It was definitely a party. A Dementor Kade cover of ‘we are the champions’ blared from a giant record player in the front of the roomy dungeon, though another playing Three Owl Standard in the back was just as loud. Not that it mattered since there were about half a dozen high-volumed conversations going on amongst the boisterous assembled crowd. A chandelier as big around as an acromantula gleamed in the gray light, ringed with candles giving off colorful sparks. A table, draped in fake, sparkling spiderwebs, was piled over with food and a giant butterbeer bowl that a boy in Slytherin green was already pouring something into while a professor who’d popped in to make sure everyone was behaving was distracted by a particularly enthusiastic fireworks display.

In a far corner, draped over one of the arched doorways like a gigantic, scaly boa, was Boris, done up in a top-hat and monocle, with one claw extended like a pinky while the others curled around a bottle of butterbeer.

Dixie Cade—no relation to Dementor—still dressed in her witchy, Salem finery clambered on top of the of the velvet covered tables (knocking over a platter of pumpkin pasties in the process), pulled her lips with two fingers  and let out an astonishingly powerful whistle before raising her butterbeer high. She didn’t know if the other schools would join the shindig—there were definitely some Hogwarts students already here—but she sure hoped they would. After all, she wouldn’t mind getting another glimpse at the cutie who’d pulled the berry stunt. Either way, the Salem crowd would be here for sure.

Or at least they'd better be, or they’d have to answer to her.

“Okay ladies and goblins, let’s hear it for the CHAMPS!”

Mace had a particular fixation on small trivial details sometimes, especially at parties. Occasionally he would pause to transfigure a spiderweb or prep another song on the record player, a one man army of party support. He wasn't to hard to miss with his sparse mustache and hat loaded with Pygmy Puffs humming in time with the music.

"Yeah, the true Champ-beans," Mace added as he cracked open a bottle, taking DC's rally as one for thier own school. He checked around for certain people before continuing. "Stinking Durmstrang, taking first by only three points."

He shrugged. It was so early in the tournament that scores so close were basically a tie. Even for playing two sports Mace was never a super competitive person.

Parties.  They were loud, busy, unpredictable and just not Sasha's cup of tea.  Parties had their own rules of engagement, own social code that was different than normal, human interactions.  And, let's face it.  The subtleties of normal, social human interactions were usually challenging enough for the Ravenclaw.  Parties, dances, or any other mass social engagement that didn't involve some sort of focused task usually left Sasha feeling confused and unsure of what to do with himself. 

This post-task party was no exception.  Except for one small detail.  It was being held in celebration of the various champions and, as such, Sasha was socially obligated to attend.  He knew enough to recognize that much.  Unfortunately.  At least, briefly.  Long enough to make his presence known and then he could slip away.  It was an interesting equation, of course.  The more passive a party participant he was, the more time it would take to make his presence properly known and the longer it'd be before he could politely leave. 

The gigantic crocodile or...whatever...in the corner wasn't helping and the bottle in its claw wasn't either.  In the end, Captain Hook got eaten by the stuffed croc.  Sasha was giving the thing wide berth as he edged his way along the wall, finding his own, reptilian-void corner to linger in for however long it would take to satisfy the social obligation of attending. 

The Americans seemed to be kicking off the party - and, if it was really possible - were managing to do so in a more robust manner.  Sasha lingered off to the side, shuffling uncomfortably and casting frequent glances at his watch as if it would somehow, magically, tell him when it would be a socially appropriate quitting time.

Josh was at the post-task party, and was having a pretty good time, unlike his fellow Champion. He had noticed Sasha over in the corner, that was typical him. Josh was still showing a few scratches he got during the task, since it had only been earlier that day. However, Josh knew the scratches would likely be gone by morning.

Hearing the Salem lot going on about how Durmstrang beat them by three points, Josh was briefly irritated. they were making a big idea over three points? they still had two more tasks ahead of them. Still, he was careful not to show his irritation.

A little hand tugged on Mace's clothes, trying to get his attention. It belonged to an eight-year-old blonde girl, staring up at him with wide green eyes. "Hi! What're those things on your hat? They're so cute and fuzzy and colorful and...!"

"Don't encourage him, Minnie-me." Taryn laughed, idling over. She'd, thankfully, been allowed to change and shower post-Task before wandering down here, finally getting the webs from her hair and the alcoholic fruit salad scent from her skin. Her eyes hung at a lazy half-mast that might have indicated drunkeness, except that she hadn't touched a drink yet. Some fool of a ministry mediwitch had miscalculated the amount of anti-venom needed to counter her one unfortunate spider bite, and the results wouldn't wear off for another two hours.

