For Dorrito’s Every Flavour Mood Beans. Catching up slowly. This drabble is for 12/19.

*****

Creative

“See you at dinner, then?”

“Sure,” he answered, breath quickening.

The door finally closed with a muted whoosh, the ancient wood humming with possibility. Dean picked up pad and pencil and crawled into the window seat, letting colors wash around him, settling on his shoulders and in between his toes. He closed his eyes, waiting for the picture to form. It hovered, teasing, as his hand moved slowly over the paper in his lap, leaving only wisps of gray. He whispered softly and grays turned brilliant, wind and hair all orange and gold, pink mouth smiling upward.

He smiled back.

For Dorrito’s Every Flavour Mood Beans.

*****

Crappy

He should have known he’d lose her, she who had allowed him satisfaction at last, some dignity, long-deserved. There was something poetic about it all, he’s sure some nitwit would say, which was, of course, exactly why he hated that useless rot. He greeted the new year with a scowl, avoiding the professors more than ever, not that they ever sought him out. Their joy and relief permeated the castle like a stink. The students eyed him with a new disrespect. Even Mrs. Norris was a laughing stock.

He moved through passages in the dark, cursing and pleading for magic.