Waking up to the sound of retching was, perhaps, one of the least appealing things Katie had ever had the misfortune of encountering, and that was even recalling that damned cursed necklace, which was never terribly far from her thoughts at any given moment. She stared at her ceiling for a moment, trying to recall the previous evening through a pounding headache. Oh. Oh. Bloody hell.
She eased from her bed and found a robe to pull on, tying it around her waist, and then rummaged around until she found a hangover potion. She started to pull out another one, but she felt like she had a distant memory that one of the twins never used them for a reason that escaped her at the moment. Better to err on the side of caution. She downed the potion in one go, and then secured a glass and a bottle of firewhiskey she had left over from her birthday.
Pouring a measure of it out, she padded to her bathroom and leaned on the door.
For just a moment, she entertained the notion of coming up behind him, of hooking her chin over his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist, or kissing the knobs of his spine and whispering fond nothings against his skin. But she did neither.
In the cold light of day, with the benefit of hindsight, she could see that the night before had been sweet and kind, but ultimately nothing terribly special. She felt the briefest pang of regret, but then shoved it aside. Instead, she summoned her wand and then flicked it so that a towel hanging nearby became cool and damp and wrapped itself around his shoulders.
“Scale of the dragon that scorched you?” she offered him the glass in low tones, putting it out toward him. “And then maybe you can tell me what last night was really about."