Early Mornings
"Argh!" Ron groaned as the light hit him dead in the eyes and woke him from his dream. It was morning now and the sun had come out to pester him. He faced the spot were the opening usually was in his hangings, but it wasn't there. "Well of course, idiot," Ron said to himself, "you didn't close them. That's why the sun woke you up." He shook his head in annoyance at himself and yawned.
Harry wasn't in bed, he noticed. From the sound of it, he was taking a shower. Ron stretched out his arms over his head and pushed his feet out as far as they would go, pulling on every muscle in his body. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep. After all, it was a Saturday morning. Why should he wake up before noon?
Young Harry *was* taking a shower. The last of the water had dripped out of the faucet as he turned the knob to shut it off. His face was splashed with icy fresh water that glistened against his skin. His hair was plastered to his head for once but he couldn't see this miraculous event; his glasses were on the sink. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he wrapped it around his waist and tucked it so it would stay without holding him it. Harry looked down at his abdomen to find all of this muscles starring right back at him. Amazingly fit from Quidditch, and skinny by nature, his abs naturally stuck out with definition.
A trickle of water streamed down his chest towards the towel and was soaked up immediately. Harry walked lightly over to the sink with his wet feet pattering on the ground, picked up his glasses, and put them on. "That's better," he said cutely. A smile spread across his face and he looked up at the ceiling. There was nothing special about it, but Harry liked the way it looked in the morning. He shook his head, and snapped out of his dream world he had still been in since he woke that even a cold shower hadn't woken him from.
His hair dried rather quickly and stuck up in the back just as James's had done. Ah, he did look like James, the way his nose was so cutely rounded, the way his hair refused to behave, the way he walked, and not to mention, that if you took the scar off of his forehead and made him close his eyes, you'd be starring at the spitting image of James. Even his attitude towards everything in life was just like James's.
Harry tried to reason with his hair by smashing it down on his head, but it stuck up anyway. He had 'morning hair' permanently and there was nothing he could do about it, not even curse his father for bad genes. But then again, who *could* hate James? For another few minutes he tried in vain to flatten his hair.
"Ooh, you almost had it deary," said a cool wispy voice. The mirror knew that Harry wasn't going to win the battle he fought with his hair each and every day, but it offered encouragement none the less. He just rolled his eyes, huffed, and gave up as usual. Harry continued to get ready by doing all of his usual morning rituals and various activities and then made his way down to the Common Room.
Harry's excitement was bursting out of him. He nearly missed two steps from trying to skip down them merrily. He wasn't hungry, although he should have been, and he didn't have a single bad thought in his mind. He was completely blinded with happiness. He'd brought his broom with him as he was going to the Quidditch field for some extra practice. It was smooth and sleek against his hand and incredibly light.
He speedily turned the corner to find Euan's books still spilled on the table, but he wasn't there. It was quiet. Clearly the charm that had been placed on Gryffindor Tower had kept all of the rest of them sleeping. Harry, however, didn't seem to be effected by it. It didn't bother him though; he truthfully didn't notice. The few beams of light that spread across the room filled it in spots so vibrantly that it lifted his spirits even higher, if that was possible.
Giddily, he bounced towards the door. "I know where you're going, Harry," said a cold voice, that clearly was not happy with him. It was Hermione. She had been squashing herself so tightly in the corner of a big overstuffed chair by the slightly crackling fire that he didn't notice her. Her eyes were squinted, pixilated with anger, on him, that she tried so desperately to hide. Of course, she didn't *want* to hate Harry, but she couldn't see past the barrier she had placed between them.
"Glad to see you're in a better mood," Harry joked somewhat timidly. Hermione didn't ease her deathly stare or loosen her pursed lips. The fear that had taken him the pervious night had begun to creep up on him again. His carefree frame of mind was once again drowned by the shared image of swirling gray that he and Hermione – unbeknown to each other – had both seen. It was like Harry was connected to Hermione almost like he was to Voldemort, but not quite so; they had this image at different times.
Her big brown eyes, usually as soft as a puppy's eyes, were hard and cold. Harry decided the best way to break away from their icy grip was to show no fear. He mustered up his most smart-aleck tone he could. "Isn't it apparent?" he said a little too weakly for his liking, "I have my broom." He was proud of himself but his calm faded as quickly as it had come.
