Oliver couldn't argue that sentiment. Someone had talked about this being an island and a tropical paradise and blah blah blah on the journals, but clearly they had nowhere else to be. Oliver and Angelina had lives they very much wanted to return to. And poor Angelina had learned things about her life, the life she loved, that would make even it impossible to live happily. Her life had been ruined by coming over here and Oliver was of the firm belief that it was healthy for her to want them to leave, even if wishing it so didn't make it happen. She knew where the blame lay, and she wasn't taking any credit for her life falling to shite. And as far as Oliver was concerned, that was good.
"Thanks," he said, accepting the glass. "It's good, you know. Being angry. Anger's easier than simple pain." At least, it was a theory. Women had left him in the past, but he'd drowned whatever pain there had been in Quidditch. "But you'll be alright. You know that."