“Atticus Foxwood, sir!” Porphyria exclaimed, partly in greeting and partly in delighted triumph, as if she had caught him in the act of some terrible crime. He seemed preoccupied enough with something, even though he had just been looking this way, so perhaps she had caught him off guard, too.

She swanned on over to him, primarily because she was absolutely bored, having done almost nothing tonight but drink the strongest cocktails on offer and play cards. It was not her particular idea of a New Year well spent; the turn of the year felt better commemorated out of doors under the moonlight somewhere, but when all her society friends were here, Porphyria had delayed the midnight nature wanderings by a few hours more.

This Mr. Foxwood had been in Ravenclaw, a year her senior, and thus he had always been a half-interesting study amongst the other strangers she saw at parties. Of course, Atticus Foxwood was the most conventional a man could be – first son, gentleman of leisure, did nothing with his life but engage young ladies in appropriate conversations in hopes of one day choosing the least objectionable one from amongst them – so he ought not to actually be that entertaining. But the whole concept was so foreign and so patently alien to her own preferences that she had to find some amusement in it, from time to time. Perhaps because Mr. Foxwood tried so hard.

But he was acting distinctly strangely at present. Phyri – with no intention of holding her tongue to preserve his dignity – grinned at him now that she was close enough to ask about it. “I had no idea hide and seek was one of the games on offer tonight. What were you doing behind that column?” She raised an eyebrow knowingly, although she must be wrong in her impression: for Mr. King of the Social Scene, hiding at a society party seemed ridiculously out of character.

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