“Tragic,” Philip crooned, mostly in sarcasm. (He was still seething enough at the state of his own life that other people’s problems did not often move him.) He laughed at the little bit of venom thrown back at him, though; you don’t need to babysit.

“Well, I wasn’t going to offer a massage,” he replied, carelessly throwing open the door to say he’d leave Scamander to wallow, that was fine. “But if you ever want another workout, you know where to find me.” He wasn’t sure Scamander had found this as useful as he had, but Philip would be happy to be put through his paces again.

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