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"I miss Herm-own-ninny."
"Vitya, you're drunk."
"No, you!"
"If you don't stop drinking right now, I'll curse you."
"So curse me, pretty boy!"
A fracas breaks out in a bar on the wide sweep of road in Durban known as the Golden Mile, a sunlit strip of Indian Ocean shore. South Africa doesn't much care for enforcing the rules banning magic in front of muggles, and the other customers of the bar have seen it all before anyway. The bolts of multicoloured energy shooting around over their heads, hitting and exploding every alcohol bottle visible and invisible, don't bother them.