"You're taking Anthony?" Morgan squealed with delight when Isabella told her the news. "Are you two going out?"
"It's just one date, Morgs," Isabella sighed but she couldn't help smiling. "Anyway, who're you guys taking?"
"No one, I'm going alone, thank you very much," Alex said.
"No one smart enough?" Isabella asked with a knowing grin.
"All the smart ones are taken," Alex grumbled.
"I'm going with Terry," Morgan announced.
"You're WHAT?" Isabella and Alex shouted.
"I'm going with Terry," Morgan repeated, sticking her lower lip out a little. "We're going out."
"When did this happen?" Isabella demanded, feeling very upset and hurt for some reason.
"Yesterday," Morgan said sounding more anxious. "That's okay, right? You said it was okay!"
"Oh. Yeah. It's... fine," Isabella said. She suddenly felt very tired and empty. Alex was looking at her keenly, but she was saved from explaining herself by Luna who arrived practically glowing with delight.
"What's up Luna? Did your dad finally discover the Crumpled-Horn Snorkak?" Isabella asked, seizing on the change in topic.
"Harry asked me to come to Slughorn's party with him," she beamed. There was an awkward pause where the other three girls stared at Luna.
"Harry... Potter...?" Alex asked slowly.
"Yes, I met him in the hallway and he asked me to come with him as a friend," Luna said, twirling dreamily. There was a significant decrease in the tension of the room as everyone sighed with relief and congratulated Luna. Sometimes the girl could be so odd that it was difficult to tell when she was thinking of reality or fantasy.
"So, what's everybody wearing tonight?" Morgan asked.
Alex's dress was black, but they made her look elegant and pretty, especially since Morgan had done her hair with pretty barrettes. Luna was wearing a pink dress with silver ruffles. Morgan was wearing emerald green, which complimented her eyes wonderfully and made them sparkle with light. She had also arranged her pretty blond hair in a very artistic manner. When Isabella looked at her, she could not help but feel amazed and a little inadequate. This, of course, was ridiculous.
Because Isabella O'Reagan looked stunning in her royal purple robes. They were purple because that was the color of the Petrroci house and her great-aunt Guilia had bought them for her. They were cut in the Roman fashion, having come from that self-same city, with golden designs swirling around the hems. Her dark hair was gathered in a bun, but some of it had been allowed to hang freely over one of her shoulders. With Morgan's work on her makeup, Isabella was sure to stun every boy present at the party.
Luna left earlier than the rest of them because she had promised to meet Harry in the Entrance Hall. At about eight o'clock, the other three girls wandered down to the Common Room.
Anthony was wearing navy blue robes that complimented his dark brown hair. Standing next to him, looking slightly awkward and pulling at the collar of his sage dress robes, was Terry. Isabella felt a small thrill to see him, immediately dampened by the sight of him smiling at Morgan and offering her his arm.
"So, Anthony, what did you think of the last Quidditch match? You know, between Gryffindor and Slytherin?" Isabella asked. Anthony grimaced slightly.
"I don't know what charm the Gryffindor team was under, but I'm not looking forward to playing them," he said sincerely. Isabella nodded her head as they went through the wooden door and began to descend the circular staircase.
"Did you hear, there's supposed to be a vampire coming tonight?" Alex asked the group at large. Isabella felt a little sorry for her tall friend because she had no companion for the night, but then remembered that any other person would probably bore Alex to tears.
"Rufus Scrimgeour?" Isabella asked calmly. Morgan giggled a little and Alex smiled.
"I - what?" Terry asked, looking confused and disconcerted.
"Nothing, it's just that Luna thinks the Minister is a vampire," Morgan explained to him. "One of her dad's strange ideas."
"Weird," Anthony commented. "Is she always that barmy?"
"Luna isn't barmy! She's..." Isabella trailed off and frowned. "Alex, help me. Singolo?"
"Unique, individual, different, uncommon," Alex provided helpfully.
"Si," Isabella nodded. "Special."
"Is she a walking thesaurus?" Anthony asked, whispering into Isabella's ear. The Italian giggled and shrugged.
"Basically," she confirmed in a hushed voice.
"Are you two talking about me?" Alex demanded, eyes narrowed.
"He said you are a walking thesaurus," Isabella told her bluntly. Alex blinked and looked pleased.
