“And I say to him, ‘Lucius, I’m a modern witch! You can’t just expect me to be content with hexing the elves and raising your son!’” Narcissa sniffed disdainfully.

“Hmm,” Éowyn made a sympathetic noise and poured more mead. “I know! Elves are so annoying! One of them stole this man I was totally into…”

“No!” Narcissa was shocked. “He ran off with an elf? Gross!”

“I know!” There were bright red spots on either of Éowyn’s pale cheeks. “Men! But will they ever listen?”

“Never!” Narcissa exclaimed, disgusted. “Like my cousin. Went and got himself killed!”

“Exactly!” Éowyn cried. “And my brother and my husband? Always ride off and leave me to tend to the stupid *garden*…”

“…And father named me after a flower…”

“…when I don’t even *like* flowers…”

“Right!”

“Right!” Éowyn slammed her fist on the table so hard the goblets shook. “And then when they’re in trouble…”

“…We can go and rescue them.” Narcissa snorted derisively. “Maybe I’ll just let him rot.”

“You should!” Éowyn nodded vigorously.

“Totally!”

And to think that she’d been so angry when she’d accidentally floo-ed one grate too far! Narcissa reached for the mead again. Girls’ night out totally kicked ass.