Taryn sank to the floor, spare school-robes pooling around her as she swept her sister into her lap. Minnie giggled, perfectly content to be cuddled like a child's doll as she continued chattering with Mace about the 'Puffs. Taryn rested her chin on her sister's head and let her eyes trail lazily around the room, past Mace, the crowd, and the frowning Gryffindor champion before finally settling on Sasha-of-the-unpronounceable-last-name, standing awkwardly apart from the crowd.

"Hey Sash, c'mon," she called to him. "Join the party. Lighten up! Have fun with it." She twisted a long arm out from around her sister and patted the massive Newfoundland at her side. "'Tonia, fetch."

With an agreeable bark, Antonia trotted over to Sasha, intent on herding him back into the crowd.

The one who had spiked the butterbeer was, unsurprisingly, the sixth year in Slytherin green with a sweet-as-sugar smile. Of course, he never liked doing the expected, so anyone sipping the butterbeer expecting it to have been merely spiked with stronger spirits was in for a surprise. He had full confidence someone would get around to that later, so he'd dumped in a potion instead and then slipped quietly away from the table, handily disposing of potion bottle by transfiguring it into a spiderweb. Seemed the thing to do, really.

Deus liked people. All people. He liked their shapes; stocky, slim, short, tall, triangular, feminine, masculine, androgynous, hard, soft, defined, curved, and everything in between. And he had a tendency to express this appreciation flagrantly and shamelessly, as many a student (and not a few professors) could attest. He wasn't ever serious of course, unless you happened to be a particular petite brunette Gryffindor, but this was generally well known, and most people didn't even try to keep track of which girl he'd been with in the broom closet most recently, or pay much attention to his flirtations.

In an alcove slightly out of view of any authority figures, Deus lit a joint of gillyweed[1] with a spark from his wand. His selkie blood had a tendency to mitigate the effects, which was fine by him, because he could enjoy the effect it had on everyone else.  A quick double-layered illusory spell had it handily disguised as an ordinary cigar to anyone touching it—probably no more allowed on campus than the gillyweed, but he had enough well-timed distractions going off in the dungeon to keep attention away—and as a quill from a distance, and the tall, mercurial Slytherin was off, headed unerringly for the Ravenclaw champion.

"Sasha!"

A wild, crooked grin pulled on Deus's his features as he flung an arm tight around the boy's shoulders.  Deus, as usually, looked slightly disheveled, with his hair falling loose around his face and his tie untied and draped haphazardly around his neck, quite a contrast to the precise Ravenclaw.

"Can Ah offer me congrats?[2]" Without waiting for a response, Deus smacked Sasha good-naturedly on the back, and promptly and enthusiastically  smacked a cheerful, friendly kiss on the other boy's lips. And then as soon as he pulled away, taking his gamble that Sasha would now, instinctively, inhale, Deus held the disguised gillyweed to the other boy's lips. "Donnae worry, there's professors," He said as a way of re-assuring.  "They wouldnae let me misbehave tae badly." He winked, and in his standard, slippery way, it was the absolute truth. Just not the entire truth.  Boy needed to lighten up, as far as Deus was concerned. It was a party.

And then there was a rather monstrous dog nudging at them, Deus straightened and scratched it good-naturedly behind the ears, looking up to see where the dog was herding them. Ah, to the pretty lass who was about as tall as the Astronomy tower. Deus winked in her direction and then gave Sasha another pat on the shoulder. "Ye're bein' summoned, mate!"

1.	Effects may include but are not limited to: a general alteration of conscious perception, euphoria, feelings of well-being, relaxation or stress reduction, increased sensuality, increased awareness of sensation, and possible mild hallucinations
2.	Deus's standard method of congratulations can also be observed here

As the cheers went up and people gave their own congratulations, Tracy was happily half-buried under the company of friends; round after round of hearty slaps on the back, punches to the arm, and enthusiastic grabs for his collar to plant kisses on his cheek had mussed up once-crisp clothes, giving the button-down he wore a disheveled look and his pale gray jeans creases all over—all in all quite a turnaround from his usual, casually tidy appearance and a definite one-eighty from the tossed-about look he was sporting upon his immediate return from the Task. But like the brilliant grin that lit up his entire face, they were just one more sign of the boy enjoying himself; this time, he figured, his Nanna-raised upbringing could forgive him for it.

