Alcohol was something Harry had little experience with. Some Hogwarts students might find the time to experiment, to concoct liquids with a different sort of effect in their cauldrons or to smuggle in bottles from home and spend the evening giggling in the Common Room as they discovered what sort of drunk they were - but Harry had always had more pressing concerns on his agenda. Alcohol and normal teenage rebellion had been the last thing on his mind.

He supposed he had time now. He could indulge. But the world still seemed to be spinning and he wasn't sure if he'd landed yet.

It wasn't how he thought it would be. He'd gone from Hogwarts to The Burrow, it should have been a triumphant homecoming, with the people that were his family. The victory was always going to be tinged with grief, they had lost so many friends, but it still shouldn't have felt...well, at times, awkward. Ron and Hermione were still his best friends, and always would be, he was sure but they had spent a lot of the summer wrapped up in each other. Hermione was back at Hogwarts now, but still, the focus on their friendship had shifted and Harry felt like the outsider now. He was thrilled for them, but it still felt lonelier now.

Perhaps they had thought he wouldn't matter - he had Ginny, after all. But that didn't feel right either. When his life had been in danger, he'd clung to the idea of normal, to this person who could make him laugh. But now...

He cared about her still. He didn't want to hurt her. But he felt like as though he were distant from her, and he wasn't sure how to break down the barrier between them.

So, to avoid it seeming like he was avoiding her, he had thrown himself into work, as though being as busy as possible would give him an excuse. Harry was hoping this would occupy him, that all that was wrong was grief and the odd sense of anticlimax, and that if he worked through it he'd feel like himself and things would slot into place again. That was why he had agreed to take the summons. They did want it delivered in person, but it certainly didn't have to be Harry who did it - he had volunteered.

In a way, as well, he felt responsible for Draco - for all the Malfoys. Narcissa had saved his life. He could not deny that. She may have had her own reasons, but she had saved his life - and had lied to possibly the most successful Legilimens to do so. Had Voldemort picked a different person to check...Harry knew he wouldn't have been so lucky. So, in turn, he saved her family - not just their lives, but he also shielded them from punishment. It felt appropriate he be the one to summon Draco.

As Draco clumsily poured a generous splash of Firewhiskey into a crystal tumbler that Harry suspected was worth more than everything he wore he compared the boy before with him with his reflections.

In his mind's eye, when he thought of Draco, he thought of him still as he had been in his fourth and fifth years. Utterly sure of his good looks - and of course, it was irritating because that arrogance was entirely accurate. Sarcastic, flippant, smug, cocky - in his memory, that was still Draco.

But of course, that hadn't been the case for the past few years. He should be used to this side of Draco. The weight loss and the shadows beneath his eyes, the brittle personality that threatened to crack at any moment, the way his shoulders sloped with despair. This was Draco as he had been in the sixth year and the war, and Harry supposed after all this time, he ought to be used to - but it still felt wrong.