Harry practiced until it was 8 in the morning, wondering to himself if he ought to think about a program of calisthenics as well. By the end of it, his concentration was wavering, and he doubted he could get even a wisp of magic to go where he wanted it to go. Hopefully he'd recover soon, he thought, his heartbeat spiking at the thought of being caught without even the barest of minimal capabilities. Reassuring himself, Harry thought that he'd at least have allies here - Ron Weasley seemed like he considered Harry a friend, and Harry hoped that Gryffindor Friends wouldn't run from a scrap, even if they weren't directly involved. Also, this was a Magical World, Harry thought with a grin. Pounding someone's face in (as Dudley had often done to Harry) was likely to catch someone offguard. Thinking about this, Harry flexed a fist, looking at his frankly pathetic biceps. Well, Harry thought, that's just something else to improve.
Hearing the first stirrings of people from upstairs, he climbed out of the quiet cubbyhole, and sprawled himself on the couch, languid like a lion. The first visitor from the House of Laggards was Percy Weasley, which really oughtn't to have surprised Harry. Ever officious, Percy informed Harry that "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day" and that Percy intended to "get a good start" on his studies, and thought that Harry should accompany him. Harry waved a hand and politely declined, saying that he intended to wait for his age-mates.
Not five minutes later, Hermione Granger flounced down the stairs, just as full of self-importance as Percy, but considerably more nervous, which made it feel like the self-importance was just a well-honed cover for insecurity. Harry'd have said something to her, but she bustled so quickly out the door that she didn't notice him, and Harry felt like if she wanted to get to breakfast so badly, he really ought to just let her.
Suddenly, energy like electricity shot through Harry's body*, as he suddenly realized that he hadn't his books. He shot up the stairs to his room like a bolt of lighting out of the clear blue. His feet pounded the floor as he flew towards his dormroom. He opened the door into chaos - clothes strewn this way and that, Neville yawning blearily - and Dean somehow perched on top of his trunk, while having it open and rummaging through it. Harry Potter slid into this madhouse like a hot knife through butter, gracefully dodging Seamus' thrown pants, as he knelt down and opened his trunk. Harry pulled out his books, and traipsed through the mayhem as if nothing was wrong. Truthfully, he'd never seen the like, but he was bound and determined to be a Gryffindor (or at least act like one), and no one else seemed to mind.
Harry found himself on the couch, waiting idly as he waved his wand around. He heard Ron's clattering feet well before he saw the redhead. "Harry!" Ron said, "Let's get to breakfast, before they're out of everything." Ron physically tugged Harry out of his couch (Harry had to suppress his reaction - he wasn't used to roughhousing without bruises attached).
They raced through the halls after an upperclassman (a pretty girl with long legs, who walked a lot faster than they did), winding up entirely turned around before they reached the Great Hall. Harry and Ron got the closest seats to the entrance, and Harry carefully took a bit of breakfast sausage, spooning some eggs onto his plate beside, and then two pancakes. He was utterly unprepared for the feast that Ron seemed to have commandeered - and be shoving into his mouth at the speed of three runaway locomotives. Harry had ... made "friends" with an eating machine. Perhaps that was Ron's given talent (Aunt Petunia had claimed that everyone had one, even if she'd also claimed that Harry's had been troublemaking and Dudley's had been sweetness). Suppressing a sigh (Harry hadn't wanted the teachers staring at him, and with the sheer quantity of food flying into and around Ron's face, that seemed to be a fast-fading hope), Harry dug into his food, eating carefully so as to not mar his clothing. He'd only gotten the recommended number of robes - although from the look of the Slytherin table, it seemed like Harry had somehow missed getting good robes. Harry couldn't exactly tell precisely why the Slytherins looked better in their robes (it certainly wasn't beauty, one had a face like a pug, and another was a solid girl, stout and built like a man. Harry'd feel sorry for her, but she looked like the kind that didn't take pity well. If he had the chance, he thought, he might like to talk with her some - encourage her). Not here a minute, and Harry was already missing steps.
At the end of breakfast, McGonagall (their Head of Gryffindor House, it turned out) strode down the table with her stern face, handing out schedules. Hermione Granger was nearly jumping for joy. Harry Potter, in contrast, was waiting for the other shoe to drop, trying in vain to suppress nerves - finally settling for not having them show more than a certain stiffness in how he sat. Harry looked at his schedule, and compared it to Ron's, who said, "We'll be in all the same classes together!"
Hermione Granger, ever the punctilious downer, said, "That's because all first years are kept together by House. It's supposed to make it easier to not get lost. We'll have a prefect lead us around for the first week. Didn't you read-?" At that point, Harry tuned her out. As it so happened, he had read Hogwarts a History. However, he didn't feel the need to tell everyone about it at all times. Harry was rather sad to see that Potions was going to be the last class he'd get started on (the schedule had it as a four hour block on Friday, which Harry thought would incline most children towards mistakes. Concentration was hard for children to keep in the best of circumstances, and four hours of fumes wouldn't help.) Of course, there was the small matter of the teacher reading Harry's mind, which was something he desperately wanted to prevent. He'd have to come up with some distraction... something to prevent the teacher from rifling through his thoughts. At least... his private thoughts...
*Ahh, the wonders of adrenaline.
[a/n: No, this won't be a day by day story. But first days are always useful. See Ron oaf. See Harry adjust.
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