Someone—definitely the twins, no one else had this level of audacity—had strung enchanted streamers from the rafters that shimmered gold and scarlet, occasionally bursting into harmless sparks that made first-years squeal.

Music pulsed from a bewitched wireless, the kind that crackled between wizarding bands and something distinctly not wizarding—your doing. Butterbeer bottles clinked, laughter echoed off the stone walls, and the entire place felt like it was teetering on the edge of glorious chaos.

Which, honestly, meant the night was going perfectly.