There's a divide, here. Another one. And he gets the privilege of seeing it first.

Not that he is desperately wishing for a conversation with the Harry bloody Potter from his own world, but the vastness at which the universe can apparently stretch is enough to put anyone in a mood. There's that old flinch, slow and subtle, at the mention of that name, no matter how dead he may be, and a defensive sink to his posture as he listens.

He finishes his whiskey, and sets it down, not looking at LeMat. His words come simple and curt. "The war is ended. I don't die in it. I defect."