The conversation was ending and Ford was almost... relieved? That word didn't make any sense, because he had been enjoying talking to Dorian Fisk, but it was the word that came to mind none the less. He couldn't shake the feeling that had settled on him a few moments ago, when Fisk had invited him to play Quidditch while watching the dancer so closely and carefully — the feeling that there was more going on in this conversation than met the eye. Ford was not exactly a stranger to missing the subtext of a conversation — his disastrous interludes with Miss Belby being prime examples — but something about this felt different than just putting his foot in his mouth. He felt as though the elephant in the room — something to do with the dancers — had been growing and growing until it was impossible to talk about, or think about, anything else. So, yes, he was a little relieved as he nodded a goodbye and headed back towards the lobby. Relieved and uncomfortable and tense, all at once, like a coil about to spring.

He needed some water, he decided. Mama could wait for her shawl a few more minutes. He needed water and maybe some air, to get all of ... this out of his head.