“I’m not fighting with anyone,” said Harry. “Ron, want to have a go?”
Ron snorted again. “I would wipe the floor with you.”
“In your dreams.”
Ron just stared dejectedly at the table again.
“Well,” Malfoy said, after a little silence. “This is maudlin.”
“Downright mawkish,” Harry agreed, swiping back his pint.
Malfoy brightened a little. “Melancholy even.”
Harry smiled crookedly. “Morbid.”
“Pathetic,” said Malfoy.
“Bathetic,” said Harry. “Characterized by bathos.”
Malfoy looked at him, startled.
Harry just smirked.
“I’m tired of pathos, and bathos,” Ron said. “And ethos, actually. Can we just get back to mild, brown, and stout?”
“Intoxicants,” said Harry.
“Potables,” said Malfoy.
“Aqua vitae,” said Harry.
“No one speaks English any more,” Ron said sadly.
Malfoy’s eyelids went heavy. “That’s Latin,” he drawled.
Harry laughed. “Good job, Malfoy.”
“I just want to get wasted,” said Ron. “Is that so wrong?”
“Inebriated,” said Malfoy, in that low, lazy voice.
“Bacchanalian.” Harry put his elbow on the table, and grinned.
Malfoy’s eyes were getting darker.
“What’s even wrong with you?” Ron wanted to know.
Turning his grin on Ron, Harry said, “Lately, I’ve been reading a thesaurus.”