AN EXCERPT FROM THE ENTERTAINMENT SECTION IN THE DAILY PROPHET

The Cuileann Celebration, popularly known as "Holly Fest," is an annual wizarding art and music festival held in a secret, ministry-protected location within the forestlands of Ireland going from July 8th to July 15th (These dates correspond with the "Holly" sign of the Celtic Tree Zodiac, hence the name)

The festival was started in the summer of 2018 when a group of wizards who identified themselves as Gaelic "new-age druids" came forward to the ministry and proposed the idea of a festival that promoted the old Celtic teachings of nature, harmony, art, and music.

Muggles also have music festivals that are very similar to the Cuileann Celebration. For example, in America, there is a festival that they call "Burning Man," where attendees meet together as a community, camp in the desert, and enjoy a range of various activities, including burning a large statue of a man for fun.

After its first year, Holly Fest was almost discontinued due to many of the festival-goers overdosing on various wizarding and muggle mind-altering substances, resulting in several magical injuries and even a few deaths. However, with much protest, it was allowed to continue with the new condition that all festival-goers must be of age according to British wizarding law, and that there was to be improved security and healer aid.

With the new age requirement tacked on, wizarding students who have completed their studies often celebrate their success over the summer by attending Holly Fest- a week to forget about all of the conventional, stiff-necked aspects of the wizarding world, and to instead touch base with the roots of ancient, Celtic magic - which emphasizes nature, harmony, and oneness.

Of course Holly Fest is met with a lot of controversy amongst older generations of wizards around the world. The use and abuse of certain alternative substances that occur during the Celebration has raised many an eyebrow, and have caused doubt in whether this "Celtic Experience" is nothing more than a drug den for the rotting minds of today's youth.

Nevertheless, the Cuileann Celebration is still going strong, with its international popularity growing by the year.

"Ailsa, if you keep smoking that rubbish, your brain will turn into a flobberworm."

A porcelain hand whipped through the curtain of thick smoke that hung heavily in the lemongrass-scented air. The smoke reacted by morphing into a perfect caricature of an old pirate ship before dissipating into a cloud of nothingness.

I couldn't help but laugh at his reaction. He always swatted away at the smoke as if it were a swarm of bothersome cornish pixies. "Oh Scamander, you young soul," I responded in a melodramatic fashion, unable to help myself. "I'm already there. Haven't you noticed? I have flobberworm oozing out of my ears and nostrils as we speak!"

Lysander wrinkled his nose, the small splash of brown freckles disappearing under the folds of skin. I watched him pull on the left sleeve of his red and gold Gryffindor sweater, the colors bright and glaring against the soft, silvery patterns that etched the surface of the loveseat he occupied.

"Yes, now that you mention it, I do see it. It's dripping down your face."

He squinted his blue eyes for a split second as if focusing on something of great importance. "Right...there!"

With a sudden movement that was far too quick for me to process, Lysander jumped forward out of his seat, his arm outstretched in a dramatically comical manner. I only had a split second to make a noise of surprise before he proceeded to thrust his finger up my left nostril.

"Gyahhhhh! What the hell?" I screeched, recoiling, my hands cradling my nose as if I had just experienced a hemorrhaging nose bleed. Lysander was cackling violently; He threw his head backwards, and squinted his pretty little eyes as he howled with treacherous laughter.

"So easy!" he exaggerated once his laughter had subsided. "I think I may have actually scraped up some of your boogers too! Mum will be pleased… she's been trying to get either Lorcan or I to get your nose-wax for weeks!"

He held up the index finger he had just assaulted my nostril cavity with, and studied the tip of his fingernail closely with mock importance. I gave him a flat little stare, knowing that he was full of nothing but absolute codswallop. "Your mum may be a bit strange, Scamander, but I don't think she's that strange."

He scoffed. "Of course she is! You of all people should know. You've been working with her for...what is it...three years now? Four years?" He wiped his finger uncaringly on the front of his sweater.

"I'm twenty-one now. I've been working with your mother ever since I graduated from Hogwarts. Do the math, silly little boy," I quipped with an air of regality, knowing that my very tone of voice would annoy the living shit out of Lysander.

He hated when I used my "regal, holier-than-thou" voice. The only time he accepted its usage was when we were making fun of those old codgers that purposely tried to usurp either Luna or I in the area of magizoology expertise. We got a lot of those tossers… those that did everything in their power to prove our work invalid or false.

