In the Light of Things

Sundays

Sundays are always the best, in Dean's opinion.

There aren't any classes, no matches for him to lose his voice at, he gets to sleep in, and best of all, he gets to wake up to Seamus' wonderful snoring.

"Oi," he half-mumbles over his shoulder at the boy sleeping in the bed next to his. Seamus gives a snort, a sigh, and then settles back into his comforter in silence. Dean hums, content, and smushes his face between his pillows once more.

The sunlight dances across the floor, creeping closer incognito, disguised between the candle that's been burning all night and the little charmed lights that Harry left airborne to look for his practice stuff before he left this morning for quidditch practice. It's a peaceful morning, serene.

Until Seamus practically roars himself into existence.

"Oi," Dean barks louder this time, sitting up. He blindly takes one of his pillows and launches it at his bed, knocking him right in the face. "Keep it up and I'll feed you to the dragons."

"Knock it off," Seamus groans with a scrunched face, waving his hand in the general direction of where the pillow came from.

"Shut up and I will," he answers, sighing in frustration. He throws himself back into his bed, glaring at his canopy.

Silence encompasses them again, but Dean remains cursing the pattern on his curtains. He shuffles around his bed uncomfortably. Something's wrong.

His back isn't supported the way it was before he moved. And his shoulders aren't aligned. And now he's sinking into his mattress and he's just uncomfortable. He sits up angrily and turns to glare at his pillows to find one of them is missing. He turns this way and that, and his eyes end up trailing over to Seamus' bed to find his pillow laying perfectly clutched between his best friend's arms.

Dean growls, shoves his sheets off and stomps over to Seamus' bedside. "Hey."

"What?"

"You have my pillow."

"You threw it at me, if I remember correctly," Seamus retorts, his face turned away and his eyes still closed.

"Right, yeah. it'd be nice if I could have it back, now."

"How about you come get it?"

"Seamus, I'm not playing."

"You see me laughing?"

Seamus takes his chance to turn to Dean, eyes bright and wide and barely awake. Dean's scowl sets him into an immediate fit of chortles. Dean rolls his eyes and turns.

"Oh, come on, I was playing!"

"Right. I wasn't," Dean mutters, quickly fitting his feet into his slippers and snatching his robe before slamming the door to their dorm.

"Dean!" Seamus chuckles, shaking his head before turning back into his sheets, snuggling into Dean's pillow. "What a drama queen."

* * * * * * *

The sky remains clear, despite his sour mood.

It kind of makes him even angrier. Why do the birds still chirp? Why do the clouds still roll, and why does the wind still makes the trees dance, and why does the sun still shine?

His jaw clenches harder as he glares out at the Black Lake.

Everything darkens, and for a split second, Dean sits back in satisfaction. Until he realizes it's because there's something brighter approaching him.