Luckily, there was breakfast to make, or Figaro might not have survived the silence that followed. And again, Moira was there to gracefully save him. He rummaged around in a cupboard for the coffee grounds, then set a kettle on for hot water.

"Hangover cure? Now, that'd be cheating."

He grinned over his shoulder. The reckless bloke he could be, there needed some deterrent to routinely wrecking his insides. It had served him (mostly) well so far, in the way a young fool justifies binge drinking.

After awhile, a decently done breakfast was ready and the two tucked in. Then it was each of them their separate ways, Figaro back to his own flat until he had to get back to the Daily Prophet, and Moira off to whatever heroics came her way.

Fin[/i]