Jo sniffled again. Although she was thoroughly embarrassed to be crying in front of Alfred, she was also incredibly grateful that it was him and not Zachariah. So much of their relationship revolved around her and her needs now, and she despised every minute of it. Jo wasn't the sort to wallow and pity herself, but the accident had taken even that level of confidence away. Everything was different now, from the ease of holding a glass to maintaining her friendships.

She nodded tensely and released one last shuddering breath. "Okay." Finding that spark wouldn't happen tonight, she was sure of that, but he was the only person providing an actual route to usefulness. Zach tried to help with his books, her mother tried with her nagging, but this was the first effort to actually speak to her. Something practical, useful. Something that proved she wasn't the second squib of the family.

After taking a minute or two to steady herself, Jo did as she was told. Her eyes closed, her hand moved over to where he had presumably cut another gash through his pillow (that she would most certainly be sending him repayment for). And, when she thought she found the feeling he spoke of, she began to chant. The stitches were sloppily made, the cut even more jagged than the one they'd performed together, but it was something. Something had to be better than nothing. "I don't know if that was it, I'll have to keep practicing at home." She mumbled once the chant was complete.

"Do you mind if I stay a little while longer? We can catch up ... you can tell me about the horrors of officially courting." She asked. The tears would only continue if they focused on finding the spark and practicing wandless magic. And, now that she knew she could at least perform one basic act, she was desperate to not openly weep.