Chosen Love (Harry Potter x fem! reader)

ᴀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʜᴀʀʀʏ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ ✩*

Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year. For another, he wanted to do his homework but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And he also happened to be a wizard.

It was nearly midnight, and he was lying on his stomach in bed, the blankets were drawn right over his head like a tent, a flashlight in one hand and a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped open against the pillow. Harry moved the tip of his eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning as he looked for something that would help him write his essay, "Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless — discuss."

The quill paused at the top of a likely looking paragraph. Harry pushed his round glasses up the bridge of his nose, moved his flashlight closer to the book, and read:

"𝘕𝘰𝘯-𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 (𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘔𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘴) 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵. 𝘖𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘦-𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦, 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘐𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘥, 𝘞𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘺-𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴."

Harry put his quill between his teeth and reached underneath his pillow for his ink bottle and a roll of parchment. Slowly and very carefully he unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, and began to write, pausing now and then to listen, because if any of the Dursleys heard the scratching of his quill on their way to the bathroom, he'd probably find himself locked in the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of the summer.

The Dursley family of number four, Privet Drive, was the reason that Harry never enjoyed his summer holidays. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their son, Dudley, were Harry's only living relatives. They were Muggles, and they had a very medieval attitude toward magic. Harry's dead parents, who had been a witch and wizard themselves, were never mentioned under the Dursleys' roof. For years, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had hoped that if they kept Harry as downtrodden as possible, they would be able to squash the magic out of him. To their fury, they had been unsuccessful. These days they lived in terror of anyone finding out that Harry had spent most of the last two years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The most they could do, however, was to lock away Harry's spellbooks, wand, cauldron, and broomstick at the start of the summer break, and forbid him to talk to the neighbors.

This separation from his spellbooks had been a real problem for Harry because his teachers at Hogwarts had given him a lot of holiday work. One of the essays, a particularly nasty one about shrinking potions, was for Harry's least favorite teacher, Professor Snape, who would be delighted to have an excuse to give Harry detention for a month. Harry had therefore seized his chance in the first week of the holidays. While Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had gone out into the front garden to admire Uncle Vernon's new company car (in very loud voices, so that the rest of the street would notice it too), Harry had crept downstairs, picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, grabbed some of his books, and hidden them in his bedroom. As long as he didn't leave spots of ink on the sheets, the Dursleys need never know that he was studying magic by night.