Drawings by Dean

Dean Thomas: a Muggle-born Gryffindor student who is very good with a quill.

[deanthomasdraws]

Back to Hogwarts || Dean & Ginny

[sxmestupidnoblereason-archived]

Ginny nodded. As long as Dean wasn’t going to mention their former relationship, she decided, she wouldn’t bring it up either; some parts of the past just weren’t worth stirring up again. “Yeah, last year wasn’t fun,” she agreed, brushing a few strands of red hair back behind her ear. At times, it had been tempting to look at what they were doing as exciting and daring, to feel invincible as they outwitted the Carrows; but deep down, she was sure they had all felt the weight of Voldemort’s hand upon the school.

"And after the battle…" she added, shrugging once. "Hogwarts used to look like a home to me. Now, I can’t see it as anything but the place where Fred died."

What a light-hearted conversation this was turning into. Ginny gave a sharp shake of her head, trying to dismiss the thought. Dean didn’t need to hear how she was still having trouble coming to terms with being one brother less even now.

At least, she supposed, stopping and turning to look back over her shoulder at Dean as she abruptly realised that he was no longer at her side, she clearly wasn’t the only one still wrestling with last year’s demons. Whether it was what she had said or thoughts of his own that had stopped Dean in his tracks, Ginny didn’t know; nonetheless, she paused where she was to let him have his moment then catch up again.

"I keep having moments like that too," she confided once he did rejoin her. "I think everyone does."

[deanthomasdraws]

"Sorry," Dean muttered, even though she had so readily excused his momentary shock. He hurried to catch up to her and said it again, "sorry." Dean jammed his hands deep in his pockets, feeling cold despite the fact that the rich autumn night barely carried any chill--and was certainly warmer than many nights he had spent alone under dismal skies in recent months.

He almost reached out and hugged her, remembering just in time to shove his hands back into his pockets that he probably shouldn't; it had been one thing right after the battle, when everyone still alive was hugging everyone else, whether they were actually friends or not (Dean had even hugged Michael Corner, and they had never gotten along!). Now, though, Dean was afraid that the gesture--entirely platonic though it would be, of course--might be awkward, and he didn't want to risk Ginny thinking he meant anything other than friendly comfort.

Firstly, because he didn't want to put a strain on his relationship with one of the few friends he had at school this year, and secondly because he wouldn't want Harry to think anything untoward if word got back to him--and thirdly, because Dean knew he didn't think about Ginny like that anymore, and the very idea of trying to rekindle anything her--presuming that she wasn't currently dating one of Dean's best friends--made him feel unsettled and almost queasy. And then, of course, there was the fact that he would have felt like some sort of base-born tosser if Ginny had thought that he was trying to use their mutual grief as an excuse to open some kind of predatory flirtation and take advantage of her sorrow. Nobody could ever stoop that low, surely.

"I can't even begin to explain how sorry I am about Fred," he said quietly, looking over at the red-haired girl walking next to him. "I mean, I know I said it before, and I know saying it doesn't make anything better--but I am. I really am." Dean swallowed hard, thinking about the cost they had all paid, but none higher than George Weasley and his siblings. "If I can do anything...I mean, I'm sure I can't, but if I can--help smuggle in fireworks in his honor, or just be a shoulder to lean on, whatever--I'm there. Just ask." Dean had barely been able to cope with losing his best friend for a year; what would it be like to lose the other half of yourself forever?

He shuddered, and did his best to banish the thought, because there was no comfortable answer, and the question raised a host of others that Dean didn't want to think about right now--or maybe ever. Instead he said softly, more to himself than to her, "I spent so many months thinking that I'd give up just about anything to be able to come back here. But now that I'm here...part of me wishes that I wasn't.

"You're right," Dean said heavily, "it doesn't really seem like home anymore. And we certainly aren't the only people thinking it, either," he added, looking around at the strained and baleful faces of many of the students walking with them.

