The Impatient Man and His Suit

My Handkerchief

I was sleeping warmly, softly in my bed, and the next thing I knew, my ears tapped in to a most alarming sound: Malfoy's ever-cruel voice emerging from the staircase. I took note that I had unintentionally left my bedroom door open all night.

"We leave in thirty minutes."

I kept my eyes shut tight in denial that it was actually morning, and instead submitted to the idea that I was actually dreaming. I tuned into all noises about me as my ears sent distressingly irritating noises to my progressively cognizant brain. Malfoy's voice fell to silence, but his footsteps advanced on the window and with a sharp noise of string violently being pulled, he sighed briskly. I could tell, by the way the light outside wasn't bright enough, his plan to awaken me had failed. So, he resulted in kicking the end of my bed lightly with his shoe.

Throwing the blanket from my face, I sat up just in time to watch him hop down the stairs. I reached for my alarm clock and stared at it for nearly ten seconds before I realized it was blank. The clouds outside my bedroom were ink blue, saving no room for the sun that rose above them.

I clambered through my bedroom, thrusting my closet doors open and rummaging through my drawers for coverage from the harsh conditions of my heatless flat. I scowled as I descended down the steps carelessly, but softened my expression when I found that the living room was empty; but comfortingly warm from the fire having been lit. Walking into the kitchen, I found Malfoy standing in front of the daydream window, with a cup of tea in his hands. Demonstrating his acknowledgment to my now-entering person, he extended his arm towards the counter on his right and used his long fingers to push a cup across the surface.

I questioned, "I thought you didn't like tea?" while cautiously approaching his side.

"Nonsense. Where did you ever get that idea?" he replied.

"Well... I've never seen you drink anything but coffee you know."

He paused to look down at me. I stood at one side of the sink and him on the other, just enough space for two people to stare absentmindedly out of the window. Taking up the sugar jar, I paused to look up at him, returning the acknowledgment, only for a second, seeing as he was eager to look away.

"By the way," he mentioned quietly, "all you had was those terribly cheapie breakfast teas from Lidl's...So I had to settle for less this morning."

Snapping my head towards his and placing a defensive hand on the counter, I found him hiding behind his mug with an expression of distaste. I wasn't truly offended, in fact, I couldn't help but display a half-pleased smile in response to his honest comment.

"Where has Wensley gone?" I snapped out of it and turned my head every which way.

Malfoy scanned our surroundings as well until we both glued our eyes to the kitchen sink cupboards below our knees. A low and soft patterned draft of air was coming from inside. Kneeling down, I opened both of the doors to find that the soft draft was coming from Wensley's lungs. She was still dead asleep.

That quiet, yet accompanied moment in front of the kitchen window was enjoyed rather agreeably, and despite the utilities being out, Malfoy was able to use the landline. He called the Ministry's most dependable chauffeur: Simpkins, to fetch us once more. While our circumstances were less than satisfactory—given that it was only on the rare occasion that I was allowed to return home—I felt the slightest bit rejuvenated, and not to mention, rather sorted. I took advantage of the chance to pack up as many books and excess articles of clothing that I could.

For some odd—but appeasing, doubtless—reason, Wensley had resumed the same spot in the car, being in between Malfoy and me, willingly. She still, however, ignored the broad-shouldered man beside her with all of her tiny might.