I couldn't handle it at first- the hordes of narrow-minded, ministry-worshipping dolts constantly feeding me doxy-shit loads of criticism and disapproval that borderlined on harassment. Mrs. Luna Lovegood-Scamander reminded me time in and time out again, in her serene, quirky manner, that in choosing to devote my life to magizoology, I chose to deal with all of the unwanted rubbish as well.

And after developing a new habit of smoking cigars, along with the creation of a mild alcoholic addiction, I dealt with it. And I prospered.

I got to smoke all of the dittany extraction that I wanted, travel to some of the most exciting places in the world, work at my own pace while making a fairly high wage, and laugh at all of those feeble-headed, paperwork-scrounging bastards with a glass of firewhiskey in my right hand. Not only that, but my love and knowledge for magizoology- something that I had developed as a mere first year - expanded at such a progressive rate that the mere foul utterings of a few sour-faced wizards became nothing more than a joke. I was doing what I loved, and I loved doing it everyday.

"That tone of voice is absolutely repulsive," Lysander remarked, as I expected he would. I shrugged a little and tapped the edge of my opal glass pipe so that the dittany extraction that sat within the bowl would light up again. I brought the pipe to my lips and inhaled, the familiar burning sensation coating my throat and floating up towards my brain so that the thinnest layer of my reality was shed. I felt the warmth cascade through my limbs as I breathed out, the smoke twirling around the room once again in a lethargic manner. Lysander swatted away at the air again, his face melded into one of disgust.

However, instead of chastising me about my smoking habits again, he suddenly smiled- a bright, devious smile lacking the characteristic dreaminess present in the expressions of his twin brother and mother. It was a bold, bright Gryffindor smile.

"So. It's that time of the year again," he said, his dimples popping out in an endearing manner.

I grinned back, knowing exactly what he was talking about. It was something I had been involved with for four years now...something I viewed as an almost sacred occurrence.

"Holly Fest."

The words felt like caramel as they left my lips. A tirade of butterflies rampaged in my stomach as my brain soared onward, thinking of the near future and all of its upcoming magical wonders.

Holly Fest.

Or as the new-age Celtic druids called it: the Cuileann Celebration.

I have been to some of the most amazing, inspiring, jaw-dropping places in the world. I have gone on nargle hunts in Albania. I have traversed through the vast, sun-baked Sahara desert in search of the fire- breathing wrackspurt. Luna, Rolf, and I have extracted new, unheard of infusions of gurdyroot while in the jungles of Nicaragua. Hell, I just arrived back in Ottery St. Catchpole three days ago from an important magizoology panel meeting regarding the existence of a sinister relative to the hinkypunk in New Zealand.

But those experiences cannot compare to the passion and intensity I feel while at Holly Fest. How do I even begin to describe it? It's a large festival held in a ministry-protected forest somewhere within the deep, rural parts of Ireland. It's a week-long festival celebrating and honoring the old Celtic magic that used to run rampant throughout the United Kingdom back even before Hogwarts was founded.

Well, that's the festival's description according to the Daily Prophet.

In all honesty, Holly Fest is not so much a traditional "celebration" honoring culture, as it is a high-energy, drug-fueled shit show. Ever since its inception, many young witches and wizards, seventeen or older, arrive to the festival, set up their tents, and then proceed to plunge themselves deep into a different dimension for the rest of the week. There have been many complaints and debates about the "indecent" nature of Holly Fest for years. Thankfully, it has become so much of an eccentric enigma within the wizarding world that the ministry has decided against its demise. After all, the festival itself has done a lot of good for the souls and minds of young witches and wizards around the world. It is hard to explain without sounding like what the muggles would call a "hippie," but the intense energy and vibrations felt by individuals at Holly Fest throughout the week always ends with personal growth and a cleansing of the psyche.

This was going to be my fourth Holly Fest. Every year that I have attended, I have worked the magizoology booth with Luna, drinking gallons of firewhiskey and smoking dittany extraction while demonstrating to festival-goers how the saliva of Blibbering Humdingers could reduce pain, but still induce mild hallucinations.

