"Don't be so rude, Draco. I'm your guest. Has the rabble here made you forget your breeding and your manners, or are you just being a gigantic prat on purpose?" she asked without meaning it, dodging his question and trying to redirect him with jabs and offence. Draco wasn't deterred; not dignifying her blather with an answer, his hand out waiting for the bottle as she drank. Pansy passed it back, gasping, shivering her shoulders as the alcohol went down. It was warm in his hand, the bottle neck. Draco stared at the bottle contemplatively, heart in his fucking throat and chest aching, firewhiskey burning a hole in the pit of his sick stomach, and asked again.