He listened carefully to Ford, and at first he thought that maybe this was academic — solely a guess. But the further Ford got into the explanation the more it took on the cadence of a confession. Oh. They were talking about someone, something Ford had done — maybe not letters, probably not a lover, but he'd obviously experienced grief. Maybe this was about his father, Cash remembered that his father was dead — and most people were more invested in their fathers than Cash was. So it stood to reason that maybe, and maybe this had worked. It had at least worked a little, because Ford wasn't walking around with dementors following him.

Cash swallowed. "Thank you," he said, trying to catch Ford's eyes despite his usual aversion. "I —" and thank you did not encapsulate it, Ford Greengrass had probably saved his life today, and wasn't walking away, and there was nothing Cash could say that would really encapsulate the reality of this. "— I'll try. I think I'd like to remember."

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