If King’s general demeanour was restrained, Nick’s was entirely the opposite. He was too high and tipsy and buoyant to be held back by anything like logic or propriety tonight. So, although he ought to be pretending to be casual, he didn’t bat an eyelid at the question, didn’t let his gaze leave King’s face. “I’d invite you to mine for a nightcap, but I live up in Hogsmeade these days –” he explained, spirits as yet undamped.
“But I’m sure we can find a place nearby.” (Hopefully somewhere muggle enough to be anonymous, and dubious or private enough not to worry about his actions, if impulse got the better of him.) “Say, what about yours?” Nick put in, as an afterthought – whether this was King’s house or the inn he supposedly ran, he scarcely cared. He was curious about – all of it. He couldn’t help himself.
“But I’m sure we can find a place nearby.” (Hopefully somewhere muggle enough to be anonymous, and dubious or private enough not to worry about his actions, if impulse got the better of him.) “Say, what about yours?” Nick put in, as an afterthought – whether this was King’s house or the inn he supposedly ran, he scarcely cared. He was curious about – all of it. He couldn’t help himself.
