Mornings

MORNINGS

BY: J

DISCLAIMER – This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

SUMMARY – It’s mindless, introspective and a quiet glimpse into a life of an “average” sixteen year old.

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Mornings have always been mine. Ever since the absolutely sinful habit of drinking coffee has entered my life they’ve been even better. Most people like winter or summer best, but for when the morning is too cold, or too warm, I prefer the in between of autumn when most people enjoy sleeping in. While I could say it’s a pity not a lot of people enjoy the mornings like I do, I’m always glad for the solitude that comes with being the only one up.

As usual the Great Hall is deserted and a bit chilly as is its custom when it’s empty of students, but I’m prepared and all I need is that warm cup between my palms. Dumbledore is sitting at the Teacher’s table and I give him a hesitant nod as I make my way to my own table, folding my legs beneath me to ward off the chill. The house elves do not fail me as my steaming cup of coffee arrives and a plate full of sausages and eggs and my single muffin. I never look my best on mornings, pretty awful some would say. My hair is often a tangled mess, depending on school I’d have bags beneath my eyes, and I’m usually completely make-up free. I think this is why I love mornings, it isn’t often one can just be themselves without the insecure baggage that tends to be most prominent during your secondary school years.

Today was a bit different from other days; it was when he came in. He hesitated when he saw me but offered a small grin as he made his way to where I was seated. He nodded as he sat himself down three spots down from across from me. I was surprised at the coffee that appeared at his plate, and a grin tugged my lips at the heaped plate of sausages, bacon, eggs, hash browns and bread. He didn’t talk and neither did I, which was well enough for me since I hate false conversation. Why one goes through the motions of them is beyond me. A lot more can be said by someone’s silence than the now empty words of ‘Hullo, how are you’.

I could already tell something was weighing down on him though one would have to be completely incapable of interpreting human emotion to not notice it. Head bowed, shoulders slumped and curved in as if to ward off people rather than the chill of the morning. I’d always known he had his own problems but I’d never really taken notice of them for when did he really take notice of me? I know, terribly selfish, but sometimes being selfish is good for the soul rather than the wallowing in self pity that I’ve been indulging in these past few months. I think ever since I broke up with Michael Corner I’ve been even more distressed with myself and falling into this helpless teenage angst and depression that my mother loves to criticize.

What most adults forget is that no matter how meaningless someone else’s problem may be to you, it’s a great deal to them. But I don’t think this ignorance comes only with adulthood, I know most people my age are completely oblivious and apathetic towards the feelings of others. The almost cruel manner in which they’d dismiss a single person is not so much a result of who they are but more who they think they have to be. I suppose self-image becomes more important these days when you’re trying to prove yourself to the opposite sex and those who you hold to be most important in your world. The depressed teenager across from me was one of the first few people I took notice of when I hit pre-teen. He’d always been centre of attention—the poor bloke—had always seemed so good and true, making the right choices and being so kind and giving. But I’d realized come his fifth year that he really was after all, human. He’s a teenage boy and struggling with his own problems alongside me. I really had no reason to judge or envy him because he in truth knew the same insecurities that I held.

Everyone wants a place in the world, whether you be recognized for it or at least acknowledged as a person in the midst of many. Some want to stand out, some can’t help but stand out, and some—the very few—are happy with who they are and what they have. Of course they have the aspiration to be something even more but not so much that they’d lead unhappy lives. Sometimes I’d walk by the old crossway between the Easy and South wing and eye the smokers with curiosity, wondering what exactly attracted them to the many properties of smoking pot. I couldn’t help be drawn to the colourful bottles and bowls that they used as they sat in a circle, negligent of the fact that Snape could round the corner at any point in time. The wizarding bongs would create vibrant blue and purple smoke as it swirled about their heads. I’ve seen him there sometimes. No longer a prefect and no longer swaggering his way around on the Quidditch Pitch, I suppose things didn’t go his way either now that he finds solace in the dream-like state he tends to reside in during the better half of our lunch breaks. He glares at me nonetheless and his lip curls if I look too long.

I haven’t had the guts or the desire really to try the smoking. I feel to cough just by watching them inhale the cloudy substance. Sometimes I feel like they’re watching me as well and judging me, sometimes I wonder if they think I’m judging them. I suppose I’m really not because I don’t criticize anything I don’t know about. Being a hypocrite is something I refuse to be. I can’t help but inhale the stale air that swirls around me as I scurry past them, for some reason the scent of marijuana has a comforting feel to me. Hermione wrinkles her nose each time, she loathes the smell. It isn’t pleasant really, just comforting. It’s very easy to look around you and watch people just trying to belong, if you took the time. I sometimes glanced at the few kids reclining against the railing and would smile a bit as they relaxed, discussing what Ravenclaws did. Whoever said Hufflepuffs weren’t too smart didn’t know Justin Finch-Fletchley or… Sighing I push the dark skinned boy from my mind.

Michael Corner has been plaguing my mind for a while now. I think breaking up with him was one of my more catastrophic moments. I remember comparing it to my First Year in my mind, just trying to make sense of things as I warded off the pain that came with the impromptu break-up. Staring into my now lukewarm coffee in disgust I set it aside and begin to dig into my breakfast. Harry has already finished half of his and is sipping his coffee as he stares into space. He suddenly spills the coffee all over the table as he’s jostled roughly by a self righteous git as he makes his way to his own table.

“Watch it Potter,” he sneered, smiling as the jeers from the few students at his house table reach our ears. I stare in shock as Harry barely spares him a glance and mops up the spill. As if from its own accord my hand makes a jerking motion and I fling my cold coffee across the table and into the face and chest of Draco Malfoy. He sputters, wiping at his face in disgust and I give him a cool look as he fixes a glare on me.

“Watch it Malfoy.”

I can’t help but enjoy the way the brown liquid has stained his starched collar and runs through his white blonde hair, the sticky mess now ruined from its usual style. His long fingered hands are swiping at his cloaks futilely as the liquid spreads. His eyes shoot up to mine and it’s then I realize exactly who I messed with. Quite quickly he’s leant across the table and he’s grasped my collar pulling my face close to his. I choke for breath but a slow smile spreads across my mouth even as Harry stands up quickly, wand drawn. Malfoy’s quicksilver eyes are staring into mine with dangerous anger, but even a Slytherin knows when he’s bested. My wand is pressed quite painfully into his neck and I can feel his quick pulse by how close he’s pulled me towards him. I smile even wider when he realizes exactly how tall I am and the bare inch that he has on me. For once I cherish my height rather than loathe it.

His breath is hot against my mouth and I struggle not to break and squirm in his grasp but stand my ground. I planned to show him exactly how little he was beneath my feet. I spare a quick glance at Harry who’s staring at us with his usual bewildered look. Draco suddenly tugs at my collar making me choke, his eyes flashing maliciously as I gasp into his mouth. His mouth seals over mine in a searing kiss as his tongue forces his way into my mouth and takes what is obviously not his. My eyes close even as his continue to stare into them, but at the last moment I see his close too. His warm tongue sweeps across my teeth, against my tongue and against my lips and I fight against the yearning to be pressed against him. The way I inhale between the kiss makes me shiver as his mouth opens to inhale too. He suddenly shoves me back into the bench and my arms fan about as I struggle to grab hold of the table but fall gracelessly onto my arse, legs still lodged on the bench.

Malfoy casts me a smirk. “Forget about him Weasley.”

And to my surprise I’d found that I had.

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A/N: haha, so random, the mindless drabble =P

I swear to you Tabanca 6 is near done. I just need one more 5am morning and it’ll be done. I hope so. *crosses fingers*