Upon his return from the woods, Tiberius had holed himself up in his study with the door locked, and had hardly stirred. He didn't want to be disturbed, and the study was the only room in the house where he could be entirely certain that the servants would leave him be and not knock to offer breakfast or tea if he locked himself in. He'd slept there on the sofa by the fire, although even with some transfigured alterations it was nowhere near as comfortable as his bed. Not that he was sleeping much anyway.
The only thing that had caused him to stir was the sudden remembrance that he was not the only one with a key to the study door. He'd given one to Antigone, though now he had no idea what demon had possessed him and driven him to such idiocy. He didn't want to see her — her, of all people, who had been haunting him these past few months, hounding his thoughts across the sea to the continent and through the mountains and driving him through all this madness — and it was worth the effort to replace the lock. Mechanically, he had decided; he wasn't sure exactly what her skill level with transfiguration really was, since he had never expected her to make the leap to become an Animagus, and he didn't trust that any retransfiguration of the lock he could work could not be undone by persistent attentions from his wife. No, he'd go in to London and order a craftsman in to replace the lock as soon as possible, tomorrow if he could — but that required him to look presentable, and since he hadn't changed his clothes in two days (and had last worn them outside in the midst of a thunderstorm), he certainly was not.
Of course he would head up to his bedroom at the one moment Antigone happened to be in the hall. He scowled at her, sure that she had planned this — had she been stalking the house in cat form, listening for him, waiting to ambush him after the storm? He made a conscious effort to straighten his shoulders and stand tall as he approached her, despite the sharp pain that spidered out from the back of his neck at the motion.
The only thing that had caused him to stir was the sudden remembrance that he was not the only one with a key to the study door. He'd given one to Antigone, though now he had no idea what demon had possessed him and driven him to such idiocy. He didn't want to see her — her, of all people, who had been haunting him these past few months, hounding his thoughts across the sea to the continent and through the mountains and driving him through all this madness — and it was worth the effort to replace the lock. Mechanically, he had decided; he wasn't sure exactly what her skill level with transfiguration really was, since he had never expected her to make the leap to become an Animagus, and he didn't trust that any retransfiguration of the lock he could work could not be undone by persistent attentions from his wife. No, he'd go in to London and order a craftsman in to replace the lock as soon as possible, tomorrow if he could — but that required him to look presentable, and since he hadn't changed his clothes in two days (and had last worn them outside in the midst of a thunderstorm), he certainly was not.
Of course he would head up to his bedroom at the one moment Antigone happened to be in the hall. He scowled at her, sure that she had planned this — had she been stalking the house in cat form, listening for him, waiting to ambush him after the storm? He made a conscious effort to straighten his shoulders and stand tall as he approached her, despite the sharp pain that spidered out from the back of his neck at the motion.