That voice is like ice in her veins-- not just because it belongs to Charlie, but the weight in it, the way he spits it out, the fact that all things considered, this is the last thing she should be doing at the moment-- douses the heat from her wine and turns her remarkably sober in the span of a few seconds.

But the shock is played out against Harry's throat, so that by the time she sits upright she looks as casual as anything, fingertips still clutching the neck of her winebottle.

"Just trying to take my mind off of things, Charlie." She's careful to keep her tone even in an attempt to pacify what he has every right to feel. Of course, words don't count for much when the alarm's going off and she's got her lockpick jammed firmly in the door.

"Same as the rest of you."