"No," he replied, the word bursting out of him before he'd had a chance to temper any of the sudden anger he felt — at Evander, at this entire situation, at the fact that it was a damn button. He had plenty of things to deal with at the moment, and Evander was taking him away from his thoughts — from what might have been his grief. This was the first time anyone really close to him had died, so how was he supposed to know what it felt like to grieve? Maybe this abstract other-ness, this preoccupation with the idea that he might not have paid attention to the right details, that he might not be able to find his way back to the grave easily enough — maybe this was all a part of it, and maybe that was what he was supposed to be thinking and feeling, and instead, Evander was over here asking him about his wardrobe choices.

"No, I'm not going to fix it, because no one cares except you — and I don't know why you care," he continued angrily. He wasn't sure how far away the rest of the crowd had gotten from them at this point, but had the presence of mind to hope vaguely that Evelina and their mother, at least, were far enough out of earshot that they hadn't heard his momentary outburst. In any case, he lowered his voice slightly as he continued sarcastically, "Did someone at the Ministry die, and consequently you've been promoted to bloody Button Baron?"