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The Fat Lady was snoozing and not pleased to be woken, but swung forward grumpily to allow them to clamber into the mercifully peaceful and empty common room. It did not seem that people knew about Ron yet; Harry was very relieved: He had been interrogated enough that day. Hermione bade him good night and set off for the girls' dormitory. Harry, however, remained behind, taking a seat beside the fire and looking down into the dying embers.
So Dumbledore had argued with Snape. In spite of all he had told Harry, in spite of his insistence that he trusted Snape completely, he had lost his temper with him. . . . He did not think that Snape had tried hard enough to investigate the Slytherins ... or, perhaps, to investigate a single Slytherin: Malfoy.
Was it because Dumbledore did not want Harry to do anything foolish, to take matters into his own hands, that he had pretended there was nothing in Harry's suspicions. That seemed likely. It , might even be that Dumbledore did not want anything to distract Harry from their lessons, or from procuring that memory from Slughorn. Perhaps Dumbledore did not think it right to confide suspicions about his staff to sixteen-year-olds. ...
"There you are, Potter!" Harry jumped to his feet in shock, his wand at the ready. He had been quite convinced that the common room was empty; he had not been at all prepared for a hulking figure to rise suddenly out of a distant chair. A closer look showed him that it was Cormac McLaggen.
"I've been waiting for you to come back," said McLaggen, disregarding Harry’s drawn wand. "Must’ve fallen asleep. Look, I saw them taking Weasley up to the hospital wing earlier. Didn't look like he'll be fit for next week's match." It took Harry a few moments to realize what McLaggen was talking about.
"Oh . . . right. . . Quidditch," he said, putting his wand back into the belt of his jeans and running a hand wearily through his hair. "Yeah ... he might not make it." "Well, then, I'll be playing Keeper, won't I." said McLaggen.
"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah, I suppose so. ..." He could not think of an argument against it; after all, McLaggen had certainly performed second-best in the trials.
"Excellent," said McLaggen in a satisfied voice. "So when's practice." "What. Oh . . . there's one tomorrow evening." "Good. Listen, Potter, we should have a talk beforehand. I've got some ideas on strategy you might find useful."
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