The Common Room is a roaring, pulsing thing tonight. Green and silver lanterns hover near the ceiling, casting the whole space in a low, ethereal glow that catches on the bottles lined up against the far wall. Music thuds through the stone floor—some high-energy spellcast track Blaise had charmed to loop endlessly—and the air is thick with perfume, firewhisky, and something sweet burning in a decorative censer near the fireplace.

Bodies press together in clusters. Laughter spikes and dips. A group of fifth-years have taken over one of the sofas, attempting to balance shots on a floating tray while someone’s jinxed the cushions to wobble. A few Ravenclaw upperclassmen are huddled by the window, clearly invited by association, looking like they're regretting every life choice that led them here.

And then Pansy materializes out of the chaos like a heat-seeking missile.