Thursday evening, 10 September 1942, in the parlour of the Head Boy's suite at Hogwarts Castle...
Cynthia Mulciber was very much in her element, directing house-elves to lay out a cold late supper, tea and various sweets; but once it was all set out as artfully as she could manage in the small space of the Head Boy’s sitting room, she began to grow nervous again. “Barty,” she said, “do you think there’s enough? Mamma would have done more, but there isn’t the space! And Dashwood and Kyteler missed supper.”
Barty looked up from his class notes. He knew enough not to get too involved in the preparations. “I’m sure it will be sufficient, darling. Besides, people should be more concerned about the quality than the quantity.”
Cynthia smiled at him, and settled back into her chair, nervously. She was hungry herself, but she was having trouble eating again; she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something evil was in the school for days, ever since Claire Jeannot had-apparently-killed herself. She had spent far too much quality time with her rosary lately, but she had managed to keep Barty from noticing, and Jessica hadn’t said anything yet.
The first knock on the door, unsurprisingly, was Dolly Umbridge, who was never late to events involving food or liquor. Barty smiled at Dolores. A lot had changed since he had drawn up the guest list, but he hoped that they would all be able to socialise civilly. “Hello, Dolores. Glad you could make it.”
“Hello, Barty,” Dolores said cheerfully, “and hello, Cynthia!” She shook Barty’s hand and hugged Cynthia. “You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Dashwood and Kyteler were right behind her, looking as though they were terribly pleased with themselves and the world in general. “Hello Crouch,” said Hadrian cheerfully.
“Hadrian, Dash,” said Barty in greeting. “You both look well. Productive evening?”
“You could say that,” said Hadrian.
Endymion smiled and with a shrug said, “Correspondence.” It was even partly true, but he said it in such a way that no-one would ever believe it, precisely because he was so pleased at having the prefect’s bedroom, and all the benefits thereof.
“And how are you this evening?” Hadrian asked.
“Very good, thank you,” replied Barty. “Cynthia’s been wonderful, organising all this, so I’ve had a chance to catch up with work.”
“I suppose I’ll regret not having taken Housewitchery,” Endymion said teasingly, “when he’s Minister. I shall have to get Cynthia to teach me her secrets.”
“You’ll be too busy with your alchemy,” said Cynthia. “Unless you plan to make supper in an alembic.”
“I’d not put it past him,” said Hadrian.
Barty laughed. “I think you should start looking for an Elf, then.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” said Endymion, although the thoughts of house-elves were really rather alarming sometimes and learning to cook was beginning to seem appealing; it couldn’t be so different from alchemy, really, could it?
Dolores shrugged. “Perhaps you’ll surprise us all, Endymion,” she said. “You certainly have been no end of surprises this year and it’s still just September.”
“Well, good, then I’ve not lost my touch,” said Endymion smoothly, ignoring the catty edge of her comment.
Barty let Dolores have her comment, but quickly spoke to move the conversation onwards. It would be no good if they were all fighting before half the guests had even arrived. “I think we have become very accustomed to surprises this term, so we can hardly blame Dash for keeping himself in fashion.”
Hadrian chuckled. “Endymion is never out of fashion.”
Endymion smiled prettily at him. “Let’s sit down,” he suggested, “and then you can get us a plate.” They always ended up eating each other’s food, anyway.
Barty looked to Cynthia. “I think that’s a good idea. Cynthia, shall we start to tuck in?”
“Everything’s ready,” said Cynthia, “so I don’t see why not.”
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