The mug of butterbeer sat there between them, calling to her. It wasn't long before Winky broke and reached for the glass. Her seventh or eight of the evening. "Winky shouldn't be saying but it is true. She is Dobby's Winky and Dobby does work for the Great Harry Potter." She took a huge slurping drink and drained half the mug.
"Winky is not feeling well, Mister Sir." To her utter shame, Winky was very ill all over the nice butterbeer buying reporter.