<- previous day
One unlucky day, Draco overslept. He walked into the kitchen for a late breakfast but Potter’s already there, a loud muggle machine making aggravating noises. He stood against the counter with a faraway gaze, his hair ostensibly sleep tussled, an oversized shirt draped over his frame, and bare feet on the linoleum floor. Whether he’d just gotten out of bed or was trying out a new look was unclear. It’s always hard to tell with Potter.
As Draco entered the room, his sleep-addled mind couldn't help but blurt out, “What on Earth is that?”
Potter snapped his gaze towards Draco, coming back from wherever his mind had went. “The coffee machine?” he asked confusedly.
“I refuse to believe that thing brews coffee.”
Potter didn’t respond and proceeded to press a button, and coffee spilled from the machine’s mouth into Potter’s ugly sienna colored mug. He handed the mug to Draco, who hesitantly took a sip.
It tasted entirely mediocre and incredibly bland, perfect to Potter’s taste. “I’ve had better,” he spoke truthfully and handed back the mug. Potter shrugged and went on to add—certainly an unhealthy—high amount of sugar to it. Still with the same mug, he brought it to his lips, inches away from where Draco’s had been, and sipped the coffee.
Draco’s breath momentarily hitched so he turned around and asked Kreacher to bring breakfast to his room.
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