Suspicious Newcomer

Chapter 4

Hey guys, it's the author Pigolian. It's been kind of difficult for me to continue this story. This is my first fanfiction I've ever written, and I've always had trouble keeping with stories. Please be patient and bare with me. 

The Slug Club had grown exponentially since the first meeting on the Hogwarts Express. Harry managed to squeeze himself into a seat at the table next to Hermione while Slughorn was looking the other way. Cleaning up the common room took much more effort and time than he had liked, even with the help of the rest of the partygoers. As it was, there were a few spills that remained, cleverly hidden with rearranged furniture.

"Harry! There you are," Slughorn exclaimed, shifting closer to where Harry was sitting. "I thought you had spurned my invitation. Help yourself to a pheasant, m'boy."

Harry cautiously took a small bite of a cold chicken breast, but immediately fought the urge to vomit. Shakily, he put the rest of it on his plate and looked around the table, trying to calm his stomach.

"I watched the Quidditch match yesterday," commented Slughorn. "That was a sad loss for Gryffindor-not that I'm complaining of course."

"Speaking of which, Harry, I'd like to talk to you about that." Harry looked over to see McLaggen taking the seat to his left. "I realize that the Weasley boy scored higher at the tryouts, but honestly, after that game, you can't expect to keep him on the team with ev-"

"Later!" Harry shout/whispered. Next to him, Hermione was pink and shaking. He was surprised to see her this way. Other than confounding McLaggen to miss his final goal at the Quidditch tryouts, he had never seen her so passionate about Quidditch. Or... maybe it wasn't Quidditch she was passionate about.

"Still!" Slughorn interjected. "You were able to catch the Snitch in the end, and that's what matters, Harry..."

Harry stared at the floor, trying to keep his face from burning. He had never been talked down to like this before, especially not in Quidditch. Ever since he first rode on a broom, he was considered a prodigy. And now... Slughorn seemed to think he had made a mistake in seeing something different in Harry.

Breathe.

He dared to look up and smiled at Yagami, sitting about seven seats to his left. "Well, don't worry." he said coldly. "We'll be more prepared next time."

Yagami grinned innocently. "I wouldn't expect anything less!"

Harry glowered at his pheasant, trying to keep calm as the conversation turned from Quidditch.

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"Defense against the Dark Arts today," Ron said, loading his plate with bacon. Harry groaned. Seated in the Great Hall, he was free to look up at the staff table. Snape's greasy, hook nosed face glared at the tables, deep in thought. Harry's stomach clenched with anger. Just having to take classes with him was almost enough for Harry to give up his dream of being an auror. Almost.

"Don't suppose you have any of those fainting fancies from Fred and George's place, d'you?" Ron asked, looking at Harry.

Harry shrugged. He figured, with distaste, that Snape would eagerly hand out detention if a student missed his class unless they were half dead. He was about to point this out, but Ron's attention was elsewhere. Lavender Brown had just slid into the seat next to him. Staring down at his plate, he tried to distract himself from the disgusting scene in front of him with a bit of cold egg. It had been a few weeks since Ron and Lavender had started dating, and he and Hermione's relationship had never been worse. This was unfortunate, as Harry was no longer allowed to copy off of Hermione's homework, which meant his grades in every class except potions were badly slipping. If Ron could just try to make it right with Hermione, or even be less well, obvious about his relationship with Lavender, perhaps their friendship could be partially mended.

Risking another glance at Ron, he saw him engaging in what looked like a tooth-cleaning procedure that involved his tongue. Huffing with annoyance and disgust, Harry grabbed his bag and headed off to Defense alone.