"Oh. Thanks," she said, the corners of her lips twitching a little. They were already approaching Slughorn's office and the sounds of laughter, music, and loud conversation were growing louder with every step they took.
Like his previous parties, Slughorn's office had been magically enlarged. The ceiling and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson, and gold hangings, so that it looked as though they were all inside a vast tent.
"Should we be vaguely offended?" Terry asked.
"Why?" Morgan inquired, looking around the crowded, stuffy room.
"Well, the decorations are green, red, and yellow but there's no blue," Terry pointed out slowly. "So we, as Ravenclaws, are being excluded. We should all leave in protest." They all laughed a little at that, their merriment mixing with the sound of mandolins issuing from a distant corner.
The room was bathed in the red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the center of the ceiling in which real fairies were fluttering. A haze of pipe smoke hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of house-elves were negotiating their way squeakily through the forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food they were bearing, so that they looked like little roving tables. Anthony scooped up two fruit tarts from a passing tray and offered one to Isabella. She smiled and took it.
"My, my! Look who's here! Alexandra, Morgan, and Isabella," Slughorn boomed, weaving his way through his other guests. "Come in, come in!" The Potions professor was wearing a tasseled velvet hat to match his smoking jacket.
"Miss O'Reagan, there's a few people I'd love you to meet," Slughorn said, gripping her arm and pulling her purposefully behind him. Isabella seized Anthony's hand and dragged him along with her.
"Isabella, I'd like you to meet Barnabus Cuffe, an old student of mine and the editor of the Daily Prophet and Dirk Cresswell, head of the Goblin Liaison Office." Cuffe was a tall white-haired man with an easy-going smile and a firm handshake. He wore glasses and was clean shaven. His companion was also tall, and his grey hair now only covered the sides of his head. He had the distinct appearance of a forcible, vibrant personality that well-fitted a popular politician.
"Isabella Petrroci O'Reagan, I am simply delighted," Cuffe said, looking down at her. "And who is your friend?"
"This is Anthony Goldstein," she introduced him to the two wizards. Slughorn had mysteriously vanished into the crowd. "He's a sixth year in Ravenclaw."
"Nice to meet you," Cuffe said politely, giving Anthony's hand one strong shake. "So, Isabella, how is your father?"
"You know my father?" she asked, surprised.
"We were in school together, didn't old Sluggy tell you?" Cuffe boomed. "Course, Patrick was a few years younger than me, but everybody knew him! Always getting into trouble with that Hufflepuff girl... what was her name?"
"Dora Tonks?" Isabella asked, having heard her father talk about his best friend occasionally.
"That's the one!" Cuffe nodded. "Did you ever hear how they infected the school's beehives with glumbumbles?"
"Yes," Isabella smiled wryly. "Or the time when they tried to turn the upstairs corridor into a slip and slide and ended up flooding three floors?" Cuffe laughed at the memory and even Anthony and Dirk Cresswell looked amused.
"I must say, I'm not surprised Antonia's husband is a bit of a trouble maker," Cresswell said. "Not that she's seems inclined to childish pranks. But she does like to have a bit of fun. I remember last year she showed up with a peacock feather quill. Bloody hard to write with, but she kept it." Isabella smiled slightly, remembering her gift to her mother last year.
"Of course, there's those rumors of her continued arguments with the Minister," Cuffe said, giving Isabella a side long glance. She felt her heart sink: Isabella was not in the mood to convince the journalist that she had no idea what her mother was discussing with Scrimgeour.
"Mr. Cresswell, sir, I have a question about the Goblin rebellion," Anthony said, unwittingly coming to her rescue. "Was it Urg the Unclean or Ug the Unreliable whose imprisonment started the war?"
"Ug the Unreliable, my dear boy," Cresswell said, clearly pleased to be asked a question about his work. "He was suspected of peddling leprechaun gold."
"Hmm, how much can leprechaun gold really impact the wizarding economy?" Isabella asked. "I mean, on a microeconomic scale it can have a great influence. For example, I had two friends who were owed a dept. It was paid in leprechaun gold and my friends wanted to blackmail the offender."
"Well, depending on what is being paid with leprechaun gold, and the size of the debt, the effects can be severe," Cuffe said, joining in the conversation with evident reluctance.
