It was less than a whole week ago that Yasmina had gotten rip-roaring drunk at the Christmas dance in Hogsmeade and now she found herself in a leery drinking hole in London, possibly intent on revisiting intoxication and a firm reprimand from her aunt when she skulked in sloshed later. If she wasn't actually trapped in London until the shop returned at a later time. She blamed her sudden disdain for sobriety on the merry mood that seemed to be clinging to the air, even though Christmas was now two days gone.

She was retrieving a fresh butterbeer from the bar when she turned and nearly walked straight into a young woman. Her drink sloshed dangerously about, only dribbling over the rim slightly as she came to an abrupt halt. She hadn't consumed enough to be too tipsy to prevent a collision, not yet anyway. "Well that was close, wasn't it!" she chortled.