After a moment of silence, which Potter used to pour himself his own glass of firewhiskey, the Floo roared to life and Theo and Blaise stepped through, twin expressions of cautious curiosity on their faces. Draco caught Blaise's eye, who was looking at him with something a little more pointed than Theo was. No doubt taking note of his hair (a mess from Hermione's hands, something he hadn't bothered to fix) and his clothes (wrinkled from having spent the night on the floor), Blaise's jaw clenched and he turned to inspect the built-in shelves along one wall of Potter's sitting room, as though he were trying to keep his face hidden. The tension in his shoulders, the rigidity of his posture, was unmissable, though. Again, the guilt in Draco's chest built. A roiling, acidic feeling began to swirl in his gut.