As they walked through the snowy streets of London's East End that night, seven of them were trying not to think of the war.
"This party's nothing but a big target." grumbled Moody, all but treading on Harry's heels.
"It's a tradition; if we stay home, they win." said Lupin, carting a box of red and green cupcakes.
"That'll make a nice epitaph." Moody growled.
"It's not like there won't be security wizards, Alastor." said Mrs.Weasley, who was carrying a large bowl of black currant surprise.
"Ha!" he snorted.
"So," said Lupin, determined to lighten the mood, "apparently St.Lace's booked The Whirling Wraiths!"
"Excellent!" beamed Ginny.
"Who're they?" Harry asked.
"Bill says they're incredible live!" enthused Ron. "It must be killing him to miss this!"
"Wait, not those idiots that throw slime on people?" said Mrs.Weasley.
"The very same." said Lupin.
"Well, they better not try that tonight!" she said hotly.
"Honestly, who does that?" put in Hermione.
"Alright, this is it!" Mr.Weasley exclaimed.
They were now on a tranquil, narrow, cobblestone street that ended in a tall, locked, wrought-iron gate with a sign reading, 'Condemned'. Behind it stood a path leading to an enormous, white, neglected-looking church with a monumental tower. The windows and doors were bricked-up. At the end of the street, right outside the gate, sat a tiny red-brick building with an unlocked steel door marked, Dr.Foofaraw, Syphilologist', which Mr.Weasley held open for everyone and then shut carefully behind them.
Inside they found a security wizard in peacock blue robes sitting behind a desk in a room that had only one other door.
"Happy Christmas!" Mr.Weasley said brightly.
"That's everybody?" the man said gruffly.
"Yes."
"Ok. Go."
"Alohomora!"
The door sprang open to reveal a staircase descending into a spacious tunnel thudding with music.
"Are you absolutely certain the muggles can't hear us?" Hermione anxiously asked Lupin as they went underground.
"Positive. Every square inch of St.Lace's is permanently Imperturbed, don't worry."
Lining the walls of the tunnel were hundreds of signed pictures of the musical entities that had performed in the church over the years.
"Hey look, The Weird Sisters!" said Ginny, pointing to a photo of eight hairy wizards sneering into the camera.
"How old is this place?" inquired Hermione as they passed a painting of a fey-looking witch in a hoop-skirt playing a harpsichord.
"Almost three hundred years." replied Lupin.
"Don't the muggles of Lemonhouse want to re-open it?" she asked, puzzled.
"Yes, but they always end up forgetting about it." Mr.Weasley said cryptically. "Sometimes I think this place is more trouble than it's worth."
"Arthur and I used to come here all the time before we had Charlie." Mrs.Weasley was telling Harry, "We saw The Banshees when they were just kids. Oh, there they are."
"Were they kidding with that hair?" goggled Harry.
"Hair?! Get a load of the make-up!" Ron snickered.
The tunnel ended in one of the church's vestibules. There was a big, damp pile of coats and footwear at one end, and a gold sign saying, 'Apparations' at the other. The group pulled off their coats and winter boots, and the men unrolled the bottom halves of their dress robes.
Hermione wore a scoop neck cornflower blue dress, Ginny a pleated green one that matched Harry's robes, and Ron was in pumpkin. The adults wore azure and lemon and russet and gray, respectively.
In the main hall, hundreds of witches and wizards were dancing where the pews should've been. They were surrounded by many small, packed tables, and in every corner lurked a security wizard.
Several witches and wizards clad in garments of rainbow-hued plush were playing their instruments as if possessed on a stage at the far end, and in the pulpit to their left stood a huge Christmas tree decorated with scores of cold little flames of every colour, flickering on twinkling magical snow.
Teeming galleries decked with boas of holly and ivy lined the other three sides. Against the left and right walls ran long tables covered with eggnog, cider, elderberry cake, bat ripple fudge, baked Iceland, pine puffs, sugared poinsettias, and sundry other goodies.
"Ooh, let's dance!" said Ginny.
"Nah, I'm gonna get something first." said Ron, who now seemed to be much more impressed with the food than the band.
"Yeah, me too." said Harry.
"We'll join you later." Hermione assured her.
"Fine!" said Ginny, and disappeared into the throng on the dance floor.
The rest of them headed to the left table, save Mr.Weasley, who hung back to remove a sign reading, 'the trouble with muggles' from a font full of fruitcake.
Over at the table, Moody was busy trying to ruin everyone's appetite.
"I wouldn't have anything if I was you. Anyone could've brought a poisoned dish."
