The Impatient Man and His Suit

The Letter

The next morning began most unpleasantly with chaos and confusion. First, I awoke on my own, without external disruption. An abnormally bright sun threatened to set my bleary eyes aflame, despite there being black-out curtains between us. The moment I threw my covers over my head, several heavy knocks sounded at my door followed by the doorbell ringing mercilessly. Nearly falling out of bed and stumbling down the stairs, I realized I had slept well-past morning.

"Bloody --I-I'm up, cut it out," I yelled.

The moment I unlocked and opened the front door the relentless ringing ceased and a worried Hattie stood in the doorway.

"What the hell've you been doing?! I've been knocking at your door for at least an hour," she exaggerated, lightly shoving me aside and making her way directly into the kitchen.

When I arrived home the other night after all the excitement and worry, I was so tired that my brain could hardly operate, thus it was impaired and unable to complete the following tasks: set an alarm the night before; wake itself up that current morning and recognize the bright afternoon sun shining into the room.

"Put in some toast for me will you," I groaned and rushed up the stairs.

After quickly preparing myself for a long day of work, me and Hattie were out the door within a reasonable time span of twenty-minutes; a piece of toast in my hand and a BLT in hers. Arriving at the Diner I anticipated a proper scolding for being late and another swarm of endless questions to top it off. It wasn't until I saw my place of work that I remembered what Malfoy claimed to know about my co-workers. I knew I had to directly ask Darla myself whether or not she was a witch but it would be a risky endeavor, considering I was recently made one myself.

Before I entered the building I took note of the parking lot congested with cars, which in turn only meant one thing: rush hour. Laying my hand on the door, I grimaced and cursed the diner's budding popularity since the owner re-branded it as a 1960s Americana dive the year prior. 

As soon as I stepped foot in the diner I was stopped by two children cutting my path in order to tag each other, causing me to pause and observe several booths and stools occupied by customers. Darla hissed my name from behind the counter, then began approaching me with a pen and notepad in her hands.

"Do ya'know what time it is?" she continued.

"Yes Darla, I'm sorry I overslept like an arse. I can see it's incredibly busy today."

"I hadn't noticed," she replied sarcastically, pushing me across the floor lightly.

Without struggle, I made an agreement to stay till closing to pay for my crime and began taking orders, carrying hot plates, cleaning several chocolate milk spills, and whip cream smears. Throughout the whole workday, I was unable to find a period of time in which I could slip through to interview Darla. I constantly found myself rushing across the blue and white tiled floor in order to beat the merciless rush hour. Sweat covered my brow and invaded all the crannies of my body.

As expected, after the unwanted excitement came and went, my thoughts were permitted to revolve around something other than biscuits and gravy. Wiping down some booths my mind was drawn to the unfamiliar topic of the Ministry of Magic. I had been wondering all day when the time would come for me to see at least one of their associates. Then, for the hundredth time that day, I theorized about the Darla situation and how best to approach it. I decided there was no way to avoid looking like a lunatic unless I indirectly asked her my burning question.

It was an hour before closing when I dropped off our last customer's bill and went to take a break. Walking into the kitchen I found Michael absorbed in his work of scrubbing down the griddle. I took a seat by the coat rack and leaned my head against the wall when Darla came waddling in with a stack of dirty plates and set them on the sink.