Black and gold streamers covered the doors to the bedrooms and divided the living area from the kitchen.  The fire was roaring. Fairy lights were strung across the ceiling.  The glitter Happy New Year signs caught the flickering lights. Plastic baby new years floated around the room, occasionally swooping down to blow a party pipe at someone. And at midnight there was going to be an epic explosion of never ending confetti.  The packaging said it would last at least eight hours, but confetti before midnight didn't make sense.

The dining table was stacked high with food and booze.  The former provided mostly by Virgil and covered with glitter at Nicholas's request.  The latter provided mostly by Nicholas.  Beer, wine, whiskey, tequila, vodka, absinthe. He'd covered most of the bases.  The champagne was hidden until midnight.  Furniture had been pushed towards the walls to encourage dancing and the giant bean bag chairs had multiplied to encourage lounging, with a gobstones board on a nearby table.  For Sasha, if he came.

His record player was set up in the corner, with a mix of muggle and wizard records to play through the night. Katy Perry's Teenage Dream was playing at a decent level.  The fire was keeping the room warm enough that even in his mesh tank top Nicholas was comfortable.  And if the heat encouraged people to take something off, the invitation had said clothing optional, skin encouraged.

He lined up shot glasses on the table and filled them to the brim with tequila.  With a wave of his wand a lime split into wedges and the salt cellar lid opened.  "Who wants shots?!"

Nemo, the seventeen-year-old American ragamuffin, had taken over the record player. She bounced in place to the music. She was wearing tight black torn up jeans and a long red tank top, her outer layers hung by the door. Her bag overfloweth with records. It had been a while since she'd been to Virgil and Nicholas and Ariadne posh Diagon flat; the last time was after she and Abby showed up after a worrisome adventure with Abby's Pentral. But that was all sorted out, wasn't it? Everything was sorted out. Had to be! The new year was coming. No regrets only fresh starts! No shame only love! No frowns only dancing!

Nicholas called for shots and Nemo danced over. "Dale! Dale! Dale!"[1] Nemo almost never drank alcohol. She liked to keep her head, but it was new year's, it was a party, the last few months had sucked. Oblivion!

She put her hand on Nicholas's meshy shoulder and used him to bounce from. "Do it! Do it!"

1.	Spanish for 'go for it', in this case a common motivational interjection in clubs.

Virgil walked through the shiny streamers hanging over his door as he ducked out of his bedroom, lighting a joint and flicking his hair back - there was glitter in it after something of a baking mishap with the glimmering butter beer pakoras. Worth it. They were delicious. Almost as delicious as the fresh fig filo parcels or, his personal favourite, the portabello mushroom sliders. Somehow he'd made a lot of vegetarian canapés without meaning to.

The flat was hot enough for him to have mostly unbuttoned his white silk shirt, giving an illusive glimpse of the nipple piercing he'd gotten with Nemo a few months ago. His eyes were smoky, his mouth scarlet. Virgil was ready to party.

Just, you know, not tequila-shots-party.

"Drink it up!" he cheered  Nick and Nemo on, cutting across the living room towards the kitchen - he had to nudge past a few of their dancing friends, pausing to peck someone on the cheek[1] and leave a tell tale lipstick mark.

Virgil opened the icebox to take out a bottle of water. He was on the bend from the strange illness that had magically incapacitated him during the youth troupe performances; his magic had returned but it was better to take it easy - especially because the two other Unspeakables who caught the illness were not yet out of the woods. This was the first night since Christmas eve that he'd even spent in this flat, as he'd stayed in with family to avoid infecting his two flatmates.

Leaning against the counter, Virgil took another drag of gillyweed and washed it down with a swig while he watched his flatmates and friends take their shots.

1.	Anyone on cheek kissing terms!

Raine had thrown aside her leather jacket when she arrived at the flat earlier, not keen on building up a sheen of sweat so soon. It was the last couple of hours before the new year and she was more than ready to ring it out to drunken applause and whoever the hell she ended up snogging at the end of the night. Frankly, 2011 could be dragged out back and hexed by an Unforgiveable for all she cared. There was no way the next year was going to be this bad.

