He didn’t need to know her family personally to be quite sure of one thing. “But you’re not their very own weather witch – that won’t change a thing for them,” Endymion protested gently, sure that her relatives would not want her to fret this way, or to think her worth any less for not having a convenient special skill. “You’re more than your sight, Miss Sprout, and I’m sure they’re more worried about you. Besides, I’m sure they will manage just as well with the Prophet’s weather witches, like the rest of us...”
He trailed off, because she had turned a little away. He was sure she was upset; he felt a pang of sympathy in his chest. “I know it’s hardly my place,” he added, in a rush, hand hovering somewhere in front of him, as if contemplating whether he ought to pat her shoulder, “and I imagine the shop is long since closed, but – shall we have tea?”
He trailed off, because she had turned a little away. He was sure she was upset; he felt a pang of sympathy in his chest. “I know it’s hardly my place,” he added, in a rush, hand hovering somewhere in front of him, as if contemplating whether he ought to pat her shoulder, “and I imagine the shop is long since closed, but – shall we have tea?”