I remember when I was seventeen years old, and it was the first day of summer before my last year of Hogwarts. I was called up to Professor McGonagall's office right before lunch, and I was worried that Ol' Minnie was going to give me last-minute detention for the Melpurne I had planted in the Quidditch field just the week before. Instead, I was introduced to Luna Lovegood-Scamander, who was extremely impressed by the fact that I had managed to summon and plant a Melpurne on school grounds. I was then given a fully-paid scholarship to her Magizoologist internship. Working the booth at Holly Fest in the summer would be my first paid assignment.

Holly Fest provided me with my first real magizoologist experience. Not only did it provide me with the great opportunity to work and party with Luna, but it solidified my career path. After that summer, I finished my last year of Hogwarts and graduated, walking off of those castle grounds an official magizoologist in training.

Lysander pumped his fist in the air, bringing me back from my reflective trip through memory lane. "Two more days! I already finished packing, but Lorcan is permanently stoned. He can't even get his goddamn extension charm right to fit his tent-"

"Speaking of being permanently stoned, do you want to smoke some weed?" I asked, setting aside my pipe full of dittany extraction, and, instead, reaching across the kaleidoscopic table to grab both the purple glass pipe and bag full of marijuana that sat idly amongst the sealed jars of crumple-horned snorkack claws.

Lysander gave a nod. "The muggle stuff I can handle. It's that foul dittany extraction shit that I don't like."

I loaded the bowl with the green herb carefully, using my fingers to rip apart the buds and place them in the shallow cavern. I always liked to load bowls or roll spliffs the muggle way because I enjoyed the smell of marijuana on my fingers. Once I was done, I handed the pipe to Lysander, prompting him to hit it first.

"You are camping with Lorcan and I again this year, right?" he asked before bringing the pipe up to his lips. I watched him light the bowl, inhale, and then exhale in a mild coughing fit, the milky smoke fogging up the entire room.

"Of course I am. I wouldn't have it any other way. It will just be the three of us, right? I think your mum and dad are going to camp more towards the east side of the forest this year." I reached over and grabbed the pipe from him.

"Negative," he responded, that small mischievous smirk creeping its way onto his lips again. "Haven't you heard? We're camping with the Wotters this year."

"The who?" I asked, immediately confused. Was this little bugger trying to play a trick on me of some sorts? I had never heard of anybody by the last name of "Wotter."

He rolled his eyes in response as I proceeded to hit the pipe.

"The Wotters, Ailsa. The Weasley-Potters. They're only the most well-known wizarding family in all of fucking history!" he exclaimed.

I blew out the smoke, the light, floaty feeling of the weed mixing in with the stronger, warmer sensation of the dittany extraction. My vision blurred ever so slightly and I felt all remaining tension in my muscles dissipate.

"Oh," I responded dumbly.

I did not have a legitimate opinion of the Weasley-Potters. Yes, of course I knew all about Harry Potter and how he and his friends Ron and Hermione saved the whole world from the evil tyrant known as Lord Voldemort, and how they all became one big happy family afterwards when Harry married Ginny Weasley, and Ron married Hermione before they started uncontrollably popping out famous-by-default babies.

But I never really ever talked to any of them. James Potter graduated in my year, and he spent a majority of his time prancing around the school with his Gryffindor Quidditch Captain badge gleaming on his chest. I think we may have said no more than five words to each other throughout those seven years. Albus Potter was a year below me, and I only ever saw him sulking around the halls with Scorpius Malfoy every once in a blue moon. I doubt we even ever so much as made eye contact for more than two seconds. As for the other "Wotters," they lost all of their individuality after I realized over half of them had the same red hair and freckles. Apparently there's a veela somewhere in there too?

I handed the pipe back to Lysander. "I didn't know that that family had any interest in Holly Fest."

"James and his girlfriend Elena have been going for four years, y'know."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise at that. "Elena O'Neil?"

I guess I could picture James partying it up hard at the festival, but Elena always seemed to be that quiet, modest Hufflepuff girl that acted as James' crutch when he got too hyper. But then again, that's every more reason for her to attend.

Lysander nodded. "It's everyone else's first year though. We've got a couple of newbies on our hands."

"Why are we going with them? Not that I have anything against them or anything, but… if all of the-er- Wotters are going, wouldn't we have a really crowded site?"

I wasn't a really picky person, and yes, the tents were enchanted so that the interiors were vast and comfortable, but I was still extremely claustrophobic at times, and did not want to step out of my tent while high on acid and fall right into a cluster of tents occupied by people I barely knew. Knowing my luck, that was bound to happen.