She rolled her eyes and Harry was glad that they had finally fallen away from him; they returned as soon as they had circled around making a cold shiver inch down his spine slowly. "Why are you wearing your *good* sweater then?"
He'd never been good at arguing with Hermione. His thoughts were still spinning with the funneling clouds and masses of gray. "It's...cold in the morning," he said, half trying to convince himself. It wasn't cold. The sun was beaming down brightly through the uncurtained windows of the common room hitting Harry's arm. That was the only cheerful place he had left in his body. It was like the sun was chasing away the clouds that linked Harry and Hermione's shared thoughts. "Anyway, all the other ones are dirty." This statement was more convincing.
"Fine!" Hermione spat at him. "Blame it all on the house elves." She turned away from him sharply, hitting her arm against the chair hard, and she flinched but was determined not to look back at Harry. He didn't know if she had her wand or not, but it was likely she did, and was clutching it in her hand, hidden from his view, ready to attack.
Seizing the opportunity to leave, Harry half ran out of the Gryffindor Common Room holding his prized Firebolt and tore down the corridors and out the front door. The cool wetness touched his sneakers, still damp from the night before's practice, getting them even more wet as he ran through the dew kissed lawn toward the Quidditch Pitch.
It was early in the season and he loved coming out onto the freshly dewed grass to smell the sweet aroma of the new day. It was a release from the real world that had been caging and controlling him. It was his escape from Umbridge and her horrible new rules. It brought happiness to his day and lifted him higher while everyone and everything else tried to bring him down. It eased the pain of his scar and soothed his memory. The nightmares he still had of Cedric and of Voldemort were gone when he was there in the Quidditch field. Not even false stories of him being mad, extra homework in preparation for their O.W.L.s, or his pent up anger and frustration could make it unhappy for him. He loved it.
He was near the locker rooms now and he passed the Hufflepuff one nearly skipping, and also Slytherin, but oddly, he passed Gryffindor too. Harry was on his way to the Ravenclaw locker room this morning. The blue and gold banners filled his eyes. The eagle mascot, shining in all its glory proudly above the door, glared at the three others: a badger, a snake and a lion. They returned the favour by glowering right back at it. House rivalry was high enough for even statues to be slightly hostile towards the others.
A pole that had been holding up the banister outside the Ravenclaw locker room was wet with dew as Harry found out from sliding his hand up and along it as he climbed a small flight of stairs leading to the door. The door's handle was the same way, but he didn't care. What was a little water between him, and happiness?
Slowly he entered the room, dimly lit with the sunlight seeping through curtains that had slightly left their guard position in front of the windows. It was airy and smelled mildly of mildew, but it didn't dampen his mood. Harry walked in and cautiously sat down on a bench by the door. He held his broomstick tightly in his hands and closed his eyes. He took deep breathes in, not noticing the smell, and rested his head on the wall as if he were ready to take a nap.
*He's making me randy sitting there. Look at his eyes, how they close so gently... passive. Ack, but his hair – always messed up and so horribly untidy. But I like to pull it.*
Harry sat there for a moment or two, listening intently to any sound of someone coming in his direction. He was to meet someone there, and he wanted to surprise them by being there first. So badly, he wanted to open his eyes, but a person's senses are keener when one of them is blocked, so he kept them closed. His stomach started to turn as his excitement grew. The seconds ticked away slowly, very slowly. It's funny how time flies when one is having fun, and when one is anxiously awaiting something, it takes forever to pass.
*Look at the fool. What's he doing? What am I doing? Calm. Stay calm. Just GO talk to him already. Sheesh!*
"Harry?" said a voice near a mirror on the other side of the room. It was said in a welcoming tone but was oddly formal. Harry's heart nearly skipped a beat as the familiar voice flooded his thoughts. It looped around in his head awakening all of his senses with a joyous song. He put his broomstick down on the bench and opened his eyes, reluctantly; he wanted to sit and let the voice's song fill him until he was inebriated by it.
Ooooo so close to finding out what it is now. Review with your thoughts PLEASE!! This review is important to me!!
