When: 20 September, around 2am or so.
Rating: Eh, PG-13ish.
Summary: Will needs a fix.
No matter how many times he made the short trip to the Kitchens, Will could never quite get used to the damned entrance; he always felt rather silly, tickling a two-dimensional piece of fruit. He staggered through the doorway, eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness after the complacent dim of the corridor. A low grumble resounding from the pit of his stomach, Will obediently made a beeline for the bread cupboard, knocking over a few disgruntled house elves in the process. Normally, he tried not to disturb them, but this was a special circumstance; he was starving, and had quite a pressing hankering for toast. Mmmm toast...
Bleary-eyed, he reached for the nearest knife, hacking the soft, fresh-smelling loaf into careless, uneven slices. Shoving them roughly into a toaster (Hogwarts was host to the only cordless, non-electric toasters Will had ever experienced), he adjusted his hastily-donned bathrobe, which was hanging precariously off his shoulders.
Suddenly - and he wasn't quite sure how it happened - a large, heavy jar of some sort of food product slipped off the counter and landed on the stone floor with a loud thunk. It bounced, and crashed into poor Will's left foot. "Bloody...fucking...gnurgh," he muttered darkly, wincing at his smarting toes. He didn't even notice when somebody else entered the room.