The Alkahest
Chapter Fifty-Two: The Hardest Choice Of All
…
Hermione ate way too much at the stupid party, mostly because Ginny always got this look on her face when she made you something and you didn't eat all of it. The look of perdition. The look that would banish you straight to the icy reaches of the Acquaintance Zone. Hermione had braved that look only once, and by the grace of Harry had managed to trek back into the warmth of Ginny's good graces.
She would not make that mistake again.
"That really sounds like an excuse to stuff yourself," Draco said, after Hermione explained all this.
"It's true!" she defended, taking another bite of her second slice of cake. "I barely made it back in! I might have ended up a friendless vagrant on the outskirts of society, sifting through trash for my next meal. Is that the future you would have wanted for me?"
He rolled his eyes, but held his hands up in surrender. "By all means, turn yourself into a walking pile of cake. It makes no difference to me."
"Oh, so, you're not the slightest bit worried that I'll get fat?"
He shrugged. "I'll divorce you."
Her eyes narrowed into slits. "You have about four seconds to make it apparent that that's a joke," she warned him, licking the fork clean.
Draco smiled. "I am sure that you will still look radiant at fifteen stone."
"You won't," she said, primly. "Stay trim. Once that jawline goes, so will I."
He burst out laughing, mostly out of shock, and then stood, pulling her out of her chair. "Let's get these presents done, already, so I can take you home and utterly ignore you for that comment. Not to mention the years of passive-aggressive comments about your hips that will begin starting today. I hope you're ready."
"I took your petty insults for seven years, I'm sure I could handle a few more." She stood, though, and let herself be ushered back into the living room.
Most of the presents were gift cards to restaurants, money, or nonsense. There were only four really memorable ones:
Harry and Ginny had taken that full-page spread of their wedding article in the Prophet and gotten it framed – very nicely. Harry had added, when she just stared at it, "It'll go nicely in some fancy study or another. The Manor's littered with those, from what I'm given to understand."
George had gotten her a sex toy that, when she opened the box, made her eyes widen fantastically and slam the lid back on. Angelina promptly started braying with laughter as George sent her a salacious wink that brought a flush to her face.
Lucius' gift was the only one, Draco noticed, that stirred anything that resembled child-like delight on Hermione's face: A thick tome that had a cautionary note stuck to the front of it, written in Lucius' grand script, that it was not to be opened in any sort of light under any circumstances. She'd immediately started squealing when she saw it, and had looked up at his father in breathless adoration. "This is from that second glass case, with the inlaid emeralds!" she'd told him, and when he'd nodded, she started squealing like a child again, making the man wince theatrically.
Draco observed, though, that his father seemed pleased that his gift had been so obviously well-received – despite his seemingly cold indifference to Hermione's rampant glee.
When it was all over, Hermione shot her husband a glance, noticing that none of the presents had been from him. Not that she required one, or anything; it was just unlike Draco to not take the opportunity to give her something. She'd expected it. When their eyes met, though, he just mouthed: Home.
Blinking a bit at the mystery of it all, Hermione let herself be showered in more happy praises for being born, and endured another gauntlet of hugs. The Malfoys were the first to leave, and people started trickling out after them, one by one. Ron looked at Lucius' gift, which was chained shut, and scowled a bit when his gaze drifted to his own gift: Another book, and one Hermione was interested in reading, but also one that could be easily purchased in just about any shop.
"That's so unfair," he muttered. "I say we exclude the Malfoys from all further gift-givings."
"We are exceptional at it," Draco drawled, from where he was sprawled on the couch. His arm was across the back, playing with Hermione's hair as she organized all the gift cards she'd gotten. "Perhaps everyone else should be excluded."
"Don't be a poor sport," Hermione suggested, laughing at Ron's indignant expression. "I'm truly very touched that you even remembered I'd mentioned wanting to read that book. You always get this glazed-over look when I talk, so I always assume none of what I'm saying is actually penetrating. And I think I even said it months ago, too. Unless Susan remembered for you."
"How dare you," Ron sputtered.
Susan laughed, smoothing her hand down her husband's arm soothingly. "He actually brought it up," she admitted. "Last week, we were walking by Flourish and Bott's, and he said, 'Oh, I bet that book Hermione couldn't shut her gob about is in here somewhere.'"
Ron recoiled from Hermione's glare, and hissed to Susan from the corner of his mouth, "Do me a favor and stop helping."
