You and Your Beautiful Soul
The morning came bright and cool. Birds chirped in the branches of the Dark Forest and owls hooted wearily as they trekked in from their nocturnal hunts. A fairy or two darted in the lavender patch and the squid in the lake waved a lazy tentacle as it dove under for a nap. Yes, the animals were either turning in or just waking up, welcoming a sunny new day.
All animals, that is, except Ron Weasley. He was still in bed, snoring loudly, contently curled up beneath his thick duvet.
Harry watched him fondly as he settled the strap of his bag across his chest. Walking over, he shook the boy's shoulder, skillfully dodging the sleepy arm that flew out to attack him and smiled as Ron rolled onto his stomach. This was why no one else wanted to rouse the Weasley. His awkward growth spurt had granted him long limbs and sleek, strong muscle in which to control them. But Harry was used to it by now and could deftly avoid any attack the redhead might obliviously dish out.
A smirk forming on his lips