It had been a while since the Lovegoods had snuck out for a date night on their own. Mostly because it was so very difficult for either of them to spend any time away from little Luna.

Even though the Prophet was a competing paper and Xeno was hesitant to contribute any money to such a typical and oblivious reporting institution, the carnival sounded like such a fun idea that Lucy was bound to love.

Obviously, he wasn’t the only one who thought the Prophet wasn’t worth their time, as there wasn’t nearly the crowd one would expect. Xeno was sure the Prophet would have you believe that everyone was sick with some virus that was sweeping the nation. When in all reality there was no virus at all. He had warned everyone in the Quibbler that a wizard trying to smuggle Siberian Finklephants into the country lost track of his shipment. And everyone knew one bite from those tricky buggers caused mild hallucinations and dizziness. Anyone who read his article knew that finklephants were warded off by drinking chocolate milk. Subscriptions were bound to go up once people realized the truth.

He laced his fingers in his wife’s and leaned over to give her a kiss underneath the twinkling lights of the entrance. “Happy Valentine’s Day love. What would you like to do first?”

Dear Miss/Mr. Last name here!

I am writing to inquire as to if you would sit for an exclusive interview for an uncoming special Quidditch edition of The Quibbler. I request a prompt reply as there are deadlines to meet and time is short, especially with the Dijibouti flu going around. I thank you in advance for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,
Xenophilius Lovegood
Editor-in-Chief

WHO: Miranda Dodderidge (it's a narrative, but Davy Gudgeon is there doing his thang. And Xeno's around too!)
WHAT: A ministry protest disguised as a muggle performacne
WHEN: TODAAYYYY
WHERE: Godric's Hollow

( Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to stop spinning! )

In all of her years at Hogwarts, in all of her years being a prefect and working on a team full of the best students in Hogwarts, Phoebe Smethwyck had never been as impressed as she was right now as she stared around the Great Hall. Illuminated with candles in all shapes and sizes (and colors, a nifty charm a sixth year had found), the tables surrounding the dance floor were decorated with pumpkins, spiderwebs, and fall leaves, creating a spooky, yet beautiful design. The Ghosts of Hogwarts had volunteered to mingle more than usual (she thanked Nearly Headless Nick profusely, and promised to hold him a belated Death-Day party), captivating the guests with stories---how much truth they held, she couldn't be sure, but they were interesting nonetheless.

The band was a new kind of wizard rock, a bit more political than the Hobgoblins, W.O.A.R. There had been a lot of discussion at the prefect meetings about whether or not they should try and book them, but at the end of the day the naysayers (read: the Slytherins) were outvoted, and the band with the hit song "Do You Believe in M.A.G.I.C" was creating an incredible atmosphere.

So---people looked happy. They were laughing, smiling, and just---happy. Not something Phoebe felt like the wizarding world had been in a long time, and she was glad to be a big part of it.

Now, if only she could find a reason to be happy, herself.

ooc: No wands! Just your ID is needed. Everyone is welcome!