"How did it go?"
At around ten that night, Bonaparte pushed open the door, walked in, then closed it behind him.
"Which part are you asking about?" She lifted the book in her hand. "This, or the meeting?"
"Which one do you want to talk about?" He came over and sat down right beside her.
"Do you remember the International Confederation of Wizards held in 1692 that I told you about?" she said with a false smile. "The same thing did not happen. There were no Diricawls running around under the table, nor were there any protesting Centaurs."
"That sounds quite nice. How is your book going?"
Georgiana looked at him suspiciously. Why was he in such a good mood?
"You would not rest until you finished it, would you? Is there anything interesting in it?"
She briefly told him about the plot he had missed, then said, "Once I finish this book, I am going out to get some sun. At this rate, I am going to turn into a bookworm."
She put it tactfully. What she really wanted to say was that she would turn into an old bat—that hooked-nosed wizard who spent all year in the dungeons making potions and studying Dark Arts, whose skin was deathly pale from never seeing sunlight, and who needed her to remind him to go up to the stands and watch Quidditch matches.
"You already are one. Didn't you say you would attend the meeting after you finished the book? You should have made them wait, instead of attending just because they threatened you."
"I just did not want to offend the boatman while we were still on the ship." She sighed. "Do you want to keep reading with me, or..."
Before she could finish, he stood up as though he