Coffee
One teaspoon of sugar.
An equal amount of coffee.
Boiling water burns the expensive imported coffee.
Half a cup of milk
Stirred three times clock-wise and back again.
A teaspoon of vanilla meticulously stirred in.
Her coffee's ready. Just the way she likes it.
He creeps up the stairs, a mug of warm coffee in his hand. He pushes one of the door open and enters the room. He wonders momentarily how someone can sleep with so much light. The spacious blue room is flooded with morning light and still she sleeps. She nearly disappears under all the blankets, her dark hair fans out across her pillow as he watches her steady, even breathing. He watches her sleep for a moment before mercifully coming to his senses. She was not for him.
He reaches out his hand and gently shakes at her shoulder. She bolts upwards. Her violet eyes are wide with terror. She had slept in her clothes again. He hands her the coffee and silently leaves, closing the door behind him.
One teaspoon of sugar.
An equal amount of coffee.
Boiling water burns the expensive imported coffee.
Half a cup of milk
Stirred three times clock-wise and back again.
A teaspoon of vanilla meticulously stirred in.
Her coffee's ready. Just the way she likes it.
He creeps up the stairs for the fifth time that week. She was awake this time. He hands her the coffee and goes to leave.
"Why don't you stay?" she asks timidly, her voice is soft and gentle.
"Why do you sleep in your clothes?"
He left. She knew the answer.
One teaspoon of sugar.
An equal amount of coffee.
Boiling water burns the expensive imported coffee.
Half a cup of milk
Stirred three times clock-wise and back again.
A teaspoon of vanilla meticulously stirred in.
Her coffee's ready. Just the way she likes it.
Yet this time he stays. He keeps her company for a while. She's in her pajama's today. She actually smiled.
He doesn't come back after that. Pansy Parkinson know's he never will. It's such a pity. She know's that he's dead. She saw it in the news.
"Blaise Zabini brutually mudered."