The hour was growing late and they really should've been in bed, but neither of them rushed away from the sofa in the main room. Agitated after another visit to St. Mungo's proved his friend wasn't getting any better, Antonin gulped down glass after glass of fire whiskey. He was desperate for something, anything to take his mind off of what was happening. Too many years of his life were spent first having absolutely no control at all when he was in Azkaban and then too long next to the Dark Lord with almost unlimited power. He'd forgotten what it felt like to be unable to do anything. With the exception of what to do with his wife, he hadn't felt that way in years.