"Muffliato," she muttered and slid the door shut behind her. "Why don't you poke your tongue out at me too? Honestly, Draco. This has nothing to do with you and me – this is about you needing to be sober so that you don't get yourself killed tonight." She tried to be calm and casual, but she was hot and sweaty with nerves, and her chest felt tight, pulse too quick.