She stalked into her kitchen, grabbing a single wine glass from the cupboard and a bottle of crisp Pinot Grigio.  Her first pour filled the glass about a quarter of the way full.  She paused, bottle in hand, and thought better.  She needed more than that, surely, to deal with whatever bullshit story she was about to hear come out of either one of their mouths.  Preferably Harry.  Draco could keep his mouth shut and sit there like a statue as far as she was concerned.