devilish; lorenzo berkshire

𝐼𝐼

Mornings. They're murderous.

Genuinely. You wake up in the morning, and almost always without fail want to hit yourself over the head with a frying pan.

With a groan, you heave yourself up from bed, your head feeling as heavy as a sack of bricks. It isn't fun, and yet you roll over on the bed, expecting to see Mrs. Bogdanova hanging in the girl's dormitories, waking you and all the other girls at Durmstrang up.

Alas, you're met with green curtains, and the squawk of an alarm clock outside. Not only that, it's dark in your four-poster bed, and you can already hear the other girls milling around outside, meaning you're late in getting ready.

With another groan, you swing the curtains open, stepping out of your bed onto the thick, royal, layered rugs on the floor, the wool rough on your feet.

"Another one who isn't a morning bird." A voice announces from your side, and you turn your squinted eyes to Daphne smiling at you. "You'll be joining Pansy and Mel in the 'I hate mornings' club."

With this, she flicks her wand at the alarm clock on your bedside table, and the incessant squawking stops.

"Thanks." You murmur, and turn to your trunk, flinging it wide open as there's a distinct noise of a thump and a loud swear word from the bathroom.

"Pansy, hurry up in there!" Franek calls out, her fist thumping on the door to the bathroom. "I'm about to fall asleep again, and McGonagall will transfigure my guts into a bloody ticking time bomb if I'm late to her first class of the year."

"I'm trying!" Pansy calls back. "It's not my fault I can't get my leg into these shorts! I think the leg hole disappeared."

You shake your head slightly, already finding this cheerful bunch much funnier than your dorm mates in Durmstrang— although whether that's because they were mean people or you never cared to get to know them you don't know— and pick out your new clothes for the day.

Tracey is humming softly, pulling her hair out of rollers as Daphne straightens her hair with her wand, cursing herself quietly for not having practiced.

Pansy storms out the bathroom, fully ready, right when you're fixing your hair, your new school robes absolutely pristine with their freshness.

"You take that long again Pansy, and I'll turn your guts into a bomb." Franek threatens, rushing into the bathroom. "I still need to shower and dry my hair."

"Should've been faster!" Pansy sing-songs, walking over to her bag to start packing her things.

Your own school bag is already packed, and so you're perfectly fine to just sit down and wait for everybody else to get ready.

The room is shockingly clean, although you're quite sure that it will descend into madness the more the year progresses.

After about half an hour, Franek emerges with her hair damp and crawling into little ringlets down her back, patting down her face with a towel.

"I bloody hate you, Pansy. You don't even know how long it takes to do my hair." She snaps, dropping the towel as she lifts the last part of her uniform, putting the tie around her neck. "I wasn't joking about the guts as a bomb."