Mallory had just finished explaining the joys of a Muggle sweet, shortbread. “You just can’t get it here the way they make it back home,” he said. “It’s too sweet, or too dry, and sometimes its actively greasy.” He shivered. “I think it’s the butter.”
“I miss the ceviche--they never get it hot enough here. It’s supposed to be spicy,” grumbled Trevor. “All the nice fresh fish, the lovely shellfish--what a shame. And I don’t understand why they think it has to be cooked within an inch of its life.”
“I miss the papercuts of Schadelthron,” said Spike, thinking of the hanging on her bedroom wall at home. It had cheered her ever since she was a small girl, keeping her company in the dark hours of the night with its bright and cheerful grin.
“What were they like?” asked Mallory.
Spike picked up a piece of parchment and scissors from the table.
”I’m not very good at this, but basically, you fold the paper like so …”
The other Slytherin leaned in closer.
” … then you cut away everything you don’t want, being sure to leave support structures to hold it all together.”
Drusilla Wormwood came in. “Whatcha doin’?” Spike unfolded the parchment and displayed her work.
Drusilla blanched. “Spike, I don’t know how to tell you this, but … that was a letter Hecuba Entwhistle was writing to Philandra Duntisbourne to convince her to pledge Slytherin next term. She’s been working on that all week.”
They all looked at the tattered illegible remains of the letter in Spike’s hands. “Uhm …” Thinking quickly, she tapped the parchment with her wand. ”Repairo! Pingo!”
Drusilla held up the square. “At least it’s pretty …”
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