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Two weeks later, Will and I were getting ready to party. I mean, host a party. Throw a party. Gather a bunch of people together in a not-very-stealthy attempt to get Scorpius and Rose to kiss each other. Whatever you want to call it.

Anyways, I had assembled a list of all-important party supplies, as shown here:

A: Food

B: Music

C: Butterbeer

D: People

We had decided to keep it fairly small. In addition to Rose and Scorpius (who were, obviously, invited) we had also invited Dominique, Albus, Hugo, Lizbeth and Leo Jordan, Jamie Bell, Alexander Zabini, and Theresa Boot. Fred and Roxanne were, of course, too young to come.

So, we had letter D under control. Hugo had snuck a whole bunch of butterbeer from Hogsmeade, fulfilling letter C. Rose knew a nifty little radio charm, fulfilling letter B. Thus, the only thing we needed was letter A, food.

Of course, there was only one way to get adequate party food. So, at eight p.m., one hour before the party was supposed to start, Will and I set off for the kitchens. (The trick is to tell the house-elves how shiny the pots and pans are. Once you've done that, they'll basically love you forever.)

"Do you think this is going to work?" asked Will.

"Definitely," I replied. "And what a relief, too. I would hate to have to spend even more time hanging around with you."

"Yes, it's terribly unfortunate how this plan forces me to spend my weekends in your vile presence."

"Vile presence? If anyone has a vile presence around here—

Suddenly, I stopped. Two pinpricks of light were shining in the shadows of the corridor—no, not lights. Eyes.

"Mrs. Norris," I breathed. Mrs. Norris is the cat that belongs to the ancient caretaker, Filch. Honestly, I have no idea how either of them managed to live this long. There's definitely something unnatural about a thirty-year-old cat, and Filch looks like he's nearing his hundredth birthday.

Mrs. Norris darted away.

"Oh, no," Will moaned quietly. "She's gone to get Filch."

I suddenly remembered something and quickly rifled through my school bag. Come on, I thought. It's got to be in here somewhere…

"What are you doing?" asked Will.

I ignored him, yanking the shimmering silvery fabric out of the bag. He gasped.

"Is that—

"An invisibility cloak, yes," I said, zipping my bag shut and shouldering it once again. "Come on, get under it."

Quickly, we huddled under the cloak. Unfortunately, we were forced to stand so close together, we were practically hugging. I could feel his lips right by my ear, his warm breath tickling my hair. Our shoulders were pressed close together, and I could smell his scent. Cinnamon. He smelled like cinnamon. I've always liked cinnamon. If you mix it with brown sugar, it's really delicious on toast. It's also excellent in hot chocolate, especially—

Focus, Lily, focus.

Okay. Back to the corridor, where Filch had appeared, talking to his horrible cat.

"Where are they, my precious?" wheezed Filch. "Nasty little students, sneaking out late at night… Oh, I'll find them… come along, precious, perhaps they're sneaking into the dungeons…

He moved on down the corridor, heading out of sight.

Relieved, I took a breath of air. "Come on," I whispered to Will. "Let's go."

Still invisible, we began to creep down to the kitchens.

"Where did you get this?" whispered Will.

Get what? Oh, the cloak. "My dad," I whispered back. "Albus and I share it."

"Cool," he replied. "Sometimes I wish I had something of my dad's."

I wondered what he meant. "You don't see him much?"

"He's kind of a busy guy. Pretty famous."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Ron Weasley, actually."

I came to a very abrupt stop. "What did you just say?"

"My dad, Ron Weasley," said Will. "He had an affair with my mom, but he went back to his wife."

"I—wait—what?"

To make matters even more confusing, Will began to laugh.

What is going on?

"I was kidding," Will choked out."I—can't—believe—you—believed—

And he dissolved into laughter once more.

"That is not funny!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, come on," he protested. "It's pretty funny."

"If that was true," I said, "we would be cousins."

And suddenly, we were both laughing. For nearly five minutes, we stood there, invisible, laughing, sharing a joke that Rose or Hugo or even Albus would have found offensive.

As we calmed down and began, once again, to make our way to the kitchens, a disturbing thought occurred to me:

Maybe Will Frobisher isn't so bad, after all.

AN: Hello there! Okay, I am sorry about this agonizing chapter…I know, I know, you want to know what happens in the dimly lit room when they're under the influence of butterbeer, playing Spin the Bottle…I promise the party will be in the next chapter. Remember, reviews make my day and lead to faster updates. Thank you so much for reading!