In a matter of moments, the party had quadrupled in size and volume.  In a handy spell from her school days, the table stretched and warped to accommodate the extra merrymakers.  Now this tightly packed group of witches and wizards, a diverse bunch where half didn't even know the others, were gathered around a slightly mishappen wooden table.

Niobe squinted and took a tally.  She knew Altair, sort of.  And she definitely knew Finn Grosvenor, that cheeky little mogul.  But the rest?  Niobe hadn't the faintest.  And in an inebriated state, she was not reigning in her inquisitive instincts whatsoever.  She couldn't just chit chat and dilly dally - she had to know.  And what better way than a quiz?

"Quiz time!" she declared, slapping the table with both hands.  "Ask a question, get an answer.  Simple as that.  I'll go first:  Me or Rita Skeeter?"

Maggie listened with amusement at the banter between Myrni and Hayden, who seemed to be good friends. She often poked fun at River in the same way, just to get a reaction out of him.

“Singing?” She said, pretending to be appalled. “No singing here. Right, Colette?” She nudged her, knowing it was exactly the type of thing her friend would do to torture her. Like the time Colette had roped her into that ‘Joust on Brooms’ debacle during the Woodcroft Festival. Never again! Maggie wanted to keep all her limbs safe and sound, which meant no broom-jousting, no dancing (unless she was really drunk), and no singing, lest she break everyone’s eardrums and scare away all the men.

And she didn’t want to scare away all the men- not the cute ones, anyway.

“Sure, bass-y,” she agreed with Myrni’s assessment, offering a smile and a shrug to Hayden, who seemed slightly embarrassed. The blush that crept up on his face reminded her of Frank, so she glanced away for a moment, wondering why the heck she was such a sucker for easily embarrassed men.

He asked if anyone needed a drink and she couldn’t help but chuckle. They were pretty well-stocked, here. “No, but you do,” sliding a glass over to both him and Myrni and explaining the silly article idea. It was mostly a fun excuse to meet new people and get drunk, but Maggie didn’t need to state the obvious.

Finn appeared, surprising her, and for an instant the familiar old grudge flared up, causing her to narrow her eyes at him challengingly. But then, through her haze of intoxication, she remembered Kia mentioning good things about her date with him. Yes, her date. Maggie still couldn’t understand it, but it seemed like he had changed his ways. She supposed she should at least try to be civil. They were at his nightclub, after all.

“Hey, look who comes bearing gifts,” she attempted a smile at him and accepted one of the apple-flavored shots.

Then the table suddenly expanded on her and she clutched at the edge of her stool, startled. Her mind was playing tricks on her- not just tricks, but hallucinations- and then she saw Niobe’s wand. “Merlin- Niobe, warn me next time!”

Her friend piped up with a game. Maggie rolled her eyes and snorted at the question. “That’s too easy. You, of course,” she looked around the table, almost daring anyone to disagree. It would be more fun if someone did.

Colette greeted him coolly, Niobe nodded in his direction and Maggie...scowled at him. Was that a scowl? He glanced back but she was smiling at him. Perhaps he needed his eyes testing. He smiled back, pleased for once that she was not hurling abuse in his direction. Not that he hadn't deserved it, of course, but he was a much better person now than he had been in years gone by.

She said something about bearing gifts and grabbed one of the shot glasses with the apple liqueur. He grinned as he poured some more out into the shot glasses and listened to Niobe's quiz. He raised an eyebrow slightly - was there some sort of inferiority complex going on here? He smirked as Maggie spat out that Niobe was the obvious choice. Maggie's eyes scanned the group almost daring someone to contradict. Finn was sure he felt her eye bore into his head in particular, so he decided he would mix things up a little.

"Rita Skeeter." he said simply.

Colette gave a low guffaw at Finn's response. Cheeky. Of course.  He was Nicola's friend, after all. Looking at her friend, she gave a smirk.

"I think it depends, Niobe. Are we asking whose articles we'd like to read, who we're most likely to accidentally throw down some stairs, or who's most in need of a new wardrobe?" She leaned back slightly before deciding this was perhaps a bad idea and instead leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and her chin upon interlocked  fingers as she looked speculatively over the crowd. "To the first, I'd have to say . . . that I can't say. Professionalism and all. To the second and third, I'm with Finn: Rita Skeeter."

