Ruddy Mornings and the like

[Claire Ryan]

Claire yawned loudly and slid upright, dangling her feet over the bed in want of fuzzy red slippers. They found what they were looking for in a short length of time, during which the first year slipped off her nightgown and shivered in the sudden chill of the room. But, no one else was awake or around, so her mostly bare body was no shame to her. Lifting herself from the bed, she crossed to the bureau, fished out a clean plaid skirt and a white blouse, which she put on soon thereafter, and then she went to the closet and pulled out her fresh suit of Gryffindor robes! Oh! to be in school! The thought put a fresh smile on her face, which was quickly replaced with a poorly stifled yawn. She crossed to the washroom, splashed water on her face, checked it in the mirror (same one as last night, thankfully!) and then felt her stomach growl loudly.

"All right, all right!" Crossly, looking down at her neatly tucked in stomach. "Breakfast." She aimed for the common room and the hall without.

Sleepy students sauntered toward the Great Hall, and Claire could tell that they were less enthusiastic about the day than was she. She perked at the sound of talking and wondered how she could get into the conversation, but as soon as it started, it ended and she was left to her own shuffling feet and the corridors around her. The small, sparse crowd seemed to flow in one general direction, and this she followed, figuring they would lead her to the supplies she needed. Her mind wandered to a planned exploration of the castle, especially to the Library, and then the reporting letter she ought to write to Abram and Ms. Ryan, and of course the affectionate letter to Madam Rosemary. She thought, she puzzled, that she would have missed them more than she did, but at the moment, the only person from her family whom she felt the greatest separation from was her dear Liam! Abram was also a dear to her, but their parting weeks had been very unfamiliarly formal, and it was his behaviour which distracted most Claire from the other wonderful things about her brother. He seemed too preoccupied for his former frivolities and games with her; other things cluttered that space which had been reserved for wild imaginings and ferocious play-making. Those things which Claire had always associated with Abram and those which she loved most of him, seemed stripped from them in those penultimate weeks, then days, then mere hours, then -.

The stairs caught her by surprise and she tripped on the top step. Throwing out her arms to catch her balance, Claire grasped both stone railing and air in the same fist, and throwing her weight to the opposite side, her knees buckled and she completed her not-so-graceful fall in exemplary stop-drop-and-roll fashion. Her tumble echoed around the ground floor.

[Luke, Chris]

[Christian Nagle]

Why were mornings in the castle the absoutely worst times ever? After OWLs, NEWTs (neither of which he knew anything about) Midterm and Final examinations (and perhaps whenever the Lions took on the Serpents in Quidditch), any ordinary morning was abrasive and entirely unwelcome; top of this list of mornings was the first of a new term. After the excitement of being a first year (and it was close to euphoria for Chris) had melted away, he'd begun to understand why his fellow Gryffindors look oddly at him when he bounced his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast, and their groans of annoyance when he'd tried to begin conversations with them over that meal. It must've been very parasitic of him, and should he meet himself this year as he was last year, it would be quite clear how difficult he had made mornings for older students in the house.

Thus far, there was no sign of any perky firsty, so the zombie-like procession toward the Great Hall seemed to be revelling in its inability to be energetic. Someone nearby stepped on another 'zombie-student's' robes, which sparked an unnecessary bout of profanity between the two, but it was merely a spark, not a flame, blown out as quickly as ignited. Everyone else seemed quiet, contented to be so. As they turned the corner, leading to the moving stairs, Chris had a brief flashback of his first experience with the stairs and the mastery one ought to gain in the timing of their movement; he hoped he was wiser now than he had been then. All his tumbles and scrapes had been when hardly anyone else was around, so he'd learned from the sheer stupidity of repeated stumbling (due to his mind being in every place at once) without the danger of embarrasment. He wondered how long it would take for a firsty to learn the same lesson, and to his surprise, it was not a long wait. Three moving flights down, while attempting to mount the top step of the first-floor flight (what a tongue twister!), a young girl with auburn hair and ... oh no! ... GRYFFINDOR robes, miscounted the timing and slipped on the top step as it launched from the first floor. Everyone else seemed to watch her as she stumbled in exagerated slow motion, threw herself forward and briefly upright, but before she could realise she was upright, she had thrown out an arm to grasp the railing, and clutching nothing but thin air, she rolled forward and tumbled, as though a log on a hillside, down the stairs, hitting the ground floor landing just in time.

Her mistake reverberated around the hall, and for a moment, Chris held his breath waiting for the laughter he new would come, but to his surprise, nothing. He looked up at the girl and saw she was not moving. People were stepping around her, signs of entertainment upon their faces, but nothing energetic enough; just a bunch of smirks, to be sure, no laughs, no giggles.
We all must be really tired Chris thought, glad for the fact that this girl had avoided (if narrowly) humiliation. He clambered down the last few steps and nelt down beside her.

"You all right?"