Disclaimer: These characters belong to J. K. Rowling and her publishers. In no way am I trying to infringe on her rights, nor am I making any money out of this even though I could really use it.
Author's note: This is a little shameless h/c piece of fluff which I just had to get out of my system. Feel free to leave reviews.
Under The Weather
"Wake up, Harry."
Harry muttered, turning away from the voice dragging him from a deep and much needed sleep. "Go 'way, Ron. 's Not morning yet..."
"Harry, come on. It's practice time." Hands shook him.
"Whah?" Harry slurred. He opened his eyes to slits and squinted at the seventh year Quidditch captain. "Wood?"
"Yup. Go on Harry, I want you down at the pitch in fifteen minutes."
Harry looked at the clock with gritty eyes and groaned as it showed him it was only five thirty. "You can't be serious, Oliver."
"Oh yes I am," said Wood, looking rather hysterical as he went along. "The match is only a month away, you know that, and we need the practice to beat Slytherin. It's my last chance and I'm not going to let a little sleep destroy my last chance ever for the Cup. I've let myself slack off often enough and now this is my final go at it and-"
"All right, Oliver, don't pop a vein. I'm coming," Harry grumbled, pushing his comfortable duvet back and shivering in the morning chill that permeated the bedroom.
"Okay, jolly good, off to wake the girls then," Oliver said, a sort of dark gloom settling over his features when the moment drew near of having to drag three Gryffindor girls, who were definitely not going to thank him for waking them at this hour, from their beds. But, determined as he was, he set his jaw and marched from Harry's bedroom.
Harry, still half asleep, traipsed to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and to brush his teeth. Looking in the mirror he saw a white face with dark smudges under his eyes looking back at him, and he grimaced at the unruly mop of hair that stuck up every which way. He tried to flatten it with his hand, but gave up soon enough, knowing it was a lost cause anyway. After getting dressed and fishing his broom from his trunk, he threw a envious look at Ron, looking blissfully asleep in his four-poster, and dragged his feet down to the common room.
He found the twins waiting for him and the others. They murmured a ''mornin'" and Harry joined them in waiting for Wood and the girls, yawning and slouching over the sofa's until the rest of the team trudged down and they sleepwalked down to the Quidditch pitch together. Even the twins weren't as rambunctious as normal, and Fred was only just saved from drunkenly walking into a suit of armour by George, who grabbed him forcefully by the scruff.
"Oliver, shouldn't we get Madam Hooch to o-o." Katie yawned loudly. "Oversee the practice? You know, because of." She motioned a hand towards Harry, who ducked his head.
"She's going to be furious if we wake her up at this hour," George chuckled.
"So what?" Fred piped up. "We're up. Why should we be the only ones to suffer?"
Oliver - looking revoltingly awake and chipper except for the nervous twitch at his left eye - contemplated this. "I think we should just let her sleep. I mean, we're all there to keep an eye on Harry, and we all brought our wands right?" He looked at the rest of his team.
"Right," they all echoed.
"I doubt even a mass murderer would be up at this hour anyway," Fred muttered grumpily, while the girls shared worried glances.
"We can tell her about tomorrow morning's six o'clock practice and she can decide if she wants to join us then," Oliver decided.
They all groaned.
"You're going to kill us, Wood," Fred grunted, and he grabbed Harry's arm just as Harry was about to blindly go down a staircase on the right, steering him back into the right direction.
"Yeah, well," Wood said grimly. "Better me now than Slytherin next month." Which no one could really disagree with.
More collective groans were heard as they stood at the exit of the castle, taking in the depressing state of the weather. It was still pitch dark, the sun not even near rising, and rain steadily fell from the sky with no evidence that it was going to clear anytime soon. Looking miserably at each other the team allowed Wood to herd them out onto the muddy path to the Quidditch pitch.
"Remember," Wood said. "Last time we played and the weather was like this we lost!"
"We lost because a few hundred Dementors decided it was snack time, not because of the weather," Fred muttered darkly.
"Well, Harry sorted that problem out, didn't he?" Wood said, turning on Harry.
"Yeah, sort of," Harry hedged. "It's an ongoing project, like."
"Yeah, Harry's got it." Wood affirmed. Harry grimaced behind his back.
Soon they were all too soaked to even care that they were wet, and reaching the pitch they resignedly kicked up into the sky, Wood all the while reminding them that it was actually a good thing the weather was this dismal. After all, there was no saying whether the weather wasn't going to be exactly like this on the day of the match, and at least this way they were trained in dealing with it.
Everyone studiously ignored Wood's optimism and huddled on their brooms, flying bent low over the handle and squinting to keep the rain from lashing into their eyes. Even Harry, who had put Hermione's Impervius charm on his glasses to make them water repellent, could hardly see a thing in the thick rain. It took him the entire practice to catch the Snitch, and even then it was only because it had flown directly into the back of Wood's head and the captain had shouted for Harry to come get it.
Things hadn't been going particularly better with his team mates. They had lost the Quaffle three times, once having to look for it for at least twenty minutes before Alicia finally found it in the rafters. Fred accidentally sent George flying off his broom with a misdirected Bludger, landing George in a puddle of mud the size of a small lake. George in retaliation had pulled Fred in with him when his brother had come to see if he was alright, which left them both caked with mud, their hair turned into brownish dreadlocks plastered to their heads.
Wood was looking crushed at how bad the practice had gone, and eventually even the last vestiges of his determination had been dispelled by the fact that he was soaked and freezing. When he finally dismissed the team, he looked ready to lie face down in the mud and choke himself.
"Go on, Oliver," Katie told him, pulling him along. "We'll do great tomorrow, you'll see. We're just having an off day."
"Yeah, I mean, how long can it possibly keep raining like this?" said Harry, huddled at Angelina's side, using her to shield him from the wind. "At some point the sky has got to run out of water."
"This is Scotland." Fred said cynically.
"It can rain like this for days," added George.
"Weeks," said Fred.
"Oy, enough of that," Alicia said, scuffing both Fred and George simultaneously on the back of their heads. "Let's get back in and dry before we actually do drown out here. There might still be time for breakfast."
"Ooh, food!" Fred and George both vaulted onto their brooms and rocketed to the castle, the rest following after somewhat calmer, but not by much.
Unfortunately it was later than they'd thought, and except for Angelina and Katie, who had their first period free, the others barely had time to go and get changed before classes, let alone have breakfast. Harry didn't even have time for that, as he realised he had double potions first that morning, and he could never get up to Gryffindor tower and back down to the dungeons in time for class if he did. He gave his Firebolt to Fred to take to his dormitory and, commiserating his misfortune, trudged off to the staircase that would lead him down to the dank classroom. He thought grumpily that he hadn't been hungry anyway, and he also mentally prepared himself to the barrage of insults that was bound to come his way, knowing that Snape was going to give him hell for dripping puddles in his manky, smelly dungeon.