A/N: Can everyone actually tell who I'm talking about in each drabble?
"This Slug Club thing is so pointless. I don't even know why I'm here," grumbled Blaise Zabini, talking to the only person worth his time, Melinda Bobbin a seventh year Ravenclaw.
If these were the members of The Slug Club, he wasn't so sure he wanted to be in it. There was the boy who lived, the youngest Weasley, a dumb looking Gryffindork, that idiot Gryffindor Longbottom and a few others. He was the only Slytherin, and he was surrounded by Gryffindors.
The only reason he was here was because of his mother, he was sure of that. Sure he was clever, but there was nothing special about that, his intelligence wasn't Hermione Granger style. She had advised him about it as soon as she found out Slughorn would be teaching again, telling him that it was a blessing to be in it, as it had gotten her great connections after Hogwarts.
He didn't fit in here though. He didn't fit in anywhere. Not Slytherin, with the mini death eaters, where he went along with the whole blood purity thing that he didn't really believe in, because, well, he was a Slytherin, he had to. He doubted he would have fitted in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, he had no bravery, and tended to put himself before others at time, so he wasn't very loyal. He had wanted Ravenclaw, but his mother expected him to be in Slytherin, like her, so he supposed it was just as well, but, he could never stop himself thinking what it would be like to ascend the stairs to the Ravenclaw tower, instead of going down to the dark dungeons.
