"Indeed, how dare you." Alexandra repeated. He was fortunate it was she who nearly collided into the tree and not one of their children. The wrath she would have rained down upon him would have paled in comparison to this frigid tundra. She would have dragged his unconscious body into the skies only to drop him from above the clouds. Or roasted his beloved limbs over a fire. Or surprised him with a portkey to the bloody North Pole. Philip wouldn't have known his death was coming until she was ready, until she could have ensured his end. But, had he injured one of their children with his ridiculous and utterly foolish notions about bloody quidditch, ensured it she would have.
It registered then, seconds or minutes later, what had followed that initial statement. The ice in her veins had slowed her ability to process quickly, but he'd said went back to like ignoring them had been a choice for him. Like he was consciously aware of the abrupt shift between then and now. "Yes, Philip. I truly enjoyed grieving our son's death alone." She shot back, her words as cold as the air between them. "Please do, go back to that version of yourself so I might not have to grieve another's soon." Bloody fucking quidditch and flying and brooms.
It registered then, seconds or minutes later, what had followed that initial statement. The ice in her veins had slowed her ability to process quickly, but he'd said went back to like ignoring them had been a choice for him. Like he was consciously aware of the abrupt shift between then and now. "Yes, Philip. I truly enjoyed grieving our son's death alone." She shot back, her words as cold as the air between them. "Please do, go back to that version of yourself so I might not have to grieve another's soon." Bloody fucking quidditch and flying and brooms.