"Mr. Scrimgeour," Helga greeted, taking his hand as the music began to fill the air. It seemed like only yesterday that they'd danced together, and while she was more than pleased to be paired with a friendly face, his presence only reminded her of poor Lucy.

The death of her friend had put life into perspective: she could be vain and judgmental under the pretense of self-respect and deprive herself of friendship, or she could relax her expectations an get off her high horse. Mr. Scrimgeour was the type of person she would have cut from her life two years ago, but she was now determined to solidify the acquaintanceship.

"Once again we meet on the dance floor. I hope my dancing has not left a poor impression," she teased. He was light on his feet, but could she expect any less from a former auror?

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