"No problem, Gerard." He grinned even wider. Gerard looked great when he smiled. He looked great most of the time. Dallon needed to die. "I was just working on this," he said, pointing his paintbrush at the canvas propped up on his desk. He'd been spending a lot of time in the library, bothering William Beckett and studying the sun coming through the stained-glass windows before returning to his room at night to paint. It was less than half finished, bright colours beginning to bleed down the canvas. Dallon blushed. It wasn't finished.
"That's fine, come on in," he replied, pushing some sketches off the couch so there was room to sit. He supposed he should feel apprehensive about being interrogated by an Auror, but this wasn't the war. Gerard wasn't going to tie him up and force the information out of him. Oh, and wow, Dallon really needed to get his mind out of the gutter. "Can I make you something?" he asked, peeking into the coffee pot on his desk. Gerard wasn't here for idle drinks, but Dallon felt he ought to offer. "If you're a tea guy, you're out of luck. I may have two cups of fairly average re-heated coffee here, though."