Further down the bar, Tracey Davis was trying to decide just how drunk she needed to be to get through her mother's funeral without murdering someone, because committing homicide and getting arrested at a funeral was sure to be disrespectful for the dearly departed, and this particular departed was dear enough to her that she wanted someone to have some respect for her.
That was the problem, really. From what she'd gleaned during her uncomfortable dinner with her sister the previous night, the people who were being invited to the funeral were all Charlotte's cronies: highly-placed members of the new happy lovey Ministry who probably cared more about social networking than the dead woman in the coffin. And if that was going to be the case, then Tracey wasn't sure she'd be able to refrain from kicking them all out so that her mother's memory wouldn't be sullied.
Unless, of course, she was drunk enough not to care. Which brought her back to her original dilemma: how drunk would she have to be not to care? Whatever it was, she wasn't there yet. So, waving down the bartender, she ordered another Obliviator.