At some point, sometime before a certain Slytherin had gotten to the bowl, a plastic cup of butterbeer had been shoved into his hand. He raised it now, one more grinning face as he beamed at yet another member of the Green. “Gracie, babe,” he crooned, rising to his feet—despite the protests of those draped all over him like a couch—and holding out his arms for a hug. When she detached herself from the side of a third (-another familiar face, one he’d had th’ pleasure of meeting just months before-), he scooped her up in a tight one-armed embrace, his drink sloshing against the brim as he briefly rocked her from side to side. “ ‘M glad you—an’ you-” He reached over and tugged Huck into the hug, too, “-could make it, it’s great seein’ you two-”

Huck[1] had in fact developed quite the man-crush on Tracy since meeting him over the summer (“I don’t give a rat’s furry arse how it sounds, the kid’s fookin’ gorgeous, like!”) and despite his easygoing laugh and slaps on the back of Tracy and Gracie his face flushed the color of a cherry Jolly Rancher.  “You too, man, you too!" He then added, “You smell like sunshine!” but the swell of the crowd drowned him out.

“You git,” the green-eyed girl laughed as she struggled to push the taller boy away. When he wouldn’t give way, the shoving turned to elbowing, in vain hopes to loosen the one behind her. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work—and the moment she did give up, the champion loosened his hold. Grinning immensely, she darted away to a safer distance; her grip on her fellow Slytherin’s hand tugged him along with her. “You see us almost every day at class! I’ve half a mind to kick you congratulations.”

“If you can reach that high!” a junior hooted from his spot on one of the sofa’s armrests. A few others snickered; one of them laughed outright at their class president’s expense.

Trying to scowl and failing, Tracy swatted at the offender half-heartedly before turning back to the pair with a megawatt smile. “You don’ haveta, girl,” he grinned, ruffling her hair despite her protests. “Hones’. An’ways, you’re better off savin’ them legs fer mah man over here-” He slung his arm around the other boy’s shoulders and gave ‘em a quick squeeze, taking a swig of his drink as he did. “We don’ want no trouble tonight, yeah?”

Gasping in mock-outrage, Gracie slugged him in the middle; she watched him fold slightly with a loose, wolfish smirk. As Huck towed her away, the both of them were laughing. Tracy’s grin only widened when she flipped him a farewell bird. “She’s harsh,” he nodded sagely, to the sniggers of the onlookers.

Downing the rest of his drink in one go, the boy shook out his broad shoulders and let out a loud, gusty sigh. “I’mma go ‘n make my roun’s,” he told the rest of his friends, looking at them expectantly. “You guys wan’ me t’ pick up anythin’, or…? No? ‘Kay.”

With a lazy salute of that red plastic cup, he flashed them all one last smile and squeezed into the crowd. A minute later he reappeared at Mace’s side, holding a pair of butterbeers in one hand. “ ‘Ey man,” Tracy greeted him cheerfully with a clap on the shoulder, and offered up a bottle for the guy to take. “An’ Minnie,” he beamed at the small girl, before looking back at Mace. “You gonna get t’ a Monks of Gill’weed song eventually, or’s it all gonna be Dementor Kade tonight?”

   

1.	Whole bit written by Madeline!

Sasha glanced up at the sound of his name, looking startled for a brief moment.  Lightening up wasn't always as easy as it sounded, especially on cue.  The reality was, he wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing at parties like this.  He was familiar with straight-laced, high brow parties where one sipped some exotic drink from crystal flutes, ate gourmet meals that were bite-sized and boasted about their family's most recent, news worthy escapades.  But, he was lost when it came to loud music and bubbly punch.  But, before he could comment, evade or otherwise come up with some way to proceed in the current situation, two things seemed to happen at once.  The large, furry Newfie at Taryn's side started crossing the room towards him and Deres narrowed in on him with an all too enthusiastic tone. 

The Ravenclaw flinched and noticeably tensed when the Slytherin wrapped an arm around his shoulders, his eyes reflexively flying shut at the absolute worst moment.  "I ... um, sure."  Deres, of course, could have offered his congrats from a far ... no borderline wrestling moves were necessary.  But, apparently, the arm around his shoulder wasn't the worst of it. 

What was it with Slytherins and their inability to keep their mouths to themselves?  Deres' lips pressed against his own and Sasha's eyes flew up in surprise.  It had been short (perhaps, in some circles it would have been considered sweet) and it was over just as quickly as it had taken for Sasha to realize what, exactly, was going on. 

