We cut a deal, asshole. [ Harry finally snaps, an inevitable response to the all-too careful banter. Like they're dancing around a knife's edge, and it'd be a bold lie if Marcone couldn't supply the blade from somewhere on his person. ] I didn't do it to help you any more than I did it to help them. And look where it got you, anyways.

[ John might take the first drink, but Harry is going to end up going through his own first. Apparently, he's so used to throwing back ale and beer that he doesn't know how to appreciate a fine mead. He just tips it back, drinks it down to buy himself as much time as possible before he has to rejoin the conversation and comes up for air by the time John's got his shoes off and gee fucking whiz it really is a slumber party. ]

[ This time, he keeps his eyes on Marcone's and reaches down to wrestle battered Chuck Taylors off his own feet. Anything you can do, I can do too. ]