Rolling her eyes, Hermione glanced over at Harry and Ginny, who seemed to be having an intense but quiet conversation in the kitchen. After they'd put the boys to bed – both James and Teddy had given her pieces of artwork that she was sure not even a parent would be proud to put on their fridge – they'd mostly spent the late evening giving each other tense glances and little head-shakes.
Letting her eyes linger on them, she tilted her head towards them as she raised her eyebrows in silent question at Ron and Susan.
Ron followed her gaze and sobered a bit, but eventually was forced to shrug helplessly. He'd no idea. Susan mimicked his gesture, looking slightly worried. Forcing a slight smile, she leaned forward to call out to them: "Hey, are you two going to come join us?"
Harry stopped talking mid-sentence, sending them all a guilty look. Ginny just looked stony, if resigned.
"You two fighting?" Ron asked, a little incredulous. They didn't do it often, but when they did, it was usually the kind of fight that didn't blow over very quickly. Ginny had Ron's famous temper, but unlike her brother, she could hold a mean grudge.
"No," Harry assured them, quickly, but Hermione noticed that Ginny didn't answer at all. "Sorry. Just talking about something. So, um, anyone up for a nip?"
After sharing a glance with Ron, Susan, and Draco, Hermione said, "Erm, no, thanks. We should probably get going and give you guys your house back." Standing, she moved towards the kitchen. "Thank you both. So much. I don't know how you always manage to top yourself year after year, Gin."
The redhead summoned a smile that was sincere, if a little wan, and quickly folded Hermione into a hug. "Happy birthday, Hermione," she sighed. "Can I steal you for your lunch hour tomorrow?"
"Of course," she murmured, a tense feeling coiling in her stomach at Harry's unhappy expression. She wondered if it was because he was afraid Ginny would tell her what was going on... or if it was because he had wanted to tell her, first, during their usual lunch together. "I can Floo over here, if that's easier. I know you've got the boys, tomorrow."
Ginny nodded, and released her.
Harry hugged her, next, murmuring, "Happy birthday, luv."
"Thanks, Harry." Taking a step back, she scrutinized her two friends for a second before turning to Draco, eyebrows raising. "Ready?" He nodded, and she was glad he'd opted to stay silent through that tense little exchange, silently accompanying her through the Floo with his arms full of her presents.
0o0o0o0o0o0
"So that was weird," Draco scoffed, dropping everything in his arms on her couch. "I didn't know the Golden Boy had fights with his wife."
"We don't know that they're fighting," Hermione returned, a little uncertainly. It had certainly looked like fighting. Harry had been doing a lot of that thing where he spoke through his grit teeth, and Ginny's eyes had started flashing in that way that usually heralded an incoming jinx. Draco shot her an incredulous look, and she grimaced. "Although it did certainly look like it," she sighed. "Oh, I hate when they fight."
"Uncomfortable for everyone, is it?"
"Well, for one thing, Harry just mopes around in obvious misery," Hermione explained. "And Ginny does that thing where she's cheerful, but it's this sort of aggressive cheer, like she's being cheerful at you. I think it's her passive-aggressive way of trying to let him know that it doesn't bother her, or something."
He shooed Crookshanks off the recliner, earning an aggravated growl as the ginger cat quickly disappeared into her bedroom. Sinking down into it, he folded his ankle across his knee. "So, what do you think they're fighting about?"
She shook her head. "Nothing I can think of," she said, honestly. "I guess I'll have to wait and see."
He leaned over the side of the recliner, pulling a wrapped box from behind the potions bench. Hermione grinned when she saw it. "What was so secret that it had to wait until here?" she wondered, reaching for the box. "It better not be as bad as George's."
"It's not. I just didn't want to have to share your reaction with thirty other people."
Chewing on her lower lip, she neatly undid the sides of the wrapping paper and carefully pulled it free of the box, trying not to rip any of it. She opened the box, finally, blinking down at the fabric she saw there. Slowly, she pulled it out, and as it fell into its natural shape, she could see that it was a shirt. A big one.
Draco's.
"What-" she started, staring at it. It was the undershirt of a Quidditch uniform, she realized. And it was pure Slytherin green. "This isn't-?"
"Yes," he said. "And I am giving it into your care with many, many reservations. But I promised you a new shirt to prance about the house in, didn't I? Since you refuse to wear any of that beautiful lingerie."