She once more looked over the crowd. "My turn. Last time you were publicly inebriated. And now does not count." Technically, that wasn't a question. She frowned. "That is to say, 'when was?'" she added as an afterthought.

She bet the quiet Scotsman had never. He looked a good sort. But it would certainly be amusing if this were a regular occurrence. She was curious for Altair's answer on this as well.

Niobe's mouth dropped open in shocked indignation and reciprocal playfullness at Finn Grosvenor's jab.  "You rapscallion!" she said, flicking her wand at him like a shadow punch, no incantation utter.  If he flinched, it would have only been for the light breeze that washed over him at the feint.

"You're too young to know better," she laughed with out malice or any blow to her ego.  It was old news that she and Skeeter resided on different ends of the journalistic spectrum and that their rivalry would last until one of them died and the other wrote some benevolent and condescending obituary on a battle hard fought but that truth/beauty conquers all. 

Now Colette was up and asking something Niobe was ashamed to admit.  The workaholic leaned back and covered her face in her hands.

"Daily Prophet Yule Party.  2007.  Was Fancy Dress.  I was Cornelius Fudge.  I'd still have that lovely green bowler if someone hadn't been sick in it!"

James wondered if Issac  was merely introverted, or just did not have much to say.  Having nothing better to do, and his company not seeming to be paying attention to his surroundings, James said, "I'm going to talk to that group over there.  They look like they're having a good time".  He wondered if Isaac even heard him, but it would not do to be impolite to someone he had just met. 

As he walked over, he saw the rather impressive array of drinks on the table, and all the people laughing and having a good time.  He decided even if they were a little bit tipsy, he might as well try to meet some more people and have a decent time at it.  As he approached the group, he hard a loud guffaw, then strained to hear the words Rita Skeeter.  James idly remembered that her article caused him to go to his second choice school, but it had turned out for the best...all things considered.  He shook the thought from his head, since he had now finagled his way through the crowd to the table.  Either way, it gave him something to talk to them about, so as he got towards what passed for an open area on the nearly full table, he asked the group,

"So is this an open party, or do I have to know Rita Skeeter to join?"

"Open party!" declared Niobe, waving the newcomer in.  She didn't recognize him, but he had dark features and the willingness to hop into a gaggle of cackling strangers - two good marks on his card.

"But you've got to pay the toll and ask us all a question; we're playing quiz, after all.  I've gone, and so's Collette.  Have at, newcomer!"  She shoved him one of the remaining Achilles's Heels and the look on her face said she wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Either-Or? Anectode? Would You Rather? This or That? What'll it be, Stranger?  Inquiring minds want to know.  The masses are clamoring for this interview!"

She thrust a mimed dictaphone in his face. Her eyebrows said, 'well?'

Either way, I feel like a quaffle in a crowd full of chasers.  This happen to you often?

Isaac chuckled slightly.  Now that his book had been out for a few years most of his female admirers had thankfully moved on to 'greener' pasture.  He had never really gotten used to the attention...he preferred to keep his life more private.  However, private didn't sell books.

"Thankfully not really," he responded, taking a sip of his drink.

"I'm going to talk to that group over there.  They look like they're having a good time."

Isaac nodded, not really comfortable barging in on a group.  He was starting to think the his friend was not going to show.  So he decided to stay at the bar, nursing his beer for the time being.  He could think of a few people who would tell him to lighten up and join the group.

James was surprised by the complete stranger offering him a drink.  James thought this was a bit too good to be true.  He would not  protest free alcohol though.  Still, James temporarily thought that he was being interviewed in the pressbox after catching the snitch.  He quickly reminded himself where he was, and decided to play along. 

Going in a little bit over the top, “Ladies and Gentlemen of this fine table, I ask you..which do you prefer:  Either  hard liqueur or undistilled spirits?” James asked the group.  He accepted the beverage provided, and took a drink of it.  James wondered why he really couldn’t think of anything else, but decided that asking about alcohol should at least break the ice if nothing else.