[deanthomasdraws]

Back to Hogwarts || Dean & Ginny

[sxmestupidnoblereason-archived]

Distracted from her own brand of rather depressing thoughts, the redhead turned at the sound of her name being called. It was hard to see Hogwarts as the welcoming second home it had always appeared as now; not with all the echoes of battle and bloodshed that were sure to haunt its hallways. Ginny wasn’t sure she could ever look at the place in the same way again; the spectre of so many deaths hung over it, of Fred, Tonks and Lupin, Colin, and innumerable others who she didn’t even know. Not even the fact that the castle had been repaired since she had last seen it could completely overshadow any of that.

It was, in fact, a relief to be able to distract herself by turning to face Dean. Ginny took a breath to compose herself, then turned towards the older boy, raising a hand in greeting. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t expecting this to be awkward - though they had exchanged a few words after the battle, the two of them otherwise had talked little since she had dumped him in her fifth year - but since she had yet to see Luna and Hermione was off attending to her prefect duties, the prospect of a friendly face for company was one that was too good to pass up.

"Hi, Dean. It looks like it," she nodded in response, managing a smile. She had always liked Dean, even if he hadn’t made ideal boyfriend material, so Ginny was glad they were still on speaking terms. After a momentary pause, in which she finished tying and tightening her Gryffindor tie, the girl spoke again.

"It’s going to seem weird, isn’t it?" she added thoughtfully, unintentionally betraying her previous line of thought. "Being back here like normal, after everything that’s gone on?"

[deanthomasdraws]

Dean loped up next to the red-haired witch, then cut his long-legged stride back to match hers. It was a little unsettling how easily, how unconsciously, he fell back into the habit of pacing Ginny Weasley; they hadn't had much to do with one another since their awkward break-up more than a year ago, and it occurred to Dean that maybe Ginny wasn't really in the mood to talk to an ex-boyfriend, even if they had--he'd thought--reconciled well enough...but that had been during the lead-up to and battles of the war. Maybe now that things had calmed down, now that there weren't more important things to focus on, she'd prefer not being reminded of their relationship and its troubles.

But Ginny smiled when she said hello, so Dean decided to hope that the restrained nature of her expression was due more to their environs than to his presence--Ginny had never exactly been shy and retiring before, so he figured that if she wanted him to go away, she wouldn't hesitate too long to say as much--so he smiled right back. They'd always got on better as friends, Dean thought; he hoped that they could try that again this year, especially since he had so many fewer of those around than usual.

Dean's smile faded as Ginny spoke, but not because of awkward state of things between the two of them; rather, because he agreed with her. "Yeah," he said with a heavy sigh, "really weird. I mean...from everything I've heard, things were far from a picnic for you guys last year, so that's got to be hard enough coming back here after for you anyway; but now that things have changed so much..." He shook his head, and forced a crooked smile of his own.

"I mean sure," Dean said, striving for a jovial, joking tone, "it'll beat living in the woods and hanging out with Goblins, but I'm not sure I'm exactly looking forward to getting new roommates for my last year of school."

He was about to comment on the fact that it was a good thing Hogwarts was a magical school, and would doubtless be able to provide an extra bed in the seventh year Gryffindor boys' dormitory this year, when the realization hit him like a brick to his chest: there would be no need for an additional bed, because Colin Creevey had been in the year below Dean, and Colin was dead. His returning to school wasn't going to put an extra boy in Gryffindor's seventh year room, because there was one already gone.

Dean stopped walking, feeling like he'd just been slapped in the face by reality--again--and finding it no easier to bear despite how often it had happened over the last several months.

[deanthomasdraws]

Back to Hogwarts || Dean & Ginny

September the 1st, 1998 - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Dean took a deep breath, closing his eyes a moment to let his nerves settle down. In truth, he didn't know why he was so anxious; there was nothing to worry about, not anymore--or at least, nothing of comparable weight to what he had been worrying about last year.