A few feet away, a young wizard with a buzz-cut was peeling tinfoil off two dozen horribly burnt blackberry tarts.
"Well that's poison if I ever saw it. Let's get him." Harry smirked.
"No, let's get that lady, she brought Jell-O salad. Everybody duck and cover!" said Ron, feigning panic.
"Don't laugh! We're in the middle of a war and potlucks are golden opportunities to poison people!"
"Like Voldemort's really going to try to get us with pastries." Harry said skeptically.
"Yeah." said George, appearing at his side so suddenly he started. "Like, 'Hello, and welcome to Cook Your Way To World Domination! I'm your host Mr. Dark Lord, and today I'll be showing you how to make some precious little dumplings!' "
"First, take an ungreased cookie sheet." said Fred, springing up beside Ron.
"Then preheat the oven to three hundred and seventy-five degrees fahrenheit." George continued.
"And fetch me my Sprinkles Of The Apocalypse!"
"You call this lightly diced?! I'll lightly dice you!"
"I said a no-stick pan, you insolent fool!"
And all was very jolly indeed until Moody snarled, "That reminds me of when one of his followers burnt a muggle-born boy to death in his own mother's oven. Guess who caught the scum that did it?"
"Does anyone want my plate?" said Hermione, looking green.
"I'll have it." said Ron.
"Here. Knock yourself out."
"Hey, listen!" said George, as The Whirling Wraiths kicked into a lusty rendition of the traditional favorite, 'Malleus Moronicarum'.
"The Moron's Hammer! See ya!" said Fred, and the twins sped onto the dance floor.
Mr.Weasley's brow knitted in disapproval.
"I don't know if they should be playing that this year. It could be taken as an anti-muggle song, and we certainly don't need any of that now that we're fighting this war again."
"We all know it's a joke, Arthur." said Mrs.Weasley.
"Right. Look at me, I've heard it a million times and I'm not against muggles, so there you go." said Ron, as if this settled everything.
"Wait a minute." said Harry. "Did they just sing, 'gonna feed porridge to my collection of, uh...' " he trailed off, sounding embarrassed.
"Severed penises?" laughed Lupin. "Yep, it's from the book they're satirizing. You know, the witch burner's bible."
"Oh, right." said Harry, who had not read it.
"Did you know that awful book's still in print?" said Hermione, who had. "Isn't that just unbelievable?! I mean, who on earth is actually buying that garbage??"
"Yes, well, the important thing is the muggles don't take it seriously anymore." said Mr.Weasley.
"I know some that would." Harry said darkly.
"So many of them died because of it...Whereas nowadays they just massacre each other with JK-47's." said Mr.Weasley, sounding depressed.
"It's 'AK-47's' " Hermione gently corrected.
But the melancholy was quick to pass as they ate standing clustered under the Christmas tree, and soon they were laughing heartily at an inebriated wizard doing the phunky phoenix with extreme gusto. Before long, Ginny came bounding back up to them, followed by Luna Lovegood.
"Hey guys, look who's here!" she said cheerily.
Luna was resplendent in a dazzling opalescent dragonskin dress, and tiny sno-globes dangled from her ears. She had wrapped her torso in strings of tinsel; her neck in a string of popcorn and cranberries. Three little blackbirds were perched in her long, straggly hair.
"Hello Ronald," she said dreamily.
"What happened to you?" he goggled, "Lose a fight with a Christmas tree or something?"
"Want a bird for your hair?" she asked him.
"No." he said shortly.
She turned to Hermione. "What about you? You've got good bird hair."
"No thanks." Hermione said frostily, feeling slighted.
At this, Harry felt a sick stab of pity, and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
"I'll take one." he blurted, ignoring a kick from Ron.
"You can have Lieutenant Lollygagger, he's the best one." said Luna, plucking a bird out of her hair and placing it in Harry's hand.
"Thanks."
Ron gave a snort of laughter and Ginny elbowed him.
Harry and the Lieutenant stared at each other for a minute, then, deciding he did not want to spend the rest of the evening looking like a total fruitcake, he tucked the bird behind him into the hood of his robes so no one could see it. Hurt reflected in Luna's pale, protuberant eyes.
"It, uh, looked sleepy." he explained to her, kicking himself.
Luna nodded. "I did notice him overeating earlier." she said in a hushed voice, adding, "He loves potlucks, you know."
A long drum roll filled the church then, and Ginny's eyes lit up.
"Ohmigod! The Three Hundred and Fifty-Three Days of Christmas! I love this one, let's go!" And with that, she dashed off to the dance floor with Luna drifting along behind her. Hermione turned to Harry and Ron. "C'mon, you guys can dance for two seconds."
