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( it's dark, in harry's room. he steers her around the broken glass, but she can probably feel the dampness on her feet, touching the bottom of her clothes - the room is pungent, to put it delicately, with the stench of alcohol and stale, sickly sweat, mingled with the sweeter smell of marijuana smoke, not recent, soaked into the fabric of clothing and bedding. some of it is recent mess - the glass, the spilled drink - but he's had time to settle in like this. this is just how he's been living, lately. )

Thanks.

( his hand on her arm, making sure she doesn't stand in the glass, is trembling. )