"Well, what business if that of yours?" Emrys replied sharply. Of course he had heard the rumors about Reuben Crouch; he read Witch Weekly. The sex lives of people he didn't know wasn't the sort of thing he bothered himself about, though, and he didn't see why Macmillan ought to do so either.

"I hope your hatred for the man keeps you warm in the grave," he spat, before turning dramatically to disappear into his closet once again. "Since you're apparently willing to die over it instead of just promising not to say that sort of thing about his sister any more. Ugh," he said, leaning out of the closet again and eying the collection of coats on the bed. "I don't have any pants the right color for this."