 Canon Niffler || Neville's Yorkshire Pudding | | Teddy's Biographer || P + R = ♥
Malachi locked the door, chuckling. “Yes, any problems, give me a shout. Just think of me as the fainting goatherd.” He put his keys into his pocket.
He waited until he had gestured to the left at the end of the path to respond to Frida’s idea about what to do with her family’s frequent visits. “Well, if you’re moving in with your friend, they can’t expect it to continue, can they? And even if you don’t move in with her, the suggestion that you were going to may prompt them to give you a bit more space, especially if you drop a few well placed hints.” The late evening sun was dazzling as Malachi stopped at a pedestrian crossing. He shielded his eyes with one hand, the other ready to grab Frida incase she didn’t know to stop. He got the impression that her experience with muggles was limited. The last thing he wanted was for her to be squished by a delivery driver.
Malachi had realised that she was a more serious person than he was, or that her serious side was dominant quite often. He got the feeling, over and over again, that Frida had been hurt, deeply hurt. He snuck a glance at her every now and then, wondering what kind of blundering fool could ever allow themselves to hurt someone so amazing. His conscious prickled and the knot of self-loathing that he usually managed to ignore grew tighter within his guts as he realised that he was exactly the type of blundering fool who had hurt too many women with his own selfishness. He ran his hand through his hair and swallowed, silently warning himself to never make that mistake with her.
To try and lighten his own mood, Malachi went back to the conversation about the animals. “Casper really does seem to like you, although he is a friendly dog anyway. Not like that kneazle of Pandora’s.” He chuckled, thinking of the scratch on his bicep that the creature had given him. “Tajma she called him. I have no idea why. He’s a little thug, honestly. He bullies Lancelot, Ronan’s cat. Taj seems to think that because he’s a thoroughbred so to speak, and Lancelot is just an ordinary cat, that he has the right to be as mean as he likes. You can’t always stop him either.” Malachi shook his head, a wry grin tugging at the corners of his lips. It was his feeling that if Lancelot stood up to Tajma, Taj would soon back down.
They had arrived at the cinema. “Here we are!” Malachi’s eyes shone with an almost child-like excitement as he grinned widely.
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