Last year, when he'd been on the run, alone and Muggle-born, hiding from people who wanted to catch and kill him...

This year, he just had to go to school without most of his friends. Of course, the fact that when he opened his eyes, he was half-expecting to see a burning castle half-in-ruins with bodies littering the ground might have explained some of why he was so unsettled today; Dean had helped with some of the initial repairs to the school, after the battle, but then Kingsley Shacklebolt had asked for volunteers to help the remaining Aurors track down the Death Eaters who had escaped, and Dean's hand had gone up as fast as Seamus's, Harry's, and Neville's.

He'd thought about staying--continuing on as an Auror, at least until the search for the villains in hiding was over, like the others were--but it was important to Dean that he graduate Hogwarts properly; that he prove to the world that being Muggle-born wouldn't mean anything when he sat his N.E.W.T.s at last. Dean knew he didn't have anything to prove, and even if he had, there was a much smarter Muggle-born witch who would prove it much better than he could...but he'd come back anyway, maybe to prove it to himself, rather than anyone else.

Dean stepped out of the carriage (trying to ignore the unsettling sight of the creature pulling it; Harry had pulled most of the returning members of the D.A. aside before they left for the Hogwarts Express, and warned them about the thestrals, thankfully!) and looked up at the castle at the end of the walk. It looked...different, somehow, from the last time he had been here. Smaller, diminished. Maybe that was because of what they'd all been through; maybe it was just because of what it had looked like the last time he had seen it. Or maybe it was just because Seamus and most of his other friends weren't here with him.

A bright flash of red up ahead caught Dean's eye, and he hurried forward, eager for a familiar face. "Ginny! Hey!" he called, not wanting to sneak up on the girl (they all knew better than to sneak up on one another these days, after what they'd been through). "So...I guess we're classmates now, huh?" he asked, his cheerful smile hopefully masking his dour thoughts.

[lilmisslydiamartin]

She passed over the book towards him, still marked with other slips of paper for the exact pages that were needed for the assignment. Her eyes went back down to her paper and she was glad that she could finally get some work done. Without someone constantly waving their hands for her attention, she was able to do some progress.

Of course, she couldn’t help but notice how panicked he seemed. Well, obviously writing a two page paper was stressful, but he shouldn’t have waited! Didn’t anyone in Gryffindor do their classwork? She knew that Hermione Granger had to have done the paper, at least, so why didn’t Thomas get his done?

Asphodel has to do with death for both muggles and wizards. Mention the potions it’s used in and the history. And write large on the parchment. You don’t have much time.

There. Simple and to the point. Thomas would owe her one for this, and she always did like having others in her debt. She floated the paper over towards his desk as McGonagall walked with her back towards them, and finally went back to her own work. 

[deanthomasdraws]

Dean bent low over his work, writing as speedily as he could--a bit too speedily, for his quill caught, and an ugly ink-blot spread across his parchment. "Shit!" he gasped, and flinched, looking over his shoulder to see if McGonagall had heard. She was too engrossed with Neville, thankfully; Dean breathed a sigh of relief and blotted his paper with his sleeve.

He looked up at the rasp of paper on wood, and noticed a scrap of parchment next to him. Dean read the helpful note, and looked up at Martin with a broad grin on his face. "Thanks," he mouthed, beaming gratefully. "Will do!" He gave her another thumbs-up, then ducked down over his work again, the sound of the quill scratching loud in his ears.

Dean glanced over at Martin again, and lightly kicked the leg of her desk to get her attention. "Hey," he whispered, "I owe you one." Dean grinned, and winked, and bent back to his parchment. He knew he didn't have enough time to write a whole essay--but if he could manage to get something to turn in, maybe Snape would only lecture him for his laziness, and not take points too.

He could hope.

[thegauntbastard]

The witch nodded softly, not wanting to press, especially if the boy didn’t seem to give away anything. Though it was rather interesting that he did have a school mate with a similar ability. Those with the gift, or curse depending how one looked at it, were few and far between. And if his school mate had an experience anything like her own as a student, she felt some pity for the child.