She laughed, unfolding it. "I'm going to look much more ridiculous in this than Ron's old Cannons shirt."
"You will never mention that shirt to me, again. This is the only shirt in your life," he informed her, seriously, pointing at it. "Also, I charmed it. Put it on. Get undressed first, I mean, but then put it on."
"I'm almost afraid to find out what you've charmed it with," she retorted, but she peeled off her own shirt and pants and shimmied into his. She was started to discover that it was soft, like the entire thing was made out of cashmere, or fleece. It looked coarse and scratchy, but it was quite honestly the most comfortable thing she'd ever worn. She ran her hand over the sleeve, mouth falling open a bit. "Wow," she breathed.
Looking smug, Draco stood. "See, now that is sexy."
"I think you might be a little biased, there, Draco."
"Undoubtedly," he agreed, leaning in to kiss her. His hands traveled down below the Quidditch undershirt, smoothing over her arse and up to the small of her back. She pressed up into the kiss, and he growled a bit, walking her backwards down the hallway and towards the bedroom. "Forget the lingerie. Wear this every night," he beseeched her, as they tumbled into bed.
0o0o0o0o0o0
"I'm pregnant," Ginny said, and Hermione choked on her tea. Upstairs, James yelled as he thundered around the playroom. She could only just barely hear Albus' cooing laughter.
She coughed to try and clear her throat, setting her teacup down. "What?"
"I'm pregnant," Ginny ground out, smoothing her hands over her face. "I can't believe this. I'd been so careful. He uses a condom every time. I'm even on those Muggle pills!"
Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. Ginny had taken every available precaution against the potential of pregnancy, and although Harry quite obviously wished otherwise, he'd known better than to try and argue against it. He could be a mule-headed man sometimes, but having spent an entire lifetime dealing with Hermione and Ginny had taught him very well that there were certain instances where a man's opinion was simply not welcome. "Well, neither of those things are a hundred percent certain," she said, slowly.
No, there was the slightest chance both could fail – in addition to the wizarding precautions Ginny had also taken.
But the odds were almost laughably small.
Ginny fiddled with her teacup. "You know Harry better than anyone," she said, quietly. "And I trust you with my life. Do you think there's any chance he might have... you know. Messed with my stuff?"
"No!" Hermione gasped, utterly horrified. "Ginny, good God. You know Harry would never get you pregnant against your will. How awful!"
Her eyes closed, and she sucked in a shuddering breath. "I know," she said, her voice wavering a bit. "I know, I know, I just- how could this have happened? I was so careful. I at least wanted to finish out my season before I decided to hang it all up, for good, you know?" She sniffled, and her next breath was a sob. "I'm already nearly six weeks in. I've only got another month or so before they'll make me stop playing."
Hermione scooted around the table, throwing her arms around her friend. She rocked her back and forth a bit as she cried, swallowing past a sudden lump in her throat.
She knew it wasn't just the pregnancy. Hell, Ginny had been through two and she wanted another child; she always had. It was just the sudden-ness of it all. The lack of autonomy in choice. Even Ginny's attempts to gaining autonomy for herself had been for nothing, and she was looking at one of her potential futures going up in smoke.
"I thought about..." Ginny stopped, hiccuping a bit. "Muggles have a way of... getting rid of it, right?"
"Yes," Hermione whispered. Suddenly, she had a very powerful idea of what Ginny and Harry had been fighting about. "Yes, an abortion."
"They don't care about killing babies?" Ginny's voice was soft, almost bruised. Hermione wondered how much she hated herself, right then, for considering an option that she probably considered to be tantamount to murder.
"People who believe in the right to abortion don't believe that it's a baby, yet," Hermione said, quietly. "Beliefs differ a lot on when, exactly, a fetus becomes a child, but... When it's early on, there's no brainwave activity. Nothing that would necessarily define it as a person." She was trying to stay neutral, not wanting to push Ginny one way or another; this was one of the very distinct social issues in which the wizarding community was not divided: All those born to wizarding society were raised without even being taught about the possibility of abortion. Consequently, their horror at discovering the practice was almost universal.
Ginny's fingers dug into her a bit. "Do you believe that?"
Hermione nodded a bit. "Yes, I do. I believe every woman has the right to make that choice for herself. And I don't believe that it's a child until the second trimester, or so."
