The Unexpected Task [H.P.]

Chapter 6 - Quidditch and Curses

TW - THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ALLUSIONS TO ED BEHAVIORS

✹✹✹

I entered the corridor to Gryffindor Tower almost 20 minutes later, feeling strangely content, even though I'd gotten lost at least three times on the journey back from the Owlery.

"Balderdash," I say to the Fat Lady, who smiles kindly down at me before swinging forward on her hinges. Inside, I'm met with a raucous Common Room, filled nearly to the brim with students milling about. In the corner, I find Harry, Ron and Hermione grouped around a table hunched over piles of homework. Or, at least Hermione was. Harry and Ron seemed to be enveloped in a rather exciting game of exploding snap.

For a moment, I considered sitting with them. I really, really did. But before I could take more than a step towards them, something in the back of my brain held my back. I could sit with them during class and laugh at their jokes during lunch- but in the evenings? This was uncharted territory- 

I deliberated as I watched as Harry's hand exploded in his face, leaving his glasses lens blackened with soot. Ron howled with laughter before him, and Hermione, glancing up from what looked like her Arithmancy homework, even laughed as well.

I turned on my heel and went up the stairs.

~

The next morning, I rose before Hermione, dressed and headed down to the Great Hall as soon as Breakfast started, determined to eat at least something.

We have History of Magic first block this morning, which I've heard can be particularly boring, so I made the list in my head on the way down. At least one coffee, two pieces of toast, and maybe porridge if I can stomach it.

I hadn't always been like this. But it isn't even that much of a problem. 

The Great Hall is nearly empty, bathed in early morning light. Above the grand chestnut tables, gray clouds gathered and sat, looking pregnant with more rain. I take a seat at the near empty Gryffindor table, glancing at the Seventh years already absorbed in their textbooks.

After pouring a mug of coffee, I look at the pile of toast before me, weighing my options. I could eat it plain, or just butter. Maybe some jam. Or jam and butter? I spotted some marmalade down the table. No, not marmalade. Never marmalade.

I drink my coffee black. No cream, no sugar. I sit there and drink two mugs of it, enveloped in my Charms textbook once again before I look up and find Harry sitting across from me, looking windswept. Maybe it was just the hair, though, it was always messy, and stuck up in the back. He's not wearing his uniform yet, instead, he's got on a black hoodie with a Quidditch jersey over it. Number 7.

"Goodmorning," he says, reaching for the platter of eggs to my left.

I'm speechless. Why is he sitting here? I just nod in response, taking another sip of my gone cold coffee to busy myself.

"I'm going to take my Firebolt out," Harry explained, and gestured to the bench beside him, where I could see the trim branches of a racing broom. "Haven't had time to since before the Quidditch World Cup."

I don't know what he wants me to say. I'm familiar with Quidditch enough to know that Firebolts are the highest quality brooms you could get, and some part of me is impressed. 

"Hmm," I respond, looking sideways at the plate of toast before me. I was just working up the courage to eat one before Harry sat down.

"I thought only Hermione was the type to read at the table," Harry continued, pouring himself a glass of water before leaning over to top mine off.