Harry Potter directed his feet toward the First Year boys, who were in the common room (instead of unpacking), busily chatting about nothing much of importance. Or, he thought wryly, at least that's how they'd describe it to their mum. Harry, being rather new here, was bound to find everything of importance. Well, other than the scores at Quiddich. Harry was rather sure that he'd be hopeless at that, like most sports, and he had never had the patience to learn much about football anyway. It was Uncle Vernon and Dudley who liked sports, never Harry - and they always liked rugby, which to a younger Harry had always seemed like "the most violent game possible, and still be a game."
Luckily, Seamus (pronounced Shamus, like the private dick) had some cards. Harry Potter watched from the sidelines, until he had the hang of it. They didn't ask him to participate, and so he didn't, instead hanging on and watching as much as he could to get a bit of strategy from the game. Not that there was much of it, it seemed like a game for eight year olds.
"Alright, kiddoes, off to bed now!" One of the older prefects had said, swooshing all of the first years off to bed. "School starts bright and early, so be up by eight thirty!" Harry Potter blinked at that, as he was used to being up at six in the morning. With a sigh, he mourned the lack of alarm clock, and hoped he'd be able to wake with the sun on his face. With that thought, he scrambled upstairs - faster than any of the boys, and most of the girls heading up the opposite stair. Granger, of course, had already retired (probably organizing a bundle of books, Harry thought knowingly).
Harry nestled down to sleep, abiding by the unspoken rule of Gryffindor - never do anything earlier than you absolutely had to. All the trunks stayed packed, and Harry knew with a sigh that tomorrow morning he wasn't going to get anything important done.
Harry woke gladly at the crack of dawn (5:30, he thought), pausing only to slip into the shower for a rinse and to throw on the first clothes he had to hand. He bonelessly relaxed into the feel of the clothes - they were both better fitting and better fabric than he was used to. Still, he thought, he had things to do - and he wasn't going to get them done in the showers.
Harry Potter scampered down the stairs, quiet as always, as he found a decent hiding place. His quick eyes hadn't seen any textbooks out, which honestly was no surprise. The Gryffindors as a whole liked to procrastinate, and it seemed like the older ones might know places where it would be possible to work without being bothered, anyway. Harry Potter pulled out his wand, and began to practice spells. Oh, certainly, he had already read about spells - but he hadn't practiced a single one.
None of them turned out properly, but Harry didn't care. It was the feel of the magic, the feel of guiding it, that he was really after. He didn't want to look foolish on the first day of classes, after all.
[a/n: You've been there, nervous as all get out, haven't you? Write a review, lovelies!]