Raphael didn't even want to consider that they might see more near-death experiences in the future; it was all he could do to mask his anxiety with an overly-dramatic roll of his eyes. He would definitely make sure none of their future experiences, good or bad, included water—he'd already reviewed the rest of the quidditch matches for the rest of the season and made a point to remove from his schedule the ones that were being played near any body of water larger than a simple lake. No bays, no seas, no oceans—he couldn't do it.

None of the favors he'd considered had crossed into the territory of anything Splitters might have suggested, and the mere reminder of it caused his nostrils to flare. "No," he said automatically, "nothing like that." It was true that he'd visited whore houses and been pushy with less reputable ladies he thought were playing hard-to-get, but never had he ever considered blackmailing or forcing a woman—gentile or low-born—into something as vile, so dehumanizing.

"The favor," he said, suddenly shaking his head as if he thought it would rid his mind of the resurfacing images of a kneeling Yaxley and Splitters in the back room of the pawn shop, "Don't think too much about it. It's just a thought."

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