"Yeah, alright." said Harry. Ron's ears reddened, and he shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.
Onstage, The Whirling Wraiths were on fire; the fiddle was whipping a bright-hot wire of melody with the hurdy-gurdy winding dark harmony around it; the guitars slashed a rip-roaring rhythm, the drums crashed out a ferocious beat, and under everything ran the rich tones of the cello with yet another sly harmony. As the band counted up, the song morphed and grew faster. When they reached the part about recieving one hundred and twelve coffee filters, Hermione got a stitch and had to stop.
With a hand pressed gingerly to her side, she made her way off the dance floor, to the nearest refreshment table, poured herself a cherry fizz, and gulped it thirstily. On a silver plate she piled pumpkin pudding, pepperimp mousse, some fairy fritters, shooting star sherbert, and a taffy turnover.
She looked around for a seat, but all the tables lining the dance floor were full, so she climbed a curling corner staircase to check the galleries. She walked the length of the south gallery and found both the boxes in front and the tables in back completely packed. The choir on the west was no better, but as she neared the end of the north gallery, now thinking she would have to eat on the staircase, she finally caught sight of an empty chair at one of the tables.
Hurrying to nab it, she flicked a glance at the figure seated on the other side and was startled to find Rita Skeeter fixing her with a shrewd blue stare and spilling out of a low-cut fuchsia dress.
Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. Would the stairs really be all that uncomfortable? But no, she wasn't going to act like a coward! If she had to sit here with this horrible woman she would try to be civil, but if Rita started up, she would not hesitate to remind her of Azkaban, of who had the upper hand, who controlled the situation.
"Is this seat taken?"
"What's it look like?"
"Well merry Christmas to you too, cranky." said Hermione, putting her plate on the table with a loud clank and slinging herself into the chair opposite Rita.
"Going to eat all that yourself?" Rita asked critically. Her breath was heavily scented with Firewhisky, her eyes strangely intent.
"No, I brought it for you. Of course I'm going to eat it." Hermione snipped, starting on her sparkling primrose sherbert.
"Poor baby must be starving." said Rita in a put-on buttermilk voice.
And she had nailed it.
Hermione blushed and looked away, very much aware that Rita was smirking at her.
She was going to ignore it, and it was going to go away. She had to concentrate on something else, anything but this, anything but how Rita looked in her...
She would concentrate on her friends instead.
Down on the dance floor, everyone was losing themselves: Harry, Ron and Ginny were pogoing; Luna was twirling; Fred and George were slam dancing; Mr. and Mrs.Weasley were jiving; Lupin was grooving with a handsome white-robed wizard, and Moody was crouched on the right edge of the stage, watching Harry like a hawk.
Then a squat wizard approached their table bearing a towering plate and two goblets of eggnog. He blinked stupidly at Hermione, then turned questioning eyes to Rita, who didn't look sorry at all.
"Looks like you weren't quick enough Bozo. Now gimme my stuff."
With a look of vexation, Bozo set down the plate and a goblet, and went back downstairs.
Rita picked a blueberry icicle out of a dollop of glittering comet custard, and crunched it as if she had actually wanted some.
"I like how no one even notices you left." she said.
"Like you should talk, you're here with a lackey from work." said Hermione, feeling uneasy.
"Shut your face."
"Oh, don't you even start."
So they ate their desserts in tense silence and watched The Wraiths roar though song after song. Though she tried her best to ignore it, every time Rita shifted in her chair or licked her spoon, Hermione's libido fought and kicked and beat its little fists against her rational mind for control of her thoughts. They were too evenly matched to give her any peace.
"See that guy next to Harry?" said Rita at last.
"What?"
"There." she said, pointing. "The one in fluorescent orange with the stupid slit up the side of his robes."
"What about him?"
"Major pixie dust freak."
"Oh really." said Hermione coolly, knowing how much Rita liked to slander people, and somewhat relieved to be back in familiar territory.
"Yes, really." snapped Rita, continuing,"Flibbertigibbet Filibuster, heir to the Filibuster empire. He hates his family and isn't at all shy to talk about it either, let me tell you. They're always falling out over something or another. When he takes over, watch out."
"Oh." said Hermione, not quite sure why Rita was volunteering this information.
"Okay, now see that lady with the dress that keeps changing colours?"
"Yes."
"She works in the Centaur Liaison Office at the Ministry. Last month she got caught with her robes up, sitting in a cauldron full of mini ramoras during office hours. The whole rest of her department wanted Bones to fire her, but all she got was a suspension, if you can believe that." Rita punctuated this with a swig of eggnog and leisurely wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Really?" said Hermione, trying to sound normal and failing miserably.
