It wasn't the strangest request her former partner had made of her, but it was up there. It was certainly quite the question to spring on a woman eyes deep in paperwork in an overheated office. Parminder blinked and asked him to repeat his request, slightly stunned.

"Parminder, you have to go with me to the party tonight,[i] please[/i]–"
"You have got to be kidding me."
"Look, partner, I need your help. I can’t show up alone."
"Eric. No one in the Department[i] cares[/i]. Just go with Paul."

Eric gave her the sort of smile he might direct at a particularly grumpy toddler. He spoke in a patient voice, as if he was explaining that, no, you can’t [i]bite[/i] people who don’t give you their toys,

"It’s not the department I’m worried about. It’s my parents. They’re dreadfully old hat. I just need you to hold my arm and play adoring for all of five minutes. My parents will eat it up and they'll continue living in blissful denial." He leaned on her desk, flashing that dazzling smile down at her. Parminder's dark brow arched itself, clearly unimpressed.

"Next you'll be asking me to come home with you and pretend to be your girlfriend proper. Then I'll be your make-believe fiancé and then we'll get imaginary married. It's a slippery slope, Eric." She scoffed, looking back down to the reports she was scouring, but Eric pushed her papers away, drawing her attention away from the paperwork and back to the matter at hand. 
	
"We'll fake break up at the end of the night, promise," and there was a weary hopefulness on her ex-partners face that she couldn’t bear to dash. Parminder sighed, looking over at the senior Auror and his designer work robes. His blue eyes shined at her, urging her to say yes. It wasn’t that big of a request, she conceded. They'd spent hours sifting through paperwork and out on the field, staking out suspicious witches and wizards. They'd broken into more fancy mansions than she could count, had dueled some of the most dangerous sorcerors in the country and stumbled their way back to the Ministry from the bar on dozens of nights. Eric was her best friend, like an older brother. Although the thought of helping him lie to his parents turned her stomach, she couldn't bear disappointing him.

Then she groaned.

"Eric."

"Yes? You'll come with me? Oh Parminder–"

"Eric. I don't own dress robes."

The impromptu shopping trip was the most fun Parminder had had in the past year. Eric led her away from her desk and sweet-talked their way off duty. Linking arms, he whisked off on the smoothest side-along apparition she had ever known. Eric was a man of such perfect, casual grace, in every aspect of his life. It belayed his cruel talent with a wand. Parminder had never met anyone who could hex a man so brutally as her former partner, and certainly non-verbally. But that was part of what made Eric such a gifted duelist. Plenty of criminals had underestimated the pair of them, the slight Indian woman and the pretty boy. They’d all ended up in Azkaban. 

Eric was excellent company, his quick wit assuaging any lingering guilt of leaving work early. He entertained her with office gossip as she leafed through dresses, his sarcasm teasing inelegant snorts of laughter from her lips. Hours slipped away from them, sipping on frou-frou coffee drinks and enjoying the Midsummers sun. Against all odds, they found a sunset coloured saree, complete with golden filigree. It spoke to Parminder on a spiritual level, and she tried not to feel guilty about dropping nearly three months’ worth of rent on a dress. It [i]was[/i] spectacular, the crimsons and pinks and vermillions and golds worthy of belonging to the sunset of an airborne toxic event.

He’d lounged on her sofa while she straightened her hair and painted her face, amused by her muggle things and still photographs. At some point, he acquired a bottle of champagne, and they toasted the night ahead with a grim determination.

They arrived at the fundraiser at eight, arm in arm. Parminder turned and faced her partner, adjusting the collar of his designer robes and dusting off his shoulders. It was an old habit, a once over before going out to rid the world of dark wizards. He smiled at her, tweaking her nose. The ritual complete, she breathed in and took his arm once again.

"Fabulous as always, Eric," she teased. He grinned as she gently raised her saree, the golden links that connected an anklet to her painted big toe glittering in the light. Parminder rather appreciated the lack of painful footwear. Hopefully the ballroom was warm. Her parents would have been most upset at the magically applied Mehndi, but Parminder had only had a few hours, not a night, for the henna paste to dry.

"You clean up well, Parmy. One could also mistake you for a lady." He laughed as she punched his arm forcefully, but she grinned, looking at the great golden doors that lead to the Montague hotels that were to hold the event. She hated that they were holding an event for the Gigliotti– in addition to being blood elitists, they had their hands in all sorts of quasi-legal businesses, laundering gold and smuggling drugs and non-tradeable materials alike into England. And, if her suspicions were to be correct, they were connected to a certain increase in professional hits. It seemed amusing that the Auror in charge of this investigation was being touted as arm candy by another.

Perhaps this was a blessing. Eric led her into the gala, past sweeping statues of gold that cost more than her yearly salary. The hall held more chandeliers than she could count, with red crushed velvet and gold upon almost every surface. Crystal tables were laid out, sparkling in the light. Parminder tried not to gape. She had known the Gigliotti were wealthy, but this was something else.

"Where are your parents?" She leaned in to Eric, aware that he too was scanning the room, already preparing for spell-fire. She touched the wand concealed in her saree, comforted by the cherry wood along her forearm. They maneuvered through the crowd, Eric constantly being stopped by friends. Many raised their eyebrows at her, but Parminder simply smiled away. 

"With the Minister, two o clock. My father has the vicar-cloak and my mother that dreadful fascinator," he whispered back in the guise of a sweet nothing. Parminder suppressed a grin, flicking her eyes to the place he described. There, her eyes found Minister Shacklebolt in conversation with a man in a severe black cloak. The fwooper feathers forming the woman’s fascinator were rather guache. Parminder was not displeased when Eric steered her in the opposite direction, towards the tables.

Along the way, it seemed, a floating candle in the shape of a seven had joined them. It bobbed ahead of them delicately, and it seemed to be guiding them somewhere. All around them, numbered candles were joining people and urging them to follow.

Their candle wove through the air lightly, before coming to rest on a circular table that seated six. Two other people had already seated themselves– one was a very old witch with midnight blue dress robes and the other a mature man in bottle green robes. Parminder quirked a brow as Eric helped her into her seat, suppressing a roll of the eyes with supreme difficulty. Introductions were made. The witch (Morgania) had been famously beautiful in her youth and now wrote award winning children's books. The wizard (Bernard) was an Obliviator and, like Morgania, a close friend of Emanuel Gigliotti, the patriarch of the family. Parminder was bursting with questions, but she dutifully bit her tongue, waiting for the rest of their table to join them and this uncomfortable dinner hosted by a thoroughly awful family to begin.

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