no rest for the weary || the lake, early morning
Galvin did the same thing every morning. Rain or shine, in season or out, he woke up with the sun and ran around the lake. He prided himself on his discipline, on his ability to commit to something a stick with it. This was just one of the many ways he proved that discipline.
If he was completely honest with himself, Ravenclaw getting knocked out of the running for a championship didn’t matter much to him. Sure, it sucked to lose, but it didn’t change anything for him in terms of practice or commitment to the game. He knew he’d played well, even if there was room for improvement, and just because their season was over didn’t mean that he was throwing in the towel for his own athletic development. Ignoring the part of himself that told him he was training for the pro leagues, he continued to wake up and push himself to train better, faster, harder. Old habits died hard, he told himself.
So that Monday after the Slug Club dinner, right as the sun was coming up, he found himself alone by the Black Lake, chasing the shadows away and working up a sweat to get the day going. He had nearly finished his second lap when he saw a figure in the distance. Slowing down to a jog, he climbed the embankment up to where they were resting by the tree. “Normally, I’m the only one out here this early.” He spoke, resting his hands on his sides, trying to catch his breath. “What got you out of bed before the house elves?”