Morag nodded, sympathetic to her friend's plight. She would entertain the idea of a reception at Pure despite her proclivities for lavish elegance and classic looks. "I'm sure that there are a few amongst our ranks who wouldn't object to a raging celebration at the hottest nightclub in Britain." She gave a wry smile. "Though convincing their intended might be an issue." Morag thought of Bole and the Hufflepuff, who seemed to be such total opposites.
"It's coming along. You know me -- the perfectionist. Nothing is ever good enough for me, but I think this season's line is the best we've put out yet. And that's saying something." A house-elf entered the room without a sound (she was one of Morag's best trained and hardest working) with the lunch tray. Morag dismissed her once she set the food on the small table. "I hope you brought your appetite. "How are things with Miss Dobbs?"