He couldn't go to Daff's flower shop until Monday, because of the weekend, and it was his first time out in a non-work context since the night of the incident. He couldn't write to her, because having a paper trail felt desperately irresponsible — or maybe it was because he wanted so badly to see someone who would not look at him like he was scum when they saw him. He could imagine what Ford was experiencing at work today — and did not want to think about what was happening with Miss Farley right now.

His stomach ached and his pulse picked up on the walk from the floo; he felt like everyone was looking at him. They were whispering, about Ford, and about Miss Farley, and — how much worse could this be if they were right about the things they were saying?

By the time he walked into Wildflower Florist, his face was pale, and his palms felt clammy. And Noble realized he did not even know if she was here on Mondays.