Hardly anyone touched their food during the Halloween Feast. Everyone going to Rory Evan's party was too distracted, and the unlucky first, second, and third years were too depressed.

There was an empty place at the Slytherin table. Rory had been missing since that afternoon, skipping History of Magic. Hermione had fumed about this, since Rory had gotten away with it, too; Professor Binns had forgotten to take roll of the students and had instead slept the entire time.

No one was wearing their costumes yet. Many people had written home, asking for mothers to send one, and two days ago bulky packages showered the tables, falling like rain and bringing an inundation of excitement.

Finally the last of the Feast was gone and everyone sprinted from the room. The wave of adolescents separated into four, each House going its separate way: Slytherins down, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws sideways, and Gryffindors up. Harry and Ron were among the first to arrive, but someone had already shouted "Hodgepodge!" to the Fat Lady. They threw themselves threw the opening and into their dorm. They were already halfway dressed when Dean, Seamus, and Neville trooped in.

"Almost got trampled," panted Dean. Neville had a shiner to prove it.

"Are you going?" asked Harry, putting on his shoes. He had sent a plea for a costume to Sirius, who was ecstatic at having something to do.

"Sure," said Dean. "Me mum picked mine up for me. Look at this!" He pulled a box from his trunk and took out the cloth inside. It was an old-fashioned black suit and top hat, convincingly made to look cobwebbed and rotting. Dean put some black and white makeup on his face. The finished result was a skeleton unearthed from inside Dean: fresh from the tomb and crawling with who knew what.

Seamus and Neville wouldn't go; Seamus from lack of dress and Neville for insecurities. Harry, Ron, and Dean waited outside the portrait-hole for everyone else. Already a motley crowd was growing: a vampire, a few ghouls, a mermaid, a devil, a genie, more. Some poor kid didn't have a real costume, so he dressed like a Chav in hopes he'd be let through.

Finally, when about thirty-five people had assembled, they headed to the seventh floor. The Hufflepuffs and a few Ravenclaws were already there. Harry was about to shout "What now?" when a hand-written sign caught his eye:

b Please Wait Til 8:10 /b

Harry glanced at his watch. "It's 8:02," he told Ron.

"What're we supposed to be waiting for?"

"Dunno…"

Over the next few minutes more Ravenclaws and a crew of Slytherins arrived. They ended with a party of about 130. Harry vaguely wondered what classroom was big enough for all of them, but he didn't dwell on it. With each tick of his watch he felt the tickly, eager feeling in his stomach grow. At 8:09, he started to ask Ron, "What now—"

—When his watch clicked to 8:10 and something appeared in front of them with a crack. Parvati Patil, in a genie outfit that would've made McGonagall blush, gave a little squeal that Harry at first mistook for fear, but then he realized what she was saying.

"Ooh, how cuuute…"

The something was a house elf in a jack-o-lantern getup, he saw. Its batty ears and long feet and hands were the only parts that poked out of the pumpkin outfit. It made an awkward bow and almost overturned; titters dotted the crowd.

"Mistress Rory is waiting, sirs!" it squeaked. "She says Happy Halloween, sirs, and she asks Finky to tell sirs and madams to… 'follow the leader'! This way!" It trundled down the hallway with the students in tow. Harry thought the pumpkin looked like it was floating; from where he was, he couldn't see the little elf feet that propelled it.

Rory was indeed waiting in what the Fat Friar had called the Room of Requirement. She'd come a little before four o'clock and walked in front of it three times, thinking i Need a room for an awesome Halloween party… Need a room… /i

A door had appeared in the blank wall. Rory's mouth gaped, at first not believing, then she'd laughed and gone inside.

The room was large enough for at least 150 people. Halfway up the vaulted ceiling was an inside balcony that had spiral staircases and ran along three of the walls. Against the fourth wall was a stage. On it was a stand with a turntable (it ran on magic and not electricity, thank God), huge speakers, and a cardboard box full of records with names like i Stone Hinge /i by The Weird Sisters. There were even some records with Muggle songs that Rory knew couldn't be found on vinyl. Ecstatic, she went to the opposite end of the room that had a refreshment table full of empty dishes and a huge empty punch bowl that looked more like a fountain.

The last two things she found were another box, this one with orange and black decorations and candles ( i Mr. Party Monster's Strobe Candles /i ) and a piece of paper taped to the top of it:

b Finky

(Just say the word!)

(and she'll do it) /b

Doubtfully, Rory said to the echoing room, "Um… Finky."

With a whipcracking snap, a horrible little dwarf-thing appeared from out of nowhere. Rory tripped backwards—"HO-ly SHIT!"—but caught herself.

The dwarf's already huge brown eyes were wide, and it wore only a little toga made from a hand towel. It creeped Rory out, but after regaining her composure, she cleared her throat and said again: "Um… Finky?" She clutched her wand in her pocket.

"Yes miss, Finky the house elf!" it squeaked, and curtsied with the edges of its towel.

"House elf?" She looked at the paper again.

b (and she'll do it) /b

"Finky, I uh, need your help."

"Gladly, miss!"

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a bother…"

"Oh no, miss! House elves is born to help, miss! It's our love!"

"Okay." i God, what a little weirdo. /i "Finky, I need a few things…"

As she listed off what had to be done, Finky continued to curtsy, and when Rory was finished Finky said, "Come back in three or four hours, miss!" and disappeared.

i Wow, Rory. That was easy. You are one cool motherfucking cat. /i

"You bet I am," she whispered, and slipped out the door.

The rest of her day was spent primping. She had to admit, four hours was a tad long, but she had a bottle of Madam Silque's PerfiCurl Potion that took two hours to work.

When she was done and went back to the Room of Requirement, Finky had indeed done everything she was told: set out refreshments that would automatically refill, hung swags of black and orange silk on the walls, sent regular candles floating by the table and colored and strobe candles by the stage, suspended a banner that stated b The Monster Mash /b , and had filled the punchbowl with something that was both sweet and a powerful, but pleasant, kick in the stomach.

By this time it was ten to eight. Rory found her reflection in a window and tossed her hair. "How do I look, Finky?" she asked anxiously. Her biggest fear wasn't that nobody would come; her biggest fear was that only a few would when she'd prepared for more than a hundred.

Finky patted her leg sympathetically. "Fine, miss," she piped. "Don't worry, Finky knows it will be fun.

"Miss will see."