She broke the silence and, Merlin, she did it with a hint of passion he'd not seen in her since before her flat was hit. He leaned forward, setting his half-full cup down on the wood of the table, his entire being ready and willing for the argument of thoughts to ensue.

Be it football, merits of beer, or the plight of the muggleborn in wizarding society, there was little he enjoyed more with the witch than to argue their viewpoints.

"But isn't that what seperates you from them? You don't sink to their levels, you have dignity- doesn't that count for something?"

"It counts for more death, Char. More unnecessary death," his words broke off when she stood and moved across the room, at first his breath catching at the way that the black dress she wore molded so perfectly to her curves, and then in silent homage of her beauty as she stood before the window. He stood, intending to move to her and continue their discussion when she threw her next comment over her shoulder at him.

Irritation picked at him.

He halted midway across the room, running a hand over the top of his head in frustration.

"I have always valued your thoughts, Char. Don't discount yourself simply because you've decided to hide yourself away in a golden cage."

The words had come before he'd thought.