He took a deep breath and crossed the dining room to the long table, sat down opposite her and placed his purloined bottle on the table between them. Stared at her, daring her to say something as he broke the seal on one of the bottles of firewhiskey and brought it to his lips. It numbed his tongue and burnt down his throat, and he welcomed the sensation. He hadn't had a drink since yesterday – Molly Weasley was guarding the alcohol like a mother bear, refusing to let him have any more. He'd had to break into the liquor cabinet the old fashioned way, by jimmying the bloody thing open. Merlin, it tasted bloody good. Hermione eyed him with prim and worried disapproval, but said nothing.