"Shots!" she echoed, joining Nick and the weird American girl at the table as she picked up the salt cellar and sprinkled a dash on her hand. "I'm in." Raine grinned, music thumping in the background, the pop music fanfare to their tequila-taking intentions. Her curls were tied back into a neat bun and this gave nurtured a somewhat severe appearance.

She licked her hand, threw down a shot and bit into a lime wedge in quick succession. Someone hollered support in the background - maybe Carstairs - and the red head swallowed hard as she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Wow," she croaked, shuddering, "that's going to go straight to my head."

Fig arrived wearing mirror aviator sunglasses that he got at the muggle mall with Sasha last month and just about nothing else. The nineteen-year-old Daily Prophet general assistant was down to nothing but a pair of shiny silver shorts. He came bearing bottles, one in each hand: Logorrhea and his own mixed drink concoction that he'd labeled Make Bad Choices. He dumped his backpack by the door - it had the clothes he'd borrowed from Virgil for his star-crossed date with Hannah Bombay.

He was among those who lined up for the tequila shots with Nicholas and Raine and an infant he didn't know. Looked like someone's little sister. Time was the great Obliviator and for his part, at least, his beef with Raine Almasy was fading. Fading behind the harrowing fall-out of last full moon, Kurby Bagnolds warnings, and his falling out with Moira. Christmas had done some help to ease his mind, but a Bevans rager would do much more.

He took the shot and lifted his arms. He'd shaved everything on a whim - well, not everything - but enough for his yellow-tinged pale chest to be smooth as a new year's baby.

"Twenty-eleven can hex it! Twenty-twelve, end of the world, beautiful people!"

"Wow," croaked the red-headed in the bustier, "that's going to go straight to my head."

Nemo had about the same reaction, shaking her head and slapping the table. "Mmmmm...! Ho my gad!"

There was a naked dude next to her, but she noticed Virgil then, looking fancy for the party. "You look classy as shit, dude!" She said over the music. "Good classy! Are you not going to have a shot? They're good! Can I have some of that?" She indicated the gillyweed.

            "Can I have some of that?"

Holding his bottle by its neck, he enlisted himself amongst the group and delicately passed the joint to Nemo - the wizard smiled at the little witch through a haze of smoke.

"Thank you. You may, and I'm not doing shots." Virgil picked up a lime and bit into it to clean his palate, lips stinging. "The last time I mixed gillyweed and liquor, I got my heart promptly broken."

Which was to say, he read somebody's mind when he shouldn't have and made an utter fool of himself. Almasy slapped his back sympathetically and he coughed in surprise. "No sad things!" the auror-in-training proclaimed as she reached for another shot. "Sad things behind us, good things ahead," she gleefully discarded her transitive verbs.

Abby arrived looking very party-ready, with a party-I-suppose Moira right behind her who she'd spent the past hour getting ready with at Moira's place. She dropped her coat and things in a spare room, and emerged from the room in a cloud of sparkles and glitter.

She wore a silky top with a crest of three unicorns printed on it (thanks to Sasha's idea about sigils), sequined short-shorts in a rainbow of colors, and about three different shades of glittery liner around her eyes.

Her hair had turned blond again, which she wore curly and pinned in a high ponytail. Some of the youthful softness had returned to her face, and most of her freckles had vanished, except for a small smattering on the left side of her jaw.

The most unique change since December 22nd was in one of her eyes. Just her left eye, which now had flecks of light blue in the brown. She'd even lost some vision in that eye, but not enough to justify wearing spectacles to balance things out. Her right eye was fine! She'd just squint and pester her friends to read out street signs to her from now on.

Abby hoped to blend in with the colorful theme of the party without inviting too many questions or putting a damper on the festivities, but just in case, she'd dragged Moira along with the promise that they could leave whenever either of them wanted to leave. If that was before midnight, then they'd just Cinderellafloo.

