Clint wondered what it'd be like to have memories that weren't infused with anger. He'd done a splendid job of ignoring them and they weren't something he relished in going over. Of course, most of his good memories were with his sister and he didn't really like thinking about her. "Gringott's was always a laugh," he said, shrugging. He'd never wanted a goblin but he'd always had house elves. "I guess it was okay. I didn't get to go to the vaults that often." He shrugged.
"Not really," he replied, giving her a smile. "They didn't really have a lot of time for their kids." His mother was a socialite in the worst sense of the word. He raised a brow at her, curious as to who it was she actually kissed. "Was it Weasley?" he asked, wrinkling his nose. Or Wood. "Mine was my sister's nanny."