morning run

As the morning sun began to cast its golden glow over the Hogwarts grounds, a refreshing breeze danced through the air, causing Cillian's vibrant red hair to sway gently. With his heart pounding in rhythm with each step, he raced past the tranquil black lake, its glassy surface mirroring the serenity of the dawn. Pausing momentarily, he took in the breathtaking view, the stillness of the water captivating his attention.

Jogging in place, Cillian let his eyes wander across the horizon where the sun slowly emerged, casting its warm hues upon the world. The peacefulness of the scene provided a momentary respite from the intensity that often consumed him. Sweat trickled down his face, dampening his shirt and causing it to cling uncomfortably to his back. It was a testament to the effort he poured into his daily run, a ritual he had adopted since his fourth year to channel his boundless energy and keep himself focused.

The rhythm of his breath matched the steady cadence of his feet hitting the ground, propelling him forward with determination. As he neared the end of his run, Cillian's mind cleared, the physical exertion offering a temporary reprieve from the thoughts and emotions that swirled within him. The rhythmic thumping of his heart seemed to synchronize with the natural world around him, grounding him in the present moment.

In the tranquil surroundings, Cillian found solace, a moment of stillness amidst the bustling life of Hogwarts. It was during these early morning runs that he felt a sense of liberation, an opportunity to connect with nature and find balance within himself. As he prepared to resume his run, his energy replenished and his spirit uplifted, he carried with him a renewed sense of purpose and a newfound clarity.

By the time Olly headed out for his morning routine, Jack Dyllan was already heading back into the castle, broom over her shoulder and hair dripping with sweat. He offered a hearty good morning despite the early hour, earning him a look of unadulterated unenthusiasm. He waited for her to pass before shaking his head and letting out a laugh. That was one tough nut to crack.

He dropped to the ground to do his warm up stretches, and by the time he had stood and refastened his trainers, he spotted the other Gryffindor Beater. He'd always found it fun that the team had two redheads wielding their bats, and wondered if the 'matching set' jokes had been the thing to convince Dyllan to dye her hair that black hue. The world may never know.

He started off at a sprint to cover the distance between himself and Finnegan, pulling alongside the other boy. "Fine day for a run, eh?" he asked, his smile wide.

Cill's morning runs were usually solitary affairs, as most students found the early hour too daunting. So, when Oliver unexpectedly appeared by his side, Cill couldn't help but be taken aback. A small smile tugged at his lips as he glanced at the Hufflepuff boy, their strides falling into rhythm. "Indeed it is," Cillian remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "And definitely beats braving the freezing cold and snow on my own."

"Quite the early bird, aren't you?" he noted, his voice carrying a hint of playfulness. "But I suppose it's a refreshing change to have company." As their feet carried them forward, Cillian fell silent once again.

Olly was glad to see his presence was welcomed. He knew some people took the House rivalries very seriously, such as the Gryffindor captain he’s just narrowly escaped, but he loved the game too much to have any prejudices towards the other teams or players. To play the game, he needed them. And for that, he loved them.

“To be honest, I’m not usually out here so early,” Olly admitted. “I have an early morning study session with a friend though, they’re panicked about a test. So if I wanted to run, I needed to wake up early.” He glanced back. “I passed by your Captain. Can’t imagine how early she must’ve gotten up. Is this a Gryffindor tactic? Early morning training?”

Cillian's focus on Jack remained confined to their shared practices, where her passion for the game burned brightly. While Jack harbored a genuine fondness for the sport, he didn't share the same level of zeal. However, he did find solace in the realization that channeling his surplus energy through physical exertion helped temper his fiery temperament and deter him from finding trouble. Engaging in a vigorous run followed by a refreshing shower before his classes played a crucial role in maintaining his composure. It allowed him to navigate the provocations and snide remarks that pervaded the classroom without succumbing to impulsive outbursts or standing idly by as other students faced harassment. It was precisely for this reason that he had initially joined the quidditch team—to find an outlet for his emotions and foster a sense of balance within himself. “I’ve been told that I need to burn my extra energy to keep my hot-headed personality in check. I tend to find trouble.”

