A Case Of Mistaken Identity

[manwithstyle]

Though Albus was hardly fond of the kitchen, he could concede that it was preferable to any alternatives that would require him to attend to the preparation of his own food. He sat alone at the table, a half-eaten piece of toast before him, sipping unobtrusively at his tea. Save the occasional resident in search of a beverage, it was a remarkably quiet afternoon and he found himself enjoying the rare solitude, fully aware that it could not possibly last.

It never did, after all.