The tea's surface was static. A slice of fruit laid untouched in a plate and the butterknife rested on the butter dish. The bitten toast had been left on the white tablecloth. Nothing could prepare the unsuspected spectator for a hand that quickly entered the scene, held the cup by its wing and launched it towards the closest available surface. The dark infusion stained the tablecloth and the wall.
However, there was no spectator in the small living room and the owner of such an offensive hand didn't bother with the dark stain marring the white paint. The newspaper she held had been thrown to the floor, next to equally manicured and bare feet, still showing a small note in a corner of the page. No pictures. No capital letters. No fuss. Only a small note that would remain unnoticed by most readers. Still, the brown irises eyed the pressed letters with hatred.
As if the large stain and broken china weren't enough, a growl started in the back of the woman's throat and grew to a filled-of-hate scream. The noise was followed by the destruction of every single thing on the table and, finally, with the furniture itself being thrown sideways to the ground.
-No, no, NO!
She picked up the newspaper again, only to throw it on top of the ruins of her breakfast
-NO!
In the following moments, many other objects in the small flat were thrown over, broke, shattered. Scared neighbors ran to their windows searching for the origin of such loud, frantic, screams, until the woman's anger was placated by exhaustion.
Then again calm reigned, only, this time, in a completely different scene. On the floor, in front of the turned-over couch, the shards of the chandelier, the stuffing of the cushions and the torn pieces of the newspaper were mixed with a tall white shelf and it's few contents. This miscellanea circled the pathetic figure the woman, seated on the floor, with her back pressed against the sofa, elbows resting on her knees and hands buried on her long hair, crying copiously.
Unlike the previous one, this scene had a spectator. He materialized himself in the living room, followed by a loud pop. The impeccably dressed, handsome man calmly looked around as if it was all to be expected. He finally stopped his gaze at the feminine figure curled in the middle of the room. His mouth opened to say something, but he gave up, resigned. There was no sarcasm, dirt or advice she needed to listen to right now. Not even his company, perhaps, but still he made himself to take seat right beside the woman and pulled her into his arms.
Relieved, he learned it had been the right choice, when her arms sneaked around his ribcage, and she practically climbed in his lap. Against his own better judgement, he felt himself react to the proximity. A flashback of that same body, naked and pubescent, so similarly cuddled against his own invaded his mind. Taking a deep breath, he focused on taking that image out of his head – it's been too long – tightened his embrace and caressed the light-brown hair, until her hiccups ended.
Some time later he felt her move and eased his grip, giving the woman enough space to raise her head and face him. The red eyes and the swollen, tear stained, and snot filled face were not attractive in the slightest and he was relieved to feel his body go dormant under such vision. Pervert.
-That son of a bitch…
That was all she could say. Not that she needed explanations, he had read the note too, after all. ]
-I know.
-I want him dead.
-I know.
-But he is alive. And free.
Sensing that the anger was making a comeback, he tightened his embrace a bit more. Change of focus.
-You look horrible.
She jerked away from him. Vanity. The fact that she turned her face away from him and cleaned her face with her manicured hands betrayed the lie in her next words.
-Who cares. He is free.
He sighted in annoyance, also getting up and straightening his clothes, noting the stains of snot and tears on the expensive fabric. His answer, therefore, was a bit dryer than he expected.
-And there is nothing you can do about it for now.
She turned back again to face him, and he found her raged expression even less attractive than the previous, mucus-all-over-the-place, one. An ugly shade of red was growing from her neck and the fists on her sides reminded him of the short-tempered little girl he enjoyed tormenting. Ages ago.
-I am tired of doing nothing!
-Very well then. Go, knock and kill him when he opens de door.
His calm voice only made the reddening uglier. He knew this was not the time to tease her, but it was way too tempting. Still, he exhaled, trying hard to control the bad habit. Her lack of answer would, at least, give him the chance to redeem his lack of tact and patience.
-He is a powerful man. Even in the current circumstances, as you seem to have noticed, he remains untouchable.
-But I want him dead!
Again, the stubborn little girl was in front of him, and he couldn't avoid a complacent smile. In two strides he reached her and took her now-not-so-good-looking-face in his hands, cleaning the tears and removing the sticking hair out of her face. A little girl. To him, she would always be a little girl. He kissed her in the forehead and that seemed to calm her down a bit. Spoiled prat. He was done for.
-Yes, and now, to get what you want, you'll have to be smart. – a hand sneaked down to her waist – And patient. – He pulled her close, touching both bodies as much as he could, without breaking eye contact. – And plan everything, very, very, well.
He didn't miss the flicker in her eyes when she felt the volume he was no longer trying to hide. Or maybe when she realized what he was offering. Honestly at this point, it made no difference. That was a scene with an already given end that would please him so very much. He felt the involuntary rocking of her hips right before her cold hands reached for his trousers without hesitation. A naughty smile was already stamping her beautiful features. So much better than tears.
-And you are going to help me, wont you? You will help me kill Lucius Malfoy?
He felt good goosebumps when her hand freed him from the expensive fabrics and finally reached its intended destiny. He was sure his own smile mirrored hers. No, girl. You can do better than this. In a flick of second, the hand resting on her waist moved to the back of her hair, firmly holding the locks of light-brown hair.
-If you ask nicely…
She didn't need a second innuendo. In the blink of an eye, she was already on her knees.