"Nah. We managed to book a really large site. Well... James actually did it with my mum's help."

I leaned back further in my seat, pipe in hand, the mixture of weed and dittany extraction making my limbs melt into the furniture as I stared at Lysander with half-lidded eyes. I kept forgetting that Luna was very good friends with the so-called Wotters.

"Also, I, uh... " Lysander's face suddenly flushed. His red-rimmed eyes pointed towards his fidgeting hands for a split second before he took a breath and looked back up at me. "Dominique Weasley and I are dating, and she really, really wants me to share a tent with her."

I coughed at that, the smoke billowing out ungracefully from my mouth, my throat coated with an unpleasant, yet almost pleasant cannabis-infused burn. Once I recovered, I grinned, unable to help myself.

"You have a girlfriend? Oh, dear Merlin."

Lysander glared at me as I fell into a peal of laughter. "Shut it, Brewer. I am just as capable as any other attractive young man to have a girlfriend."

"But, you're Lysander. You've never been tied down to one girl. I think the longest you've ever been with a girl was with that one fifth year Slytherin, and you told me that that lasted for like four days," I pointed out, still grinning stupidly at the fact that he had a fucking girlfriend. And of course it had to be one of the Wotters.

"Yeah, yeah," he droned, waving a hand dismissively in my direction. "I was a smarmy fourth year then. All I wanted to do was get in every girl's trousers."

I rose an eyebrow at him. "And you don't now?"

"No, I don't." His gaze softened considerably as he sighed deeply. "I really like her. Like, a lot. We've been seeing each other since February, and I haven't even...y'know… slept with her yet."

I let out a low whistle.

"Holy shit, mate. That is pretty damn impressive for you."

And it really was. Lysander was the textbook definition of the Hogwarts player. Good-looking, chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, smouldering eyes, an air of irresistible charm mixed with just a hint of mischief and rebellion…

He also had a tendency to go on less-than-innocent escapades with various girls after hours and in between classes. He was so different from Lorcan, his Ravenclaw counterpart who was equally as gorgeous and mysterious, yet also unsettlingly eccentric and clinically insane. But hey, at least Lorcan would smoke a bowl of dittany extraction with me and not bitch about it.

Once there was nothing more but a crumble of ash at the bottom of the bowl, I set it aside, revelling in the stoney haze that filled the room, the setting sun casting sharp rays of light that filtered through the stagnant smoke.

I fell into another spontaneous fit of stoned giggles. "Wait...so...which one is Dominique again?"

"She's-"

"No, wait! Let me guess!" I interrupted, unable to stop the large Cheshire cat grin that erupted on my face.

He rolled his eyes.

"Is she the Veela?" I asked.

His grudging look was replaced with one of pride. "Yes, she's the Veela one."

"HA! Of course you go for that one. My, my Scamander, you naughty boy."

I reached forward to grab my pipe filled with the dittany extraction once again. I watched Lysander immediately recoil as I brought it up to my lips and tapped the edge of the pipe with my wand, lighting the contents of the bowl.

He crossed his arms petulantly, his expression one of deepest annoyance.

"I just have one more question," I pressed before inhaling the fumes.

"I swear to Merlin, if you blow that smoke in my direction, I am leaving," Lysander snapped darkly. I knew he wasn't kidding. But I didn't give one single fuck. This was how ninety percent of our relationship worked. Plus, he was going to have to get used to this smell sooner or later- dittany extraction is, after all, a popular, well-used substance at Holly Fest.

I held my breath for a few long seconds, staring intently at him, unable to stop my clenched mouth from forming into a smile. Once I exhaled, I made sure to blow the stream of billowing smoke straight into his face.

He swatted away at it violently, muttering a multitude of curse words. I crossed my legs demurely and asked:

"Does she actually turn into a bird when you piss her off?"

Lysander jumped up from his seat swiftly, still swatting the smoke away with flailing arms, his face contorted with flat irritation as he made his way toward the door.

"I'm out. Fuck you, Ailsa."

I just laughed like a deranged hyena as he exited my flat, the mixture of smoke from the trapped marijuana and dittany extraction soaring out the door after him.

This was going to be a good fourth year.

Happy Holly Fest.