"Me too," Cash said, hoping that Ford would believe him. He had had fun in Londonderry. The night at the haunted house had mostly been a fantastic escape from the things he usually thought about at night, and interesting, besides. Muggle haunted houses provided an inherent puzzle, an inherent little mystery they needed to figure out — genuinely, that was the sort of thing Cash found fun. That that night had been followed a little over a month later by a slide into unreality seemed almost irrelevant; to Cash, the night in Derry seemed like it could exist separately from the way he felt most of the time.

He didn't really know what had caused this, the sudden — (was it sudden?) — appearance of a dementor in his bedroom. He'd been something like better lately; more engaged with the Cannons, with Gallivan, with the club. And then a dementor. He didn't get it, but was worried that Ford would be too concerned if he said it out loud — this knowledge implied that Cash had just been a ticking time bomb, and unaware of it. Hm.

"I've still been thinking about haunted houses, you know," he admitted, a little wry, because that seemed a little silly in the light of what had happened, and because he was not entirely sure that Greengrass still wanted to be actual friends and not just to observe him. "I read something about — ouija boards, is that the phrase?"

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