"You know, I think I've got some Fizzing Whizzbees somewhere that you can try. Give us a tick," he said as he rose from the couch, setting his taco wrapper down, the contents now long gone. The linen closet was right near the living room so they could still talk while he went through the trunk nestled on the bottom.
"Yeah, it would. My uncle Ron had this pet rat for the longest time - turned out it was actually an animagus and responsible for several notable deaths." Peter Pettigrew was notorious anymore. He returned after a moment with a bag with pink colored sherbert candies and held them out to Clint, "Have one."