Charlie & Morag
"What do you mean, a drink like that?" Charlie asked, quirking a brow as he turned to address the man who'd just approached him. "I can't enjoy a firewhiskey because I'm a pretty girl?" he continued, dangling his glass between his fingers. Maybe he was being a bit harsh, especially when that sort of line was one that he often used, but then, he was definitely taking his cues from his sister, Katie, and Al, and none of them put up with bullshit. He was sort of enjoying trying to act like a girl, it kept him from thinking about what might happen if this change were permanent. Charlie needed it to only be temporary because, well, he'd have to come up with new lines for the women that he met, among other things. If the tits didn't fade away, soon enough he'd actually have to go shopping. It'd be terrible.
"What's a pretty boy like you doing with a drink like that?" he asked in return. Then Charlie noticed the name tag on the man's chest, and realization dawned on him. "Morag MacDougal, Auror MacDougal. You wouldn't be the same jarvey-owning MacDougal, would you?" Charlie asked with interest.