Draco watched Blaise for the next several minutes, noting how he didn't engage in the conversation between Harry and Theo, didn't speak to anyone, really. But didn't leave either. At least, at the very fucking least, he wasn't in bed with Hermione somewhere upstairs. Consciously, and without an ounce of remorse, Draco broke his rule. He reached for the nearest bottle of alcohol and took a long pull, straight from the bottle. Gin. Gross. There was no way, none at all, that he'd be able to Occlude. His emotions were all over the fucking place and no amount of meditating, of deep breathing in the bathroom, could tamp them down. The shock, the betrayal, the sadness, the fucking agony, was steadily giving way to a rising tide of anger, red-hot rage, as he saw, over and over again, Blaise's hands on Hermione's thighs, her ass. His mouth on hers. The familiarity between the two of them ripped at his soul, fueling this behemoth thing filling his chest. He kept his eyes on Blaise, taking slow, but deep, drinks from the bottle of gin.