MetaFic

Mornings had always been Harry’s favourite part of the day. No matter how controlled or scripted his life had been, he’d always taken the trouble to wake before the appointed time and today was no exception.

No matter how dark it was outside, mornings had always been a time of clarity where the demands of the day were placed into perspective and mastered accordingly. A similar exercise before retiring ensured that any unresolved issues from the day before were subjected to the same diligent and dispassionate dissection, leaving their component parts easily understood and their place found in the day as yet untried.

But today was different.

His mind was a maelstrom of disjointed ideas, emotions and, because it was a state of mind he was unfamiliar with, incredulity; a disbelief that his well-ordered mind could be laid low thus.

Like a seasoned general, whose troops had been scattered, he tried vainly to bring order to the disarray. The disciplines and sheer bloody-mindedness that had served him so well proved toothless in the face of this new and all pervasive enemy.

Finally, he decided that discretion was the better part of valour and retreated to the one thing that would provide him with an escape- exercise. Rising from his bed he paid a quick visit to the loo before donning his running gear and, with the aid of a disillusionment charm, he slipped unnoticed from the Slytherin common room and out into the castle proper.