"It's still early," Harry sighed, checking his watch on the bedside table. "Because a longer day is exactly what we need." He sipped his tea and ran a hand over his face, his fingers lingering momentarily over his scar. In his dream, it had been burning, searing as though his head would split open. Now it was just a scar, just as it had been for eight years.
He needed a shower to wake up properly, he thought, but it was warm and comfortable in the bed and it could wait. "We could get a proper breakfast somewhere, I suppose," he suggested half-heartedly.