"Pleasure mister Thomas," she replied before nodding in response to the question with a tender smile. ‘Oh yes, he’ll be just fine, a little spooked is all," she stated, watching the serpent coil itself on a nearby surface. "But thank you for your concern." Releasing his hand, Althea studied the male for a moment before settling back. "So tell me a bit about yourself? Are you a student or have you graduated yet?"

[deanthomasdraws]

Dean watched the snake, studying the way the low light of the bar glinted on its scaley skin, his thought already whirling away as he debated what sort of medium would best capture that warm/cold glow on hard/soft scales--pastel? Too smudgy. Charcoal? Colorless. Oil? Perhaps--and jolted back to his surroundings with a start when she spoke again.

"Oh--brilliant," he said, a bit sheepish at getting so distracted by thoughts of painting the animal that he had forgotten its welfare as well as the women he was talking to. He took his hand back and stuck it in his pocket, embarrassed. Dean could feel his cheeks heat, and was grateful that his features didn't reveal blushes as readily as Seamus's.

"Yeah," Dean said, leaning on the counter and hoping he looked cool, not awkward--it felt awkward; he was very tall, and couldn't lean on counters as casually as his friends--"yeah, I graduated. Just recently, but I'm now apparently a responsible adult, and all that." He grinned. "What about you? You don't look like you've been out of school very long, but I can't say I recall noticing you around the castle...?"

[lilmisslydiamartin]

How was it that anyone was even able to pass their classes at this school? Everyone seemed to just be wasting their time, never properly studying, not even realizing the amazing gift that they all had. No wonder Lydia outshone so many of them - even with the little bit of effort she put in, she was far above the rest, Granger excluded. Lydia had to admit, it was intriguing how hard the muggle-born witch worked, and she wasn’t jealous of it. Granger might receive higher marks, but there was constant worry lines across her forehead for it.

She heard the curse but didn’t even look up from her book, where she was flipping through to the right section to scrawl something down on her paper. She saw him beckoning beside her, though, and looked up to see him with a pleading expression, as if horrified. Honestly, two parchment pages was nothing, especially for boys with large handwriting. Her own paper had been four, and it had been rather broad.

Her head nodded in response, and then she looked back down. She knew he was going to be scrambling, and so she shifted in her chair and pulled out her herbology book that conveniently held the answers to the essay for potions within it’s depths. If it would make him stop talking to her, she would gladly shove the book in his direction.

[deanthomasdraws]

Dean slumped down across his desk in utter dejection, rubbing his hands over the back of his head, and suppressed the groan that would have brought McGonagall's doubtless less-than-sympathetic attention. It wasn't like he meant to forget assignments, or daydream in class; Dean actually loved his classes, had never grown-out of that initial rush of "actually doing magic" that he imagined he shared with every Muggle-born to set foot inside Hogwarts. But there were so many classes, and so many other things to do, and so many very loud and enthusiastic friends around to distract him, and sometimes it was hard to keep track of all his homework and responsibilities.

When it was homework from Snape, though, that was especially bad. The Potions Master was sour enough on a good day, and definitely wasn't a fan of Gryffindors to begin with. Confessing that he had forgotten to do today's assignment was not something Dean was looking forward to.

He raised his head lethargically a few inches at the sound of rustling, wondering--in a distant, depressed sort of way--what Martin was doing. When he saw her holding a book that was definitely not about Transfiguration, he frowned, then perked up. Dean sat up properly, pointed to himself, and nodded enthusiastically in a questioning fashion.

Was Lydia Martin actually helping him? He grinned, beaming hopefully, and nodded some more, moving his papers aside so that she could pass him the book, if she wanted to. If that was what she meant. He hoped that was what she meant. Behind his back, Dean crossed his fingers. This might just be his lucky day...