"Muttonheads should've expected it. I mean, you work in the Centaur Liaison Office, what the hell else is there for you to do, right?" said Rita, now re-applying her customary thick layer of scarlet lipstick with a tube she had fished out of her cleavage. "Mini remoras though. What do you suppose that feels like?" she added, with her usual brick-like subtlety.
"I don't know."
"Yeah?"
She then proceeded to tuck the lipstick back in a little too slowly while eyeballing Hermione, who felt a hot tug kick up below her waist and wanted to run away. She settled for concentrating on the dancing below instead.
"You know," said Rita, displaying a somewhat less than admirable amount of patience, "there's a decent view of the river from the top of the tower, why don't we go up and see it?"
With these words, Hermione's eyes ceased to take in the crowd and she blushed again, not again.
Surprise.
"Well?!"
But Hermione didn't reply, because she knew that if she did, her voice would come out squeaking like a dozen ice mice, so she just sat there, pretending she hadn't heard and breathing unevenly.
For Rita, this was the best of all possible answers. In one motion, she stood up, gripped Hermione by the upper arm and hauled her to her feet. Hermione winced in pain as the aquiline talons dug into her, but she did not protest. Rita's cross expression turned to one of supreme smugness.
"You'll love it. Trust me."
And though she didn't trust her in the slightest, she still let herself get dragged through the entrance to the tower, praying all the while none of her friends chose that moment to look up.
Torches of bluebell flame drowned the inside of the tower in a pretty sapphire syrup, and sprawled over the stairs were several couples in various states of undress. The music pounding through the wall was heavy with bass. They climbed as far as they had to, and the instant they had gotten out of sight of the last pair, Rita stopped, clutched Hermione about the hips, and began kissing her viciously. In turn, Hermione put up her hands to squeeze the soft spill of flesh that Rita was so proud of and whimpered in spite of herself. Okay, so the horrid woman was good for one thing.
For some minutes nothing existed for her but a wet, velvet tongue burning her blood, cruel, gilt teeth biting her neck, and mannish, scarlet-tipped hands sliding under her dress.
Sure, Hermione would let her in; Rita could help herself to whatever she wanted now, of course she could, and then she was falling to her knees, her mouth a firebrand between snowy little legs, and she took all the melting Hermione gave her.
A little while later, the music came to an abrupt halt and wild shrieking pierced the voluptuous atmosphere.
In a flash, Hermione was tearing down the stairs, pulling her wand from the rubber bands she was wearing around her forearm because she had just known there would be an attack tonight, and why had she ever left?
Bursting into the main hall, she found a riotous battle in full swing.
Everyone who had been dancing was now liberally splashed with green slime, but for the most part, they did not appear upset about it. On the contrary, the majority of the crowd was laughing and winging desserts onstage at The Whirling Wraiths, while the rest aimed for those people. The Wraiths themselves seemed to be enjoying the whole thing a little too much: Wally Wraith stood defiantly with his mouth open and his arms akimbo, while his band mates shrieked gleefully, caught the desserts as best they could, and flung them back into the crowd.
At this, Hermione's fear vanished, and she laughed relievedly watching Luna, balanced with one foot on the edge of the north gallery and the other in the Christmas tree, reaching for two terrified blackbirds perched in the topmost branches.
"Captain Callithump! Admiral Anarcrat! Come down here you cowards!" she cried.
"Hermione! Over here!"
Beckoning her from the centre of the ruckus were Harry, Ron and Ginny, splattered with slime and dessert, and looking extremely giddy.
"Mum must be going bonkers!" raved Ron as a honey spider hurtled past his ear.
"I didn't even see them do it! I was just dancing and then...bam!" exclaimed Harry, watching Fred rush the stage, stuff a handful of sweet in Wally Wraith's mouth and take a flying leap back into the mob, where he smashed into Flibbertigibbet Filibuster, who went down like a house of cards.
A few seconds later the stage exploded in a blizzard of canary-yellow feathers and delirious screaming. Despite the chaos swirling around them, Ginny was staring at Hermione with an incredulous grin on her face.
"You have a thing here." she said, pointing from her lips to the crook of her neck.
With mortifying realization starting to crush in around her, Hermione brushed at the places Ginny had indicated, saw her fingertips come away scarlet, and turned beet-red. If it had been possible to die of embarrassment, she would have done.
"Rita, right? I saw you sitting together." Ginny said excitedly, adding, "Ohmigod, what'd you do??"
But she didn't get an answer because just then the Christmas tree came crashing down upon them with Luna clinging to the middle for dear life.