Murdock Greyback had survived battles, both in the field as an Auror and across the polished floors of the Ministry, but neither had prepared him for the true danger of society events: matchmaking matrons with an eye for a widower.

He had made every attempt to make himself scarce—lingering by the refreshment table, offering gruff nods to passing acquaintances, even slipping onto the balcony for a spell of fresh air. Yet, despite his best efforts, the fates (or rather, a determined society matron with a vice-like grip) had seen fit to push him directly into the path of—

Well. Her.

With a hearty, unsubtle shove from Elderly Mrs Magilligan, Murdock found himself standing face-to-face with an unfortunate woman who had clearly been maneuvered just as unwillingly into this encounter.

"Ah," he rumbled, his voice carrying the faintest hint of amusement beneath the gruffness. "I think we've just been made victims of a plot." His blue eyes flicked toward their erstwhile matchmaker, who was already retreating into the crowd with the satisfaction of a general whose battle plan had gone off without a hitch.

Murdock exhaled, resigning himself to his fate. "Shall we humor them, then? Or make a break for it while we still can?" he asked conspiratorially, "I'm happy to pretend to break your foot with my clumsiness or some other inury"