"But is it better or worse than simply counterfeiting coins?" Isabella asked shrewdly.
"Yes, I've wondered that as well," Anthony piped up. "I mean, isn't it perfectly possible for wizards to simply make their own coins and use them as thought they were real currency?"
"No, that's one of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguartion," Isabella said without missing a beat. "The Philosopher's Stone can turn other substances into gold and the Gemino curse can produce replicas of an existing gold piece but are worthless in value."
"But how would you know it was worthless?" Anthony insisted. "Say you make yourself a batch of replicated Galleons and buy an ice cream sundae from me-"
"Why an ice cream sundae?"
"Because I feel like ice cream."
"Fair enough."
"So you come into buy an ice cream sundae. I look at your money and what exactly tells me it's fake? How can I, an innocent shopkeeper, tell that you were ripping me off?"
Isabella opened her mouth, then closed it again. "I'm not exactly sure. I know that the physical appearance of the object is transferred to its copy, but I'm not sure what factors you could use to tell," she said slowly. "Do you, Mr. Cuffe? Mr. Cresswell?"
"You lost me at Gomp's Principals, or whatever it was," Dirk Cresswell shrugged.
"Yeah, is it just me or are kids getting smarter than they used to be?" Barnabus Cuffe asked. Anthony and Isabella looked at each other and smiled, shrugging slightly.
"Wit beyond measure..." she began.
"Is man's greatest treasure," a dreamy, sing-song voice picked up. Isabella turned around to see Luna. She was standing with Harry, Slughorn, a short bespectacled man, and a tall emaciated man with dark shadows under his eyes. Harry was apparently trying to keep the shorter man from writing some sort of biography on the Boy Who Lived and could only spare Isabella a sort of desperate glance.
Luna and the younger man were looking at Isabella, Anthony, Mr. Cuffe, and Mr. Cresswell with interest. That is, the young man was looking at Isabella with interest. Too much interest. It made her uncomfortable and she instinctively stepped back, running into Mr. Cuffe. To her surprise, the Daily Prophet editor placed a hand protectively on her shoulder and pulled her behind him, stepping forward. Anthony looked nervous and started to edge away as the young man inched a little closer to where Isabella was hidden.
"Sanguini, stay here!" the wizard said suddenly, breaking out of his conversation with Harry and giving the young man a reproachful glare. "Here, have a pasty," added the man, seizing one from a passing elf and stuffing it into Sanguini's hand before turing his attention back to Harry.
Sanguini looked at the pasty with evident disgust and then back at Isabella with a rather hungry look in his eye.
"Mr. Goldstein, I think you had better take Miss O'Reagan along with you and get a Butterbeer," Cresswell suggested.
"Er, right," Anthony muttered, keeping his eye on the hungry vampire and grabbing Isabella's hand. He pulled her out from behind Mr. Cuffe and into the crowd. When she looked back over her shoulder, she saw Sanguini staring after her. But the next moment Mr. Cuffe and Mr. Cresswell had blocked her from the vampire's view; she did not think their movement entirely coincidental.
Two people hurried out of the crowd towards Anthony and Isabella.
"Are you alright?" Terry asked them, keeping his eyes on the ground. "I heard that vampire bloke..."
"We're fine," Anthony said abruptly.
"Are you sure, Bella?" Morgan asked, tucking a strand of her friend's hair behind her ear. "I heard he was staring."
"News sure travels fast," Isabella murmured. "But, yeah, I'm fine. A little spooked, but fine."
"Well, as long as he didn't hurt you..." Morgan began, a characteristic gleam in her eye. "What do you think of him? Cute, huh?"
"I don't - What?"
"I mean, if it weren't for his condition I'd seriously be in love," Morgan gushed. "Adorable, isn't he?"
"Yeah. If I could get over the fact that he was thirsting for my blood, I would totally go out with Sanguini," Isabella said, rolling her eyes. "I mean, other than his lust for my life, he's just plain darling. With that hair and those eyes..."
"I know, right?" Morgan squealed. Isabella stared at her friend.
"Sarcasm is totally lost upon you," she said, shaking her head.
"Hey, guys," someone called. They turned around to see Harry, Luna, and Hermione squeeze their way from the crowd.