Colette had laughed, Niobe flicked her wand at him in jest. He grinned, and thought that perhaps he should explain his choice. "You see," he began, passing the shot glasses along the table to all of the individuals. "Colette went along the same wavelength as myself. You didn't specify what the terms were. My answer was more suited to the question 'who would you least like to be interviewed by', in which case, my answer would be Rita Skeeter."

He paused slightly. "Though for her age, she's not that bad looking." He laughed and shook his head at himself. How old was she now? Nearing sixty? It was disgusting for him to even think that, letalone say it outloud in front of company.

Finn raised his eyebrows as a bloke joined in the party and was told he had to ask a question. What alcohol did Finn prefer? "Whisky." he stated simply. "Though anything I serve here is a cut above the average." he winked at the man before offering him a shot. It was always good to be able to blow one's own trumpet - afterall, nobody was going to do it for him...except perhaps Skeeter, but that was a dark, dark place Finn would rather never have to venture to.

"My turn." he stated clapping his hands together. "And this one has a condition. If the answer to this question is 'yes' you have to drink your shot then elaborate." his eyes twinkled mischievously. He loved these kinds of games. Many a secret had been revealed playing games like this. "Have you ever gone skinny-dipping?" Finn paused for a moment, watching everyone, then raised his glass to his lips and let the liquid into his mouth in one fell swoop.

Colette giggled -- yes, giggled a bit at Finn's comment. "What kind of a question is that?" Poor boy probably thought he was being scandalous. She took a shot glass from the middle of the table -- not hers and she didn't really know whose. But this was a tasting party, after all -- and said, "Was thirteen. NOT the Hogwarts Lake. At least that's original; everyone does that. And I never could, you know. With the giant squid and merfolk and all." She shuddered and inspected the glass, holding it up slightly to the dim light. "Beach in France one night with some kids." She said these in a blasé tone, as though French beaches were the only place upon which such things could be done.

She downed the shot, grimacing a bit as she felt the inexplicable ache in her shoulder that came with drinking. That one had likely pushed her over the edge. She shook her head, adding lowly, "Though I suppose I did that out of order, Mister Grosvenor. You wanted a very intoxicated answer and I had to disappoint." She was quiet a moment longer before stating, "And I've already asked a question. So. . . that was all superfluous and unnecessary." Still, it hadn't been as though she'd shared her deepest, darkest secret. Still, she wasn't going to give something for nothing. "Same question. To someone interesting." She looked around, trying to choose between Finn, the Scotsman, and the Tornado newcomer. Because getting to know women in bars was entirely unnecessary and, if anything, against some law. Somewhere.

While there was nothing so fantastic as turning a question upon the asker -- Colette had a notion she'd be a terrible interviewee -- to ask Finn would be inviting him to tell some story he was likely itching to tell. And for whatever reason, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. The Scotsman -- well. Ah, she remembered. Maggie's. "You. Mister James Forrester, the dark stranger," she said, jabbing her fingers. That designating an answerer was likely uncouth and against the rules did not penetrate the fog  covering Colette. Well, perhaps it was impolite, she was able to reason.

"No. New question," she said, waving her hand as though trying to dispel smoke in the air. Then, she realised, she had already asked a question. And Forrester had already been picked on once that evening. But he'd been amusing and hadn't seemed to mind. Still, time to get the attention off of herself. "To be chosen by him," she said, pointing to the Scotsman with a wolfish smile.

Putting two people on the spot in one question that wasn't even her own. Colette looked as though she were about to take credit for the next Booker. Masterly composition.

James listened to Finn explain how he had heard Rita Skeeter earlier and why he heard a guffaw.  This did not tell James as much as he liked, though he knew the answer, he did not know the question.  ‘Funny how that works’ James thought to himself.  After James heard Finn say “though for her age, she's not that bad looking,” James idly wondered if the man had a bit too much to drink.  Or maybe one of the girls had drugged him; he was not entirely sure which one.  Still, James would have never connected Rita Skeeter & good looking by himself.  The gentleman then offered him a shot of something.  James took it, hoping it could change his train of thought.  As he swallowed the drink, he secretly hoped it was not drugged, but figured it was a bit late to worry about it now.  The man then asked about skinny dipping.  James wondered how a man could go from Rita Skeeter to skinny dipping, and then decided the man had to be drugged.  As James quickly stole a glance to see if his eyes were red or if he appeared out of sorts, but could not determine if anything was wrong with him at a glance. 

