"Graphic," James commented offhandedly, leaning his head back against the wall as Remus reached out to the bowl. He gave a low whistle as the smell of warm, home cooking drifted towards them. It made him think of Remus' mum, or maybe Mrs Pettigrew. His own Mother, God love her, had been a terrible cook. James had mostly grown up on Elf-made dishes and toast. "You need to teach me that," he told Remus.
James watched his friend closely as he spooned a mouthful of broth (if that was what they were calling it) into his mouth. Satisfied, he scoffed and let his eyes drift lazily closed for a moment. "Rude. I'll have you know that's been honed over months. Wait until you hear my Goblin."
There was a beat of silence, where James stared at the back of his eyelids and let Remus eat. He didn't bother opening them to speak again. "It sounded like a bad one." He didn't need to clarify that he was talking about last night. James frowned anxiously, a new wrinkle appearing on his brow, half hidden behind his thatch of dark hair. "You think they're all going to be like that now?"