"Hi, Harry," Isabella smiled at the older boy.
"How's term going this year?" he asked. Hermione kept looking over her shoulder, as though afraid of being followed.
"Oh, OWLs and all that," Morgan shrugged.
"Hard aren't they?" Terry asked, glancing at Isabella.
"Well, I manage to balance them with Quidditch," she said, not even looking at him. "How's your year going, Harry?"
"It's okay," he shrugged. "No one's, you know, tried to off me in a few months."
"Wow, record," Isabella said seriously. Everyone except Hermione snorted a little.
"Harry, can we...?" Hermione asked, somewhat pleading.
"What? Oh, sure," Harry said. "We're heading into that empty corner," he told them, gesturing at the one seemingly unoccupied space in the room. "Hermione's-"
"I'm feeling a little claustrophobic," she interrupted. "Do you want to come?"
"No, I think we were heading for Butterbeers," Anthony said. "Come on, Bella." He took her hand and pulled her toward the refreshment table. The table was piled with goblets of mead, bottles of Butterbeer, fruit tarts, pasties, cookies, fairy cakes, and cream puffs. Isabella helped herself to a chocolate fairy cake and a bottle of Butterbeer while Anthony selected some cream puffs and the mead.
Miraculously, they found a couch in the middle of the room that was unoccupied. They talked for a while about Quidditch and the upcoming Ravenclaw versus Slytherin match. Isabella had just bitten into her fairy cake when suddenly the room went black.
She was standing in a room deep within the Department of Mysteries. In front of her was an archway. No, not an archway, The Archway. She was moving closer to it, she was going to pull aside the veil and look through...
"Don't you like it?" Isabella blinked and suddenly the lights came back on and she was sitting on the couch with Anthony.
"What?"
"Your cake. You stopped mid-bite," he told her, evidently having noticed nothing.
"My... cake?" Isabella asked, then remembered the small chocolate cake in her hand. She considered it, slightly afraid of it and at the same time embarrassed that she was afraid of a fairy cake.
"Do you want it?" Anthony asked, eyeing the cake hungrily.
"Uh, no. Go ahead," she said quietly, giving him the chocolate cake.
"Thanks," he said, delightedly taking an enormous bite out of the rejected sweet. "You have a little icing on your face, right there," he mentioned, gesturing to his own thoroughly icing-covered cheek.
"Oh. Thanks," Isabella said wiping the icing off carefully with a napkin, intent on not tasting it.
"Man, you're crazy. This cake is amazing!" Anthony said, finishing it with gusto.
"Isn't that Malfoy?" Isabella asked, leaning forward and peering through the crowd. Draco Malfoy was being dragged by the ear by Argus Filch.
"Professor Slughorn," wheezed Filch arriving at the corner Hermione, Luna, and Harry had fled to. Isabella guessed that their hopes of an empty corner had been dashed by Slughorn. "I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?"
Isabella stood up and stood on her tiptoes to see the scene play out. Most of the party closest to Filch and Malfoy had gone quiet. Isabella could see that not only was Slughorn in Harry's corner, but also Professor Trelawney and Professor Snape. Malfoy was pulling himself free of Filch's grip, looking furious.
"All right, I wasn't invited!" he said angrily. "I was trying to gatecrash, happy?"
"No, I'm not!" said Filch, a statement completely at odds with the glee in his voice. "You're in trouble, you are! Didn't the headmaster say that nighttime prowling's out, unless you've got permission, didn't he, eh?"
"That's all right, Argus, that's all right," said Slughorn, waving a hand. "It's Christmas, and it's not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we'll forget any punishment; you may stay, Draco." Filch looked disappointed and turned to shuffle away, muttering under his breath. He pass close to Isabella grumbling things like, "hang him up by the thumbs..." and "... last year... order for whipping..." to himself.
The loud conversation started up again, but Isabella continued to watch as Harry looked at Malfoy with evident distrust.
Suddenly Snape seemed to curtly interrupt Malfoy and, ignoring Slughorn's cheerful comment, led Malfoy out of the party and into the hallway. Five seconds later, Harry said something to Luna and followed at a distance.
"What are you looking at?" Anthony asked, standing up too and craning his neck.
"Nothing," Isabella said. Harry's business was Harry's business. He didn't need a babysitter, after all.