mirrorball

chapter four

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When they reached compartment C, they saw at once that they were not Slughorn's only invitees, although judging by the enthusiasm of Slughorn's welcome, Harry was the most warmly anticipated. 

"Harry, m'boy!" said Slughorn, jumping up at the sight of the group so that his great velvet-covered belly seemed to fill all the remaining space in the compartment. His shiny bald head and great silvery mustache gleamed just as brightly in the sunlight as the golden buttons on his waistcoat. "Good to see you, good to see you! And you must be Mr. Longbottom!" 

Neville nodded, looking scared. At a gesture from Slughorn, they sat down opposite each other in the only three empty seats, which were nearest the door. Clara glanced around at their fellow guests. She recognized a Slytherin from their year, a tall black boy with high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes; there were also two seventh-year boys Clara did not know and, squashed in the corner beside Slughorn and looking as though she was not entirely sure how she had got there, Ginny.

"And I presume you are Clara Dupont?"

Clara snapped back to look at the Professor. His lips were curled into a smile, which she politely returned. "Yes, sir. Thank you so much for the generous invitation, it's wonderful to be here."

"Of course, of course! Now, do you know everyone?" Slughorn asked. "Blaise Zabini is in your year, of course —" Zabini did not make any sign of recognition or greeting, nor did Harry or Neville: Gryffindor and Slytherin students loathed each other on principle. Clara waved and in return received a small nod. 

"This is Cormac McLaggen, perhaps you've come across each other —? No?" McLaggen, a large, wiry-haired youth, raised a hand, and Harry and Neville nodded back at him. "—and this is Marcus Belby, I don't know whether —?" Belby, who was thin and nervous-looking, gave a strained smile. "— and this charming young lady tells me she knows you!" Slughorn finished. 

Ginny grimaced at Harry and Neville from behind Slughorn's back. She winked at Clara before going back into her conversation with Marcus. 

"Well now, this is most pleasant," said Slughorn cozily. "A chance to get to know you all a little better. Here, take a napkin. I've packed my own lunch; the trolley, as I remember it, is heavy on licorice wands, and a poor old man's digestive system isn't quite up to such things... Pheasant, Belby?" Belby accepted what looked like half a cold pheasant. "I was just telling young Marcus here that I had the pleasure of teaching his Uncle Damocles," Slughorn told the group, now passing around a basket of rolls. "Outstanding wizard, outstanding, and his Order of Merlin most well-deserved. Do you see much of your uncle, Marcus?" 

Unfortunately, Belby had just taken a large mouthful of pheasant; in his haste to answer Slughorn he swallowed too fast, turned purple, and began to choke.

"Anapneo," said Slughorn calmly, pointing his wand at Belby, whose airway seemed to clear at once. 

"Not...not much of him, no," gasped Belby, his eyes streaming. 

"Well, of course, I daresay he's busy," said Slughorn, looking questioningly at Belby. "I doubt he invented the Wolfsbane Potion without considerable hard work!" 

"I suppose..." said Belby, who seemed afraid to take another bite of pheasant until he was sure that Slughorn had finished with him. "Er...he and my dad don't get on very well, you see, so I don't really know much about..." 

His voice tailed away as Slughorn gave him a cold smile and turned to McLaggen instead. "Now, you, Cormac," said Slughorn, "I happen to know you see a lot of your Uncle Tiberius, because he has a rather splendid picture of the two of you hunting nogtails in, I think, Norfolk?"