"Harry doesn't want me to."
She chewed the inside of her cheek so hard that she tasted blood. Grimacing, she stopped. "It's your body," she said, firmly. "You can take his wishes into account, and because he's your husband, I think it's a good idea to do so, but... it's ultimately your decision. And he's not going to hate you if you decide to do it, Gin. He loves you."
She pulled away, her eyes red-rimmed. "What if I don't know what the right choice is?" she asked, a tad desperately. "I don't want to decide to- do that, and then in a year I can't stop thinking about how much I regret that decision. But I don't want to have the baby and in a year regret giving up my entire career over him, either. I can't talk to Mum, she'll absolutely lose her mind if I even suggest it. I just don't know what to do, and I have very little time in which to figure that out before it's decided for me."
Feeling helpless, Hermione just stared at her, shaking her head a bit. "I can't tell you that," she whispered, hoarsely. "I can't tell you what's right and what's wrong. It just comes down to you. But I'll be here, no matter what you decide, you know that, right?"
Ginny smeared the tears out from under her eyes, and her voice was barely audible. "Yes. Yes, I know."
She leaned in, and Hermione gladly wrapped her arms around the redhead once more, pressing her cheek to the top of Ginny's head. Sometimes, she felt like such a failure – in those times when everyone came to her for answers and she came up with nothing. And this wasn't something that could be made into a pros or cons list, either. It was simply one of those things that came with the covenant of being born a woman in this strange, twisted little world.
She held Ginny until her lunch hour was up. Neither had eaten a single thing by the time she was heading through the Floo again, leaving Ginny in the kitchen by herself to make one of the hardest choices of her young life.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Harry appeared at her desk with a sandwich about half an hour after she returned. When she shot him a surprised look, he shrugged, and said, "I assume you didn't get around to eating."
Huffing a soft laugh, Hermione nodded, reaching for the sandwich and unwrapping it. "Thanks."
She ate half the sandwich in silence, her best friend perched on the edge of her desk. She took the moment to examine him as he fiddled with his wand, smoothing his fingertips over the well-worn wood. Hermione was suddenly struck by how old he looked. The laugh lines she'd gotten used to only seeing when he was actually laughing were started to etch themselves into his face along with the faint creases in the corners of his eyes. The lines were barely there, but were being slowly worn into his expression like a leather glove.
None of them were going to be young forever. She'd always known it, in her head, but for the first time she knew it in her heart, too – the realization of their own grisly mortality suddenly crawling up her spine and seizing her heart in a fist of dread.
"What are you going to do?" she finally asked, between bites.
Harry laughed, the sound a little sarcastic as he shrugged. "What can I do?" he pointed out, with a wry look that had just a tinge of bitterness beneath it. "It's out of my hands."
"You can tell your wife that you love her," Hermione reminded him. "Maybe that'll take the edge off of her hatred for herself, don't you think?"
He flinched a bit, sobering. "She knows I love her. I'll always love her," he said, fiercely.
"She knows," she agreed. "But it's still nice to hear. You're her husband, Harry. You're supposed to be at her side through this, not arguing against her. She needs you."
"I don't know what to say to her," Harry sighed. "I feel like every time I open my mouth, someone hijacks my body and starts going on these long bloody rants about how I want another kid. I know what it sounds like, but I can't stop myself from just letting it all out every time the subject comes up. But if I'm silent, then I'm abandoning her. I don't know what to do."
Hermione frowned at him. "Neither does she. But at least you two can figure that out, together. That's what you signed up for when you got married. You need to keep talking to her, Harry. And for God's sake, if you get home tonight and the first words out of your mouth aren't 'I love you,' I'm going to kill you tomorrow." He started to laugh, and so did she, but she insisted, "I'm serious. I'll Avada you right outside the Floo room. They'll haul me off to Azkaban screaming about how you didn't have to be such a wanker."
His chuckles died off slowly, and the smile drifted off his face. "You know I believe in a woman's right to choose, right?" he asked, softly.
"We've never discussed it," Hermione said, with a shrug. "But I always sort of assumed."
He nodded. "Thanks for the pep talk," he said, in a dry tone. "And do not Avada me tomorrow, because I'll say it, I promise." He curled a hand around her neck, leaning in to drop a kiss against the side of her forehead. "Love you, 'Mione."
"Love you, too, Harry. And don't pressure her," she warned. "Or I'll skip the Avada and just kick you between the legs."
