Lester frowned at her. It was hard to believe people existed who had never been to Hogsmeade, but were British; it was somehow even stranger that she'd been too sick to go to Hogwarts. This, and her looks, made her odd — he knew he was being strange and off-putting, but he somehow couldn't stop at her. His eyebrows drew together, quizzically. The maid was staring at him.

"Who are you?" Lester asked. This, he knew, was a bridge too far — his mother would have hit him upside the head. His cheeks flushed pink. "I'm Lester Hatchitt."

He watched, carefully — would she know his name? Would he know hers?