"Just don't." He glances at her, his expression begging her to let it drop, before pouring another tumbler full of firewhiskey. His movements are clumsy, his hand palsied as he pours, and some of the firewhiskey sloshes onto the table; a shiny little puddle on the dark wood. His tone is bone weary. "Please, just don't, Hermione. Just don't."