These Creeping Moods

Silky gray skies, crisp winds with a caress almost as sharp as my words; the weak sun makes hardly a three degree angle with the horizon, and one is tempted to tell it to just give up. On the Malfoy estate today, already-dormant trees spread their bare, gnarled branches toward the dark gray masonry of the outer wall. I, Severus, am lurking again. Big surprise there. A black cloaked shadow slithers among the moss-festooned trunks of the shrubs, on the twigs of which a few dying, yet determined leaves cling feebly. After a chat and a drink, I eventually take leave of my old friend Lucius with inner pockets comfortably crammed with tidbits gleaned from the rolling landscape of the estate – new hemlock leaves, fallen castor beans in their spiky husks, wild roots, bright seeds still in the pod...

Let the brewing begin yet again.