He bit down on the inside of his cheek, gnawing a little bit, and taking controlled breaths through his nose. He would not lose control even if his anger felt as if it were attempting to claw its way out of him. His fists were clenched, nails digging into his palms; to hide them, he shoved his hands into his pockets.
"I'll stay," he finally said. "Be better to give Dad all of the information." Deliberately, he removed one hand and pulled out a kitchen chair. As he sat, he indicated the one across from him. "Remus, please, have a seat." Who cared if it was overly polite? At least it was polite.