He was going to have to take the floo; if he walked he would run into someone, and if he apparated he was liable to splinch himself. Most of the staff were starting to disperse to their quarters or home — it was late. Near midnight, maybe.

He’d sent the letters. If there were visitors, the butler could handle it. He knew that he should stay, with people traipsing around his house at night, with Adrienne so ill. He knew he should name the baby. He should certainly do either of those things. But his head was thrumming, his heart was beating, he had been sick again — he could not stay here.

He put his coat on. He pressed the envelope securely into the inside pocket of his coat. He walked down the stairs, said nothing to the butler, and stepped into the floo with a pinch of powder.

”Greengrass residence, Bartonburg, Hogsmeade,”  Cash said, voice firm.

It was lucky that the floo was open. This had not occurred to him; neither had the potential of running into anyone else.

Cash stepped out, covered in ash, into Ford’s parlor.