"Trust that you cannot look to my writing for coherence if you trust nothing else, Anthony," Padma beamed, nudging him with her shoulder. The dungeons seemed cozier, somehow, than their usual grey, uncertain atmosphere, and Padma was more than willing to attribute such feeling to the company she kept.
With a knowing grin, Padma tapped her wand to her temple.
"Ember black. Wheel. Slowing." A tempting pause. "Just how disatisfied are you?"