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Dean Thomas (deanthomas) wrote in wished,

Dean didn't see Daphne Greengrass that often. But there seemed to be a pattern developing around the times that he did. Mainly, there was usually some kind of calamity surrounding the meetings. This was no exception, since Dean was sitting tucked into a narrow windowseat, shoulder to the cold glass, sketching the snow-coated tree he could see from where he sat, all white-covered skeletal branches and shadows on muddied snow.

But the windowseat was too narrow to sit in comfortable, so he had one knee drawn up to write on, and the other was sprawled out to the side. The hallway was wide enough that it shouldn't have been a problem. Unless one was walking with one's nose in a book. Dean looked up just in time to see Daphne's foot connect with his ankle and dropped his sketchpad, reaching out with charcoal-stained fingertips to try to catch her before she tipped over. "Hey! Greengrass!" It was funny, really. "Shouldn't you look where you're going?"