Title: In which Ed has his third day
Ed made sure he was up earlier than the rest of his roommates, and when he opened his eyes the room was still dark. His stomach was decidedly queasy at the moment, and the mere thought of food made bile rise up in his throat, but all that he knew was a side effect of delaying his need to fill it from late the night before. That was something that couldn't be helped, as the kitchens were closed when he and Harry had been dismissed from that detention with the pink toad.
As he reached groggily about the sides of the bed with his left hand, and he felt the various aches in his ports that told him the weather outside was just as miserable as it had been the day before. Long pants on, he slipped the long sleeved sweater over his head and set about locating his socks, boots, and shoes. Before he knew it, he was on the floor.
"Wha..?" Neville called out. "Ed..? That...?"
Gritting his teeth, he picked himself back up. Or tried to. Head swimming in circles, he was inclined not to move much. He eased himself up to a sitting position, wondering vaguely how he had managed to do something so..stupid...as to fall out of bed.
"Ed..? You ok, mate..?" Ron's voice called from the darkness.
"Yeah." Ed croaked out softly. "Just..fell."
He felt around behind himself, found his socks and dutifully slipped them on. They were followed by his boots. The windows were glowing with the morning sun by the time he struggled with his shoe laces, and Ed looked up at them in wonder.
'Should've had a least an hour' he thought as he climbed to his feet.
Once he was standing, he had to close his eyes a moment to stop his head from spinning. When he opened them, he noticed his hands: both were trembling. He lifted the automail one and tilted his head, watching it. It was as if the mechanical 'muscles' were as starved for fuel as the real ones were in the other hand.
"..Don't ..be a sign of rejection.." Ed said softly in Amestrian, and tried to make a fist.
He watched as the shaking fingers struggled to close fully, then he took the wrist with his left and brought both to his chest. He held his arms that way all the way to the Main Hall, where he sat down heavily at the bench for Griffindors; He was the only one there, and the fake sky above him showed the first morning rays of the rising sun. After a few moments, he laid his head onto the table and closed his eyes, trusting the the smell of food would awaken him when it arrived.
It didn't.
Hermione tapping her hand on his living shoulder did.
"Don't you have class in a few minutes?" she asked, for once not blushing when she looked at his face.
"Vhat time is it?" Ed croaked, as he lifted his head. His stomach had yet to awaken, and his nose wrinkled against the assault of strong aromas the dishes wafted his way. It took several breaths, then his stomach rumbled loudly enough that Hermione raised her eyebrows.
His hands were hanging freely between his legs, and he, groggily, brought first one, then the other to the table top and pushed himself upright. With his shaking right, he grabbed a nearby empty plate; and with his quivering left, the serving spoon for what looked like scramble eggs.
"..nearly 9. I saw Harry and Ron in the common room a bit ago."
"Food..is much more needed vright now.." Ed glanced at Hermione, and smirked. "I am not liking dhat class much anyvay."
Hermione sat down right next to him and shot a dirty look at someone he didn't care to see; Food holding his full attention.
"Ed..um..I thought I should mention..um..you forgot a few things. Your robe, AGAIN, for one..and..ah.."
Ed saw it then. The gleaming metal of his right hand: He had forgotten his gloves.
"Tch." Ed said, and slipped the hand under the table as he ate greedily with his left.
As soon as the plate was empty, he brought his right hand out again to dish up more food from the plates before him. With each mouthful he swallowed, he was feeling more like himself instead of a trembling mess twitchy muscle-- And chrome. Soon, his hands were once again steady, and he judged could hold a mug of coffee without spilling it. He poured, swigged, and nearly burned his tongue and throat with the dark liquid in his rush. He hurried off to retrieve the hated robe just as McGonagall entered the Hall, and planned to run the entire way to the stupid class he had at the place called the north tower.
He did not notice the beady eyes that watched him from the high table, nor the pink clad, toady woman that they belonged to.
:::
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