"Argh!" Ron groaned as the light hit him dead in the eyes and woke him from his dream. It was morning now and the sun had come out to pester him. He faced the spot were the opening usually was in his hangings, but it wasn't there. "Well of course, idiot," Ron said to himself, "you didn't close them. That's why the sun woke you up." He shook his head in annoyance at himself and yawned.
Harry wasn't in bed, he noticed. From the sound of it, he was taking a shower. Ron stretched out his arms over his head and pushed his feet out as far as they would go, pulling on every muscle in his body. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep. After all, it was a Saturday morning. Why should he wake up before noon?
Young Harry *was* taking a shower. The last of the water had dripped out of the faucet as he turned the knob to shut it off. His face was splashed with icy fresh water that glistened against his skin. His hair was plastered to his head for once but he couldn't see this miraculous event; his glasses were on the sink. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he wrapped it around his waist and tucked it so it would stay without holding him it. Harry looked down at his abdomen to find all of this muscles starring right back at him. Amazingly fit from Quidditch, and skinny by nature, his abs naturally stuck out with definition.
A trickle of water streamed down his chest towards the towel and was soaked up immediately. Harry walked lightly over to the sink with his wet feet pattering on the ground, picked up his glasses, and put them on. "That's better," he said cutely. A smile spread across his face and he looked up at the ceiling. There was nothing special about it, but Harry liked the way it looked in the morning. He shook his head, and snapped out of his dream world he had still been in since he woke that even a cold shower hadn't woken him from.
His hair dried rather quickly and stuck up in the back just as James's had done. Ah, he did look like James, the way his nose was so cutely rounded, the way his hair refused to behave, the way he walked, and not to mention, that if you took the scar off of his forehead and made him close his eyes, you'd be starring at the spitting image of James. Even his attitude towards everything in life was just like James's.
Harry tried to reason with his hair by smashing it down on his head, but it stuck up anyway. He had 'morning hair' permanently and there was nothing he could do about it, not even curse his father for bad genes. But then again, who *could* hate James? For another few minutes he tried in vain to flatten his hair.
"Ooh, you almost had it deary," said a cool wispy voice. The mirror knew that Harry wasn't going to win the battle he fought with his hair each and every day, but it offered encouragement none the less. He just rolled his eyes, huffed, and gave up as usual. Harry continued to get ready by doing all of his usual morning rituals and various activities and then made his way down to the Common Room.
Harry's excitement was bursting out of him. He nearly missed two steps from trying to skip down them merrily. He wasn't hungry, although he should have been, and he didn't have a single bad thought in his mind. He was completely blinded with happiness. He'd brought his broom with him as he was going to the Quidditch field for some extra practice. It was smooth and sleek against his hand and incredibly light.
He speedily turned the corner to find Euan's books still spilled on the table, but he wasn't there. It was quiet. Clearly the charm that had been placed on Gryffindor Tower had kept all of the rest of them sleeping. Harry, however, didn't seem to be effected by it. It didn't bother him though; he truthfully didn't notice. The few beams of light that spread across the room filled it in spots so vibrantly that it lifted his spirits even higher, if that was possible.
Giddily, he bounced towards the door. "I know where you're going, Harry," said a cold voice, that clearly was not happy with him. It was Hermione. She had been squashing herself so tightly in the corner of a big overstuffed chair by the slightly crackling fire that he didn't notice her. Her eyes were squinted, pixilated with anger, on him, that she tried so desperately to hide. Of course, she didn't *want* to hate Harry, but she couldn't see past the barrier she had placed between them.
"Glad to see you're in a better mood," Harry joked somewhat timidly. Hermione didn't ease her deathly stare or loosen her pursed lips. The fear that had taken him the pervious night had begun to creep up on him again. His carefree frame of mind was once again drowned by the shared image of swirling gray that he and Hermione – unbeknown to each other – had both seen. It was like Harry was connected to Hermione almost like he was to Voldemort, but not quite so; they had this image at different times.
Her big brown eyes, usually as soft as a puppy's eyes, were hard and cold. Harry decided the best way to break away from their icy grip was to show no fear. He mustered up his most smart-aleck tone he could. "Isn't it apparent?" he said a little too weakly for his liking, "I have my broom." He was proud of himself but his calm faded as quickly as it had come.
