I’m nearly done hunting. I should probably grab one more, so that I don’t have to do this again later. Snow walks beside me. I clear my throat. “But you liked Agatha then, right? In fifth year?”

“Yeah. I suppose.”

I get ahead of him a bit. “You were attracted to Agatha,” I say over my shoulder, like it’s nothing to me, “right?”

“You’ve seen Agatha,” he says. “Inanimate objects are attracted to her. Trees bend her way.”

“Yes, but did you—” I ask. I try to ask. “I mean, you’ve—”

Simon double-steps to catch up with me. “I’ve what?”

“You and Agatha. You, um…”

“Dated? Yes. Though she never took me midnight rat hunting. She wouldn’t even go to the cinema with me. She said—”

I interrupt him. “You had sex, right?”

Simon stops. “Jesus, Baz, what a question.”

He’s right. I can’t believe I asked it. “It’s a normal question,” I say.

“Is it?” He sounds genuinely surprised.

“Yes. People talk about previous partners.”

“You’ve never mentioned any.”

I lash out: “I don’t have any, you halfwit! Don’t you think you’d have uncovered them when you stalked me for three years?”

“I don’t know how you spent your summers!”

“Reading!” I say. “Violin! Playing Mario Kart with my sister!”

We’ve both stopped walking. Simon wrinkles his nose. “Were you never actually plotting against me?”

“I plotted a bit. I was over it by sixth year.” I sound flustered. Because I am. And it’s all my own fault. Give me a little bit of honest communication, and I open the floodgates. Next I’ll be asking him if he wants children. “Look, I’m just going to drink these now.”

Simon seems confused. “Right,” he says. “What do you need me to do?”

“Turn away.”

He does.

I would like to pinch the bridge of my nose and sulk. Instead I get out my knife.

“Do you actually put your fangs in them?” Simon asks, facing a brick wall. His wings are bunched up under his jumper.

“Not if can help it. I slit their throats.”

“I’d like to see that.”

“You’re a pervert.”

“I just appreciate a job well done.”

I untangle one of the rats. “Does Wellbelove?”

“Hey—” Simon turns around. He looks angry. Finally.

I decide to be angry, too. “I knew you couldn’t keep your word!”

“What?”

“You promised you wouldn’t watch.”

“I—” Simon’s face is red. He whips around, facing the wall again.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” I say tightly. “I’m sorry. I won’t mention Agatha again.”

“It’s all right,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, unexpectedly subdued.

“Don’t turn around,” I say. “I really am going to do this. I can’t let them get cold.”