"Top shelf, dear, if you please," she calls out to the bartender. Aldric has never been the chatty type - maybe it was a requirement to being Sorted into Slytherin to master brooding like an art, and the smirking too, of course - so by the time he's made his mind up on his poison, she's already maneuvred them to the elegant bar, where two stools are free as if they're seats of honour.

"You know wizards, they love playing around with the forbidden," she finally says, with a delicate flick of her wrist. "So tell me, did you get my invite or was it word of mouth? Or perhaps you got lost, and wandered down the path to temptation and sin." Or whiskey and gin.