Setting the Stage
Harry scrunched his nose before groaning and rolling over, pressing his pillow to his ear. The loud vibration of his alarm spell informed him that it was time to start his day. He tried to ignore the irritating reminder of his wakefulness and pretend he was still blissfully asleep but eventually the promise of silence overruled his desire for sleep.
With a sigh, he released the pillow from his grasp and half-heartedly stretched his arms above his head. He reached out to his bedside table and flicked his wand, to dispel the alarm. Finally opening his eyes, Harry gazed at his ceiling.
Most ceilings belonging to the bedrooms of 15-year-old wizards were adorned with posters of quidditch teams and other paraphernalia, maybe the odd photograph of scantily-clad witches or even a mural of stars. Something to captivate the mind.
Harry's ceiling was a barren wasteland of cracked black paint. A standard of the Black family household.
In all fairness, he did have a several-years-old Chudley Cannons poster that his best friend Ron gave him for Christmas some years ago. And some old newspaper clippings of his parents' performances. And the cracks weren't always there - a recent side effect of dispelling the semi-permanent sticking charms. Honestly, the fact that it so closely resembled most other ceilings in No. 12 Grimmauld Place was just an odd coincidence.
What were we talking about again? Ah yes.
The cracked ceiling.
The rest of his bedroom was similarly plain, the only evidence of its once-filled bookshelves and desk were the various clean silhouettes that contrasted the light smattering of dust on each surface. All of the items that used to fill the space had been unceremoniously crammed into his trunk within the last few days. Said trunk was sitting next to his door waiting for him to drag it downstairs (which he was meant to do yesterday evening but he forgot).
Upon this realisation, Harry pushed the blankets down and shivered as the cool air hit his skin. Rubbing his arms to warm them up, he got out of bed.
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Harry was just walking down the last step - aforementioned trunk in tow - when he heard a voice call his name followed by the words 'breakfast is ready'.
Turning the corner, he was greeted by the sight of Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony sitting at the kitchen table. Padfoot, despite being of noble blood, was currently shovelling a stack of pancakes into his mouth. There was maple syrup dribbling down the side of his chin and his cheeks were stuffed full like a niffler hiding galleons. Moony glanced at Padfoot in mild disgust and lifted his porcelain teacup to his lips, pinkie finger out of course.
Despite Padfoot's...unusual eating habits, the two adults were talking quietly with each other - quietly enough that Harry couldn't make out any words, just indistinct voices.
Announcing his presence, Harry set his trunk down on the dark floorboards with a bit more force than necessary. Moony and Padfoot looked up as he pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. He pulled the stack of pancakes and started helping himself to a portion. He was maybe three-quarters of the way through his breakfast when Sirius decided to break the silence.
"So pup, you ready for your first year at Hogwarts?"
Maybe Harry was surprised at the question because it was such a Not-Sirius thing to say, and also a dumb question.
"That's a dumb question. Obviously I am!" He cringed slightly as the words left his mouth. They were harsher than he intended and he didn't want to spoil this exciting day with an argument. He sighed
"Sorry, I had a bad dream. Yes, I am excited - I've been waiting for this day for so long!" The two men, who had shared a Look at his attitude a moment before, had calmed down at his explanation. They knew better than to ask about his nightmares, it was pretty obvious what his nightmares were about.
"Now, it's very normal if you are feeling nervous or anxious abou-"
"Moony, I promise I'm ok. I've got Ron and Hermione, We've been friends since we were 9"
"Sure, but Hogwarts is very different from Magic Prep. It's a boarding school, for one, that means no more 'oops I left it at home let me go back and get it- " Remus not-so-subtly eyed Harry's trunk. Harry rolled his eyes "- and it's a lot more serious. This is the key to your future as an actor. Going to a Performing Arts school may sound fun, and it definitely has its fun moments, but it is hard work. It's not all fun and games. And also-"
"Merlin's beard Moony! Don't scare the kid before his first day. We do actually want him to get on the train." Sirius spelled the now-clean plates to the kitchen as Remus huffed in false annoyance.
"Anyway Pup, what Remus here is TRYING to say, is that we want to give you this." He pulled out a small rectangle of folded purple cloth. As Padfoot unfolded the fabric, Harry caught sight of a small mirror. "It's an enchanted mirror. All you have to do is say either of our names into it and, provided we aren't busy, we will answer. Moony, Wormtail, your father and I used them to keep in contact with each other during our own Hogwarts days."
At the mention of his father, Harry's light smile born of his Godparents' banter drooped slightly. It may have been almost 7 years since that awful night but things like that don't just go away. To this day, he struggles with casting fire spells or using the floo.
Remus and Sirius caught the change in Harry's mood and promptly changed the subject to something more light-hearted such as the best tricks to getting out of detention.
Before long, it was time to go to the platform. Remus tapped his wand on the top of Harry's trunk and watched as it shrunk down to fit in the palm of his hand. Harry pocketed his now tiny trunk and took a deep, calming breath to steel his nerves. The three of them apparated to platform 9 3/4.