Linking arms with Moira, Abby deposited a bottle of Wild Doxy on the table of drinks, a brand of wine meant to cause mischief and the giggles, as if they didn't have enough of that floating around.

"All my favorite beautiful people," she added to Fig's announcement, smiled approvingly at Raine's outfit, stole Nemo's joint and returned it with a wink and a little sigh of smoke, pecked Virgil on the cheek and made a happy fuss over his nipple piercing, and complimented Nicholas on those disturbing baby things floating in the air.

If her smile was a little sad, it couldn't be helped. But only good things ahead!

She glanced back at Moira to make sure she was included. "Drink?"

When the invitation for the New Year’s Eve party arrived Moira had read it once and immediately planned to not go. A party with alcohol and gillyweed with a bunch of people who likely included Virgil and Figaro was a recipe for a disaster just waiting to happen.

Her friend Abby, however, had other ideas and even brought along a blue top with a winged horse on it for Moira to borrow. The shirt was better than her more ordinary tops and robes for the party anyway. She still insisted on her dark blue-jeans and shoes though.

Moira made sure they ate before arriving.

Glancing around the room after upon arrival, Moira let Abby lead her around by the arm as the greetings were made. She only gave nods of acknowledgement herself, except to Sellaphix. Even Virgil got one.

Abby asked if she wanted a drink. Casting another glance around then back to her she nodded. “Please.” She felt like she would need it.

This was a party of hope for better days and a better year. Until this past month her year hadn’t been terrible. No. Good thoughts only. For her friend, who had been through so much, if no one else.

"Nope!"

At the appearance of Moira, obviously dragged here by Abby Reid, Figaro slapped his stomach, lifted his bottle of Bad Choices in the air and shuffled away from the knot of people at the table. Not going to deal with that situation not when there was jubilation to be had.

He was next to have his way with the record player, changing out some etheral wailing woman for Hawkshead Attack Formation, their record that had more than one or two anthems about the loss of youth.

"Someone taste this!" he called to anyone in particular. He drank Bad Choices straight from the bottle.  "Guess what's in it, win a prize!"

If Anton were a little less accustomed to his friend's nervous ticks, the unending stream of worrying might have driven him crazy.  It wasn't that the familiarity made it any less annoying, it just made it easier to understand that his friend meant it with all the best intentions.

And it made it easier to give him grief in return. 

"It will be fine!" he insisted, in German for the umpteenth time as they scaled the stairs to the apartment that was apparently co-habitated by Virgil and Nicholas.  "It sounds like I'll know most of the partiers and, at the very least, you, Virgil, Nicholas and Abby know I'm in the clear.  Besides, I have my Gold Card." 

He pulled the gold-hued, laminated and oh-so-official-not-like-it-was-designed-in-photoshop-and-printed-at-home card from his pocket and held it up for his more magically but less socially gifted friend.  Sadly, the card wasn't even official enough to warrant a snide comment in return, only a roll of his eyes and an accommodating shake of his head. 

"Just ... like I said.  Be careful.  Some of the -"

"Yeah, yeah - some of the refreshments may be designed with a stronger constitution in mind," Anton finished for Sasha, parroting the same phrase he'd heard several times in the last couple weeks since he and Sasha had finally spoken about the rather large magical elephant that had been roosting in the corner of any room they'd been in for years. 

At least, between the two of them, they'd have a whole range of fashion bases covered from Anton's more casual attire to Sasha's attempt at casual.  Anton patted Sasha on the shoulder before leading the way through the apartment door, just in time to hear the promise of a prize related to some bottle hoisted in the air.

They were definitely at the right spot.  "Is it a Mezcal worm?" he answered back, making a straight line towards the booze in question with one hand on Sasha's elbow to make sure he had the second guess.

Figaro spun around at the arrival of more people and two distinct accents. His face blanked out, and he lifted his aviators to stare at Sasha.

