Ford hadn't slept, but he had changed his clothes and shaved and consumed half a cup of coffee, so he was looking almost as put together as if he had. He was ready to face the day at work because he had to be; it wasn't possible to call out and miss a day of pay, not to mention raising the suspicions of his boss and coworkers. And he had to get through the day with nothing strange happening, because most of his mental energy was going to be reserved for trying to figure out how to extricate the dementor-filled wardrobe from the room at the Muggle inn before they had to hand the keys back over tomorrow morning. And figuring out where to put it, because clearly it could not come here.

He was expecting Grace down first that morning (she was usually the first to join him at breakfast) but was mildly surprised to see his mother instead. She was calling him ducky and asking questions about where he'd been last night, but Ford wasn't particularly phased by either; he'd expected this to at least some degree, particularly after the ordeal last month where he'd been trapped in the snow and not come home for several days all together.

Ford raised his coffee cup to his mouth and exhaled with his nose, sending a stream of steam up over his face that helped him feel a little more awake. "It is a good morning, Mama," he assured her mildly. "I wasn't out too late." (A lie, but hopefully not one she would press him on).