Bloodline | Harry Potter x Reader [DISCONTINUED]

Third Year~Chapter Five

Harry's POV

In no time at all, Defence Against the Dark Arts had become most people's favourite class. Only Draco Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins had anything bad to say about Professor Lupin.

'Look at the state of his robes,' Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin passed. 'He dresses like our old house-elf.'

But no one else cared that Professor Lupin's robes were patched and frayed. His next few lessons were just as interesting as the first. After Boggarts, we studied Red Caps, nasty little goblin-like creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed, in the dungeons of castles and the potholes of deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had got lost. From Red Caps we moved on to Kappas, creepy water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.

I only wished I was as happy with some of my other classes. Worst of all was Potions. Snape was in a particularly vindictive mood these days, and no one was in any doubt why.

The story of the Boggart assuming Snape's shape, and the way that Neville had dressed it in his grandmother's clothes, had travelled through the school like wildfire. Snape didn't seem to find it funny. His eyes flashed menacingly at the very mention of Professor Lupin's name, and he was bullying Neville worse than ever.

I was also growing to dread the hours I spent in Professor Trelawney's stifling tower room, deciphering lop-sided shapes and symbols, trying to ignore the way Professor Trelawney's enormous eyes filled with tears every time she looked at me.

I couldn't like Professor Trelawney, even though she was treated with respect bordering on reverence by many of the class. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown had taken to haunting Professor Trelawney's tower room at lunchtimes, and always returned with annoyingly superior looks on their faces, as though they knew things the rest of us didn't. They had also started using hushed voices whenever they spoke to me, as though I was on my deathbed.

Nobody really liked Care of Magical Creatures, which, after the action-packed first class, had become extremely dull. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence. We were now spending lesson after lesson learning how to look after Flobberworms, which had to be some of the most boring creatures in existence.

'Why would anyone bother looking after them?' said Ron, after yet another hour of poking shredded lettuce down the Flobberworms' slimy throats.

At the start of October, however, I had something else to occupy me, something so enjoyable it made up for my unsatisfactory classes. The Quidditch season was approaching, and Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor team, called a meeting one Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season.

There was a quiet sort of desperation in his voice as he addressed his six fellow team members in the chilly changing rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch pitch.

'This is our last chance – my last chance – to win the Quidditch Cup,' he told us, striding up and down in front of us. 'I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it.

'Gryffindor haven't won for seven years now. OK, so we've had the worst luck in the world – injuries – then the tournament getting called off last year ...' Wood swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. 'But we also know we've got the best – ruddy – team – in – the – school ,' he said, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye.

'We've got three superb Chasers.'

Wood pointed at (Y/N) (L/N), Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell. (Y/N) flicked her hair back and smirked, which made me chuckle.