Fortunately, a pretty young witch answered the gentleman’s query.  James decided to focus on her instead.  Then, for what seemed like the first time in his life, James was picked first.  At that moment, James probably would have been happy to run laps shouting it across the bar, but he just settled for a genuine smile to show on his face.  After all, James did not want to upset people that had chosen him to go first.  The fact that a pretty girl had done so made him almost as giddy as a school girl.  With a smile on his face, he playfully asked, “I had no idea I was a stranger when you know my name.  I do believe I have seen you in a quidditch supply store a few times…though I do not recollect meeting you.  Since you seem to know my name, would you mind sharing yours?”

As James took another random drink from the center of the table he took a brief glance around him.  He did not know half the people here, and he figured he should try to make their acquaintance…especially if they were going to keep offering him alcohol.  James smiled.  He would have to take his brother or Eason here sometime. 

She was going to speak out of turn. She was going to monopolise the conversation and James Forrester's attention. And really, she didn't give a damn.

"Knowing your name makes you no less strange. Unless you'd like me to judge a person from statistics and titles," she said, arching a brow and smirking flirtatiously. She was drunk. And if she hadn't seen his pictures before, or seen him play, she might not have known if he was indeed attractive. But she had. Therefore:

"Not just a quidditch supply store," Colette furthered. "Quality Quidditch. I'm Colette Wheaton." She wondered if he was clever enough to get the connection. It sounded like boasting; she didn't really care. In fact. . . Colette tried to remember why she'd said those two so close together. It did sound like boasting. That is, if he recalled the owner's name.

Now she'd be a daddy's girl. "Daily Prophet," she added. It was lame, it was tacked on, but maybe -- somehow -- it would help.

This would all be so much clearer if she were sober.

"Knowing your name makes you no less strange ," she said.  James thought that was a rather apt statement.  Perhaps he should try to be stranger?  Weirder?  More friendly?  He should have had this conversation before taking all those shots.  ‘Ya know, I should probably lay off of those….I do not want to splinch myself on the way home’ James thought to himself.   

He also liked Colette’s body language.  After the girl introduced herself, he tried to recall where he had heard Wheaton before.  It took a minute but then she mentioned she was from the Daily Prophet.  Suddenly, she seemed slightly less sure of herself.  James did not know why that occurred, but decided it did not matter.  Remembering his previous train of thought James asked if she had, “Any relation to Oliver?”

Though he already assumed the answer, he was relaxing into a semi-open position towards Colette.  The table was too crowded to relax fully, but he still managed to maneuver a bit.  James smiled towards Colette, and locked eyes with her.  James was still feeling a tad playful after all.

He didn't say much, but he smirked -- perhaps smiled in a way that made his face at once more rugged and likable. In a jarring comparison, she realised it was the same smile Simon had given in the same bar -- how long ago was that? Well. Best not to think of that exactly just now.

"Any relation to Oliver?"

"Yeh. Father," she said, waving her hand dismissively. Not particularly wanting to talk about fathers just now, either. The others had grown a bit silent -- listening in on their conversation, perhaps. To be fair, Colette had put them on the spot and not given much to fill the air with. At least until the Scotsman found his tongue. Perhaps it had gone numb. Colette had a friend who had that problem when she became drunk. "Sloppy drunk" became sloppier where drool was involved. . . fortunately Colette had no such troubles; only that odd burning in her shoulders with shots. . .

Was she really thinking about this? Right now?

Colette frowned slightly as she experimentally shifted her shoulders. She wanted to keep talking to this Forrester character but couldn't think, at the moment, of a way to get him alone without, well, some awkward sort of statement that sounded a fair bit like propositioning.

And they were both drunk. A mite more lucid than others when drinking, Colette had a steel-trap memory. And knew she didn't want to do anything she'd rather forget the next day.

"Niobe, Finn," she said, calling to them -- one so that she could take a note down on her pad; the other so that he could hear the compliment: "I think that shot was my favourite. What's it called?"