Harry'd thought Monday had been awful. Not Malfoy, he could handle Malfoy - but realizing just how screwed up he'd been, trying to get into Gryffindor. That was not only plain humiliatin', it was bloody dangerous to boot. He did not need anyone figuring out that he was just an impostor, pretending to be a Gryffindor. And, he knew now, that the pieces just didn't fit right. There was light shining through, between every set of puzzle pieces. Enough holes to make swiss cheese, and no mistake.
Tuesday was worse. Not only did the Entire Gryffindor First Years crowd around him (Monday he'd hidden quickly enough, but apparently they'd decided to corner him altogether, and there was no avoiding 10 determined (and very agile) first year Gryffindors). Although, to be fair, Neville only seemed to be there to listen, not to pester.
Still, Harry Potter hated being the center of attention, and with everyone peering on him - those were sixth years, and even Percy stopped by to wish him well, saying that if he had any trouble with the Twins, that he should ask Percy for help. Officious though the bloke was, he was well meaning. Even if asking for help wasn't Harry's style. Nor, he thought, was it Ron's, or really most Gryffindors.
In fact, having the Post of Prefect of Gryffindor had to be one of the most useless posts imaginable at the school. McGonagall did her own punishing, and the younger kids generally didn't ask for help - even when they needed it. Harry Potter was suddenly glad that it didn't look to be possible for him to pull off good enough grades to get prefect. Bloody useless, pompous freaks.
And that was just the Gryffindors, who seemed to expect to hoist him on their shoulders (to be fair, he was light). The other Houses seemed divided. The Hufflepuffs wanted to cheer him on (at least until he started winning, something that the Gryffindors took for granted - Harry didn't want to see what they'd do if he lost, but he wasn't sure he cared enough to get good at the sport, and at least he'd kill some hero worship if he dropped the snitch a few times. Maybe he'd do that, and then shove it down Draco Malfoy's throat. His mind reminded him that Malfoy wasn't playing (the smug git was finally not getting something he wanted), and he decided that some seventh year seeker was probably not the best person to pick a fiht with).
The Ravenclaws? Cautiously optimistic, congratulatory, but mostly just watchful, as if they didn't trust that this wasn't some Gryffindor scheme that was going to have them lose even more horribly than last year.
And, of course, sitting in the common room, Harry couldn't help but hear a thousand stories about Charlie Weasley, until he was beyond sick of them and just wanted to say, "you already have one hero, leave me out of it!"
But more troubling than all the pestering was that Harry hadn't had a chance to even score another detention. He needed to get one, he needed to plan out his revenge, and most of all, above all else, he needed to be prepared.
All this blather was interfering.
Harry'd have to do something about that, yes, he would.
[a/n: Got any suggestions? Harry's way, way less Quidditch mad than the Gryff version. And he wants to get back to his revenge, dammit! Also, reading and learning spells at a rapid clip (we're putting him at about Severus Snape's level of 'reading ahead' by the way - 'has no friends to distract him, reads double the material, understands most' - and focuses heavily on Offensive and Defensive Spellcasting. The practice of which (other than while scrubbing cauldrons) is coming shortly. There will be flinders!
Is there some lone soul out there whose soul is stirred by this chapter? Do you remember what it was like to be mobbed by someone? Even if not, leave a review!]