"You shouldn't be drinking." Malfoy walks over, gait slow and tired, shoulders slumped and steps dragging, and bends and swipes up the bottle. He stinks of sweat and urine, and metallic blood, and Hermione feels suddenly less drunk, something inside her shrinking down into a terrified ball. "You need to sober up for tonight," he says as he straightens, and then rather hypocritically takes a long drink from the bottle himself. He stumbles back a step and sinks into the chair at the table, and worry sparks up in her. He hasn't looked this bad in a while.