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Abraxas laughed. “No, Tom who serves the drinks here. I think Tom Riddle knows plenty. Just nothing that leads him to any good conclusion about the state of muggle-wizard relations. He’s alright, really.” Abraxas sat down himself, not at all interested in pursuing this line of conversation. It wasn’t that he was fond of Riddle all that much, but there was something about being in Slytherin, the one house that everyone tended to hate merely on principle that made you to come running to the defense of a housemate. It was true that among themselves they were a right pack of scheming backstabbers, but the ranks closed when it came to facing the rest of the world.

“Anyway, and, since it looks like at least this little corner of the world is nice and intact, do you feel like stopping by at the ice cream parlour later? It’s too hot outside, and if this does happen to be the one day of the whole year when the bombings start again, I’d jolly well like to have gotten something worthwhile out of the risk.” He grinned. “I’ll buy?”