The Cup
She flirted.
He smiled.
She made cake.
He bought flowers.
She was smitten.
So was he.
But not with her-
-With me.
Oh, how she tried to tantalise his tastebuds,
With her recipe of infamy and riches,
Slytherin's locket –
1 part gold,
A good dollop of amber,
Season with mouth-watering ancestry.
Hufflepuff's cup –
3 parts gold,
A sprinkling of mystery,
1 tbsp of hot steamy lineage.
I remember the hungering flare in his eyes.
As he salivated over my curves,
Savoured my delicious breed.
He served up his 5-star flattery
On a platter made of greed.
Death, by Hot Chocolate,
Her Goose was finally cooked.
My sadness simmered but did not spoil,
After all, her Hufflepuffness had been lacking.
The locket and I became his own sustenance,
His deserved treat, his soul-food, then his soul.
I could feel him swilling inside my chalice,
Slowly his secret ingredients were made known.
His loyalty to his cause was admirable,
He worked harder than any I had seen.
If his gut was not so rotten,
If his appetire was not so tasteless,
If his heart had not burnt black,
A great Hufflepuff he would have been.
Too many evils spoil the broth.