Michael had been at the house for most of the afternoon, helping. He'd promised to come and help and he really had. Really. He'd spent a little longer than necessary watching the magical mixologist set himself up, but he'd helped build the fire and he'd helped set up some of the wards on the beach so that frolicking muggles wouldn't accidentally stumble onto them.
But now the party was in full swing, the men of honour were present, people Michael was sure he had never seen before were wandering around with handfuls of food and glasses of drink, so it seemed that all was very well.
He himself had a Racing Unicorn, a blue, cloudy drink that tasted of apples and, he had been promised, contained enough alcohol to get said unicorn giddy. So Michael was pleasantly warm and enjoying himself, listening to Stephen's choice of music which, despite any claims he'd made on the contrary in the past, was really quite enjoyable in the right situation.