Romilda stifled a snort when he called it a 'noble profession'. "Honestly? I have no idea. I'm not working on it," she said, "if everyone worked on it, then we'd run out of potions for the rest of the sick and injured who came to the hospital." Truthfully, Romilda had no desire to work on the sodding cure. She didn't want to touch anything from anyone that had been infected, or spend 15 hours in a lab getting lightheaded from fumes. "This 'noble profession' of mine is really just a day job," she confessed, moving closer to him, "I'm developing my own line of potions for the discerning witch."
She took his hand, not so much shaking it as caressing it. It was a very nice hand. "Adrian Pucey. Lovely," she murmured.