HP: I got Transmigrated into the World of Magic [Chapter 47: Potter Stinks!] (Patreon)

"Hello, William, Hermione, Harry."

I look up from my stretching to find Luna approaching Neville, both of them wearing what appears to be workout clothing just like we are.

Well, like Hermione is, anyway. Harry has some of Dudley's stained and baggy clothing on, and I've also borrowed a pair of old Dudders' sweatpants.

"Hey guys," Neville says with a nervous grin.

"Hey Luna, Neville," I say with a happy smile, "what's up?" It's quite unusual to see Luna out like this.

Luna raises an eyebrow, then looks up. "The Sun, the sky, the clouds, you know, the usual. I'm sure the heliopaths are up there as well."

"Sorry," I say quickly, cutting off Hermione's inevitable comment on imaginary creatures. "I meant to ask what you guys were doing out here."

"We saw you running the past two days," Neville said, shifting his weight. "We thought we might join you, i-if that's okay."

So Neville and Luna have been meeting in the mornings. Interesting. I glance at Harry with a raised eyebrow and slight grin. "We're helping Harry train for the Tournament."

"Oh...well in that case..." Neville says.

Harry grins too. "Nonsense, we'd be happy to have you."

"Let's start over with the stretching," Hermione suggests. "I'm still sore anyway."

"My gran was very angry about your name coming out of the Goblet, Harry," Neville says while we stretch. "She said Dumbledore and Crouch would both be getting a Howler." He shudders at the thought.

"She doesn't think I entered myself?" Harry asks, surprised.

"No, and we don't either," Neville replies, gesturing toward Luna. Then he glances at me nervously. "Of course, your little wandless display that night helped."

I freeze, and so does Harry and Hermione. Luna continues to bounce happily in her stretching, ignoring Hermione's previous protests against poor stretching practices.

"I don't know what you mean," I say, voice entirely devoid of discomfort.

"It's okay, William, everybody else had their attention focused on Harry, after all. They talked about it, after you left and when you and Harry weren't around. Nobody ever mentioned the fact that you weren't touching a wand."

"Ah, bit of a fluke, I suppose," I say.

"I suppose," Neville says, in a voice that makes it clear that he, in fact, doesn't.

~~~~~~

Harry does quite an admirable job ignoring the jeers over the next couple of weeks. Not to toot my own horn but I have to admit to feeling like I can take credit for some of that.

Perhaps most of the credit goes to the fact that he has a lot more important things to think about.

Having much of the school's scorn directed at you probably doesn't feel so damaging when you're destined to battle the most dangerous Dark Lord in history to the death.

But then, when it comes to Draco Malfoy, schoolyard scorn hits Harry a little harder than it otherwise should. Outside the Potions dungeon classroom awaits a small contingent of Gryffindors being held up by what must be the entire group of Fourth Year Slytherins, wearing large badges whose glowing red words shine brightly in the dimly lit corridor.

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"Like them, Potter?" Malfoy says loudly as Harry, Hermione, and I come near. "And this isn't all they do—look!"

POTTER STINKS!

"Oh very funny," Hermione says sarcastically, "really witty." She stares daggers at Pansy Parkinson and her gaggle of girls, several of whom were laughing harder than Draco.

One particularly attractive raven-haired girl standing behind Pansy merely watches Harry, then Hermione when she speaks, then turns her ice-blue eyes on me.

I give her a small smile, after which she knits her brows together and then looks back to Malfoy.

"Want one, Granger?" says Malfoy, holding one out to her. "I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood slimming it up."

I vaguely remember some spells flying at this point, and I feel more than see Harry stiffen with rage. I think I'd best step in again, so I give Hermione a nudge hard enough to knock into Harry.

"You might want to check your hand for slime one more time," I say, slipping my right hand into my pocket to pretend like I'm using my wand and waving my left hand in his direction and pushing out a small trickle of magic.

The badge melts into a greenish brown sludge, causing Draco to jump back in alarm with a yelp. I vanish the sludge shortly after the reaction. He turns his best death glare to me.

"How dare you! Just wait until my father hears about this, Lerner! Your bloodline won't save you this time!" He swings the glare back to Harry.

"You're lucky you have a pureblood bodyguard to—"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Mr. Malfoy," I say nonchalantly. "And besides, I lied. My parents are Muggles." I smile as I scan the Slytherin cloud for a pair of piercing blue eyes.

"Oops. Between the headmaster, your Head of House, and the three of us standing over here, you might want to rethink the whole blood purity thing." I gather a larger trickle of magic in my hand while I talk, waiting for the reply. I am not disappointed.

Malfoy whips out his wand. "Densaugeo!"

A large, shimmering blue shield leaps into existence between the two groups, absorbing the spell with minimal weakening.

"That wasn't very civilized," I say.

"And what is all this about?" says a soft, deadly voice.

"They attacked me, sir!" Draco says in his petulant, accusatory tone. "And he said you're a—"

"My apologies, Professor," I say, cutting Draco off and allowing my shield to dissipate slowly. Snape is staring at Harry, so I figure I might as well continue redirecting Slytherin ire my way.

"That was my shield, sir. Mr. Malfoy didn't appreciate me encouraging my classmates to think more critically about their positions on blood purity."

I almost say that blood purity doesn't matter where I come from, but it occurs to me that Snape might actually know something about the wizarding world in the United States that I don't.