He wasn’t sure whether it was better or worse that she had to ask, because now he had to admit it aloud, and that was rather like getting a bludger to the groin every time it happened.

“Well, Frida,” he said first, which was not to say they’d lost their minds, only that they’d been scraping at the bottom of the barrel. This might be a turning point for his sister, a chance for her to make something of herself; more than anything, Kristoffer was put out by the fact that she hadn’t offered him nearly enough of the commiseration he deserved about...

“And Turner, Head Boy,” Kris declared, each word heavy with disdain. He was Miss Borgin’s housemate, so perhaps she would defend that choice: of course, if she did, that would merely be another disappointment to add to the cartload, at this point - just another bloody waste of his time.

He hoped she wouldn’t be, or at least that she wouldn’t have the nerve to laugh in his face, but he daren’t risk any seeming any more vulnerable than he already had, ‘til he knew. “S’pose I should get him something in congratulations,” he added sardonically, scuffing the nearest object-for-sale with a careless kick and looking away from the stocks for something more - suitable.

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