She rolled her eyes and Harry was glad that they had finally fallen away from him; they returned as soon as they had circled around making a cold shiver inch down his spine slowly. "Why are you wearing your *good* sweater then?"
He'd never been good at arguing with Hermione. His thoughts were still spinning with the funneling clouds and masses of gray. "It's...cold in the morning," he said, half trying to convince himself. It wasn't cold. The sun was beaming down brightly through the uncurtained windows of the common room hitting Harry's arm. That was the only cheerful place he had left in his body. It was like the sun was chasing away the clouds that linked Harry and Hermione's shared thoughts. "Anyway, all the other ones are dirty." This statement was more convincing.
"Fine!" Hermione spat at him. "Blame it all on the house elves." She turned away from him sharply, hitting her arm against the chair hard, and she flinched but was determined not to look back at Harry. He didn't know if she had her wand or not, but it was likely she did, and was clutching it in her hand, hidden from his view, ready to attack.
Seizing the opportunity to leave, Harry half ran out of the Gryffindor Common Room holding his prized Firebolt and tore down the corridors and out the front door. The cool wetness touched his sneakers, still damp from the night before's practice, getting them even more wet as he ran through the dew kissed lawn toward the Quidditch Pitch.
It was early in the season and he loved coming out onto the freshly dewed grass to smell the sweet aroma of the new day. It was a release from the real world that had been caging and controlling him. It was his escape from Umbridge and her horrible new rules. It brought happiness to his day and lifted him higher while everyone and everything else tried to bring him down. It eased the pain of his scar and soothed his memory. The nightmares he still had of Cedric and of Voldemort were gone when he was there in the Quidditch field. Not even false stories of him being mad, extra homework in preparation for their O.W.L.s, or his pent up anger and frustration could make it unhappy for him. He loved it.
He was near the locker rooms now and he passed the Hufflepuff one nearly skipping, and also Slytherin, but oddly, he passed Gryffindor too. Harry was on his way to the Ravenclaw locker room this morning. The blue and gold banners filled his eyes. The eagle mascot, shining in all its glory proudly above the door, glared at the three others: a badger, a snake and a lion. They returned the favour by glowering right back at it. House rivalry was high enough for even statues to be slightly hostile towards the others.
A pole that had been holding up the banister outside the Ravenclaw locker room was wet with dew as Harry found out from sliding his hand up and along it as he climbed a small flight of stairs leading to the door. The door's handle was the same way, but he didn't care. What was a little water between him, and happiness?
Slowly he entered the room, dimly lit with the sunlight seeping through curtains that had slightly left their guard position in front of the windows. It was airy and smelled mildly of mildew, but it didn't dampen his mood. Harry walked in and cautiously sat down on a bench by the door. He held his broomstick tightly in his hands and closed his eyes. He took deep breathes in, not noticing the smell, and rested his head on the wall as if he were ready to take a nap.
*He's making me randy sitting there. Look at his eyes, how they close so gently... passive. Ack, but his hair – always messed up and so horribly untidy. But I like to pull it.*
Harry sat there for a moment or two, listening intently to any sound of someone coming in his direction. He was to meet someone there, and he wanted to surprise them by being there first. So badly, he wanted to open his eyes, but a person's senses are keener when one of them is blocked, so he kept them closed. His stomach started to turn as his excitement grew. The seconds ticked away slowly, very slowly. It's funny how time flies when one is having fun, and when one is anxiously awaiting something, it takes forever to pass.
*Look at the fool. What's he doing? What am I doing? Calm. Stay calm. Just GO talk to him already. Sheesh!*
"Harry?" said a voice near a mirror on the other side of the room. It was said in a welcoming tone but was oddly formal. Harry's heart nearly skipped a beat as the familiar voice flooded his thoughts. It looped around in his head awakening all of his senses with a joyous song. He put his broomstick down on the bench and opened his eyes, reluctantly; he wanted to sit and let the voice's song fill him until he was inebriated by it.
Ooooo so close to finding out what it is now. Review with your thoughts PLEASE!! This review is important to me!!