Everlasting (H.P x fem.reader) YEARS 1-4

Year Two: Chapter Seven

Harry's POV 

I spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever I saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor, usually having to drag Y/n along with me. Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to memorize Y/n's and my schedule.

Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "All right, Harry? Y/n?" six or seven times a day and hear, "Hello, Colin," back from both of us, however exasperated we sounded. 

It only gave me a slight relief that I had someone to go through the whole ordeal with, though Y/n looked near ready to pull her hair out.

Other than that Hedwig was still angry with me about the disastrous car journey and Ron's wand 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, I was glad to reach the weekend. Y/n, Ron, Hermione, and I planned to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. I, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier than I would have liked by Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. 

"Whassamatter?" I said groggily. 

"Quidditch Practice!" said Wood. "Come on!" 

I squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hangin over the pink-and-gold sky. Now that I was awake, I couldn't understand how I could've slept through the racket the birds were making. 

"Oliver," I 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 crazed enthusiasm.

"It's a part of our new training program. Angelina got Y/n up, she's waiting in the common room. Come on, grab your broom, 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, I climbed out of bed and tried to find my Quidditch robes. 

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

When I'd found my scarlet team robes and pulled on my cloak, I scribbled a note to Ron explaining where I'd be and went down the spiral staircase to the common room, my Nimbus Two Thousand over my shoulder. 

"Mornin', Harry," said Y/n who was stretching, she looked about half awake. 

"Morning." 

And we were off to the portrait hole, but before we even reached it there was a clatter behind us and Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand. 

"I heard someone say you two's names, Harry and Y/n! Look what I've got here! I've had it developed, I wanted to show you—" 

I looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing between Y/n and I. 

A moving, black-and-white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm that I recognized as my own. I was pleased to see that my photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be pulled into frame. As I watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture. On the other side of Lockhart was Y/n, she was sending the camera a look of plead. It looked as though she was being tortured. 

"Will you sign it?" said Colin eagerly. 

"No," I said flatly, glancing around to check that the common room was really deserted.