"Merlin, yes. And so am I. Gin does not do well with a lack of sleep, and she dumps all that lovely sleep-deprived rage on me. God she's frightening." Harry grinned, and shovelled another forkful of mash into his mouth. "So, have you managed to call a truce with Malfoy yet?" he asked through his mouthful, and Hermione wrinkled her nose up at his lack of table manners, sipping at the butterbeer she'd ordered to wash down the firewhiskey.