Everyone else he had known had been pretty dedicated to Voldemort and his cause – and even if they didn't like what Voldemort was doing, they weren't going to speak out against it. They valued their skins too much, just like Draco had. Still did, mostly. Only these days, Draco wouldn't hurt anyone else to stay alive. He sighed, thinking about what the three Aurors had told them all about Ballater earlier in the day, wishing he hadn't been quite so pissed when they'd explained it. He didn't want to die tonight, he thought, blowing out a slow breath and trying to get his head straight. Draco wasn't drunk, but he felt more than a bit hungover, and his head was all fuzzy, and distracted by the insistent memory of sinking into Hermione's slick –