Well, things had been going acceptably. Even the fairly drastic situation with the truth-compelling chocolates and the Hogwarts intranet had been salvageable.
Therefore, he sauntered through the halls of Hogwarts at what might safely be considered an ungodly, singing a
jaunty song with gusto. The kitchen was his planned destination, a snack was
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A small pot burbled on the stove, filling the dimly lit kitchen with the rich smells of butter, salty fish and lemon. He had draped his black and white uniform jacket over a vacant chair and was busy stirring the little pot when he heard someone else venture into the kitchen.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
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"Oh, I don't sleep very much," he said somewhat dismissively. "Doesn't look like you're planning on another attempt soon."
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He sat in a dimly lit corner of the kitchen, as still as a statue. Blue eyes were distant, unfocused as he did a bit of psychic rearranging. After over nine hundred years, a periodic tidying up was in order. The only indication that he was even aware of his surroundings was the steaming mug that he would sometimes raise to his lips.
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"Feeling better?"
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"I'm in full control over my own tongue," he said, trying not to clench his jaw. "And no one else has used my mind for a playground for days. It makes me feel almost neglected."
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"Which one? There've been so many."
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