He felt himself slipping—not into despair, and not into anger, no, but into his old habits, his own methods of guarding his emotions. The wall had been up for so long that letting it down while trapped with her on the boat had made it apparent how hardened they became. For a while he wasn't sure how to regard her, as through their shared experiences he hadn't felt comfortable being flippant and cold towards her, even when being genuine and warm seemed impossible. Now he could feel the walls building again.

"As much as I'm sure you'd enjoy it, I rather think being hauled up in a tea shop with Splitters' lackeys on the loose is not the way I'd like to spend my day," he shot back, glaring at her. He told himself not to flirt. He might have done it before—it was so easy to flirt his way through infuriating situations, especially when it served to leave infuriating women like Yaxley tongue-tied—but he wasn't sure he could do it anymore. Not with her. Not after what they'd been through together.

"I'll have you know I brought you here because it's safe," he said, which was a half-truth. Disregarding the correlation between the Painted Lady's nighttime activities and Splitters' threats against Yaxley, the alley here was safe, at least from the prying eyes of two assholes who thought chasing a Malfoy and a Ministry worker was any kind of intelligent.

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