Okay, so maybe she was panicking a little. What had happened with Draco-- more than once now, she reminded herself somewhat ruefully-- had been far too enjoyable for her comfort. And then there was... what they shared in common. Which she was trying so, so hard not to think about. So what if she was terrified? This was only completely and entirely outside of what she was used to.
Which was, all things considered, probably precisely why she was currently on her sixth Manhattan and why the room was starting to spin, slowly but surely. It was also why Astoria and Tracey were nowhere to be found, ever-ready and eager to talk her out of whatever mistake she was about to be making. Sure, she'd been eyeing the Lagavulin for a bit, but finally decided that she should stay closer to home-- her usual go-to, after all, was a gin and tonic. Tonight's goal, however, was to get drunk to the point of forgetting her own name. Fucking a stranger and not feeling guilty about it.
The man across the bar didn't seem like a stranger-- rather, he seemed oddly familiar, even if his face didn't immediately ring a bell-- and he had been eyeing her for a while, so finally she decided to say fuck it. Grabbing a napkin and her wand, she waited for the intended words to appear-- astonishing, really, that she could still operate her wand in the first place-- before sliding it down the counter to the mysterious gentleman.