[deanthomasdraws]

You're completely in the right about the whole Sky issue. Every word of it: you're right. Someone shouldn't be offended that you're uncomfortable with the topic (and how lightly it's treated) as it is your decision and not theirs. x

Thank you, dear. I really appreciate the support.

I’m still sorry she was hurt and upset by it, though; that was never my intention.

But your reassurance is very, very welcome. Thank you.

[therosiersatyourservice]

Darling I am so sorry, I know I should have read everything before I replied to you but I was excited and got ahead of myself! I've only just now read Sky's bio, and I am sorry and mean no offense, but I'm afraid that personally, I'm just not comfortable with the subject of rape being treated lightly, so I think perhaps it would be best if our characters didn't interact further. I apologize! Best of luck with your rping.

I am actually really offended by this.

I have been playing Sky for over three years now, when I started roleplaying Sky was very different, unfortunately most of those I did rp with have either deleted their accounts due to schooling/ life or have been on hiatus however there are a few that I am sure will understand this. I am hurt that you believe that I have taken the subject of rape so lightly especially considered that part of her life was greatly inspired by what happened to me when I was a young girl. Life goes on, when I decided her back story I was depressed to the point of wanting to kill myself, I used Sky as my way of expressing myself, years have gone by and I was sick of being the victim and playing my character in such a way. There is a reason Sky has three bio’s, her past, her present and her future. I am also upset that you won’t even give my character a chance however that is your decision and your right. Have a nice day. 

[deanthomasdraws]

I’m really very sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt or offend you, I really didn’t. I certainly didn’t want to depress or upset you on any personal level. I really am sorry, truthfully. The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt anyone, especially someone who was friendly and obliging and brave enough to come join a stranger in playing pretend.

It seems I jumped to conclusions, and for that I am sorry, but from the way her bio is written, to me it just read like far too many characters I’ve seen where people mistake traumatic events for character development, and consequently give their characters truly horrific backstories as a way of adding depth to a character because they don’t yet know any other way to do so. It’s a phase that most people go through early in their writing—I did, myself, to an extent—and just based on the way the bio was written, I assumed that’s what was going on with Sky. Because it is a common trope, and often part of a person’s development as a writer, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But I am, at the point in my life that I’m at right now, uncomfortable with such things, and do not wish, personally, to interact with characters like that. Just because it makes me, personally, uncomfortable.

The fact that her bio goes through torture after torture after torture, culminating in a rape followed by victim-blaming from everyone in her life, with very little else detailed in the bio, led me to make that assumption, because honestly the only times I’ve ever seen backstories like that, that were that continuously bleak and awful and full of endless abuse, they were from whose writers did treat their character’s trauma lightly because they weren’t mature enough to understand and handle the topics they were writing about (twelve, fourteen, etc) but just thought it was a clever way to add some angst without thinking about actual consequences. That is what led me to that assumption—because in the bio, the issue is treated relatively lightly. Which is not to say that you treat it that way as a writer, nor that Sky does as a character, but the bio as it is written right now reads very similarly to those aforementioned ones.

So, I made an assumption, apparently erroneously, and I am sorry about that, and especially sorry that I upset you.

Now, had you told me this privately, I could have explained and apologized profusely, as I’ve done here, and perhaps you could have demonstrated your point to me with examples, and I could have suggested a way to rephrase some things to have her bio come off as less blasé about the issue if you were interested in such suggestions, and either way we could have moved past it like adults who have shared a misunderstanding on a very sensitive subject. At this point, though, I don’t really know what to say to you other than that I am sorry I upset you, and that the way that Sky’s bio is written horrifies me, personally.

I never meant to offend you. I never meant to hurt you. I was simply, politely, telling you that I didn’t feel comfortable interacting with a character whose backstory is built off of what seemed, to me, to be a very cavalier and insensitive way to treat a delicate and horrific subject. I am very glad that you have recovered from your depression, and that Sky helped you do so, and that neither of you are content to be victims, and I’m deeply sorry that I hurt you. I really, really am.

