Elizabeth Potter, the girl who lived.
Harry Potter, the boy who lived.
Facing Voldemort again.
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t. 1991 ~ 1992 (PS era)
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Started: 2/11/20
Completed: 7/2/21
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I only own Elizabeth Potter, that is all.
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POTIONS LESSON
"Professor, you have to understand that it wasn't our fault," Harry started, his arm around my crying figure, "Draco threw Neville's remembrall into the air and I couldn't let him break it. Surely you can't expel us for trying to do the right thing."
"Silence," McGonagall ordered, "wait here." She stopped outside one of the defence against the dark arts classrooms and entered without knocking.
"Excuse me, excuse me, Professor Quirrell. Could I borrow Wood for a moment?" McGonagall requested kindly, her strong Scottish accent making you either love her or fear her.
"Oh. Y-yes, of course," Professor Quirrell stuttered. A boy with short brown hair and a Gryffindor tie stood up and left the room, greeting McGonagall with a small nod of the head. He stood in front of Harry and I and didn't appear to know who we were; we were just another pair of first years to him.
"Potters, this is Oliver Wood. Wood, I have found you a chaser and a seeker!" McGonagall smiled happily.
"These two, professor?" Oliver questioned, looking unsurely at Harry and I and with good reason. We were small, scrawny and young, had no idea what a chaser or seeker was and I was still red in the face from crying.
"Yes, they're your best shot. Harry will be your seeker and Elizabeth will be your chaser," McGonagall beamed proudly.
"But they'll be the-"
"The youngest quidditch players in a century, I know."
"Excuse me, Ma'am, but is this what we're here for? We're not getting expelled?" Harry questioned for the both of us, interrupting the conversation.
"Of course not, Mr Potter. Like you said, I surely can't expel you for doing the right thing," McGonagall smirked before walking away, her heals clicking melodically against the stone floor.
"So... uh... are you Elizabeth and Harry Potter?" Oliver questioned, his now noticeable Scottish accent catching my attention.
"Yes," I answered quietly.
"And I'm guessing you have no idea what quidditch is?" He chuckled.
"Not really, sorry," Harry answered shyly.
"No worries," he chuckled once again, "meet me by the quidditch field after fourth period and I'll teach you the basics."
