And Potter grabbed glasses and Draco traipsed numbly after them through the dining room, Weasley lifting a bottle of firewhiskey from the liquor cabinet and leading them out to the front deck. The movie was still playing in the lounge, loud and intrusive, but the sound cut off when the front door swung shut behind them. The air was cool, like a slap in the face, and it helped clear the cobwebs out of Draco's mind as he sank into one of the battered old armchairs they kept on the covered porch. Weasley pressed a glass half-full of firewhiskey into his hand and he mumbled his thanks, drinking automatically. It scorched through him, welcome and warm, and setting a familiar fire burning in his belly.