"You?" he asks, bottle hovering over the empty tumbler, and she meets his eyes – shadowed beneath like bruises – and nods after a second's hesitation. Malfoy fills the squat tumbler halfway without a word and slides it across the table to her, and every movement he makes seems exhausted, as though he's passed his breaking point and this is him just going through the motions. Hermione sips at the firewhiskey, making a face as she does, watching him over the rim as he downs the entire thing in three economic gulps and thuds the tumbler clumsily to the table, refilling it with a hand that trembles just fractionally.