Someone had charmed the torches to burn low and slow, so the whole room flickered like it was underwater. A wireless sat on the mantle, crackling out some song nobody was listening to anymore. The party had been going for hours, and it showed. Firewhisky bottles stood empty on the windowsill. A fifth-year had passed out against the tapestry of Salazar Slytherin. Somewhere in the corner, a group of seventh-years were daring each other to do increasingly stupid things.