I have reached the end of term and thought I might celebrate a bit.

Disclaimer: If I thought I owned Harry potter, I'd be put in a special kind of hospital.

Minerva McGonagall was not amused. She had come to the entry hall to meet the new crop of first years to prepare them for the sorting and found Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper, holding two squirming boys, one in each of his gigantic hands. One had broken glasses and a bloody nose; the other had torn robes, a split lip, and a nasty bruise forming on his cheek.

"Found 'em like this on the train, Professor. Thought I'd keep an eye on 'em 'til you got here." Hagrid chuckled lightly. "Good thing, too, or Black here would have broken more than little Potter's nose."

So the little animals had names after all. Didn't they always. Hagrid had a firm grip of them. They were spread so far apart across his huge body they couldn't reach one another to continue their brawl, but that didn't stop them trying.

The one with the broken glasses was twisting as hard as he could to evade Hagrid's iron grasp. The aristocratic-looking one with the torn robes spat at him and taunted him with a rather colorful phrase Minerva quite believed in her day first years had not known.

It looked like it was time for the year's first discipline already.

She sighed.

"That's enough out of both of you," she called sharply. Immediately both boys dropped their aggression and assumed looks of limp terror, which was how she liked her first year boys. Fearful and contrite. "Thank you, Hagrid, I'll take it from here."

Hagrid offered her a winking smile and dropped them suddenly to the floor.

She turned to the recalcitrant first years. "I'll have you know that fighting is strictly against the rules here at Hogwarts School. What was this about?"

"Nothing," said the surly one to her right. "He's just a git, is all. Nothing to be done about it. Tried to knock some sense into his tiny brain."

The other one geared up to shoot his response—no doubt in the form of some witty comeback such as "oh yeah?"—but Minerva silenced him with a harsh teacher look.

"I can see I'll not get the full story out of you. Your names, boys?" She prompted, in her long-perfected tone of I-will-not-be-having-any-of-your-nonsense. Neither answered. "Well? I'm waiting."

The one to her left mumbled.

"So I can hear you, please."

He raised his angry hazel eyes to her. "James Potter," he muttered.

The other boy just stared at her hatefully, but she didn't need his name. She recognized his glittering, dark eyes and the defiant set to his chin.

"And you must be the latest Blackling. Sirius, is it?" She offered him a bitter smile. "Well, Sirius Black and James Potter, I hope you're satisfied. Ten points from each of your Houses for the fight you two got into, and an extra five apiece for being difficult with me."

The boys scowled.

"Oh, don't act wronged now. You brought it on yourselves. You've already cost your Houses fifteen points each before you're even sorted into them! Shall I make it twenty? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, the both of you," she snapped. "Getting into trouble before term has even begun. Quite impressive, I must say. I truly hope neither of you are in my House. I'd have no idea what to do with you."

She looked them up and down with a disgusted expression on her face. They were the same as every other set of too-boisterous boys to come to the school since she'd begun teaching. Hopeless.
"You'd best get used to me, though, because you'll both be serving detentions with me every Tuesday and Wednesday for the next four weeks." They groaned. "Welcome to Hogwarts, gentlemen. Now, get yourselves tidied up before the Sorting. You look a right mess."

She looked out over the rest of the crowd and spied a pale, cowering boy with a book tucked under his arm and a smudge of chocolate on his face, a nervous-looking chubby blond boy, a greasy-haired smirker, and a redhead with an impetuous look of serves-them-right. "As for the rest of you, I hope you've learned from their example. I'll be back for the lot of you once the Great Hall is ready for your Sorting."

And with that, she pivoted and walked from the hall. She felt a headache coming on.

Half an hour later, Potter and Black were both Gryffindors, scowling next to one another at her House's table, and Lily Evans was crying onto the awkward boy's shoulder at being separated from her hook-nosed companion.

Minerva rubbed her temples.

It was going to be a long seven years.