[well, harry's had his fair share of lovely suits ruined, thought it's moreso a stray bullet or knife slice variety--and there was that one time merlin wouldn't let him live down involving a flame-thrower and a permanent singe on one of his favourite navy pinstripes. not that he can share this, but the point is, he can let his face fall into something sympathetic. there's decent enough whiskey in the cabinet, something the owner had left behind for any clientele he supposes, and he pours out a good amount into a glass before handing it over.

maybe he's even on the border of coddling as his tone takes on something meant to soothe.]

As it happens, even the worst of these unfortunate disasters can be rectified in the proper hands.

[he reaches out to thumb at the tear, feeling the split threads and taking note of how long and wide it is. his gaze flicks back up to meet byerly's with another smile, this one a little more triumphant and warm behind his glasses.]

A little bit of a complex reweaving, but nothing I can't handle.