Draco is lucky that he's been taught to compartmentalize so well because he manages yet again to keep himself in check and just pretend like he's glossing over the fact that these "friends" are too intimate with one another when in reality he just wants to vomit at the sheer thought of their implications. He's going to be taking this alcohol back with him and then he's going to make himself a stiff drink or three once he's settled somewhere safer.

As they move toward the liquor, he almost snorts. Or you're itching for torture and murder, he thinks bitterly. Instead of gin he focuses on vodka, though he does put a bottle of whiskey that looks promising enough into his basket while he's here. He's going to need it.

His stomach is twisted in knots even traumatizing actions aside - he knows this is a very dangerous situation and he's not sure when the bile is going to leave his throat. "Supervision, eh? Or near enough. Seems a lot of people need that these days." Deftly, he picks a bottle of vodka and puts it into the basket. "Anything else?"