All right kiddies. Standard disclaimer: Not mine. I will never be so lucky. All the same, I'd just like to say that this is my first attempt and as such... it merits kindness or at least some understanding on your part. Yes, it probably will be slash eventually. Consider yourself forewarned. And I know, it's hard to be original in this fandom, but I'mma try my darndest. So be patient and be gentle. Mwah.
A flash of lightening preceded the rolling boom of thunder that shook the castle windows, the reverberations echoing off of stone walls. The brief light revealed a dormitory-style room, neatly arranged beds swathed in crimson hangings, occupants of each still firmly ensconced in dreamland. All save one, anyway. As the last rumble faded into silence, a pair of impossibly green eyes slitted open, wary and alert.
One might be surprised at the speed at which this boy came awake, fully prepared to dive from the ample nest of blankets and pillows at the first sign of danger. One might be surprised at the hand that automatically groped for a slender length of wood hidden beneath one of those pillows- despite numerous warnings about how dangerous it was to keep a wand in a place like that. Be blown yer head off, boy, and he could almost hear Moody's grumbled warnings about kids today and reckless behavior. Of course, if you took into account that this boy- awake while the others slept on, ignorant and peaceful in their dreams- was The Boy, then maybe his natural tendency toward suspicion was understandable.
Still a pity, right?
But now he was awake, this boy whose still-developing muscles were easing from ready tension, and he couldn't just stay here in the dark. His nature lent itself toward action, so he threw aside the crimson and gold coverings and slid down from the bed. One hand still wrapped firmly around that wand, wood warming beneath white-knuckled fingers, while the other plucked a pair of glasses from the bedside table, sliding the nosepiece up with a gesture that had been practiced into fluidity. He couldn't help but hiss as bare feet contacted the cool stone floor, shuffling quickly to gather a robe to cover up the worn pajamas- flannel soft and faded with time and wear.
The boy moved quietly and without hesitation, easing the door to this little room open to allow him a silent escape. Obviously, he'd done this before- shutting the door just so to avoid a click, stepping over the creaky stair- his destination the common room below. Once there, he folded himself into a chair before the fireplace, crackling flames reflecting oddly off the grimy lenses of those spectacles.
The common room was deserted at this hour, couches and chairs all vacant and projecting an eerie feeling of loneliness. It was a feeling the boy was familiar with, and expressive features twisted in what might have been a rueful smile. He squirmed, settling himself more comfortably in the chair- and had he been any longer of limb, it would've been a tough squeeze- resting a tousled head on folded arms. The storm was abating outside, and the lone figure haunting the common room allowed eyelids to droop, sleep slowly claiming him once again.
So it was that the next morning, Harry Potter awoke to a very stiff neck and the concerned eyes of his friends.