[Right, so the plan for the moment is to ignore how the witch is a walking—rather, flying—cliché. Good. She can tell he's thinking about it (but what about it, she isn't sure), but they're not going to talk about it now, are they? No? Excellent. Ginny dismounts the broom and swings it over her shoulder, back on solid ground and looking for all the world like she meant to come along and sweep leaves off Xanadu's grass. Those sodding devices, she thinks, shoving hers into her pocket; it's like they're meant to create unplanned encounters.
She raises an eyebrow.]
So what brings you to Xanadu if not an unsuccessful picnic?
no subject
She raises an eyebrow.]
So what brings you to Xanadu if not an unsuccessful picnic?