Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Cal woke to incessant mewling and a weight on his chest. He groaned as he came to, blinking open his eyes as he peered blearily around his bedroom. It was morning, and the sun was peeking out from behind his curtains, the watery sunlight staining his walls a pale green-grey. It reminded him of the Slytherin common room; of the dark, velvet drapes and the hum of the Black Lake as it sat, omnipresent, in the background.
He yawned loudly, stretching his arms above his head with the satisfaction only a good stretch could bring.
The pressure on his chest moved, and sure enough, when his eyes finally adjusted being awake, they fell on his cat, Pepper, who was ( as he predicted ) sitting on his chest and meowing. He barely reacted to her presence as he set a hand of her head and scratched behind her right ear, exactly where she liked it. No wonder I dreamt I was drowning, what with all that fluff putting pressure on my chest.
Eventually, after a while of listening to Pepper's soft purrs, Cal lifted the duvet off of him and stood up from his bed. He cradled Pepper in his arms and she settled snuggly into the crook of his elbow, her yellow eyes peering curiously up at him. He smiled without meaning to and rubbed her head with the pad of his thumb.
"What's got you up so early, Pepper?" He asked her, grinning and not expecting a response. However—and maybe this was the Meazle blood— she made an almost sheepish sound, as if she knew exactly what he was asking her.
He chuckled and looked over at his alarm clock: nine-thirty. Thank Merlin that she woke him up, or else there was no doubt in his mind that his Mum would have come barging into his room, tearing open the curtains and practically blinding him, complaining about the clothes on his floor and about how it would be the last time they would see each other, as if he didn't come home for Christmas. Now, at least, he would have some time to actually prepare himself for the day.
Quickly, so as to not incur his Mum's wrath, Cal got ready for the train ride to Hogwarts, shooting his reflection a wink and double finger guns in the mirror. His friends always complained about his confidence; they said he was arrogant. He just preferred to think of himself as secure in his own body.
Cal trotted down the stairs—passing memorabilia his Dad kept from his years at Hogwarts. He spotted the old, worn out Gryffindor scarf and countless other red and gold stuff and scoffed. He thought it was beyond tacky, but, because his room had a distinct green aesthetic and he didn't want to start a House-war in his own home, he wisely mentioned nothing of it to his Dad—and into their small kitchen, where his family were seated at the table, enjoying a hearty English breakfast. Cal joined them, pulling out his chair and digging into one of his sausages.