"I'd prefer the Avada, actually," Harry scoffed, straightening off her desk to head off.
"So keep that threat in mind, then," she called after him, as he left her cubicle to head back towards the DMLE. He threw up a hand in acknowledgment without turning around.
0o0o0o0o0o0
When she got home, Draco was conked out on the couch and the living room stank of whatever he was brewing in the corner. Wrinkling her nose, she waved her wand a few times to summon a light breeze to scoop the stench out the front door before heading into the hallway to hang her robe up.
The sound of the door opening woke him up, although the winds hadn't. Sitting up, he peered at her. "Oh, you're home," he said, yawning. "Your rent notice came today, so I paid it."
She blinked. "You didn't have to do that."
He just shrugged, already forgetting about it as he stood to head into the kitchen. Money was as common as water to someone like Draco Malfoy; she didn't think it even registered with him that she might be uncomfortable with him just swooping in to throw money at her financial obligations like that. She turned towards the bedroom, her mind churning with it.
Because while she did know that on one hand, half of his fortune was now hers, she also knew that she hadn't avoided living in the Manor just so she could feel like she was skating by in life here. It was also why she hadn't broached the topic of trying to find another flat for the both of them. He'd want something fancy and posh, and he had the money to buy whatever he wanted, and she'd struggle to keep up with her half of the rent payments – because she would, of course, insist on paying at least that much.
After changing, she found him in the kitchen inspecting a can of soup. "Do you really add water to this and it turns into food?" he asked.
She hesitated in the doorway, stalled between demanding to know what he was thinking paying her rent without her permission and knowing that doing so would likely shatter the nice round of peace they were currently enjoying. She couldn't really decide which was worse: Fighting with Draco while knowing he would not be leaving afterward, or guiltily watching the number on her Gringott's account skyrocket paycheck after paycheck thanks to him smoothly taking over all of her bills.
"Uh, yes. But don't eat that, we have to pop by my parents'," she said. "Birthday dinner."
He blinked, but smiled at the surprise. He was much more interested in a home-cooked meal than he was in canned add-water soup, anyway. "Great, I'll get dressed. When are we expected?"
"Seven," she said. She remained tense as he passed her to head into the bedroom, and she cursed herself. The moment to bring up the rent was past, now, and she wasn't sure how to go about bringing it up without making things awkward. Besides that, she didn't want to put him in a foul mood right before dinner with her parents, either.
Not when things were going so well.
0o0o0o0o0o0
"So we're going to Aruba for two weeks in November to escape the chill," David was explaining to Draco. "We thought you two might actually be interested in house-sitting for us. You must be getting cramped in Hermione's flat."
"He's only been moved in for a weekend," Hermione defended.
"Yes, dear, but your flat is very small," Rose reminded her. Seeing her daughter bristle, she hastened to add: "And perfect for one person and a cat. But with the two of you in there, you're liable to start bouncing against each other before long."
Hermione rolled her eyes a bit, and David said, "Trust us, when November rolls around, you'll be begging to house-sit."
"It'd be no problem," Draco agreed, amicably.
"Wonderful!" Rose said, happily. "We'll get the guest bedroom set up for you two. Hermione's little bed won't fit you both, I don't think. It's very easy. We like to get Hermione to house-sit for us when we go away so that burglars don't notice we've gone and try and rob us blind."
Draco shot Hermione a confused frown, and she just shook her head a bit. She'd explain it later. "Sure, Mum," she agreed. "Need me to do anything with the garden?"
Rose made an unhappy noise, pursing her lips at her mashed potatoes. "I think I'll just tear the whole thing out and put a Chinese rock garden in," she sighed. Hermione's eyes flicked to her father, who was staring intently at his meatloaf so as not to betray his glee. "I just can't get that soil to produce anything. After years of trying, I'm finally going to hang it up."
"Make sure you drive the car around a bit," David added. "I don't want the battery to freeze up."
Draco brightened dangerously and Hermione said, flatly, "No, Draco. That's fine, Dad. Anything else?"
"We'll leave you a list when we go," he promised. "And save room, your mother made a black forest cake. Your favorite," he added, unnecessarily. He turned to Draco, and whispered, "And it has been ever since she was six. Once she finds something she likes, she sticks to it."
"So I've learned," Draco said, shooting Hermione a quick grin.
