𝗗𝗢𝗡'𝗧 𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗞¹⁻⁷ [HARRY POTTER X Y/N]

𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗇𝗂𝗇𝖾: 𝗆𝗎𝖽𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌

"o', an' he regretted speakin' i'll of y/n"

𝙈𝙪𝙙𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙈𝙪𝙧𝙢𝙪𝙧𝙨 | 𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖤
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

HARRY SPENT A LOT OF time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorized Harry's schedule.

He didn't understand how Y/n had the patience to talk to him. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "All right, Harry?" six or seven times a day and hear, "Hello, Colin," back, however exasperated Harry sounded when he said it. Y/n, on the other hand, had full-on conversations with him as they walked down the hallway to their next class.

Hedwig was still angry with Harry about the disastrous car journey and Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck.

So with one thing and another, Harry was quite glad to reach the weekend. He, Y/n, Ron, and Hermione were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning.

Harry, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier than he would have liked by Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"Whassamatter?" said Harry groggily.

"Quidditch practice!" said Wood. "Come on! Y/n's been up for an hour."

Harry squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that he was awake, he couldn't understand how he could have slept through the racket the birds were making.

"Oliver," Harry croaked. "It's the crack of dawn."

"Exactly," said Wood. He was a tall and burly sixth year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm. "It's part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let's go," said Wood heartily. "None of the other teams have started training yet; we're going to be first off the mark this year —"

Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch robes.

"Good man," said Wood. "Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes."

When he'd found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth, Harry scribbled a note to Ron explaining where he'd gone and went down the spiral staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder.