Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is probably the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling.
^^^
Hermione opened one of her eyes and blinked. There was a steam of sunlight filtering in the window in just the right place so as to fall directly upon her face.
There are worse ways to be woken up, she thought, but that doesn't mean I have to like this method.
Sighing, she rolled over in her bed and glanced toward the clock she'd brought from home after the winter holidays. It was a darling little thing, silver in the shape of a crescent, surrounding a light blue face that was unaltered by magic. A simple Muggle clock for a not-so-simple Muggleborn witch. Hermione stared at the second hand for a few minutes, watching it makes it endless revolutions around and around and around... finally her glance fell on the angle formed by the more stationary of the three clock arms. 7:02 - she'd have to skip either the shower or the breakfast this morning.
Her stomach rumbled a few moments later, helping her make her mind. She plopped back down on her pillows for a few more moments and closed her eyes, risking the fall back into the land of Nod, but another glance at the clock urged her out of bed. She stretched in the solitude of her section of the 7th-year Gryffindor girls' dormitory. She hadn't gotten a grand suite as a privilege for being Head Girl, but Professor McGonagall did let her have her own room. She smiled as she recalled Parvati's indignation when she'd heard Hermione was to have her own private quarters, but Hermione had smoothed out the ruffled feathers when she'd enlightened Parvati as to the dimensions of her personal quarters. The other girls thought "Hermione Granger was crazy" to live in such a small "closet," but Hermione rather liked her little bit of space.
As she finished stretching, Hermione surveyed her room. There wasn't much to it: a single window on the wall opposite the door, dressed in the usual Gryffindor colours; a small wooden desk stacked with papers and books and inkwells; a small wardrobe, whose bottom drawer served as a makeshift dwelling for Crookshanks; the crescent clock mounted on the wall; a "reading chair" that was also piled with books and old copies of The Daily Prophet; and the small-but-comfy bed full of sheets and blankets and pillows that made for a perfectly restful sleeping nook. It was all she wanted and it was all she needed.
It was nearly 7:15 by the time Hermione pulled on her school robes and headed toward the Great Hall for breakfast. Her classes started late today, so she decided she would return some books to the library after breakfast. She nodded toward Terry Boot, the Head Boy, as he and his Ravenclaw prefects passed her by in the hallway. Terry grinned at her in an almost-lascivious way before returning to his discussion of the laws that had been engaging the Ministry of Magic for the past three months. Hermione rolled her eyes at both the topic and the speaker; Terry Boot had turned into something of a ladies' man and had been trying to charm Hermione into attending one of the yearly balls with him, and his seeming enthusiasm about the so-called "Anti-Muggle" legislation was a definite deterrent in his hormonal mission where she was concerned.
By the time Hermione finally entered the Great Hall, most of the diners were finishing their breakfast. She headed over to the Gryffindor table where she was invited by wave to sit with Ginny. They made the usual small talk in which Hermione fretted about NEWTs, which led Ginny to fret about about her last Potions essay, which led Hermione to fret about her Potions NEWT, which led Ginny to fret about Arithmancy, which led Hermione to fret about her Arithmancy NEWT, which led Ginny to fret about that really cute Hufflepuff in Hermione's Arithmancy class... It was a routine cycle, really, that made for a nice start for a new day.
She made her escape when Ron motioned her over to edit his Charms essay; she just wasn't in the mood to deal with the inevitable mistakes she'd find. ("There are only so many times you can use a comma before the sentence becomes known as a 'run-on'.... It would really be better to recommend a swish-flick-flick method....") She went to the library instead and returned an armful of tomes on various Transfiguration subjects. She was going to browse for some more recent volumes on the history of the British ministry of magic, but decided against it in favor of just sitting in the courtyard outside her first class (Defense Against the Dark Arts). She chose her favourite bench - a stoned wood carved with various runes and symbols - and basked in the sunlight. For a few minutes, with her eyes closed, everything was peaceful.
Soon she heard the rustling of the other students moving along to their classes. She should have gotten up and moved, but one of the few things Hermione Granger loved was the feeling of sunkissed relaxation. So she sat for a few more minutes, oblivious to the flurry of action around her, until a cold, hard voice jolted her from her tranquility.
^^^
Hermione opened one of her eyes and blinked. There was a steam of sunlight filtering in the window in just the right place so as to fall directly upon her face.
There are worse ways to be woken up, she thought, but that doesn't mean I have to like this method.
Sighing, she rolled over in her bed and glanced toward the clock she'd brought from home after the winter holidays. It was a darling little thing, silver in the shape of a crescent, surrounding a light blue face that was unaltered by magic. A simple Muggle clock for a not-so-simple Muggleborn witch. Hermione stared at the second hand for a few minutes, watching it makes it endless revolutions around and around and around... finally her glance fell on the angle formed by the more stationary of the three clock arms. 7:02 - she'd have to skip either the shower or the breakfast this morning.
Her stomach rumbled a few moments later, helping her make her mind. She plopped back down on her pillows for a few more moments and closed her eyes, risking the fall back into the land of Nod, but another glance at the clock urged her out of bed. She stretched in the solitude of her section of the 7th-year Gryffindor girls' dormitory. She hadn't gotten a grand suite as a privilege for being Head Girl, but Professor McGonagall did let her have her own room. She smiled as she recalled Parvati's indignation when she'd heard Hermione was to have her own private quarters, but Hermione had smoothed out the ruffled feathers when she'd enlightened Parvati as to the dimensions of her personal quarters. The other girls thought "Hermione Granger was crazy" to live in such a small "closet," but Hermione rather liked her little bit of space.
As she finished stretching, Hermione surveyed her room. There wasn't much to it: a single window on the wall opposite the door, dressed in the usual Gryffindor colours; a small wooden desk stacked with papers and books and inkwells; a small wardrobe, whose bottom drawer served as a makeshift dwelling for Crookshanks; the crescent clock mounted on the wall; a "reading chair" that was also piled with books and old copies of The Daily Prophet; and the small-but-comfy bed full of sheets and blankets and pillows that made for a perfectly restful sleeping nook. It was all she wanted and it was all she needed.
It was nearly 7:15 by the time Hermione pulled on her school robes and headed toward the Great Hall for breakfast. Her classes started late today, so she decided she would return some books to the library after breakfast. She nodded toward Terry Boot, the Head Boy, as he and his Ravenclaw prefects passed her by in the hallway. Terry grinned at her in an almost-lascivious way before returning to his discussion of the laws that had been engaging the Ministry of Magic for the past three months. Hermione rolled her eyes at both the topic and the speaker; Terry Boot had turned into something of a ladies' man and had been trying to charm Hermione into attending one of the yearly balls with him, and his seeming enthusiasm about the so-called "Anti-Muggle" legislation was a definite deterrent in his hormonal mission where she was concerned.
By the time Hermione finally entered the Great Hall, most of the diners were finishing their breakfast. She headed over to the Gryffindor table where she was invited by wave to sit with Ginny. They made the usual small talk in which Hermione fretted about NEWTs, which led Ginny to fret about about her last Potions essay, which led Hermione to fret about her Potions NEWT, which led Ginny to fret about Arithmancy, which led Hermione to fret about her Arithmancy NEWT, which led Ginny to fret about that really cute Hufflepuff in Hermione's Arithmancy class... It was a routine cycle, really, that made for a nice start for a new day.
She made her escape when Ron motioned her over to edit his Charms essay; she just wasn't in the mood to deal with the inevitable mistakes she'd find. ("There are only so many times you can use a comma before the sentence becomes known as a 'run-on'.... It would really be better to recommend a swish-flick-flick method....") She went to the library instead and returned an armful of tomes on various Transfiguration subjects. She was going to browse for some more recent volumes on the history of the British ministry of magic, but decided against it in favor of just sitting in the courtyard outside her first class (Defense Against the Dark Arts). She chose her favourite bench - a stoned wood carved with various runes and symbols - and basked in the sunlight. For a few minutes, with her eyes closed, everything was peaceful.
Soon she heard the rustling of the other students moving along to their classes. She should have gotten up and moved, but one of the few things Hermione Granger loved was the feeling of sunkissed relaxation. So she sat for a few more minutes, oblivious to the flurry of action around her, until a cold, hard voice jolted her from her tranquility.