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

Year Three: Chapter One

Here we are 🤝🤝

3rd person POV: 

 It was nearly midnight, and Harry Potter was laying on his stomach in bed, the blankets drawn over like a tent, a flashlight in one hand and a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped up against the pillows. Harry moved the tip of 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 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 the 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 preform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek in pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be burned 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 his ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, and began to write, pausing every now and then to listen, because if any of the Dursleys heard the scratching of a 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 most they have done so far, 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 have been a real problem for Harry, because his teachers from Hogwarts had given him a lot of holiday work. 

One of the essays, a particularly nasty one about shrinking potions, was from Harry's least favorite teacher, Professor Snape, who would be delighted for a reason 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 the rest of the neighborhood 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 his sheets, the Dursleys would never know he was studying magic by night. Harry was particularly keen to avoid trouble with his aunt and uncle at the moment, as they were already in a especially bad mood with him, all because he had received a phone call from a fellow wizard one week into vacation. 

 Ron Weasley, who was one of Harry's best friends at Hogwarts, had never used a telephone before. Most unluckily, it had been Uncle Vernon who had answered the call. 

 "Vernon Dursley speaking." 

 Harry, who had been in the room at the time, had frozen as he heard Ron's voice answer.

 "HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I — WANT — TO — SPEAK — TO — HARRY — POTTER!" 

 Ron was yelling so loudly that Uncle Vernon had jumped and held the receiver a foot away from his ear, staring at it with an expression of mingled fury and alarm. 

 "WHO IS THIS?" he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece. "WHO ARE YOU?"

 "RON — WEASLEY!" Ron bellowed back, as though he and Uncle Vernon were speaking from opposite ends of a football field. "I'M — A — FRIEND — OF — HARRY'S — FROM — SCHOOL—"