I’m also sorry that you didn’t give me a chance to respond to you privately, so we could perhaps iron this out just ourselves, but the initial fault was definitely mine for jumping to conclusions, and I am very sorry.

I would have sent you this message privately, of course, but you don’t have an open submit, so I’m afraid I can’t; I definitely felt the need to apologize and clarify, though; hence this post. Once again, I’m sorry. Believe me, this is the last thing I wanted to start off my indie-rp experience with. My submit and ask are both always open, to you or anyone else who feels the need to talk.

[lilmisslydiamartin]

Martin, do we have anything due in Potions today? -Thomas

Lydia glanced at the note that floated onto her desk thanks to a quick charms spell, and flicked it open with a wave of her wand. It was flat on her desk before Professor McGonagall was turned back around, and she read it quickly before glancing to the boy at the desk beside hers. She raised one eyebrow, amazed that he had actually dared to speak to her, in a form, and picked up her own quill to write something in return.

A two page paper on the uses of Asphodel for both muggle and wizarding purposes.

Her wand flicked again once the Professor turned to walk away, and then the paper was settled flat on Thomas’ desk.

[deanthomasdraws]

Dean grinned at the red-haired witch next to him, and gave her a quick thumbs-up in thanks, careful not to let McGonagall see. The Transfiguration professor had an uncanny knack for spotting any sort of distraction, even legitimate academic distraction like Dean's--although knowing McGonagall, she would probably say that worrying about Potions while in Transfiguration was not a legitimate distraction, and then scold him for irresponsibility.

Shaking his head slightly at his Head of House's strictness, Dean picked up the parchment that Martin had sent him--and his smile fell off his face so fast that it was frankly amazing that his desk wasn't grinning right now.

"Shit," Dean whispered, then flinched, but McGonagall was bent over Neville's desk three rows away, busy helping Dean's housemate with his contrary beetle.

Dean took the opportunity to look at Martin, his eyes wide and plaintive. He held up two fingers, silently begging her to say that no, she was lying, it wasn't two pages--because there was no way that Dean was going to be able to fake a two page paper before Potions that afternoon.

[deanthomasdraws]

Oh, no...

[therosiersatyourservice]

"You are just a mudblood, why should I care about you? I hope you get punished." Sky spat the words out in disgust. 

[deanthomasdraws]

Wow, that's nice.

Don't really know why you're talking to me in the first place, if that's how you feel about it. Haven't you got something else to do? Like kiss someone's arse, or whatever it is you lot get up to down in your creepy-ass dungeons?

[deanthomasdraws]

Oh, no...

[therosiersatyourservice]

"Even if I did, I would not give it away to you." Sky glared at the male after speaking. 

[deanthomasdraws]

Oh gee, thanks, that's really helpful, Rosier. I appreciate it.

Always nice to know somebody's got your back.

[deanthomasdraws]

ROBOTS OR DINOSAURS?

Robot dinosaurs, obviously! Jeeze, you’d think you’d never listened to Seamus and I talk about anything…

Now stop passing notes, Harry. If Snape catches you, I don’t want to share the detention!

[thegauntbastard]

"Who was your friend?" she smiled before shrugging a bit. "Not much really, poor thing nearly got stepped on by someone, it had a cricket for breakfast." Studying the boy, the witch looked rather curious before holding out her hand.

"Oh I’m Althea by the way, and you would be?"

[deanthomasdraws]

"Oh, uh--just somebody I went to school with," Dean replied evasively, not wanting to sound like he was boasting about being friends with The Chosen One. He scratched the back of his head, a nervous habit he had when he lied--although not one that he had ever noticed, of course, or he would have tried to suppress it--and offered a quick smile.

