Everyone was looking at him, and Noble could not figure out why, except — oh, they were talking about Quidditch. He could have contributed to a conversation about Quidditch. They seemed to be doing fine, though, even if Mama had smacked his leg under the table. Noble took a sip of his wine. Focus. He was doing a terrible job of focusing, but he glanced between a surprisingly-talkative Grace and Ford and decided that he was glad that they were doing fine. Maybe he should try to get an awakening potion, or something, to draw him out of it? That could work — he just couldn't slip away from the table right now.

He glanced at Ford with an expression that tried to convey everything is fine, sorry. Everything was not fine, but Ford didn't need to know about it.

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