The alarm on the clock went off, startling the cat and dog curled up on the foot of the bed, each on their own corner. They both sprung to life and jumped to the floor, the cat choosing to bolt from the room completely while the dog just lingered at the door and whined at the remaining occupant in the bed. Said occupant muttered something to himself before rolling over, pillow going over his head to block out the sound as if he expected someone else to hit the snooze or off button for him. There was no one there though and the other side of the bed was cold when the man rolled again to poke at the other body that should have been there.
There was another shuffle, and a slight shimmy across the bed from the blanket cocoon before a hand managed to emerge from the bundle and smack the the top of the clock to silence it. As if the cold was hurting it, the hand quickly withdrew, back to the safety of the blankets and it was followed up by a muffled whine. “Errrrwiiiin…”
James Potter jumped and sprung out of the way as a rather
burly looking man strode towards him. He muttered an apology but scowled as the
man roughly pushed him aside. Where Londoners always this rude? Ever since he
moved to the city things just kept going badly. James was the sort of person
who attracted trouble like a magnet. Where ever he went there was always a
certainty that he would trip over someone’s feet, or get into an arm wrestle,
or accidentally offend an extremely sensitive person. It’s not that he did
these things on purpose; he was just a tall, clumsy twenty year old who was
prone to distraction. It was the, what, fifth time today he had ‘got in
someone’s way’ and to be honest, James was getting rather fed up. Okay, maybe
it was his fault this time; come to think of it he was standing in the middle of a busy pavement. But that’s only
because he needed to take a picture of a street sign. Surely getting in
someone’s way is forgiven if it’s done in the case of a funny pun? Apparently
not in London.
Adjusting his headphones, he began to saunter down Regent
Street. His music was loud, too loud, but James didn’t care. He was positive his
music taste was brilliant; he was doing everyone a favour if they could hear it
too. He was giving back to society, wasn’t he? Noting the time, he sighed. He
was late, well, when was he not? Lupin would kill him when he finally arrived
but ‘better late than never’ was the motto he lived by. James was never one for
time keeping, or organisation for that matter. He just didn’t see the point in
planning beforehand if he was going to oversleep anyway.
Strumming his fingers in time to the beat of the song, he
stepped out to cross the road, not quite concentrating on what he was doing.
“Fuck. I feel like I’ve been hit by a car.”
“You have been hit by a car! Can you not remember? Have I
given you amnesia? Oh God oh God oh God oh God.” A panicky disembodied voice was
He opened his eyes and squinted groggily at his
surroundings. He was lying on the side of the road he had just attempted to
cross, with something soft under his head.
“What just happened?” James tried to sit up but was gently
pushed down again.
“Don’t get up; you need to lie here until the ambulance
comes.” The voice told him.
“What happened?” James repeated. His back felt sore and the
left side of his ribcage felt horribly bruised.
“You just ran out in front of me, oh my God I’m so sorry, I
had to emergency stop but I just managed to bump into you and you just went
flying and I didn’t know what to do but it’s alright because the ambulance
should be here soon and you don’t seem to have any serious injuries, I checked.
It’s lucky I did that first aid course last year because otherwise-”
“Do you know where my glasses are?” James interrupted,
growing tired of the girls incessant babbling.
“Yes, I picked them up.”
James jumped as the metal frames were timidly placed on his
nose, and his hair was brushed out of his eyes. The world seemed to erupt into
clarity, and James turned his head to face the girl. She was kneeling next to
him on the pavement, her long red hair swaying across her face. She was biting
her nails and her emerald green eyes darting across James’ body, still checking
for any signs of damage.
“How are you feeling? Does anything in particular hurt?” She
asked, worry dominating her pale face. “The emergency services said I should
just keep you talking.”
“Well, I’ve been better.” He flashed her one of his smiles.
“James Potter, by the way.”
“Lily Evans.” The girl replied. “Does anything feel broken?”