Grace's eyes widened as he rummaged through their belongings in search of what she assumed was the floo powder, and with no clear direction Grace frantically glanced in every direction—even towards the walls, Merlin help her—in hopes that nobody would come to check on the ruckus (and it was a ruckus).

She was going to be in so much trouble, between the scattered floo powder, the displaced decorations, and the gentleman trying to climb through the fireplace! With no other choice, Grace moved towards him and grabbed hold of his arm from behind, giving it a tug. "You can't go that way. You've sent our floo powder supply across the carpet," she tried to explain, finding it difficult to pull his notably taller, more muscular frame away from their more delicate items. He moved with such carelessness that she could only assume the hit to the head had sent him into a state of delusion.

(Merlin save her. She could not manage this. Not alone. But she had no choice.)

"You're in no state to leave magically, either." The bruise was growing and was nearly purple in color; there was no way he could return home without evidence of the encounter, even if he was too muddled to remember it. "You have to go out the door. You must."

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