Olly smiled at Cillian’s words, conjuring memories of the Beater’s habits towards impulsivity. “I thought that was just a hazard of your House, hot tempers.” He turned and grinned, jostling his running companion good-naturedly.

Olly considered the thought for a moment before saying. “You know, growing up, when kids on the playground would get too rough or wild, they’d say to do sports. I was never like that, but I ended up playing football with a lot of them. It’s funny, either sports helped a lot, or they kept the anger pumping.” He glanced towards the redhead. “Which are you?”

Cillian's laughter rippled through the air, his amusement laced with a touch of self-deprecation. "Ah, they say the same about us Irish folk, don't they? Seems I've inherited a curse from all sides," he quipped, recognizing the sliver of truth behind the generalization. His extensive family tree boasted its fair share of fiery tempers, some of which gained an amplified edge when spirits flowed freely among the adults.

After a thoughtful pause, Cillian responded to Olly's inquiry, his words tinged with a mixture of contemplation and self-awareness. "I suppose I'm neither wholly one nor the other," he began, seeking to capture the complexity of his nature. "The morning runs do help soothe the storm within, but I must admit, my temper has its own peculiar competitive edge when I'm soaring through the skies on a broomstick during a rousing game of Quidditch."

Once again, his gaze drifted towards Oliver, silently sizing him up as if seeking to discern hidden layers beneath the surface. "And what of you?" he queried, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

Oliver found a small, knowing smile unfurl on his face as the boy spoke about the runs and the sport. This might be the true joy he found as an athlete, getting to know someone first as a player and then later as a person. He's not sure he would have expected the Beater who could pack such a punch to wax on so. But you know what they said about assumptions.

"That's poetic, mate," he said with a good-natured laugh.

At the question being turned on him, he said, "Well not sure I have any storms that need soothing." He shot him a grin. "Like I said, I was never the boy they told to do sports to temper my, well, temper. I've never had that anger. Not sure why."

Cillian's footsteps echoed softly as he maintained a steady pace beside Oliver, his gaze intermittently shifting upwards to gauge the sun's position. Time seemed elusive, an enigma he sought to decipher, as he silently calculated whether their run had run its course. The thought of a much-needed shower before class crossed his mind, a practical consideration amidst the backdrop of their exertion.

Breaking the silence, Cillian's voice carried a touch of contemplation. "That's not necessarily a bad thing," he responded, his words measured and thoughtful. "Avoiding unnecessary conflicts becomes easier when we refrain from leaping from misunderstandings to physical altercations." He inwardly acknowledged the wisdom imparted upon him, reminding him that his fists were not the solution to life's complexities.

A hint of frustration tinged his voice as he continued, "They keep reminding me that my fists won't mend the underlying issues. And yet, mere words have proven inadequate in my experience as well." His admission carried a mix of resignation and the recognition of past failures, acknowledging the limitations of communication alone.

As they continued their run, Cillian's thoughts swirled with the inherent struggle of finding resolution and understanding. The rhythmic cadence of their footsteps mirrored the quest for harmony, a pursuit that required a delicate balance between action and dialogue. With each stride, he remained open to the possibility of discovering an approach that could bridge the divide between his frustration and the need for meaningful connection.

"I'd agree, but not sure my Captain would," he joked easily. "Always says I could be more competitive. I like to remind him that the game is just that... a game. More fun that way."

So the redheaded boy was not just fists, but also full of thoughts. He seemed to be walking himself through his own psychological findings. Olly tended to have this effect on people, he was an easy conversation partner and people felt safe opening up with him.

"Sounds like you might need to find more words," Olly said, smiling but his eyes shining thoughtfully. "You said it yourself, that magic word. Misunderstandings. Nearly all of the issues I've seen have been born of that. Some patience and the right words are pretty good at unravelling those."