The Lonely Hearts Club [ Sirius Black ]

One

It's peculiar how certain days are predisposed to be productive, where sitting still seems a fate worse than death. There are other days when even naval gazing is a chore, and nothing short of nuclear fallout could get you out of bed. On this particular autumn Saturday, Cecilia found it to be of the former persuasion. Even without her alarm, she awoke with the sun and the birds —at 7 am.

Had anyone asked her, Cecilia could defend that she had at least tried to get some more sleep, tugging her curtains closed and smashing her face back into the pillow, but after a few minutes of restlessly tossing about, she relinquished that sunrise (as early as sunrise could be in early November in the Highlands of Scotland) was just as good a time as any to get up.

That is how Cecilia wound up in the Hogwarts Library at 7 am. She sat at a table in the empty library (empty all except Mme. Pince, the prissy librarian, who was somewhere on the other side of the large room), blatantly ignoring her homework assignments in favor of her book.

For some reason, her mind was too flighty to tackle the hopeless atrocity that was her potions essay but was perfectly capable and willing to fully immerse itself in Eddington's 1926 publication of The Internal Constitution of the Stars, which kept her distracted from her slowly accumulating homework in the early hours when everyone else could find comfort in the warmth of their beds and dorms. There were a few students who, like her, had meant to free their minds of stress by getting a load of their assignments done and stumbled into the library (in various states of dress —a good number of people appeared to be in pajamas and bath robes) in the coming hours. Like Lily Evans, who sat with Remus Lupin (both classmates of Cecilia's) at the table next to her, scribbling furiously as she took detailed notes from the NEWT-level Transfiguration textbook in front of her.

But for Cecilia, despite her need to be productive, today seemed to be a day when procrastination reigned supreme.

It wasn't until noon that any of her friends came looking for her; the large figure of Byron Oliver came lumbering bleary-eyed into the quiet room, disturbing it with a soft yawn and achey groan as he fell into the wooden chair beside her. Making up one half of the duo that Cecilia called her best friends, the Curly to her Moe.

He glanced around the room slyly, making sure that the librarian was nowhere near, before deeming it safe to pull out a smushed pile of buttered toast he had wrapped up in a linen handkerchief and a thermos of what was undoubtedly very strong black coffee from the front pocket his gray sports hoodie. "Amalia saved this from breakfast for you. I don't think it's edible— hold up, now I'm curious."

He unwrapped the handkerchief slightly to pull the top piece of toast out so he could stuff the entire slice into his mouth. Chewing largely and loudly, he grabbed the thermos and washed it down with coffee so strong that it almost smelled like chocolate. Of course, Cecilia was now watching her best friend with quirked eyebrows in silent judgment.