It was Halloween, and you, Harry, Draco, and Hermione (and Ron, but he had stormed out after an argument) were in the new Headquarters of The Order Of the Phoenix, which was located in the house where Harry’s parents were killed, after Grimmauld Place was found by Death Eaters. And Draco was along with you guys, because he had faked his death and Dumbledore had decided to bring him to the Order, as a way of keeping him hidden. And after a few months, Draco finally gotten used to the four of you, (now three, excluding Ron) and you noticed something possibly brewing between your cousin and Hermione.

Then, one particularly chilly night, Harry came into the sitting room with the bottle of Firewhisky they'd sipped from on the evening of Hermione's birthday. "All right, you three," he said. "No more reading."

"Excuse me?" said Hermione, looking like he'd just blasphemed in a church.

"You heard me. Here." And he tossed a glass to her, then Draco, and lastly, gently placed one in your hand. Hermione let out a squeak and caught hers. Draco dropped Against the Dark Arts: a History of Wizarding Power Struggles and caught his, too.

"What's this?" Draco said, narrowing his eyes.

"We're taking the night off," Harry said firmly.

"I'm going mental. I know you three are, too. We'll never find anything if we lose our minds in here. Besides, it's Halloween.

They're feasting at Hogwarts right now." He filled his own and your glass, then flicked his wand. The bottle of Firewhisky poured Draco's and Hermione's drinks of its own accord, then set itself upon the mantel with a clunk.

"Halloween," said Hermione, with a strange, pensive look.

"It is, isn't it? I'd completely lost track of time." There was a pause. You and Draco knew this was the night that the Dark Lord had found this cottage sixteen years ago. It was no wonder that Harry wanted some distraction.

"Fine," he said, setting his book aside. "But I'm not going trick-or-treating with you, Potter."

"Shame," Harry said. "I was looking forward to seeing your pumpkin costume."

"He could be a ghost," Hermione suggested. "He wouldn't even need makeup."

They tittered. Draco did not dignify either of these comments with a response. He sipped the amber liquid, which was hot and bitter, with a sweetly lingering aftertaste. For several long minutes after Hermione and Harry's chuckles faded away, none of them spoke. Draco stared at his cousin, making sure she was okay. It was a habit he had started doing since he was young. But he had always felt some protectiveness over you. Draco tried to think of some topic of conversation, and realized it had been so long since they'd spoken about anything besides the Horcruxes, or the war, or missing persons, or Dolores bloody Umbridge and her bloody security detail, that nothing at all came to mind.

Soon Draco's glass was empty. When he held it out, Harry refilled it without a word.

Hermione broke the silence. "It's not bad, is it?" she said somewhat awkwardly, still nursing her first glass.

"Firewhisky, I mean. I always preferred Butterbeer, but this is nice on a cold night."

"There's a bottle of Firewhisky hidden in the Slytherin Common Room," Draco said. "It's a tradition. You can't tell anyone below fourth year where it is, and if you finish the Common Room Bottle, you have to be the one to buy the replacement. It would normally be {{user}}, or Theo who would have to replace it. And they never finished one without the other. They would always keep some for the other if, for some reason, they weren’t there."