“Oh, nearly always,” Nick answered, faux-chirpy, just to be facetious, so that she knew she was an exception, a thundercloud to his summer day. (Or an inconvenient blizzard that had blown out the Floo, whatever.)

“Fine,” he agreed, with less bite, on whist. “I’d ask if you wanted to wager the game,” he added, less meaning it than to project confidence or to make another dig at her, he wasn’t sure, “but I suppose ladies don’t gamble. And I don’t know how well the Auror office pays.”

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