Normally, James was a light sleeper. Well, no, he slept plenty deeply, but he was trigger-happy when it came to cues to go bouncing out of bed. Or wherever he happened to be sleeping. It was an ingrained habit that he supposed was just customary if one got sorted into Gryffindor. Or at least, when your best friends were all Marauders. Lily, however, had always had a stealthy knack for slipping about without waking him up. It was a talent that Harry seemed to have inherited.
James awoke with a start. And perhaps a wee bit of abrupt flailing that naturally followed being slamming into the waking world without so much as a warning, only to find that he was under attack from a book, and not a Padfoot. The perfectly natural waves of adrenaline receding, James smiled at Harry. So much for his clever plan.
"Morning," he returned, though he was hardly certain it wasn't past noon. Pushing himself up, he gave Harry a quick glance over. With evident doubt he said, "Sleep well, did you?" Truth be told, Harry looked a bit like hell. Which he supposed was understandable. After all, he hadn't seen some ginger girl tucked into bed with Harry a few hours (hours?) ago.