The Best Part of the Day

[Padfoot ♥]

Sirius Black, Gryffindor, Marauder, and Most-Handsome-Boy-in-Hogwarts if you were to go by his opinion (the only one that matters anyway) was slumped over the Gryffindor table, rubbing the sleep out of his ice blue eyes. If it wasn't for the food, he wouldn't get up this early. Ever. If it wasn't for the food, he probably wouldn't get out of bed, and to hell with McGonagall. But there was food, though the teen wasn't sure how he was supposed to eat it at this ungodly hour. At eight o'clock his preferred mental state was comatose. Around him, his housemates were chattering away, babbling to one another about classes (oh Merlin, how was he supposed to go to classes at this hour?) or whatever they were doing today. Morning people, he considered earnestly, sucked.
He ran a hand through his hair, not making any effect on it whereas after this action James' mop would be transformed into a hedgehog. Instead, his dark locks just fell back into place. Sometimes, especially after James' hair got so out of hand after a quidditch match that it scared first years, he really was grateful for his easygoing tresses.

With a sigh he idly drummed his fingers on the tabletop. Where was the food, when was the food going to be served? He loved the houseelves but if they didn't hurry up and feed him, someone was going to pay. He turned around to glare at the Slytherin table across the room. If someone had to pay, it was usually the Slytherins. And if it wasn't, Sirius and his friends usually got the nasty gits just for the fun of it. Besides, they probably deserved it anyhow. They were sneaky, and the teachers couldn't be expected to keep up with all their heinous wrongdoings. Why, the Marauders were practically saints, delivering Hogwarts from the tyranny of those ugly snakes.
With a miserable groan to express how absolutely horrible his life was at this very moment Sirius sank back down to the table, burying his head solemnly in his hands. Did no one understand the meaning of service around here?
But as soon as his nose touched the tabletop, it was filled with rich smells, all the more lovely since he and James figured out that animagus thing. The food was here!
With unfeigned enthusiasm Sirius began ladling helpings onto his plate, grinning widely. It really didn't take much, he thought to himself as he grabbed a handful of slices from the toast platter, but he honestly couldn't care less.

[Prongs™]

James Potter, Gryffindor, Marauder, the bravest of the brave - or so he thought. Well, it could be worse - he could have imagined himself drop-dead gorgeous. As if - the rumpled mop of messy black hair that lay over his head deducted his "gorgeous" points into negative numbers. Well, better messy than laden with grease and never washed, like that slimeball Snivellus - why, next to him, he felt extremely well groomed.

Having just come down from Gryffindor Tower in a state of half-consciousness, his messy hair even worse after just getting out of bed, he hurriedly made a half-hearted attempt to flatten it into a presentable state before entering the Hall, his nose suddenly twitching in delight from all the wonderful smells that hit it. And who else would be there but Sirius, his best friend?

The teen spotted him almost at once - who couldn't? - and hurried to join him, squeezing in next to his friend beside a first year, who looked positively terrified to have someone so tall and so much more mentally and physically mature than her - of course, that was what he would liked to have thought. Ignoring the fact that the girl had frozen solid in her seat, staring at him as though he were some sort of animal in a zoo, he piled bacon, sausages, fried eggs and a numerous amount of other things onto his plate, before smothering the whole dish in a mountain of ketchup. Though he may have been a herbivore in his stag form, the call of the sausage and bacon was not one that was easily denied.