bright | g. weasley

One.

As the night grew into day, sunlight poured into the room, casting a faint early morning glow across the sleeping figure. Her sandy brown hair looked almost bronze under the rays and fell in slight waves over her face. Her eyes squinted together as the sun disrupted her, yet they remained closed, and she tugged the duvet over her head to hide from the fact that it was now daytime.

Footsteps sounded against the oak steps, each one getting louder as they got closer. Whoever the feet belonged to burst into the room, ruining any chance Brigid got of sleeping in any later.

"Brigid!" the voice cried out. "Mam says it's time to wake up!"

Brigid let out a groan, hoping her little brother would just go away. It was early, far too early and all Brigid wanted to do was continue to lay there and sleep. Why do beds always feel the comfiest early in the morning?

"Brigid!" the voice shouted.

"Go away, Seamus," a thick Irish accent commanded from the depths of the covers.

But the young lad was relentless. "But mam says it's time to get up. It's almost half past eight!"

Brigid let out yet another groan and tossed the duvet off her face, turning toward the door with a scowl on her face. Tiny little Seamus stood in the doorway, freckled face looking both excited and unsure. His features matched hers. They both looked a lot like their mother, Seamus more than Brigid.

It was the first of September, the day they'd be going to Hogwarts. It was the first day of Brigid's third year and of Seamus's first year. The siblings were only two years apart, and yet Brigid felt so much older than Seamus. To Brigid, Seamus was just a tyke. At the end of the month, Brigid would be turning thirteen, the official mark of teenager-hood.

"Mam's made pancakes," said Seamus in an innocent attempt to get his sister up. It was a tradition; every year on the first day of term, Mrs. Finnigan made pancakes, along with a normally traditional English breakfast for her two children.

Mrs. Finnigan was a single mother; Mr. Finnigan had walked out five years before, leaving Nora to take care of two kids by herself. Sean Finnigan-- who was a Muggle-- had claimed the whole 'magic thing' was all too much for him, so he packed up his items and split. He'd kept in contact for a while, but just as he had stopped caring for his family, his letters stopped, too.

Brigid tried not to talk about her father, especially around her mother, but Seamus was so young and naive that he couldn't help but speak up about certain things he remembered and missed about him. 

Brigid rolled back over and grabbed her glasses up off the side table next to her bed. Also on the side table sat a very tall stack of books, all of them relating to Charms, which was Brigid's favorite class. Brigid was smart, one of the smartest kids in her year, but anyone would agree that Charms was the class she excelled at and loved most. It seemed to come naturally to her. She did well in her other classes, but to her, it was only because she had to.

Brigid had dreams of someday being the coolest teacher at Hogwarts. She had wanted to be a Charms Professor ever since Flitwick had shown her how cool the subject was. If you excelled at Charms, you could excel at anything. Or, at least, that's what the young girl believed.

Brigid shoved her square-rimmed glasses onto her face, then slid out of bed. Seamus turned and ran back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Now that she was awake, Brigid could smell the pancakes cooking downstairs. Still in her pajama shorts and a baggy t-shirt, she moved over to her chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of tall socks, which were decorated with circus lions in tutus. Satisfied with warm feet now, Bridgid moved to go downstairs to join her family for breakfast.