"Do you have a kiss for me darling" Neville asked leaning over the edge of his tartan blankets. His voice was husky and deep. "Oh dear me, you are looking a bit peakish, some water maybe?"
"Hmmm…I'll be right back, hang in there love"
Neville Longbottom, Private Investigator, debonair ladies man, and one very buff tea drinker padded out of his bedroom, wearing fluffy pink bunny slippers.
The living room was a mess he observed with a practiced eye, newspaper clippings were strewn haphazardly across the deep maroon carpet, the blinds were drawn and he realized he'd left the T.V. on again.
That must have had something to do with his dreams of shagging Oprah Winfrey on top of a double decker bus.
The sink was piled high with unwashed dishes, selecting a wine glass which still had some orange juice in it he swigged it briefly, filled it up with sbome water from the tap and returned to the bedroom.
"There you go love, drink up" Neville told his potted plant.
Throwing open the curtains and letting the small amount of sunlight that had managed to penetrate the dark grey clouds loitering above the East End saturate the room with that horrible Sunday Afternoon ambience Neville bounded from the room, stopping to grab a bath robe on the way.
His mirror gasped in disgust upon seeing his dark matted hair plastered to the one side of his face, and the words "Join the House Elf Revolution" etched into his left cheek from using the pamphlet as a pillow.
There was nothing like sleeping on top of the downtrodden masses for beauty sleep.
By the time he had exited the bathroom, the damp bath towel wrapped around his head and completely nude except for the promotional pamphlet held across his extremeties he had decided that he was done with women.
Done and completely through with them. What were they after all, but frigid relicts of a time when man had no better substitute.
From now on he would devote all his passion towards things that truly deserved his undying love. This of course would be difficult since magnolias were incapable of any emotion besides a perfunctory, "You great glob give me some manure", but he would manage.
After all what was he but an artist meant to be pitied by one and all. And of course his inner torment would lend itself to his carefully cultivated classic PI image.
Whistling cheerfully he changed into a t-shirt with the words: "House Elf Revolution" printed on them in threatening red letters. The I was dotted with a heart; really he thought sometimes Hermione Granger didn't know when to give up.
Nice girl of course, but not a patch on a really good specimen of ferns. Those glossy, glossy leaves.
Making himself a cup of tea he watched a variety of mind-numbing television, including the gardening channel, how to become an absolutely tip top super model (he was sure he could manage it standing on his head), until finally his mind returned to its usual speediness.
Clearing away the mess on the floor (by dint of shoving it out the second floor window) he put his yogic tape "Budha 1,2,3" into the tape recorder and stretched out onto the floor.
Really, the similiarites between meditating and being high were really rather thin. Although he preferred meditation, it saved money and none of that nasty business of needles.
Neville didn't like needles, and apart from that small tattoo of a golden retriever on his hip (like all proper tattoos he had no idea how it had gotten there) he'd had little experience with them.
Imagine you are sinking into a pool of liquid sunlight the pretty pretty voice emanating from the tape said.
Shutting his eyes and blocking out the sounds of Mrs. Reginald Shoe from downstairs trying to give her terrier a bath he let his mind flow.
The voice was so very pretty, so very pretty.
He wondered absently if the brandy he'd dumped liberally into his tea had anything to do with this. Brandy and tea, an interesting combination. Perhaps he ought to alert Seamus to its medicinal benefits.
But right now, he checked his mickey mouse watch, its hour hand was stuck permanently at nine. He had an appointment with a man. Or a women. With Draco Malfoy you could never be sure.