I think I've been declared officially dead...note to self: you cannot operate on five hours' sleep! No really, I mean it!
My mother should be paying me for all the typing I'm doing for her. Screw Masterses, she needs to do a basic computer skills course. On the plus side, I now know how to do a Harvard referencing system...yayness.
Oh, and I suck culinary ass. I managed to burn, not just the mince tonight, but also a tea towel. Fun fact for today: scorched towels smell like onions. Really make your eyes water too, funny that...
Bought the Frames 'Dance the Devil' album. Dirt cheap, natch, as who knows who the Frames are? (Or, a more pertinent question, who listens to them?) One more to go, and I own HMV's entire collection...
Hey, cynicalpirate ! Did a drabble after all...just no keeping an, er, good (?) girl down...H/D, sans doute, and of the nightmare/dream theme you wanted. Muah.
Harry awoke sweating, the sheets in a ball at his feet. In his dream - no, in his nightmare - it must have been as hot as hell, because he’d wrestled himself out of, not only his blankets, but his pyjama top too. It lay in an uncomfortably bulky bundle just under his lower back. However, the midwinter’s night was icy-cold, and he shivered as his consciousness registered the freezing air hitting his bare, perspiring skin.
It couldn’t have been a Voldemort nightmare, because his scar lay flat, innocent and painless on his forehead. It had to be a regular, run-of-the-mill, ordinary sort of nightmare, and wasn’t is strange to think Harry Potter could get a bad dream that was just like anyone else’s? After everything that had happened, it seemed a little unfair. Or something.
Well. He frowned. He wasn’t at all sure, actually, that other people dreamed nightmares like these, these nightmares that seemed like bliss. He reckoned they were pretty unique. No matter, though - any dream featuring blonde-haired boys, and sneering, red mouths and - that many unnatural uses for a Quidditch pitch and two broomsticks - couldn’t but be classified as a nightmare. Couldn’t but be.
Harry looked down, and sighed.
The effect they had on his hormone-ridden body was most definitely a nightmare, that was for sure and certain.
Oh, just don't ask what goes on in my bored, over-heated little brain. Incidentally, 225 words (hey, that's a multiple of five, right! w00t, I remembers maths!!).