I could watch her sit. Dirty and tear-ridden, blankets from a wishing well and her palm in her lap, palm up and down and pale and cold and her lashes batting at it like it was the world. It made me sick to see someone that pretty sit alone.
"Give her a kiss for me, puss." Crazy Mrs. Norris shoots like a terror cult in the field of rainy reflections. Gone cross to the lake now with a thistle up her collar. A'gonna give it to the queen of Hogwarts if she decides to do the right thing. I've got whiskey up my spine and gray on my face, a smirk where the magic should be, but I'm too drunk to be bitter.
The dust on my windowsill sinks in, I step out into my doorway, the rain comes down a little bit harder, and I can see her panties.