"I'm Dean Thomas," he said, shaking the witch's hand firmly. "Nice to meet you. Is your snake going to be okay? I've got a friend who's pretty good with animals--not the same one, somebody else, but she's always taking home strays and stuff, so she might be able to help if it's hurt." Dean wasn't exactly the type of person that one would describe as an animal lover, but he didn't like the idea of anything being hurt because of somebody's carelessness, not even a snake.

[thegauntbastard]

"What? Never hear a woman speak to a garden snake before in its’ natural tongue?"

[deanthomasdraws]

Uh...no, actually, no I can't say that I have.

I had a mate who could do that once, but he didn't go around showing it off all that much. It's, uh...it's interesting to listen to, though. Did the snake, um...did it have anything interesting to say?

[deanthomasdraws]

Oh, no...

I completely forgot about that Transfiguration essay. McGonagall is going to murder me...

Anyone have a miracle in their pocket they can spare?

[prisonerfromazkaban]

HP Meme: Seven Relationships - Friendships - Dean and Seamus

[deanthomasdraws]

Dean's Sketchbooks || HEADCANON || main verse

The first time Dean had seen Hogwarts, looming up out of the darkness above the Black Lake, his jaw had fallen open and stayed that way pretty much all evening. Floating candles, a singing hat, food that appeared out of nowhere on glistening golden plates, actual honest-to-goodness ghosts…it was more than Dean’s wildest dreams could have concocted, and as Dean had always been an imaginative little boy, that was saying something.

Now, after spending several years at the magical school, Dean had grown used to Hogwarts—but he could never take the place for granted. There was always something new around every corner, some strange facet of the magical world he had never explored before, some creature he would never have been able to think up even in his wildest dreams. Dean spent a lot of time goofing off with his friends, yes, but even that was magical for the Muggle-born boy: there were broomsticks that flew! And candy that could make you float! And breathe fire! And barf!

Okay, so maybe the last part wasn’t exactly magical, but at least it was a good way to get out of class…not that Dean skived much. The lessons were just too interesting, even the boring ones (except for History of Magic, but nobody liked History of Magic with Professor Binns except for Hermione). Dean didn’t want to miss a thing—so he had started keeping a sketchbook.

Actually by now it was a series of sketchbooks that reached across several volumes. He had started after his first Christmas home, had put “sketchbook for school” right at the top of his Christmas list (not that he hadn’t brought a sketchbook with him, of course, because he had—but Dean didn’t want an ordinary sketchbook, he wanted something special, something magical, because Hogwarts was magical). His mother, understanding her son even if she couldn’t understand magic, had bought him a shiny brown leather volume, much fancier than anything he usually drew in, with a lion stamped on the cover in gold-colored foil.

Dean had treasured the book and had, over the next several months, filled every page with doodles and sketches and drawings of his new school, his friends, and the magical new world he was learning about. When he came home, he told his sisters stories about all the pictures, and that soon became a regular part of Dean’s routine: come home from school, hug everyone, eat a big dinner with the family, watch his sisters’ favorite new cartoon on the telly, then settle in for story-time with his sketchbook. He caught mum listening in, so he started leaving the sketchbook lying around so she could leaf through it unobserved. It wasn’t like he had to worry about breaching the Statute of Secrecy; any of their Muggle friends and relations who saw Dean’s drawings just complimented him on his “wonderful imagination,” and chuckled indulgently while Dean’s sisters pretended he had made the whole thing up, giggling into their hands when the adults weren’t looking.

Eventually his friends noticed the sketchbooks—Seamus first, of course, because he and Seamus were practically joined at the hip when they were at Hogwarts—and it soon became commonplace for Dean’s fellow Gryffindors to demand portraits of themselves. Those got better every year (thankfully, because the first few—well, Dean resisted throwing out his first sketchbook because his sisters threatened him with horrible vengeance if he did), and eventually actually began to look like his friends, because it turned out that Dean didn’t just like to draw, he was good at it.

So every year his mum bought him a new sketchbook, handing it to him with a hug right before he boarded the Hogwarts Express for another magical year.