Tick Tock

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

The clock is always one to remind you where you are.

Dabble your quill up and down, waiting for class to end.

Tick, tock.

Gods, this goes on too long.

Tick tock.

Perhaps it is just you, but you feel as though time is going slower. Where once you found yourself unable to keep up with the rapid times of finals, you are now unable to remain at the heel of this 'time' contraption.

You sigh, and lean forward on to your desk. Professor Binns really did take much too much life out of things. How boring, and dry. And what's worse? Herbology next.

You are well aware of the fact that there are plenty of students, here at Hogwarts, who are more than happy to be learning about ancient battles and other "hoo-haw". Even students from your own house. But you? You are tired -and bored- with it.

Good Lord! What is that bug crawling across the windowsill? You squirm a bit before flicking it out the window. No body, not even a bug, is allowed to enter your territory. Including the window.

At the beginning of the year, you chose to sit here, next to the window, because it allowed you a view of open space. A rather nice option, considering the fact that you despise being locked up. Especially in a classroom. With a boring teacher. And the smelly fat kid sitting next to you. What was his name again? Not that it mattered, but you think his name is Jake something... John... Albert maybe?

Memory has always been a stunning thing for you. It pops out of nowhere. Like now, when you suddenly remember that Quidditch practice is tonight. Not that you are on the team, but a certain someone who looks absolutely lovely in black, you discovered however many years ago it was at the Winter ball, is on the team, and you feel it is your duty to watch the practice. Perhaps you'll get noticed?

Wouldn't that be lovely?

Good Gods, did you just say lovely?

You must really watch yourself around this lovey-dovey stuff... Otherwise the word "lovely" might sneak up on you. You wouldn't want that now would you?

Tick, tock.

Six seconds.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Why is the bell not ringing? Oh! That's right; bell doesn't ring for another five minutes.

You sigh again and allow yourself to lean back and look outside.

What if... You muse whilst starring out the window... What if I were to just get up and walk out now? Would Professor Binns even notice? Wait... Probably not a good idea to chance it. We mustn't be rebellious. I remember what happened last time...

You shudder as you recall your chance encounter with not only Professor Trelawney, but also Professor Snape. Cauldrons and tealeaves may be fine for them, but not you. Definitely not you. It took weeks for the wrinkles in your fingers to fade. Weeks of snickers at your house table. And a certain rival table.

Bell! Out of class. Good.

Off to the common room!

Oh dear. Dumbledore. Beckoning you. What did you do this time? No choice but to follow the old senile towards his dainty statue. Although that rising staircase thing has always impressed you.

And made your stomach weak, you remember just as the stairs begin to rise.

Grey stones of warm neutral tones gently slide past you. A door approaches your line of vision. The old man steps in front of you, and you are now in his office. Dandy. This place really is just much too old. And cluttered. And obnoxious in general.

Hm. You really are good with that negative attitude.

"Have a seat." He says to you, and you take the offered squishy chair. Oh yes, very squishy. You sink right in. You think they should have these chairs in all the classrooms. Except Divination. You fall asleep enough in that class.

"Is there something wrong, Headmaster?" You ask.

"No, no. Just wanted to tell you: meow. Meow. Meow."

You cannot help but wonder why the Headmaster is suddenly mewing as a cat.

Your eyes jerk open. You are sitting in the Quidditch pitch. It's almost nightfall, and you realize you must have fallen asleep during a certain someone's practice. An orange tabby sits by your feet mewing. Interesting how that sort of thing happens along, then butts into dreams.

Oh no? Were you seen sleeping?

Yes. By your beauty-in-black no less.

Your notice of this is followed by the snickering of the party in question, your crush, if you will.

Oh dear. Crush is approaching.

You're blushing. Gods, blushing definitely doesn't suit you.

"Have a nice nap?" Why must you be taunted like this?

"Quite."

"Quidditch is that boring, eh?"

"I suppose it is." You manage with a chuckle.

You aren't alone in chuckling.

"Hey. Would you like to go out with me sometime? Like, during the next visit to Hogsmead?"

"Sure."

"Cool."

Suddenly your beauty-in-black is called away, and you are still left sitting on the Quidditch pitch. You have just been asked out by your crush.

Nothing can ruin this.

Except for the fact that it just started raining, and you're in a t-shirt.

And now the ground will be wet.

But you have a date next weekend.

Tick, tock.

Suddenly, even though it is no longer a dream (you hope), the clock has slowed down again.

Tick... Tock... Tick...