Harry tugged at the collar of his dress robes as he watched couples spin around the dancefloor. Annabelle, a girl who had attended Beauxbatons at her parents’ insistence to keep her away from the war they had always suspected would break out in England, was attempting to engage him in conversation. To her credit, she seemed smart, and was undoubtedly beautiful. But despite her virtues, Harry could not muster any enthusiasm for conversation with her. Eventually, Harry excused himself under the pretence of finding a drink. At the bar, he settled into a stool.