“I worked very hard to find my animagus form,” Tim said quietly. He was pleased, at least, that he wasn’t a complete figure of fun, that some of the hard work that had gone into finding himself was being appreciated even if he did know it was difficult not to do anything but tell him he looked sweet. Because he was only too used to that, and every now and then, he did take advantage of it, but not now, not with Terry. Because Terry was his apprentice, someone Tim was responsible for and he was meant to look up to Tim, not tell him how adorable he was. That simply was not how it was meant to work.
He could have apparated across the Sanctuary in that moment. He could do it at any time. He could do it in his sleep. He could have done it the moment Terry woke him with a start and a shout, but he hadn’t. He’d stayed here and pinned Terry down and had been entirely without logic of any kind as he’d told him to quiet down. He almost had to question why that was.
He pushed himself until he could sit up, the covers pooling about his waist. It would be very easy to vanish now. Only too easy. But Septimus could be very stupid indeed. There was a very good reason why he’d never been sorted into Ravenclaw back when he’d been eleven years old, many years ago.
“You make me doubt whether the wizard who brews my Veritaserum has been doing his job properly,” he said conversationally as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed, his back to Terry as he tried to gather himself, tried to figure out exactly what he was going on about now.