The Impatient Man and His Suit

A Creaky Cottage & A Cranky Elf

Opening my trunk, I fished around for some pajamas and extra socks to layer. The house was cold and drafty, thus I recognized I'd be needing an extra blanket. So, I searched every nook and cranny in the entire house until I came across a broom closet. Pulling on a low chain to turn on the light, I saw the closet went in quite deep and had a series of little wooden steps which lead down to a line of compact shelves. On one of the shelves collecting dust sat three granny quilts stacked upon one another. I lifted the first one and unraveled it to find that it had two giant holes ripped right in the middle. I tried for the one just beneath it and ran into the same problem. Then, expecting more holes, I tried for the third quilt. This time no holes were found. Just a couple of tea stains and what appeared to be ink blotches. I put the other distressed quilts back into their cubby and returned upstairs to resign for the night, wondering what I was meant to do the morning next.

Stumbling backward on the stairs and grabbing the rail before nearly tumbling down, a violent fist pounded on the front door. Practically gliding across the living room floor, I peeked cautiously through the window and saw a portion of my miserable guide's suit shivering outside. Grasping the handle, I wondered if he had forgotten something but soon enough realized it was me who had committed the crime of bringing us together once more. A glum expression rested on his pale face and looking down I saw in one of his hands, his wand illuminating brightly at the tip, and mine in the other.

"Really, if you had lost this," he began sharply.

"Thank you," I returned, quickly snatching my wand from his fingers and beginning to close the door I paused, "But in all honesty, and I'm sure we'll both agree...That you really don't care whether or not I lose my things."

"You forget, caring is my job," he frowned, turning around to leave.

"Yes, care motivated by artificial feeling and a fat paycheck. But I suppose I really can't blame you. It's particularly an easy thing, to pretend I mean. I just don't understand why you agreed to take this obviously painstaking job," I added coldly. He ignored me and began hopping down the steps.

"Is this it?" I called.

"I'm supposed to stay here? And for how long? When will I have my first lesson? Hello?"

Malfoy turned around with a crooked smile and scoffed at me.

"You really don't get it? You really don't see?" he tilted his head. Flakes of snow began softly falling to the ground. Every piece of information offered to me so far was so brief, useless, and half-explained that I could hardly be expected to "see" what was coming.

"As you'd say, 'I guess I can't blame you'," he admitted mockingly, "The Ministry of Magic is full of lollygagging fools who've no time for anyone but themselves and a limited source of brain power... " he cut his sentence short as if there were something more to be said. I could see now, that a little of himself had involuntarily poured out through his speech. It had become glaringly obvious that the majority of his constant affliction was due to the organization he worked for and I believed it was the cause of his callused character. The only difference was that it was me and not him who could give a damn about it.

He stared at me, chewing on the inside of his cheek, while I stood in the doorway awkwardly holding the dingy quilt. I suppose I hadn't anticipated for him to comment –while in my presence –on something which he had actually invested his thought into. To my surprise, he momentarily lifted his finger into the air as if he were going to say something important. But he shortly gave up on whatever it was and walked off into the snow, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Lingering at the open door and watching him disappear into the darkness, I wondered where he was going, until I heard a sharp pop.