Figaro pulled back the Bad Choices from Anton, but kept glaring at Sasha. He brought the muggle. Now he couldn't drink at this thing and the Logorrhea was right out. Nothing against Anton, he seemed cool and had embarrassing Sasha stories, but Nicholas had decorated with haunted babies.

"No," he said to Anton flatly.

Just outside the door to the flat, Fauna shook her head, orienting herself after the dizziness of apparition. Maybe she should have floo'd instead. Too late now! If she was still sick, then she'd just to try to give everyone extra light and airy hugs.

She walked in, shrugged her cloak off by the door, and just like she had at the Ministry, made a beeline for the refreshments table. So many people were here already! Fauna deposited the box of enchanted cake pops next to the other treats, smiling in anticipation. Anyone who tried one would sing their next sentence. No, she wasn't sorry.

Her week since Christmas had passed by in a haze of flu symptoms, complete with fever and coughing and grossness. She'd spent her holiday at her mum's place in Devon, where her family had doted on her and cooked her soup and let her catch up on all the muggle things like the Hunger Games novels and the first half of the Game of Thrones series. Fauna was both pissed off that she'd gotten sick over the holidays and relieved that it hadn't happened during crunch time at work. She was both pissed off that she hadn't felt well enough to sit down and have a talk with her future step-family, and relieved that nothing had changed between them yet. Sooner, rather than later, she would tell them she was a witch. Soon!

"Hey," she turned to smile at the group, opening her arms to offer her typical hugs. She wore a gold-yellow romper with a bow on front, gifted to her by her fashionable older sister. In her hair, she'd wound a string of golden crescent moons and stars around a braided headband. She'd decided to ignore any scarring from earlier in December and hoped that her friends would ignore it as well. Tonight was not a night to hide in her sweater.

Abby was looking different but had a determined cheer about her, Moira looked surprisingly festive, Raine looked badass as always, and the hosts, Nicholas and Virgil, had gone all out. She didn't recognize the girl with the gillyweed, but maybe she was someone's younger sister.

"Thanks for organizing this," she glanced at Nicholas. "I'm going to need one of those shots."

Who cared if she still felt a bit, er, off? Tonight would be just magical.

Nicholas threw back his shot and bit into a lime as they were cheered on by those not drinking, or at least not taking a shot this round. Nicholas planned on plenty more shots the rest of the night and well into morning.

"No sad things!" He heard Raine tell Virgil when he explained why he was half the fun at the party.  "No Raine, you can't kick Virgil out, it's his flat too."  He laughed and started moving to the music when someone changed it from something Virgil must have stuck in the pile.  Wailing anything wasn't a genre he owned.  If he heard whales though, he was going to throw the record out the window.

"Thanks for organizing this, I'm going to need one of those shots." 

Nicholas grinned and poured two more.  "Of course, can't believe it took us this long.  Shot for you, shot for me."  He handed Fauna the shot and threw back his second.

Abby had arrived! And she had arrived in a vortex of activity, making him laugh in delight when she pointed out his nipple piercing - it was going to take some getting used to, processing this version of her without the red hair, but it was the Abby he had first seen in his vision after all. The one who had been afraid, except now she was very much plucky and vibrant, even with the darker undercurrent of events last week.

McBoid, who of course had nothing interesting to add to the exchange, had managed to slip in somehow. Virgil abandoned his joint of gillyweed to Nemo, spotting another new arrival at the part.

Anton and Sasha were here. Nick was talking about... sad things? Shots again? He didn't know, his feet were already taking him across the flat directly towards the blonde muggle. "Anton!" Virgil grinned, teeth a brilliant white against his painted mouth, "Welcome to the silly house!"

He slipped his arms around the other boy's broad shoulders and kissed him in one fluid movement, tongue and all, until he was smiling into the kiss and a little breathless. The wizard pulled away, cheeks flushed.

"Sorry. I wanted to tender a deposit for my new year's kiss," Virgil declared coquettishly, untidy hair falling into his face. "I expect  the full works when the ball drops at midnight."