He lowered his gaze, both in relief at the fact that she stayed, and in uncertainty; he did not have a plan for what was to happen and to what end. They were prolonging the inevitable.
The courtyard was grey under grey clouds. Remnants of this winter's meager snow lay swept into the corners. They were the only people out here, except for the occasional passers-by in the archway.
On the opposite wall stood a stone bench under a bare tree, and that seemed the point to head towards.
Samuel looked back at her briefly, then walked next to her across the courtyard. He fought the urge to cross his hands behind his back, to keep them under safe restraint. Don't cross your hands behind your back; don't keep them in your pockets; don't touch your face or hair; stand straight -- he heard his mother's voice in his head, echoing a hundred times over from his earliest years. Muggles, she always told him, are better mannered. Your kin should invent a spell for that.
Now that they reached the bench, his hand went out along those ingrained habits, to offer Themis assistance in getting seated. He looked at it, and resigned himself to the fact that this was not getting any easier. "It must be the coldest day yet," he said absentmindedly.

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