The house is hot and humid, stinks of sweat, spilled beer and cigarette smoke. Whoever curated the playlist that's blasting over the speakers has terrible taste in music, and the cheap pilsner Luna bought in bulk tastes like bread and goes flat in about four minutes after opening the can. There are so many people in the house that Harry has never seen before, it makes him feel like a stranger in his own home. He didn't even know Luna had this many friends. The handful of people present that he does know, have shown to be unwilling to stand with him under the storm cloud hanging over his head, or seem to be otherwise occupied.