Macnair's agreement, his words, how he started to reach for Ford's shoulder and how he stopped himself all happened in short succession, and each brought up a different collection of feelings and reactions, so that by the time Macnair had started walking (without having touched him) Ford's chest was a tangled mess of things he couldn't even begin to sort out. He was gratified, he was disappointed. For a moment there had been a rush of either fear or longing but it had flickered out as soon as it had appeared and now he was left with the absence of it, as though it was a river that had hollowed out a space and left traces of itself all through him once it had evaporated. He wanted to sort through all his feelings so that he could determine which ones to dismiss and which to hold on to; at the same time he had an instinct to push all of this down and pretend none of it existed, just as a survival tactic. He was impatient with himself for feeling so entirely off-balance after what amounted to only half a gesture from Macnair, and he thought (without knowing whether or not it was a serious thought) that if things kept up this way he might go mad. Hopefully not in the foyer at the Hogsmeade Memorial Ballroom — that would be quite the spectacle, wouldn't it?

They slipped out of the ballroom without saying anything. Ford moved far enough away from the door that they wouldn't be in any danger of being overheard from inside, but not far enough away that anyone who saw them might think they were intentionally trying to hide themselves away in a corner. He leaned against the wall and chewed the edge of his thumb, his eyes sliding from the floor up to Macnair's face and then back down again.

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