She ignored the way that grin increased her heart-rate a little, sending him an exaggerated eyeroll as she scooped some more mashed potatoes into her mouth.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Cohabitation was something that required a lot of practice, all things considered. When one got used to living alone and doing whatever they wanted, suddenly having to think about this entirely new person seemed almost like more trouble than it was worth. However, as the days wore on, she found that she didn't mind Draco's presence overmuch, especially since he seemed to be in an almost remarkably chipper mood.
It wasn't until two weeks later, entering October, that the cracks started to show.
She was sipping tea in the kitchen one morning when she heard a cry of disgust from the bathroom. Draco came marching out, still dripping wet with a towel pinned around his hips with one hand. The other hand held up a small tangle of long, dark hair. "How many times have I asked you to clean out the bloody drain?" he demanded.
"I do clean it out!" Hermione snapped. "And it's just a little hair."
"Just a little hair? This is in the drain every morning, without fail," he hissed, stomping over to the kitchen sink. He tried (and failed) to open the cabinet with his toes several times before it finally nudged open enough for him to hook his foot around it. He tossed the hair into the garbage can and kicked it closed. "It's a wonder you're not bald yet, with the amount of hair you're losing. And I keep finding them all over the shower walls!"
"You lose hair, too! You just don't notice because it's so short and blond," she exclaimed, shooting him a baleful glare from the table. "It's perfectly normal for a person to shed up to a hundred hairs a day."
"That's absolutely insane, not to mention revolting." Draco stomped past her, leaving a wet trail behind him on the kitchen floor. Hermione stared at it, setting her jaw in irritation. "Every time I take a shower, I have to drag a fistful of your matted, disgusting hair out of the drain. Can we please get an elf?"
"No," she said, flatly. "And a fistful? You know, if you have to rely on hyperbole to make your point, maybe it's not a very good point," she said, with a blistering tartness.
His response was to slam the bathroom door so he could, presumably, dry himself.
When he came out, moments later, she was already pulling his porridge out of the microwave. It was one of the routines they'd stumbled into over the weeks; he took that for breakfast nearly every day, and she always made it while he was in the shower. He had on pants, but no shirt, and he grunted in begrudging thanks when he took the bowl from her.
He set it on the counter and opened up the cabinet. After moving some items around, he sighed through his nose and planted his palms on the counter. "There's no brown sugar," he said, enunciating the words carefully, as though he were keeping himself from exploding.
"Can't you use maple syrup? It will taste the same," she suggested, absently, poring over the Daily Prophet.
He closed the cabinet door, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "You said you were going to grab some on your way in from work yesterday," he reminded her.
She raised her head to glare at him. "Or you could grab it at any point in the day, since you sit at home doing nothing for most of it!" she said, brusquely. "Or do you really expect me to believe that you spend all eight hours laboring over those silly ancient potions of yours?"
"Yes, I expect you to believe that," he growled. "Because that's what I'm doing. I'm trying to finish my essay draft, something I thought you, of all people, would appreciate. Or do you really expect me to sit here and listen to you judge me and what I decide to fill my day with? I don't need to work, if you may recall. I have money. I use it to pay rent for this place, don't I?"
Hermione shot to her feet. "I never asked you to do that!" she screeched. "And I never wanted you to!"
"Yes, well, it happened anyway, now, didn't it?" he asked, sweetly, and upended the porridge over the sink. It slid slowly out of the bowl and fell into the drain with a wet splat. "So if you're trying to suggest I'm not pulling my weight, or something, how about you don't?"
"Is that what that was about? So you could feel like you were pulling your weight? Or so you could feel like you had some sort of control over this situation?" she demanded. "Were you feeling a little out of sorts, being forced to move into my home rather than convincing me to move into yours?"
He groaned in pure frustration. "Will you please just pick up some brown sugar on your way home?" he muttered, stalking out of the kitchen. "It's impossible trying to hold a conversation with you, like this."
Hermione reached up and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking on it. The stinging in her scalp did very little to soothe her ire. However, maybe if she actually yanked out a good chunk of it and threw it all over his stupid potions bench, she'd feel better. She allowed herself that brief fantasy as he stomped back out into the living room and took up at his bench again.
Without another word, she got up, got dressed for work, and Flooed out. She didn't say goodbye to him, and he just stared into his cauldron as she left, stubbornly refusing to say goodbye to her, too.
