn't mean you own me.
Jen: o.O At least I made you clean it up!
Harry: And why am I being so fidgety in front of McGonagall?
Jen: Once again, I am the writer.
Harry: But you don't own me!
Jen: While you're in my stories, you'll do what I write, young man.
Hermione & Ron: And how come we weren't in this chapter?
Jen: You'll be in the next one! I promise.
Harry: Oh, sure, be nice to them. . . .
Hermione & Ron: Yeah, 'cause we're more special that you.
Jen: -sigh- Just review, people. I'd love to know how I can improve. I'm not very satisfied with this chapter.
Harry: Oh, so you use me and now you don't like my work, I get it.
Jen: -slaps Harry- Stop boring the readers.