"I ... what are you-" Before the question could fully materialize, something was placed between his mid-question, pursed lips and Sasha inhaled, deeply, in surprise.  The smoke from the gillyweed flooded his lungs, tickling the back of his throat and forced him to buckle over with three, deep coughs from the Ravenclaw. 

When Sasha straightened up, again, his head felt light and in some strange, surreal way, oddly detached from the rest of his body.  Like, when he looked down at his feet, his eyes felt a good half meter higher from his toes than it normally was.  Somewhere, in the back of his head, some voice of reason was blabbing on about how he should be annoyed, if not angry.  That the past thirty seconds represented some gross violation and Deres needed to be reminded that such behavior was considered rude by most normal people. 

But, some other voice seemed to be telling that voice to shut up and mind its own business.  The whole inner conflict must have somehow played out in his expressions; when Sasha felt the hand patting him on the shoulder, he became suddenly aware his face was scrunched up and distorted with confusion.  "That's really weird," was the most astute comment Sasha could manage as he followed Deres' line of sight over to Taryn.  "I don't think she's my type," Sasha remarked, grasping Deres' elbow briefly before starting in the half-giantess' direction. 

"You summoned?  I'll be honest.  I don't really know what I'm supposed to do."  Though, right now, staring at the cluster of colorful balls of fur on the one American's hat seemed surprisingly entertaining.

Outfit

Séraphin had received the ear-bashing of all ear-bashings from Madame Bisclavret - she'd roared, she'd screamed, she'd threatened, she had even turned a violent shade of pink. All three of them were in a whole heap of troll dung for their poor performance in the First Task. Beauxbatons were meant to be the best of the best, and instead, they'd come last. Even Salem, the no-reputation, no-hopers had beat them, and that was an absolute disgrace. Séraphin had many congratulations from his fellow schoolmates for making a good show against such adversity, but he'd spent all afternoon in the Hospital Wing and he couldn't help but feel their adoration was a forced display of typical French manners. He was the school golden boy - he expected them to sing his praise. They always did.

Instead of moaning and groaning in the splendour of his dormitory however, Séraphin covered up his cuts, bruises and battered ego with a very well-constructed outfit and a smile that could break a thousand hearts. He was gutted, furious, but they didn't have to know that - all they needed to see was good sportsmanship and an attitude that said Beauxbatons was in no way afraid. A bad start by no means meant a loss of victory, they were giving the others a chance for a change. Yes, that would be his line of thinking: we're going easy before really pulling out the true weapons.

He'd heard about the party on the Tetrawizard inter-collegiate grapevine but hadn't bothered to consult the other two champions about it. Medici was far too aloof (and without the right to arrogance) whilst Corey was non-descript; the three were not friends, nor would they ever be. He'd toyed with the idea of inviting that lovely little Jordyn Dimbleby as his companion but she'd probably be there anyway. Instead, he turned up to the dungeons and cellars after an hour of misdirection and getting lost, with a bottle of expensive red wine (French, of course) that he intended to drink. Typical behaviour and etiquette could go and fly - tonight he was getting drunk.

Edging through the sea of faces, Séraphin gave a few smiles and polite nods to subtle greetings from strangers - and none would guess that he wore the face of a TetraWizard loser. Finally seeing Tracy Jones, one of the few Salems Séraphin liked, he placed a friendly hand on the boy's shoulder and grinned. "Good show in the games, Jones," his voice tinged with a Montpelier French accent. "Let's hope we have a break from all the American rock, no?" Giving a chuckle in jest, he hastily poured himself a glass before taking a hearty sip. "I'm in need of a stiff drink, if you can't tell."

Sophie had made one lightening quick stop by the tower before heading to the dungeons. She traded out her worn boots for a pair of heels her sister would have a fit over her owning. They ensured she would come up to at least the shoulder of a certain shaggy haired Slytherin... not that that had anything to do with why she was wearing them. Nope. Nada. It was purely an attempt to close the height discrepancy between she and Nicky - who she was dragging along as a pseudo-date because Deus hadn't bothered to ask her to go with him. Realistically this wasn't the sort of thing you brought a date to, but as fruitless as the effort would be she was bound and determined to show Deus Deres if he could play the field so could she!

