For Dorrito’s Every Flavour Mood Beans.

*****

Busy

“Lumos.”

The word falls, crisp as always, adding warmth to the room. Her eyes grew weary an hour ago, but she’s not fool enough to expect sleep. The movement of her hands is just enough to still her mind. It wouldn’t do to ponder Harry Potter’s recent paleness, the Granger child’s troubled eyes, young Longbottom’s new rebellion. Children have no place at war, and the urge to whisk them off to some distant haven has become more compelling than Minerva is prepared to admit.

A pile of first-year essays begs for attention and she reaches for them, adjusting her spectacles.

For Dorrito’s Every Flavour Mood Beans.

*****

Bored

She took a deep breath, calculating a polite escape. She didn’t know what was different. Mum smiled and bustled like always, scolding the twins for sneaking extra pudding. Her brothers reverted to their most childish selves, shouting and shoving and cracking the same old jokes. Dad told fantastic stories, his soft voice lost in the din. But this year she found herself seated on the edge, outside the blur, her mind wandering to school and Dean and newfound applications for extendable ears. When the time came, she excused herself silently, slipping ghost-like up the stairs, back to her own world.