Infinite Magic (Male Reader x Harry Potter)

The M Word

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, we were all quite glad to reach the weekend.  We were all planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning.  Harry, however, was woken up several hours earlier than he would have liked by Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Harry: Whassamatter...

Wood: Quidditch practice!  Come on!

I yawned, sitting up.

Harry: Oliver, it's the crack of dawn.

Wood: Exactly!

He was a tall and burly sixth year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a mad enthusiasm.

Wood: It's part of our new training program.  Come on, grab your broom and let's go.  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.

Wood: Good man.

YN: Mind if I come?  I need to do a run anyways.

Wood: Of course!  Meet you on the pitch in fifteen minutes.

When Harry had found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth, he scribbled a note to Ron explaining where we'd gone and the two of us went down the spiral staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder.  We had just reached the portrait hole when 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.

Colin: I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry!  Look what I've got here!  I've had it developed, I wanted to show you...

I struggled not to laugh at the photograph Colin was holding in Harry's face.  A moving, black and white Lockhart was tugging hard on Harry's arm.  Harry looked pleased to see that his photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be dragged into view.  As Harry watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.

Colin: Will you sign it?

Harry: No, sorry, Colin, I'm in a hurry.  Quidditch practice.

We climbed through the portrait hole.

Colin: Oh wow!  Wait for me!  I've never watched a Quidditch game before!

Colin scrambled through the hole after us.  I rolled my eyes.

Harry: It'll be really boring.

Colin ignored him, his face shining with excitement.

Colin: You were the youngest house player in a hundred years, weren't you, Harry?  Weren't you?  You must be brilliant.  I've never flown.  Is it easy?  Is that your own broom?  Is that the best one there is?

We didn't know how to get rid of him.  It was like having an extremely talkative shadow.

Colin: I don't really understand Quidditch.  Is it true there are four balls?  And two of them fly round trying to knock people off their brooms?

Harry: Yes.  They're called Bludgers.  There are two Beaters on each team, who carry clubs to beat the Bludgers away from their side.  Fred and George Weasley are the Gryffindor Beaters.

Colin: And what are the other balls for?

I zoned out until we finally reached the field.  At that point, Colin ran off towards the stands.