Never mind that Nicky liked boys almost as much as she did, and the most romantic gesture he'd ever made was not jabbing her so hard in the side she bruised. With Ollie off being weird and everything else that had happened since the start of the month Sophie wanted to try to exert a little control over her life. She was going to have fun, she was not going to end up slung over someone's shoulder being hauled to the other side of the lake for a snog in the rain. She was going to be dignified... a thought that lasted all of ten seconds after spotting a certain Slytherin locking lips with a prudish Prefect. Oh but he was the Devil, wasn't he? It just had to be one of the few people Sophie had to work not to find loathsome.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and tilted her head toward Nick's ear, voice low, "Please do not hold anything I may or may not do in the next twenty minutes against me. I promise to only make it vaguely look like I'm sticking my tongue in your mouth," she at least had the humor to tack on a wink with a small laugh. Obviously going right for Mister Gillyweed Deus would play right into whatever hand of whatever game they were playing (he had conveniently forgotten to mention the rules to her after their last brush up). So, instead, she tugged Nicky over to the towering dark skinned American and the French boy offering him congratulations, "I have to hand it to you Jonsie, if we weren't practically related there were some swoon worthy moments out on that field today," her tone was cheeky as she gave a little hop and pressed a chaste peck against his cheek.

DC hopped off the table and dove immediately for Mace, though she had to stand on her tippy toes to reach his hat, off of which she scooped one of the Puffs and cuddled it adoringly, cooing quietly. They were so darn cute! "Don't sweat it," she said with an easy shrug, "We'll beat 'em next time." She replaced the Puff as Minnie, who was every bit as adorable as the Puffs herself, appeared to take Mace's attention, and slipped away to check on the girl's older sister, giving a shy wave to the Champion in Gryffindor robes when she passed.

"Hey Taryn!" she shouted to the half-giant. "How're the bites? They gonna leave any scars?" Not entirely aware that her question may have lacked a bit of tact, DC bounded over out of curiosity. For once--because she was sitting--Taryn was actually at the right height for short-as-a-shrimp-Dixie to throw her arms around (most of) Taryn's shoulders. "Hell of a run, Champ! Merlin I'm proud to be from Salem." She released Taryn to pretend to sniffle, which she spoiled by winking at Minnie. Because the little girl was there, DC bit her tongue on all the questions she wanted to pester Taryn with--had she been scared? How bad had it hurt? What was it really like to run into a Momma acromantula?

Someone shouted her name and DC turned, and she scuttled off, too energetic to stay put, and she grabbed a cup of butterbeer on the way to greet Pres Jones--no doubt by clambering on his back like a spider monkey, because that was what she was prone to doing--but before she  could reach him, she made the mistake of taking a sip of the spiked brew.

And found her feet dancing of their own accord. "Dangit!" DC shrieked, fumbling for her wand but dropping at as her feet made her twirl twice in some sort of tarantella. "Who the hell spiked the butterbeer?!" The last came out in a gasp, and DC--not entirely of her own accord-- reached out to grab the nearest person and drag them into her dance as well.

---

_{I imagine that the potion's effects change with time the longer it mixes with the butterbeer, feel free to have your character drink it and have something else happen! Or the same, doesn't matter}

Shirts, jeans, and jackets were strewn all over Nicholas's bed.  He had been trying to find the right clothes for what felt like forever.  The one benefit of uniforms was that he didn't have to think about what he was going to wear, but for parties there were no uniforms, at least for the kind of parties that weren't official school parties.  And, though he wouldn't admit it, he hoped to catch the eye of one of the French boys or the Durmstrang girls, and even if none of them showed up he wanted to be prepared.  Nicholas had finally decided on what he was going to wear and was buttoning his jeans when Sophie barged in and the next thing he knew he was being dragged out of the dorm.  Which always annoyed him, there were only so many times a guy could take being barged in on before he tried to do the same to the girls, which had ended in disaster every time Nicholas had tried it.  Though to him, it was only fair that if the girls got to see him in his boxers, he should at least get to see them in their underwear too.

Somehow, while be dragged out of the Gryffindor tower, he had managed to  grab his shoes and put them on and realize that Sophie was dragging him down to the dungeons.  They arrived at the party that had already started, which was supposedly the best time to get to a party anyways.  Then he spotted Deus with his arm around Sasha  and Nicholas understood why he'd been dragged to the party when he had, and before he had a chance to say anything to Sophie, he saw Deus kiss Sasha and then push a quill to his lips.  Nicholas couldn't help but admire Deus, anyone who would kiss Sasha like that would surely be fun, one would have to be cause Sasha sure wasn't going to contribute, not that he would ever find out since he was pretty sure he wouldn't survive the night in Gryffindor tower since Sophie would probably murder him in his sleep.  Another reason the girls should not be allowed access to the boys' dorms.

Then Sophie said quietly in his ear "Please do not hold anything I may or may not do in the next twenty minutes against me. I promise to only make it vaguely look like I'm sticking my tongue in your mouth."  He felt himself being dragged again, and he quickly said, "Just be sure to let everyone know how good a kisser I am."  Sophie had certainly not been on his list of people to try to get a kiss from, but he would call in a favor later.  Trying to figure out what Sophie could help him with, he looked up to see Séraphin in front of him.  "Glad to see you alive, that was a lot of blood there at the end."  He said after a moment. Leave it to Sophie to drag him up to a handsome French bloke with no warning.

It was as if his multitudinous years of attempting to remain anonymous at Beauxbatons had vanished in the mere moments it had taken him to decide and then act on the notion of de-clothing his upper body and
smearing it with the berries. Or as some had yelled from the stands or wherever he walked now: "Berry Paint".

The scrapper in Corey Gaubert quickly realized that he could not possibly undo the forward momentum of what he had impulsively done. He had options to consider. He could thwart the ravenous attention his
actions would spur and incite even more interest anyway or he could feed into it and choose what the invaders of his privacy would come to know about him and the kind of story they would fashion from the
nuggets of information they gleaned.

Finesse. That was something Beauxbatons taught its students well. Even those like Corey. Somehow he had to use what he had been taught all those years to his benefit.

So, as much as Corey had wanted to shy away from the attention, as much as he had wanted to return to the Beauxbatons dorms for his shower and then just hide out there, he had set aside his reluctance and accepted an invitation to the post task party being hosted by some of the Salem students.

He arrived later than he wanted (he had taken great care to scrub himself clean of all the berry juice that was now being whispered about everywhere) and thus was unable to avoid the stares of some of the other attendees as he weaved his way through the students to find something to drink. Merlin's beard he was parched!

Corey had just poured himself a cup of the butterbeer and was about to put it to his lips when he heard a girl shriek, a blur of purple in his peripheral and then felt someone grab him. He almost dropped the cup as the person pulled him to dance. Seeing that he had no choice but to fall into step, Corey deposited the butterbeer back on the table and called after his kidnapper, "Ma cherie, will you hold on while my feet catch up?"

"Bites?" Taryn laughed, swinging around to return Dixie's hug with one arm. "What, you mean this?" She kicked the bandaged leg. "Naw, this is nothin'. I've been gored worse by pigs. Gimmie a couple'a days and it'll be just fine."

She gave Dixie a high-five as the party girl scuttled off, then turned to check on Antonia, just in time to see a Slytherin fellow she didn't know lay one on the Ravenclaw champion. It seemed a ploy of some sort -- two seconds later he'd stuck a quill into Sasha's mouth -- but she couldn't help but notice that Sasha didn't object that strongly. Should've known, she thought to herself. The cute quiet ones always batted for the other team.

"You summoned?  I'll be honest.  I don't really know what I'm supposed to do."

Taryn laughed, giving Antonia's head an enthusiastic rub-down of reward. "Well, I was gonna tell yeh to grab a girl and get out on that floor, but that doesn't seem like your style now. " The glazed look in Sasha's eyes made her wonder what exactly had been in the Slytherin's quill, especially when he started staring at Mace's Puffs. The one that Dixie had been playing with hovered precariously close to the edge. Taryn reached up, caught the thing before it could fall, and passed it off to Sasha with a grin. "Cute little fellas, huh? Real soft too. Make good pets. Go on Mace, give 'em your pitch."

She leaned back on one hand, listening to the music as it seemed to fade, in first, then out, and back. Her eyes traced lazily to the ceiling and, for a moment, she thought she might have seen something move among the stones. Was it Nagendra, come to see where his Mommy had gone, or just a trick of the tranques? Taryn couldn't say.

For a party that'd been going for maybe an hour, there seemed a remarkable number of people under the influence of a remarkable variety of things.

As though on cue with Taryn's thought, Dixie danced by as though possessed by red shoes, cursing the nimrod who'd spiked her drink and sweeping a French boy off onto the floor. Minnie followed their dance in awe, then returned to Taryn, her eyes wide as saucers. "Sissie? Can I have some Butterbeer?"

"No. No you can't," said Taryn, and for the first time considered that bringing her little sister along to a teenager's after-party might not have been the world's greatest idea.